“There are secrets, I am told, in all families—a fact that makes me additionally grateful that I have got none: I mean, neither family nor secrets. What arguments were used by the elder Brown in his conferences with the younger, whether he urged him by threats or plied him with entreaties, we shall never know. It is sufficient to state that he gained his point, as such men usually do, and prevailed upon the less energetic Cornet to give up Miss Merlin. Men vary much in the force of character, and I hope I know what is the wisest and the most discreet course to take in most affairs of life; but when I was his age, before I would have given up such a girl as Fanny Merlin, in consideration of any amount of threatening, reasoning, or expediency, I would have seen fifty elder brothers consigned to that place where they would have had an opportunity of comparing notes with Dives on their terrestrial prosperity.
“The Cornet, however, gave way, and wrote a most affecting letter to his ladye-love, in which he assured her of his eternal attachment and regard, vowing that ‘imperious necessity would alone have induced him to forego her affection, and that although, at his brother’s injunctions, he must leave that part of the country, and they would probably not meet again, yet he could never forget her, and should always look back on their acquaintance as the happiest period of his life. In conclusion, he implored her to send him some keepsake, however trifling, that he might take with him into his banishment—anything that was her gift would be prized and valued till death,’ etc. etc.
“Miss Merlin was not a young lady to make parade of a sorrow, however engrossing. She said nothing, and the most curious observer could not have discovered from her impassive face that she had sustained so cruel a wound, for she loved the Cornet very dearly, as the sequel proved; but she complied with her weak-minded swain’s request, and sent him by return of post the most appropriate present she could think of—namely, ‘a pair of leading-strings and a child’s go-cart’! Brown the elder positively roared with delight when he heard of this quiet and bitter sarcasm. But the Cornet took it very much to heart; I do not think he had seen his own conduct in its true light before.
“Soon after this, old Merlin died, and there was a lawsuit instituted by his next of kin to deprive his daughter of her inheritance. The general report in the country went that Fanny Merlin was ruined, and would have to go for a governess. The Cornet was not a bad fellow after all. In defiance of his brother, he came back forthwith from the North of England, and endeavoured to renew his proposals. Of course, with such a girl as Miss Merlin, this was a forlorn hope, and equally of course the young officer became more attached to her than ever, and would have broken the leading-strings and dashed the go-cart all to pieces this time; but he never once set eyes on her whilst he remained in the neighbourhood, and retired at last in a perfect fever of fury and disappointment. Whether this contre-temps, or the accumulating pressure of many unpaid bills, chiefly for grand pianofortes, and other musical instruments, was the cause, I know not; but the following year Cornet Brown exchanged into a regiment serving in India, and the same paper which furnished the gazette of his appointment, also announced the judicial decision that restored Miss Merlin to affluence and prosperity.
“She gave up her hunting, though, for a time, and practised music incessantly. I have heard that in a wonderfully short period she attained a proficiency in that science, which is not usually acquired under a lifetime.
“Meanwhile the Cornet, alternating his military duties in India with a great many tiffins and a vast quantity of brandy pawnee, was invalided home in a very dangerous state of illness. The sea-voyage failed in his case to produce its usual good effect, and he arrived at Marseilles a dying man. How she heard of it, I have not the slightest idea; but Miss Merlin never was like other girls; she possessed an energy and force of will extremely rare in her sex, fortunately for ours. She started off, at a moment’s notice, without taking even a maid, and crossed France in the utmost haste, to reach her old lover, and bring him home. She had forgiven him his weakness and vacillation, had forgotten all about the leading-strings and the go-cart, now that she heard he was dying.
“I am not a sentimental man, as you know, and have little sympathy to spare for those afflictions of the heart, which, in my opinion, sink into insignificance when compared with a derangement of the stomach; but it has always struck me that Miss Merlin’s was a melancholy story. When she arrived at Marseilles the Cornet had been buried eight-and-forty hours. She stood by his grave on the hill above the town, with the blue southern sky overhead, and the blue Mediterranean at her feet. I think, strong and self-reliant as she was, she had as much sorrow then for her portion as she could bear.
“She remained abroad a twelvemonth, I know, for I made it my business at the time to ascertain; but what she did with herself, during that period, I have never been able to find out. Some said she had gone on into Syria, others that she was in Egypt. Archer thought he saw a person very like her eating sandwiches at Jerusalem. Aimwell is almost sure he recognised her in male attire at the First Cataract; there was a very general report prevalent that she had gone into a convent for a year on trial; but didn’t like it, which I can easily imagine, and so came away again. Be this as it may, she turned up again after a time in the X. Y. Z. country, hunting more furiously than before, riding harder, speaking less, and looking graver than she had ever done; but as the Rectory was now inhabited by a fresh incumbent, and she had no settled place of residence, she did not remain very long in the neighbourhood of her youthful home.
“Since then, and it is a long time ago, she has travelled about the country, far more independently than most bachelors. In the summer she retires to some obscure town, either in the Highlands of Scotland, or on the sea-side, where she takes a quiet lodging, and devotes the time to study. In the winter she moves her horses about, to hunt with different packs of hounds, giving the Soakington country the preference, partly on account of the strong friendship which has sprung up between herself and the Earl. In fact, a room is always kept ready for her at Castle-Cropper, and she has arranged the library for the proprietor, and re-hung all the pictures in more favourable lights. So independent is she, however, in her habits, that she often prefers to remain at the Haycock, where, if you are not afraid, you may, perhaps, have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with her. I have now told you all I can about your mysterious visitor, and consign you, not without a shudder, to your fate. If she only retains half the attractions she had at eighteen, you’re a gone ’coon, Softly; and mind this—it’s a game like the pitch-and-toss we used to play at school, ‘Heads she wins, tails you lose!’ I have warned you. Adieu! Liberavi animam meam.
“P.S.—A pianoforte is no use. She has never played a note since the Cornet died.”