Beauchamp; or, The Error.

by G. P. R. James

"Not to me! not to me!" said Isabella eagerly, and then added, laughing, "I will not listen to the good doctor; if there is any thing that must be said let it be told to my father."

Beauchamp smiled and shook his head. "You will think me sadly obstinate and exciting," he said, "but yet you must grant me as a favour, Isabella, that which I ask. Listen to our worthy friend the rector. His tale will not be very long; for many sad things may be told in a few words, and an account of events which have embittered my whole existence till within the few last days can be given in five minutes. I will tell Sir John myself, but the reason why I so earnestly wish you to hear all too, is, that no man can ever judge rightly of the finer feelings of a woman's heart. We cannot tell how things which affect us in one way, may affect her; and as there can be no perfect love without perfect confidence, you must share all that is in my bosom, in the past as well as in the future."

"Well," said Isabella, smiling, "as to obey is to be one of my vows, Beauchamp, I may as well begin my task at once. I will listen to the good doctor, though I confess it is unwillingly; but still, whatever he says it will make no difference."

Beauchamp replied not to what she said; but the conversation took another and a sweeter turn, and as the words they spoke were certainly not intended to be repeated to the world I will not repeat them. Time flies swiftly when love's pinions are added to his own, and Isabella coloured when passing the windows of the breakfast-room on their return, she saw the whole party assembled and Mary occupying her usual post. While Beauchamp entered and took the first fire of the enemy, she ran up to her room to lay aside her walking-dress; but Sir John was merciless, and the moment she came in assailed her with an exclamation of "Ha, ha, young lady! Early walks and morning rambles, making all your friends believe you have eloped! I hope you have had a pleasant walk, Isabella, with this noble lord. Pray were you talking politics?"

"Profound!" answered his daughter, with a gay air, though she could not keep the blood from mounting into her cheek.

"And what conclusion did you come to on the state of affairs in general?" continued Sir John, looking from Isabella to Beauchamp. "Is there to be peace or war?"

"First a truce," answered Beauchamp, "and then a lasting peace, the terms of which are to be settled by plenipotentiaries hereafter."

"Oh!" said Sir John Slingsby, now for the first time comprehending how far matters had proceeded between his daughter and his guest, and giving up the jest he remained in thought for some time.

When breakfast was over and the party had risen, Beauchamp at once took his host's arm, saying, in a low tone, "Before any other business, I must crave a few moments' conversation, Sir John."

"Certainly, certainly," said Sir John Slingsby aloud; and while Mary Clifford put her arm through Isabella's, with a heart full of kindly wishes and hopes for her cousin, the baronet led his friend into the library, and their conference commenced. As might be expected, Beauchamp met no coldness on the part of Sir John Slingsby; but after a hearty shake of the hand, an eulogium well deserved upon his daughter, and an expression of his entire satisfaction and consent, the baronet's ear was claimed for the tale of Beauchamp's previous life. It did not produce the effect he expected; for although he had some acquaintance with Sir John's character and habits, he certainly did not anticipate the bursts of laughter with which the old gentleman listened to events which had rendered him miserable. But there are two sides to every thing, and Sir John had all his life taken the risible point of view of all subjects. He laughed then, heartily declared it an exceedingly good joke, but no marriage at all; and it was only when he found that counsel learned in the law had pronounced it to be valid, that he began to look at the matter more seriously. As soon, however, as he heard the intelligence which Beauchamp had lately received from Paris, he started up from his chair, exclaiming, "Well, then, she is dead and that's an end of it. So now I congratulate you, my dear lord, and say that the sooner the marriage is over the better. I shall tell Isabella so, and she has no affectations, thank God. But come, let us go to her. I must kiss her and give her my blessing."