"Let me never be anything else, I beseech you, my dear sir," replied Beauchamp. "The poor widow and her son, too, know me by no other name; for the deed was drawn up before my poor uncle's death. But I must go and see them when I visit Emberton."
"You will hardly find them there," replied Dr. Wilton; "for apprehensions of the rude curiosity and brutal scorn of that most gossiping place, has driven them to seek an asylum on the continent. But tell me, Harry, what is the meaning of your looking so ill and so anxious?"
"In regard to my ill looks," answered Beauchamp, smiling, "you must remember, my dear sir, that, as I wrote to you, I have been seriously indisposed since we last met; and as to my anxious looks, I have certainly had many a subject both of care and anxiety, pressing heavily upon my mind. The sudden death of my uncle, and all the consequent trouble--both in examining his affairs, and in punishing a rascally agent, who endeavoured to throw the basest imputations upon the memory of his benefactor--have occupied more of my time and attention than was at all pleasant to me."
"I hope at least you have succeeded in doing justice upon the agent," replied Dr. Wilton; "I have seen something of the affair in the newspapers."
"I have not punished Mr. Tims quite so well as I could have wished," Beauchamp answered, "though he thinks the retribution more than severe. The fact is, I am afraid my uncle suffered him to make use of his name with too great freedom, and the lawyer has of course taken advantage of it, to screen himself at his patron's expense. Nevertheless, I compelled him to refund every thing that he had unjustly appropriated; but, although I believe we had proof sufficient of one or two direct frauds, to have had his name struck off the roll of attorneys with disgrace, and perhaps might have punished him still farther, I have been obliged to compromise that matter, and suffer him to make his retirement from business a voluntary act."
A slight glow upon Henry Beauchamp's check, showed Dr. Wilton plainly that there had been parts in the conduct of the late Earl of Ashborough, which his nephew did not feel to have been quite justifiable; and therefore, turning the conversation from a topic which he saw was disagreeable in some of its details, he answered, "That the man was a rogue in grain, I have never had any doubt since all the business relating to the murder of his unhappy uncle, and the charge he preferred against poor William Delaware--But pray, Harry, can you tell me what has become of Sir Sidney and his family--You of course know?"
"Indeed, my dear sir, I do not," answered Beauchamp, "and one great reason of my coming down here was to ask you the very question that you have asked me. I have caused my solicitor in London to apply to the trustee of Captain and Miss Delaware, to ascertain their present residence. He replied, however, that he was as ignorant upon the subject as any one. The ten thousand pounds that they inherited from their mother, he had sold out he said at a moment's notice, and transmitted to Sir Sidney at Mrs. Darlington's, since which time he had heard nothing of their movements."
"Strange enough!" replied Dr. Wilton, "but we must make enquiries in the neighbourhood while you stay with me; and of course we shall find some one who knows their address--Some of the farmers, or Mr. Johnstone who used to collect Sir Sidney's rents, or some one."
"I am afraid it will be a more difficult matter than you anticipate," replied Beauchamp; "I sought them in vain when I was in France, though I knew that they must have landed at Cherbourg; but I found that as they had undoubtedly gone to join William Delaware himself, their route had been studiously concealed. Several weeks have now elapsed since the trial; and yet, though Captain Delaware's character stands as clear as ever it did, we have heard nothing of him."
Dr. Wilton did not now require to be told what was the chief cause of that expression of anxiety which he had remarked in Beauchamp's countenance; but he knew that to a lover, and an ardent one--which he felt sure his pupil would be wherever he did love--the subject of his hopes and fears could never become painful or tiresome when once it had been spoken of; and he therefore went on boldly to ask, whether Beauchamp had or had not discovered since, that he was right in thinking that Blanche's conduct, in rejecting his hand, had proceeded from some misapprehension.