Manners could not refrain from saying, "It would have been better to have sent it direct to herself, Sir William. You must remember, my excellent friend, that you are no longer among your children, as you call them, the Indians, and that you will meet with another class of vices and virtues also here. What you would trust to a Mohawk, if he promised to perform it, and feel convinced that nothing but death would prevent its execution, is not at all to be confided to a common messenger in England, and--"
"I know all that, my friend, I know all that," interrupted his companion; "but I had no choice. At that time I was not at all certain whether I should let any one know that I was in England or not; and had I sent the note direct to Morley House, such a communication must have been opened as would instantly have put an end to my incognito. One messenger might have failed me as well as another, and it was owing to an accident which no one could foresee that the note was not delivered. So much for your rebuke, Manners," he continued, smiling; "but now tell me how the poor girl is; for the first question of my patient, when he hears that you are here, will be, How is Marian de Vaux?"
"Alarm and agitation had rendered her seriously ill," answered Manners; "so much so, indeed, that the medical man found it necessary, during the whole of yesterday and this morning, to keep her feelings deadened, as it were, by laudanum--to the great risk of her health, as he acknowledged--but it was the lesser of two evils."
"Sad, sad, indeed!" cried Sir William Ryder, rising from his seat, and walking backwards and forwards in some agitation--"sad, sad, indeed! and I am afraid that I have had something to do with the whole business; but I trust she is better now--poor girl! I am grieved, deeply grieved. But say, Manners, how was she when you left her?"
"Infinitely better, I am happy to say," answered Manners; "for your friend Pharold permitted me to inform her that De Vaux was safe at least, though he tied me down to strict conditions. That piece of news, of course, relieved her greatly; but not so much so as to set her mind at ease, till she hears tidings from me of her cousin's exact situation, which I trust to be able to give her early to-morrow."
"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," answered Sir William Ryder. "Nay, if you think it would be any great comfort to her, we will send off a man on horseback this very night, to calm her with further assurances."
"Unless," answered Manners, "I may be permitted to say that you will give herself and Mrs. Falkland a welcome to visit De Vaux in person, I think that I had better not send, but wait till I can communicate some further information myself."
Sir William Ryder hesitated. "I am afraid," he said--"I am afraid that will be impossible, just at present. But she will believe your assurance, of course; and I think that you may venture to tell her that her cousin is under kind and careful hands, by which nothing will be neglected to promote his speedy recovery."
"I will certainly give the fullest assurances of that fact," answered Manners. "But what reason am I to assign for her being debarred from seeing and attending her cousin, when I have been admitted? She will certainly think it mysterious."
"As you do, Manners," said Sir William, with a smile. "But listen to me, and I will tell you several of the many reasons which have brought me back to a land which I have abandoned for long years; and out of those reasons you shall see whether you can find a motive to assign to Miss De Vaux for my mysterious conduct. In the first place, I, like most men, have some friends and relations; and I was seized with a longing to see them, to assure myself with my own eyes of their fate and their happiness, ere I laid my head down upon its last pillow in another land. The same longing seized me about twelve years since, but then I resisted; for long ago I had met with a sad and severe blow in my private happiness, which led me to forswear, in the bitterness of my heart, any of those ties and affections which are but so many cords to bind us to sorrow and disappointment. In various matters, about that time, I had acted wrong; and I felt that a voluntary expatriation was a good atonement. When I went, therefore, I resolved never to return; and when, as I have said, twelve years ago, the longing to see friends and relations, and scenes that I once loved, seized me, I resisted, strengthened, in so doing, by a feeling that my return to England might be painful to some whom I did not desire to pain, and would only re-awaken, in my own bosom, feelings that had better sleep. Now, however, many other motives have been added to this longing, which returned upon me this spring with more force than ever. I wished eagerly to raise such a sum as would purchase a large tract of land on which to settle for ever, without danger of molestation, the remnant of a nearly-destroyed tribe of Indians, who, after having been massacred and ill-treated by every other white man they met with, at length attached themselves to me, and were living round me like my children, as you saw."