"I must think, Manners--I must think," replied De Vaux: "these are strange tidings indeed, and vouched boldly too; but I doubt whether I have a right to communicate them to any one but the person they affect next to myself. However, I must think ere I act at all. Forgive me for not making you a sharer of them; and excuse me now, for I am much agitated, and hardly well."
"Let me be no restraint upon you, De Vaux," answered his friend. "If I can serve you, tell me; if I can alleviate any thing you suffer by sympathy, let me share in what you feel; but do not suppose for a moment that I even desire to hear any thing that it may be proper to keep to your own bosom. Leave me now, without ceremony: but take care how you act, De Vaux; for I see there is matter of much importance in your mind; and you are, sometimes at least, in military affairs, a little hasty."
"I will be as cool and thoughtful as yourself, my friend," replied De Vaux; "but I am agitated, and the best place for me is my own room."
Thus saying, he left his friend, not a little surprised, indeed, that such a letter from such a person should have had the power to produce on the mind of a man like De Vaux the extreme agitation which he had just witnessed. De Vaux, he well knew, was not one to give credence to any thing lightly, or to yield to any slight feeling which a first impression might produce; but, in the present instance, it was evident that his friend had received a shock from some tidings which had been totally unexpected, but which must have been probable, as well as unpleasant, to produce such an effect. The extraordinary fact, however, that news of such importance should be left to the transmission of such a man as the gipsy--so separated by station, and state, and circumstances, from the person whom they concerned--was of course a matter of much astonishment to Colonel Manners; and surprise divided his bosom with anxiety and sympathy for his friend.
It is a very disagreeable thing to have any two feelings thus making a shuttlecock of our attention; or, when they are very eager, struggling for it with mutual pertinacity; but the only way to act under such circumstances is, to treat them like two quarrelsome boys; and, shutting them up together, leave them to fight it out without interruption. Such was the plan which Colonel Manners now proposed to pursue; and, consequently, quitting the hall where his conversation with De Vaux had taken place, he walked straight to the library, and opened the door.
What happened next was not without its importance; but as the mind may be at this moment more anxious concerning De Vaux than concerning his companion, we will follow him up the staircase as lightly as possible; enter his chamber, lay our hand upon his bosom, draw the curtain, and show the reader the scene within. But it may be as well first to look at that letter upon the table before which he is sitting, with his left hand upon his brow, and his right partly covering the sheet of paper which had so disturbed him. If one can draw it gently out from underneath his fingers, while his eyes are shut and his thoughts are busy, one may read what follows:--
"To Captain Edward de Vaux." Here, be it remarked, that there was a difference between the superscription and the address; the latter having borne, "To Captain the Honourable Edward de Vaux," while in the inside was merely written, "To Captain Edward de Vaux."
The difference may appear insignificant; but, in the present instance, and with the commentary of the epistle itself thereon, it signifies a great deal. However, the letter went on:--
"To Captain Edward de Vaux.
"Sir: I shall make no excuse for addressing you, as I am fully justified therein; and you yourself, however great the pain I may inflict upon you, will eventually admit that I am so. You are about, I understand, to unite your fate to a young lady of rank and fortune; and it is more than possible that mutual affection and mutual good feelings would render your union happy. Nevertheless, believing you to be a man of honour, I feel sure that you would not like to lead any one into such an alliance with expectations which are not alone doubtful, but fallacious. It is therefore necessary that you should know more precisely how you are situated; and I hesitate not to inform you, that on the title and estates held by your father you have no earthly right to calculate; that, should you marry Miss de Vaux, you bring with you nothing but your commission as a captain in the army; and that whatever you expect from your parent will most certainly go to another person. Your first conclusion--as a world in which there are so many villains is naturally suspicious--will be, that this letter is written either by some one who intends to set up some unjust claim to your rightful inheritance, by some disappointed suitor of your bride, or by some malevolent envier of another's happiness. Such, however, is not the fact. The person who writes this owes some gratitude to your family; not so much for what was accomplished, as for what your grandfather sought to accomplish in his favour. You may have heard the story--in which case you will give more credence to the present letter--or you may not have heard the story: but still, the way to satisfy yourself is open before you. Either resolve to question your father boldly concerning the points herein contained; or, if you would have the facts proved so that you cannot doubt them, come alone to the gipsies' tents, in the sand-pit on Morley Down, this evening or early to-morrow morning, and inquire for