“Don’t go, Aubrey; you mustn’t go. I cannot spare you.”
“Fair syren of my soul! I thank thee for that word! ‘Had I a heart for falsehood framed.’” There were those who had the honour of Mr. Bevan’s acquaintance who would have said, in answer, “Yes, most decidedly!” “My charming angel! ‘Where duty calls I must away. Hark! hark! the drum.’”
A little more of this gay troubadour line of business, and Hannah was fairly subdued.
“Cheer up! my sunflower!” said the gallant Bevan. “My visit to the great metropolis will be but temporary. A few weeks, and on the wings of the wind I shall again ‘fly to the Bower by Bendemeer’s stream,’ and ‘talk of love and Hannah.’ But I cannot leave without another look, a sweet adieu. I’ll come again to-morrow night. I will be at the garden-gate by twelve o’clock; I cannot come earlier; and as your orderly household will then be in the arms of Morpheus, you can come down to the door leading out to the stable-yard, and then I shall carry with me in my exile the sweet memory of that last good-bye!”
In vain the foolish girl objected, and referred to difficulties as to time and place. Mr. Bevan showed her, with a marvellous knowledge, gained unwittingly from her own chatty tongue, of all the topographical peculiarities of the place, how it could be done; and having extorted a definite consent, he swore eternal fealty to his fair companion, and turning away, was speedily lost in the darkness of the night.
O foolish Hannah Olliver! Did no qualms of conscience follow that ill-advised consent? Did no good angel whisper in your ear to disobey the voice of the charmer? Go to your chamber, unsuspecting simpleton, and dream of the dreadful plot, to the train of which your own unconscious hand will lay the spark!
Mr. Aubrey Bevan had special business on hand that night. After having kept one assignation, he made all haste to keep another. The second one, however, was of an altogether different nature, and if Hannah Olliver could have seen with whom he whispered and consorted during the hours of that night, it would have broken the spell which he had cast around her far more effectively than the discovery of some rival recipient of his gay blandishments and poetic flights.
While these events were transpiring at the Hall, joy and gladness reigned in the cottage of Adam Olliver, for at length the long-expected letter, with a pleasing monetary inclosure, had been received from Pete, who had been long struggling with adverse fortunes in the Western States of North America. At length his circumstances had taken a definite and effective turn for the better, and now his hope was that in a little while, having obtained a competency, he should be able to retrace his steps to dear Old England, and be able to supply his failing parents with the comforts which they needed in their old age. When Nathan Blyth called at their little cottage, he found old Adam, sitting in his arm-chair, with spectacles on nose and the precious letter in his hand, slowly spelling out his son’s somewhat difficult caligraphy, while dear old Judith sat on the opposite side of the fire, listening, and smiling through her tears. The old hedger had every now and again to wrestle with his feelings, and to gulp down a choking in the throat as Pete’s warm, loving sentences unfolded themselves to his delighted gaze.