Thaddeus of Warsaw

by Jane Porter

"Yes," answered Thaddeus; "and the first time was going into the playhouse. I believe I called after you."

"Is it not now ten months since?" returned Pembroke. "I remember very well that some one called out my name in a voice that seemed known to me, while I was handing Lady Calthorpe and her sister into the porch. I looked about, but not seeing any one I knew, I thought I must have been mistaken. But why, dear Sobieski, why did you not follow me into the theatre?"

Thaddeus shook his head and smiled languidly. "My poverty would not permit," replied he; "but I waited in the hall until everybody left the house, in hopes of intercepting you as you passed again."

Pembroke sprung from his chair at these words, and with vehemence exclaimed, "I see it! That hypocrite Loftus is at the bottom of it! He followed me into the theatre; he must have seen you, and his cursed selfishness was alarmed. Yes; it is no foreign traitor! it must be he! He would not allow me to return that way. When I said I would, he told me a thousand lies about the carriages coming round; and I, believing him, went out by another door. I will tax him of it to his face!"

"Who is Mr. Loftus?" inquired Thaddeus, surprised at his friend's suspicion; "I do not know the man."

"What!" returned Pembroke, "don't you remember that Loftus is the name of my scoundrel tutor who persuaded me to volunteer against Poland? To screen his baseness I have brought all this upon myself."

"Now I recollect it," replied Thaddeus; "but I never saw him."

"Yet I am not less certain that I am right," replied Somerset. "I will tell you my reasons. After I quitted Villanow, you may remember I was to meet him at Dantzic. Before we left the port, he implored, almost on his knees, that in pity to his mother and sisters, whom he said he supported out of his salary, I would refrain from incensing my parents against him by relating any circumstance of our visit to Poland. The man shed tears as he spoke; and, like a fool, I consented to keep the secret till the Vicar of Somerset (a poor soul, still ill of dropsy) dies, and he be in possession of the living. When we landed in England, I found the cause of my sudden recall had been the illness of my dear mother. But Heaven denied me the happiness of beholding her again; she had been buried two days before I reached the shore." Pembroke paused a moment, and then resumed: "For near a month after my return, I could not quit my room; on my recovery, I wrote both to you and to the palatine. But I still locked up your names within my heart, the old rector being yet in existence. I repeated my letters at least every six weeks during the first year of our separation, though you persisted in being silent. Hurt as I was at this neglect, I believed that gratitude demanded some sacrifices from pride, and I continued to write even till the spring following. Meanwhile the papers of the day teemed with Sobieski's actions— Sobieski's fame; and supposing that increasing glory had blotted me out of your memory, I resolved thenceforth to regard our friendship as a dream, and never to speak of it more."

Confounded at this double misapprehension, Thaddeus with a glowing countenance expressed his regret for having doubted his friend, and repeating the assurance of having been punctual to his promise of correspondence, even when he dreamed him inconstant, acknowledged that nothing but a premeditated scheme could have effected so many disappointments.

"Ay," returned Pembroke, reddening with awakened anger; "I could swear that Mr. Loftus has all my letters in his bureau at this moment! No house ever gave a man a better opportunity to play the rogue in than ours. It is a custom with us to lay our letters every morning on the hall-table, whence they are sent to the office; and when the post arrives they are spread out in the same way, that their several owners may take them as they pass to breakfast. From this arrangement I cannot doubt the means by which Mr. Loftus, under the hope of separating us forever, has intercepted every letter to you and every letter from you. I suppose the wretch feared I might become impatient, and break my engagement if our correspondence were allowed. He trembled lest the business should be blown before the rector died, and he, in consequence, lose both the expected living and his present situation about Lord Avon. A villain! for once he has judged rightly. I will unmask him to my father, and show him what it is to purchase advancement at the expense of honor and justice."