“Charles,” said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the moment he appeared, “from the time you were five years old, till this instant, I have never known you tell a falsehood; I should, therefore, be very absurd, as well as very unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell me—have you got into any difficulties? I would rather hear of them from yourself, than from any body else. Is there any mystery about overturning a stage-coach, that you know of, and that you have concealed from me?”
“There is a mystery, ma’am, about overturning a stage-coach,” replied Howard, in a firm tone of voice; “but when I assure you that it is no mystery of mine—nothing in which I have myself any concern—I am sure that you will believe me, my dear aunt, and that you will press me no further.”
“Not a word further, not a frown further,” said his aunt, with a smile of entire confidence; in which Mr. Russell joined, but which appeared incomprehensible to Mr. Supine.
“Very satisfactory indeed!” said that gentleman, leaning back in the chair; “I never heard any thing more satisfactory to my mind!”
“Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!” echoed Mrs. Holloway; but no looks, no inuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard’s security, or disconcert the resolute simplicity which appeared in her nephew’s countenance. Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was compelled to submit in silence. This restraint soon became so irksome to her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could.
In crossing the passage, to go to her carriage, she caught a glimpse of the mulatto woman, who was going into a parlour. Resolute, at all hazards, to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating Cuba—began by asking some civil questions about her health; then spoke of the accident she had lately met with; and, in short, by a skilful cross-examination, drew her whole story from her. The gratitude with which the poor woman spoke of Howard’s humanity was by no means pleasing to Mr. Supine.
“Then it was not he who overturned the coach?” said Mrs. Holloway.
The woman eagerly replied, “Oh no, madam!” and proceeded to draw, as well as she could, a description of the youth who had been mounted upon the coach-box: she had seen him only by the light of the moon, and afterwards by the light of a lantern; but she recollected his figure so well, and described him so accurately, that Mr. Supine knew the picture instantly, and Mrs. Holloway whispered to him, “Can it be Augustus?”
“Mr. Holloway!—Impossible!—I suppose—”
But the woman interrupted him by saying that she recollected to have heard the young gentleman called by that name by the coachman.