Young Raikes, and his uncle, the rich smuggler, paid their visit. Miss Cleghorn expressed a decided dislike to both uncle and nephew. Her father was extremely provoked; and in the height of his anger, declared he believed she was in love with James Frankland; that he was a treacherous rascal; and that he should leave the house within three days, if his daughter did not, before that time, consent to marry the man he had chosen for her husband. It was in vain that his daughter endeavoured to soften her father’s rage, and to exculpate poor James, by protesting he had never directly or indirectly attempted to engage her affections; neither had he ever said one syllable that could prejudice her against the man whom her father recommended. Mr. Cleghorn’s high notions of subordination applied, on this occasion, equally to his daughter and to his foreman: he considered them both as presumptuous and ungrateful; and said to himself, as he walked up and down the room in a rage, “My foreman to preach to me indeed! I thought what he was about all the time! But it sha’n’t do—it sha’n’t do! My daughter shall do as I bid her, or I’ll know why! Have not I been all my life making a fortune for her? and now she won’t do as I bid her! She would, if this fellow were out of the house; and out he shall go, in three days, if she does not come to her senses. I was cheated by my last shopman out of my money: I won’t be duped by this fellow out of my daughter. No! no! Off he shall trudge! A shopman, indeed, to think of his master’s daughter without his consent! What insolence! What the times are come to! Such a thing could not have been done in my days! I never thought of my master’s daughter, I’ll take my oath! And then the treachery of the rascal! To carry it all on so slily! I could forgive him anything but that: for that he shall go out of this house in three days, as sure as he and I are alive, if this young lady does not give him up before that time.”
Passion so completely deafened Mr. Cleghorn that he would not listen to James, who assured him he had never, for one moment, aspired to the honour of marrying his daughter. “Can you deny that you love her? Can you deny,” cried Mr. Cleghorn, “that you turned pale yesterday, when you said I should be obeyed?”
James could not deny either of these charges; but he firmly persisted in asserting that he had been guilty of no treachery; that he had never attempted secretly to engage the young lady’s affections; and that, on the contrary, he was sure she had no suspicion of his attachment. “It is easy to prove all this to me, by persuading my girl to do as I bid her. Prevail on her to marry Mr. Raikes, and all is well.”
“That is out of my power, sir,” replied James. “I have no right to interfere, and will not. Indeed, I am sure I should betray myself, if I were to attempt to say a word to Miss Cleghorn in favour of another man: that is a task I could not undertake, even if I had the highest opinion of this Mr. Raikes; but I know nothing concerning him, and therefore should do wrong to speak in his favour merely to please you. I am sorry, very sorry, sir, that you have not the confidence in me which I hoped I had deserved; but the time will come when you will do me justice. The sooner I leave you now, I believe, the better you will be satisfied; and far from wishing to stay three days, I do not desire to stay three minutes in your house, sir, against your will.”
Mr. Cleghorn was touched by the feeling and honest pride with which James spoke.
“Do as I bid you, sir,” said he; “and neither more nor less,—Stay out your three days; and may be, in that time, this saucy girl may come to reason. If she does not know you love her, you are not so much to blame.”
The three days passed away, and the morning came on which James was to leave his master. The young lady persisted in her resolution not to marry Mr. Raikes; and expressed much concern at the injustice with which James was treated on her account. She offered to leave home, and spend some time with an aunt, who lived in the north of England. She did not deny that James appeared to her the most agreeable young man she had seen; but added, she could not possibly have any thoughts of marrying him, because he had never given her the least reason to believe that he was attached to her.
Mr. Cleghorn was agitated, yet positive in his determination that James should quit the house. James went into his master’s room to take leave of him. “So then you are really going?” said Mr. Cleghorn. “You have buckled that portmanteau of yours like a blockhead; I’ll do it better: stand aside. So you are positively going? Why, this is a sad thing! But then it is a thing, as your own sense and honour tell you—it is a thing—” (Mr. Cleghorn took snuff at every pause of his speech; but even this could not carry him through it;) when he pronounced the words, “It is a thing that must be done,” the tears fairly started from his eyes. “Now this is ridiculous!” resumed he. “In my days, in my younger days, I mean, a man could part with his foreman as easily as he could take off his glove. I am sure my master would as soon have thought of turning bankrupt as of shedding a tear at parting with me; and yet I was as good a foreman, in my day, as another. Not so good a one as you are, to be sure. But it is no time now to think of your goodness. Well! what do we stand here for? When a thing is to be done, the sooner it is done the better. Shake hands before you go.”
Mr. Cleghorn put into James’s hand a fifty pound note, and a letter of recommendation to a Liverpool merchant. James left the house without taking leave of Miss Cleghorn, who did not think the worse of him for his want of gallantry. His master had taken care to recommend him to an excellent house in Liverpool, where his salary would be nearly double that which he had hitherto received; but James was notwithstanding very sorry to leave Monmouth, where his dear brother, sister, and father lived,—to say nothing of Miss Cleghorn.
Late at night, James was going to the inn at which the Liverpool stage set up, where he was to sleep: as he passed through a street that leads down to the river Wye, he heard a great noise of men quarrelling violently. The moon shone bright, and he saw a party of men who appeared to be fighting in a boat that was just come to shore. He asked a person who came out of the public-house, and who seemed to have nothing to do with the fray, what was the matter? “Only some smugglers, who are quarrelling with one another about the division of their booty,” said the passenger, who walked on, eager to get out of their way. James also quickened his pace, but presently heard the cry of “Murder! murder! Help! help!” and then all was silence.