"And now, kind Charlotte, fetch my cloak; and follow me to Prospect House, with what I may require for the night. Till the general's return, I stay not here one minute."
Then, without a syllable, or a look of leave-taking, the wise and noble girl—doubtless unconsciously remembering her early Hindoo braveries, the lines of matchlock men, the bowing slaves, the processions, and her jewelled state of old—marched away in magnificent beauty, accompanied in silence by the whole astonished household.
Mrs. Tracy and her son were left alone: the silly, silly mother thought him "hardly used." Julian, whose natural effrontery had entirely deserted him, looked like what he was—a guilty coward: and the mother, who had pampered up her "fine high-spirited son" to his full-grown criminality by a foolish education, really—when she had time to think of any thing but him—was excessively frightened. The general would be back to-morrow, and then—and then!—she dreaded to picture that explosion of his wrath.
CHAPTER XV.
SATISFACTION.
Sir Abraham Tamworth, G.C.B.—a fine old Admiral of the White, who somewhat looked down upon the rank of General, H.E.I.C.S.—was astonished, as well he might be, at Mr. Saunders, and his message: and, of course, most gladly acquiesced in acting as poor Emily's protector. Accordingly, however jealous Lady Tamworth and her daughters might heretofore have felt of that bright beauty at the balls, they were now all genuine sympathy, indignation, and affection. Emily, I need hardly say, went straight up stairs to have her cry out.
"Whom are you writing to, George, in such a hurry?" asked the admiral, of a fine moustachioed son, George St. Vincent Tamworth, of the Royal Horse Guards, who had just got six months' leave of absence for the sake of marriage with his cousin.
The gallant soldier tossed a billet to his father, who mounted his spectacles, and quietly read it at the lamp.