“When did you write this letter, Edmund?” she at length asked.
“On the very day,” he replied, “on which I became acquainted with my birth, when poor Ormond’s rash attempt to put an end to his existence prevented my setting out instantly for Lodore, which I was, indeed, as the letter mentions, in the very act of doing when the alarm was given; for I had long enough vainly struggled with my feelings, while duty and honour forbade me to declare them; another moment of suspense, therefore, when those obstacles were removed, seemed not to be endured!”
“And did you say, then, that you received a letter in reply purporting to be from me?” asked Julia, “and——”
“I did,” answered Fitz-Ullin, “written in your name, and to all appearance your hand, and even style. I have preserved it, and can shew it you. It contains a gentle, very kindly worded, but, as I mentioned, decided rejection of the proposals made in my letter; and states, as the reason of that rejection, a secret, long cherished attachment, and engagement to Henry, to whom it declares you betrothed. It then reminds me, in the most seemingly artless and confiding manner, of many little circumstances I must myself have observed; and entreats me to keep inviolable the secret thus entrusted to me, either till you should obtain Lord L⸺’s consent, or, when of age, have taken some decided step. It farther requests me, not to make known to any of your family my wishes, lest they should urge your acceptance of my hand. And, finally, it commands me on pain of forfeiting your friendship for ever, no more to renew the subject to yourself, by the slightest allusion to it; even in any private interview that might occur.
“On receiving this letter, I passed some days in a species of delirium; I scarcely knew what happened, but that I still continued apparently in attendance on the sick bed of Ormond; while horrible visions haunted me of every circumstance which had at any time raised for a moment suspicions of a secret understanding subsisting between you and your cousin. These were now received as fatal proofs, which long before ought to have opened my eyes. The past, with all its blissful, though presumptuous hopes, was changed in a moment into a wilderness on which I dared not look back! I know I wrote to Mrs. Montgomery, and endeavoured to observe your supposed injunction of secrecy; but, of what I said, I have scarcely an idea. My letter must have been wildly and strangely worded.”
“That letter,” said Julia, and she smiled archly, though blushingly, “we all thought was written, in consequence of your disappointment, (as we believed) about Lady Susan. Her marriage, you know, took place just at that time. And that unfortunate being, Henry too,” she added, “confirmed this opinion, by declaring that he was in your confidence; and saying, that you had also written to him on the subject, quite in despair!”
Fitz-Ullin could not help smiling in his turn, at the idea of his being in despair about Lady Susan.
“On me too,” he rejoined, “Henry forced, what he termed confidence. He has even given me to read, on our last voyage, passages, purporting to be from your correspondence with himself, and containing messages to me, reiterating your injunctions of secrecy. And once, he showed me a picture, which he said you had given him, asking if I thought it like. It was like, really like. Judge with what feelings I must have seen him approach it to his lips, and replace it in his bosom! A heart-sickening sensation followed, and my selfish regrets were, for a time, lost in the certainty that you had cast away the inestimable treasure of your affections on a man who did not truly love you; for, I felt that one who did, had been incapable of the indelicate display I had just witnessed.” Here Fitz-Ullin unconsciously sighed, as though the sense of present felicity had been overborne by the painful recollections which pressed upon him, then added: “After this, every circumstance, and when we met again, Julia, every look and word was misconstrued by me into confirmations of that fatal belief, which, from the moment it took possession of me, poisoned my very existence, and benumbed every faculty but that of suffering! Why, Julia, in that agonizing interview in the refreshment room at Lord L⸺’s, such was the infatuation of my despair, that I believed we fully understood each other. You seemed to me to acknowledge, that you had received my proposals; for you even said that my letter had given you much pain; I thought of course, you spoke of this letter.”
“I meant,” interrupted Julia, “the then last one to grandmamma, which gave us all pain, it was written in so desponding a manner. But,” she continued, colouring a little, “you spoke, just now, of—of—circumstances, which had raised momentary suspicions.” This opening led to a conversation, in which the fears for our hero’s safety which had so long influenced the conduct of Julia towards her cousin, were confessed; and the system of terror practised by Henry, developed. A burst of fond and grateful emotion on the part of Fitz-Ullin followed, by which Julia was so much affected, that when she tried to speak, her lip trembled, and she was unable to articulate. She tried to smile, but the struggle was too much for her: she wept and laughed alternately, till she alarmed Fitz-Ullin so much, that he would have been almost tempted to have called for assistance, could he well have withdrawn his own support. Before Julia had half recovered, Frances entered. She was tripping lightly towards the bell, to ring for breakfast; when, perceiving her sister and our hero, she stopped in the middle of the room, the very statue of surprise! Julia disengaged herself, hastily; discovering, just at this moment, that the assistance which had hitherto been so indispensable as to render it quite proper, had now ceased to be necessary. Fitz-Ullin started up, and, flying towards Frances, seemed to meditate a rather familiar species of salutation. But she stepped back. She had, by this time, made a choice of her own, and was not disposed to be embraced, as formerly, only for her sister’s sake. She extended her hand, however, which he took and kissed, as with an expression of delight on his countenance which she had not seen it wear for a long period, and which looked like the sunshine of the first bright day after a dreary winter, he exclaimed, “Frances, I am now indeed your brother!”