“Georgiana,” said Foxwell, before his niece could speak, “this gentleman, Mr. Charlson, will be our guest for a time. His visit must, for certain reasons, be kept secret; and you, I am sure, will not fail in the duties of a hostess. I am going now to give orders for his accommodation.—Await me here, if you please, Mr. Charlson. Ladies, I will join you presently—in the library—and you, Rashleigh.”
The three London visitors took the hint and sauntered into the adjoining room as Foxwell passed out to the hall.
“What does it mean, Everell?” asked Georgiana, in astonishment. “He has become your friend?”
“I am to be your guest, as he has said,” replied Everell, smiling as he took her hand. “I shall be near you all the long day—as many hours as you find it in your heart to give me. Sweet, ’tis too great happiness!” He put his arm gently around her.
“Happiness!” said she, looking up into his eyes. “’Tis more than I dare believe. My uncle shelters you and befriends you!—Then there is nothing to separate us—we may be happy together, day after day—for ever!”
He smiled, and summoned his wonted gaiety. “Well, not—quite—for ever, my darling!”
The smile and the gaiety had so nearly died out ere he finished those few words, that he was fain to draw her closer to him, that she might not see his face.
CHAPTER XI
PROPOSALS
Let us do Mr. Foxwell justice. He had honestly believed that Everell would choose to renounce love and be set free. This indeed would have been the most humane event that any reasonable person could have expected Foxwell to bring about. He might, of course, have played the part of a beneficent deity, and at once aided the Jacobite’s escape, approved of his love, and sanctioned the future union of the lovers. But he was no Mr. Allworthy. Indeed it is more than doubtful whether Mr. Allworthy himself would have carried benevolence to that length. A flying rebel, with a price on his head, whose possessions in the kingdom, if he had any, were liable to confiscation, was not the suitor a young lady’s relation could be supposed to favour offhand. One even fears that the virtuous Allworthy would rather have interpreted the duties of loyalty in all strictness, and placed the captive in the hands of justice immediately. But Foxwell, with all his selfishness and callousness, was not the man to make patriotism a vice to that extent, unless there was something to gain or save by it. He might be a heartless rake, but he was too much a gentleman to practise that degree of Roman virtue without any personal motive of profit or fear.