"At all events let Mr. Aubrey be shown into your parlor, Vice," said Mr. Runnington, "and I will settle with you when I return. I am just going to the office, to see what I can do with Mr. Ridley."
"It's no manner of use; and besides, it's ten to one you don't catch him—he's gone to Clapham by this time," said Vice, looking up at the dusky Dutch clock over the fireplace. But Mr. Runnington was not to be so easily discouraged, and started off on his friendly errand; on which Vice led Mr. Aubrey up-stairs into his "parlor," telling him, as they went along, that there were only two other "gentlemen" there, and so "them three could make it comfortable to one another, if they liked." Vice added, that as he had only one double-bedded room at liberty, they must agree among themselves which should sleep on the sofa—or perhaps take it by turns.
On entering the parlor two figures were visible; one that of a tall, pale, emaciated, gentlemanly person of about forty, who lay on the sofa languidly smoking a cigar, more apparently to assuage pain than for the purpose of mere enjoyment. The other was a portly gray-haired man, apparently about fifty, and also of gentlemanly appearance. He was standing with his back to the fireplace—one hand thrust into his waistcoat, and the other holding a tumbler, which he raised to his lips as Vice entered, and having drained it, requested him to replenish it. 'T was the third tumbler of strong brandy and water which he had despatched that evening; and his restless and excited eye, and voluble utterance, testified to the influence of what he had been drinking. On Vice's retiring, this gentleman began to address Mr. Aubrey in a rapid and somewhat incoherent strain—telling him of the "accident" which had that morning befallen him; for that Vice had laid his rough hand upon him just as he was embarking in an Indiaman, off Blackwall, to bid farewell to this "cursed country" forever. This man had been a great merchant in the city; and, for a series of years, universally respected. He had married a fashionable wife; and their ambition and absurd extravagance, combined with losses unquestionably originating in a want of confidence on the part of his mercantile connections, occasioned solely by his ostentation, irregularities, and inattention to business, drove him to gambling speculations. Unfortunate there, he took to courses of downright dishonesty; availing himself of his character and power as trustee, executor, and otherwise, to draw out of the funds, from time to time, very large sums of money, to the utter ruin of some twenty or thirty unfortunate families, whose deceased relatives had quitted life with implicit confidence in his integrity. The guilty splendor thus secured him lasted for some few years, when an accident set him suddenly wrong;—a beautiful girl, for whom he was sole trustee, and every farthing of whose fortune he had appropriated to his own purposes, applied to him for the immediate settlement of her property. The next morning he had stopped payment; Mincing Lane was in a ferment—astonishment prevailed at the Exchange. Who could have thought it! said everybody. He was nowhere to be seen or heard of—but at length intelligence of his movements having been obtained by one of his numerous distracted victims, led to his apprehension in the way which has been already mentioned. Of all this, Mr. Aubrey, of course, could know nothing—but, nevertheless, he was somewhat struck with the man's countenance and manner; but with what awful interest would Mr. Aubrey have regarded him, had he known that the miserable being before him had determined upon self-destruction—and that within two days' time he would actually accomplish his frightful purpose!—For he was found in bed, a ghastly object, with his head almost severed from his body.
In the other—a ruined roué—Mr. Aubrey was infinitely shocked at presently recognizing the features of one whom he had slightly known at Oxford. This was a member of an ancient and honorable family, and born to a princely fortune, which he had totally dissipated in every conceivable mode of extravagance and profligacy, both at home and abroad, and moreover, in doing so, had also ruined his constitution. He had taken honors at Oxford, and was expected to have been very eminent in Parliament. But at college his tendency to profligacy rapidly developed itself. He became notorious for his debaucheries, and made ostentation of his infidelity. He had returned from France only a few days before, in an advanced stage of consumption; and having been pounced upon by one of his numerous infuriate creditors, hither he had been brought the evening before—and would be the next morning lodged in the Fleet, as he could procure no bail; and there he might, possibly, live till he could apply to take the benefit of the insolvent act. If he should be successful in this last stroke, he could not possibly survive it beyond a few weeks! And he had nothing then to look forward to, but a pauper's burial.—He at length recognized Mr. Aubrey; and raising himself up on the sofa, extended his wasted hand to his fellow-collegian, who shook it kindly—much shocked at his appearance. What a marvellous difference was there between the characters of these two men!
After about half an hour's absence, Mr. Runnington returned, much dispirited. Mr. Ridley was not to be found; and, consequently, Mr. Aubrey must remain in his wretched quarters all night, and till probably an advanced period of the ensuing day—till, in short, Mr. Runnington should have obtained responsible sureties for his putting in bail to the action. Having whispered a few words to Mr. Aubrey in the adjoining room, and slipped a five-pound note into his hand, Mr. Runnington took his leave, pledging himself to lose not one moment in procuring his release; and charged with innumerable fond expressions to Mrs. Aubrey, to Kate, and to his children—to whom Mr. Runnington promised to go that night. "This is almost the bitterest moment of my life," faltered poor Aubrey; "it is very hard to bear!" and he wrung Mr. Runnington's hand—that gentleman being almost as much affected as his truly unfortunate client; who, however, on being left by Mr. Runnington, felt grateful indeed to the Almighty for so powerful and valuable a friend.
Neither Mr. Aubrey nor Mr. Somerville—that was the name of his early acquaintance—quitted the sitting-room during the whole of the night; but as their companion retired early to the adjoining apartment, and immediately fell into heavy sleep, they at length entered into conversation together—conversation of a melancholy, but deeply interesting, and I may even add instructive character. Mr. Aubrey's notes of it are by me; but I will not risk fatiguing the indulgent reader's attention. When the chill gray morning broke, it found the two prisoners still earnestly talking together; but, shortly afterwards, nature yielded, and they both fell asleep—Mr. Aubrey with an humble and fervent inward prayer, commending those dear beings who were absent to the protection of Heaven, and imploring it also for himself.
Immediately on quitting Mr. Aubrey, Mr. Runnington, according to his promise, went direct to Vivian Street, and the scene which he had endeavored to prepare himself for encountering, on their finding him return unaccompanied by Mr. Aubrey, was indeed most overpowering to his feelings, and heart-rending. Alas! how confidently had they reckoned upon an issue similar to that which had so happily occurred in the morning!—'Twas the first time—the very first time—since their troubles, that Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey had been separated for one single night. And he was now the inmate of a prison! Mrs. Aubrey and Kate sat up the livelong night—one memorable and miserable to them—counting hour after hour, whose flight was announced by the neighboring church clock. Their eyes were swollen with weeping, and their throbbing temples ached, as, at the first glimpse of dull daybreak, they drew aside the parlor curtain and threw open the window. They were, indeed, with some of old, weary of watching.
About mid-day, thanks to the energetic friendship of Mr. Runnington, and the promptitude of those whose names had been given to him by Mr. Aubrey, he made his appearance in Vivian Street. He saw Mrs. Aubrey and Kate as he passed, sitting at the window, anxiously on the look-out. They also saw him—sprang to the door—and opening it while he was in the act of knocking, they were instantly locked in each other's embrace. He looked pale and harassed, certainly; but 'twas he, the beloved husband and brother—Providence had permitted them once more to meet! All their recent pangs were for a moment forgotten and drowned in the overflowing joy of such a reunion. He was already sufficiently subdued; but when he heard the footsteps of his children pattering rapidly down-stairs—and heard their little voices continually, and in eager accents, exclaiming, "Papa!—my papa!—where is papa?"—and when they ran up to him, and he felt their little arms round his neck—then he was overpowered—his lip quivered convulsively, and he could not refrain from bursting into tears. Oh, 'twas HOME, poor oppressed soul!—after all—to which Providence had permitted him to return, and where he saw himself suddenly surrounded by those precious objects of his undivided and unutterable love! Indeed, he was thankful; his heart—all their hearts—overflowed with gratitude. Towards the evening, they received a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Neville, who were infinitely shocked on hearing of the events of the last few days, and of which they had not had the slightest intimation, living, as they did, at so great a distance, and not having seen their friends the Aubreys for several weeks. Poor souls! they also had their troubles—'twas wonderful how they contrived to exist upon the paltry pittance obtained by his ministerial duties; but they came ever with cheerfulness—unaffected and refreshing cheerfulness; they never uttered a murmur at the thorny desert which life seemed destined to prove to them, but had always a comfortable word for their weary fellow-pilgrims. What a happy evening they passed together! Poor Neville was in high spirits; for an article of his, full of profound research and delicate criticism, which had cost him a great deal of labor to prepare, had at length been accepted by the editor of a classical and ecclesiastical Review, who had forwarded to him a check for ten guineas. Mr. Aubrey could scarce refrain from tears, when his simple-minded and generous friend pressed upon him the acceptance of, at least, the half of these, the unexpected proceeds of his severe and ill-requited toil. While they were thus sitting together, in eager and delightful conversation, there came a knock to the door, which, as may be easily believed, a little disturbed them all; but it proved to be a gentleman who asked for Miss Aubrey; and on her requesting him to come forward, who should it be but the "gentleman" of my Lord De la Zouch; and while the color mounted into her cheek, and her heart fluttered, he placed in her hands a packet, which had just arrived from the Continent.
They all insisted on having it opened then and there; and in a few minutes' time, behold! their eager admiring eyes were feasted by the sight of a most superb diamond necklace—and at the bottom of the case was a small card—which Kate, blushing violently, thrust into her bosom, in spite of all Mrs. Aubrey's efforts. There was a long letter addressed to Mr. Aubrey from Lord De la Zouch, who, with Lady De la Zouch, had been for some weeks at Paris—and one from her Ladyship to Kate; and, from its bulky appearance, 'twas evident either that Lady De la Zouch must have written her a prodigiously long letter, or enclosed one to her from some one else. They saw Kate's uneasiness about this same letter, and considerately forbore to rally her upon it. Poor girl!—she burst into tears when she looked at the glittering trinket which had been presented to her—and reflected that its cost would probably be more than would suffice to support her brother and his family for years! Her heart yearned towards them, and she longed to convert her splendid present into a form that should minister to their necessities. While touching upon this part of my history—which I always approach with diffident reluctance, as matter too delicate to be handled before the public—I must nevertheless pause for a moment, and apprise the reader of one or two little circumstances, before returning to the main course of the narrative.
Mr. Delamere was at that moment at Rome, in the course of making the usual tour of Europe, and was not expected to return to England for some months—perhaps for a year. But before quitting England, he had laid close siege to our beautiful Kate; and had, indeed, obtained from her a promise, that if ever she became any one's wife, it should be his. That their engagement was sanctioned most cordially by Lord and Lady De la Zouch—two persons of as generous and noble a spirit as breathed in the world—must have been long ago abundantly manifest to the reader; and they did not the less appreciate the value of the prize secured by their son, because of the proud and delicate sense which Miss Aubrey manifested, of the peculiarly trying position in which she stood with relation to them. Kate's own notion upon the subject was somewhat indefinite; she having resolved not to listen to any proposal for a union with Delamere, until her unfortunate brother's affairs had assumed a more cheering and satisfactory aspect; and that might not be for some years to come. If she replied to the letter from Delamere, enclosed by Lady De la Zouch—and reply she must, to acknowledge his brilliant present—it would be the first letter she had ever written to him, which will account, in a measure, for her exquisite embarrassment. And although all of them kept up a correspondence with Lord and Lady De la Zouch, they never, from obvious considerations of honorable delicacy and pride, gave the slightest intimation of the dreadful pressure which they were beginning daily to experience. Lord De la Zouch remained under the impression that Mr. Aubrey was struggling, it might be slowly, but still successfully, with his difficulties; and had made up his mind, when called upon, to pay, almost as a matter of course, the amount of the bond into which he had entered in Aubrey's behalf. As Aubrey desired evidently to maintain a reserve upon the subject of his private affairs, Lord De la Zouch, whatever might be his fears and suspicions, forbore to press his inquiries. How little, therefore, were either Lord and Lady De la Zouch, or their son, aware of the position in which their packet would find the Aubreys!