“Francis Kerr.”
Such was the letter which Jacobini received from her brother. But it would be a vain task to describe her feelings, on its perusal. From it she found that her lover and cousin—he whom she did love, though she shewed it not, and whom she sought to avoid—was one and the same person. She was commanded to shew the letter to him!
“To him!” said Jacobini; “I cannot.” And yet while she so said she wept with joy. She went not to him—nor needed she; for, as was his wont, within an hour he threw himself in her way—for he watched her every movement. She had never spoken to him unkindly (for it was not in her nature), but always coldly. She had the letter in her hand, and she was weeping over it when he saw her.
“Why does my Jacobini weep?” said he: “if aught distresses you, why refuse the friendship and the hand of one who is ready to bear your sorrows and protect you?”
“William,” she said, falteringly—and it was the first time she had called him by that name—“read, read this.” And she put the letter into his hands.
He took it—his eyes eagerly glanced over it; but before he had finished it, he flung his arms round her neck, and exclaimed—“My cousin!—my Jacobini!—mine!”
Her face fell upon his bosom, and she wept. Few words were spoken between them; but they understood each other. He took her hand in his, and still holding the letter, he led her to the room of her master and his mercantile instructor. They were both in tears as they approached him.
“Master William,” said the merchant, with a look of surprise, “what’s the meaning of this?”
William put the letter which his fair cousin had received into his hands. The merchant perused it.
“Miss Kerr,” said he, “I am sorry that I was not sooner acquainted with your history. If you will, you shall still remain in my house, as a friend, but not as a menial. My opinion of your cousin William, though I say it before him, agrees with your brother’s. Whatever his faults are, they belong to his head, not to his heart, and a little experience will correct them. I believe I have seen more between you, at least on his part, Jacobini, than your brother knows. But hitherto, while I discouraged, I was not displeased at the affection which I saw my young protegé manifested towards you. And when my friend, your uncle and his father,” (for he spoke to Jacobini), “arrives in England, I shall rejoice not only in being able to introduce to him his niece, but in recommending a daughter.”