“I have the strangest story to tell you, sir,” I began——
“Some trumpery excuse,” cried he, “for thwarting my desires, and neglecting your own business, sir—Why have you not gone on board your vessel yet? Ah, I’ll warrant, you would rather be running after heiresses than facing the French cannon.”
“Indeed, my dear sir, you wrong Mr Jervas very much,” interrupted my fair friend in good time, for I was on the point of making a most indignant reply; but she stopped short, blushing and confused at the betrayal of any interest towards one in whom she took so much, till I broke the awkward silence which succeeded by requesting my host to grant me his private ear for a very few minutes.
“Very well, sir, very well; here is the same spot where you made all your fine promises to me not a week ago” (he had led me into the library); “so sit down, and let me hear what you have to say for yourself in this very suspicious business.” I surprised myself by the manliness and confidence with which I told my story, and avowed my determination never to forego a claim so sanctioned by Providence, and so fully recognised by the party most concerned.
“But trust me, sir, I have more pride than to act otherwise than you once so prudently advised me,” said I; “I will return immediately to my profession, and you shall not again see me in the character of a suitor till I can come in one that will be worthy such an errand.”
I stopped to hear what he would say to this; but he made no reply; indeed, he hardly seemed to have heard the latter part of my story at all, for he looked utterly bewildered and confounded.
“Henry,” at length, said he, after long rubbing his temples, and twice or thrice ejaculating, “God help us!” “you have brought yourself into a situation where you will have need for all the patience and resignation you possess—Sit down,”—for I had risen with a sudden apprehension of something dreadful. “Sit down, and bear this like the man you have shown yourself to be. You remember what I once told you of Ellen’s father—that he was living in a manner disgraceful to us all in London. Well, Henry, keep your seat. I wrote the other day to inquire about him from a friend in the Admiralty. You are unwell, Harry; let me ring for something for you.”
“For God’s sake, sir,” I gasped, “tell me the worst at once.”
“It is bad enough, Harry, but here it is:—I was informed in answer that Mr Fane had obtained the command of the tender, Gull, and had just sailed for Cherbourg.”
“By Heaven, it is not possible!—that wretch the father of my Ellen! Oh, sir, it is impossible! it is impossible,” I reiterated; “what was his christened name?”