Next moment the wanderer was kneeling at his father’s feet; and that night, had Britain been searched through, a happier family could not have been discovered.
“And now that I have a chance of getting a civil answer, may I ask who that handsome young soldier is? I hope he is going to stop at the Lion for awhile. It would be a pleasure to serve a good-looking fellow like your friend, after being plagued waiting on frumpy farmer?, and answering beer-drinking boors.”
“Why, Mistress Betsey, that same well-featured youth is a trusty comrade of my own, and a sworn friend of a wild Irishman my sister is slightly acquainted with,—a gentleman called Mark Antony O’Toole.”
The name seemed to have a magical effect. Julia’s cheeks, in a moment, were dyed with blushes—a heavy sigh involuntarily escaped—a tear trembled in her eye—and a looker-on would have been dull indeed, who could not have read the secret of her love.
“All!” said the landlady archly, “no wonder Frank Robinson was rejected. So, Mistress Julia, and you would not confide in your old schoolfellow, and tell her you were over head and ears in love.”
“He is to be our guest for a few days—longer, probably, if you will make yourself agreeable. Julia, are you not obliged to me, my fair sister, not only for bringing myself safely back, but also for coming home provided with a brother-in-law, if you will only let me recommend a husband to you.—Hay, dear Julia, no tears—I but jest, you know, and would not wound thy feelings for the world. I will go over for my friend—” He said, and left the room, accompanied by the pretty hostess. The old man resumed his pipe; and poor Julia ascended to her own apartment, to bless Heaven for the restoration of a brother—and weep, were the truth known, for the absence of one even still dearer to her heart.
Five minutes passed—the hall door opened—she heard the well-known voice of the wanderer inquire for her, and presently footsteps were heard upon the stairs.
“Julia—what moping here, and not down to offer a welcome to my friend! Well, I must fetch thee, girl!” and William Rawlings unclosed the door. She started—the stranger was beside him—and she turned a look of displeasure and surprise on the thoughtless mariner.
“Hay, don’t look marlin-spikes at me, Julia. Here is the real offender.”
One glance, and the secret was disclosed. With a face beaming with delight, and eyes more brilliant now, “For having lost their light awhile,” she sprang into the fosterer’s arms. The vows of simple but ardent love were mutually interchanged anew—and that night the happiest family in Sussex would have been found circling the quartermaster’s parlour fire.