Lieut. Fowler was perfectly astounded to learn that the dumb girl was his niece, and was grieved at her sad end.
"Now," cried the captain, when Mr. Morley had finished, and all had made their remarks on the sad fate of the inmates of the cottage, "splinter my topmast! but we'll have no more of this! Pass the bottle, squire, and we'll drink to the health of my newly-found daughter:—she's a noble girl! we have found her among the Cornish mines, and so we'll christen her The Cornish Diamond!—ha! ha! ha!" and the old gentleman leaned back in his chair and laughed right merrily. It was one of his old, hearty laughs, such as he used to indulge in when he was in Flora's room, and thought no one heard him;—a sort of exhilarating laugh, which no one could help joining in, without great difficulty: and all, except two of the party, did join in it,—even the glasses on the sideboard echoed their sympathy. There were only two who did not join in the laugh, and they were Alrina and Mrs. Courland. The former felt that it tended to make her more conspicuous than she wished just at this time, and she blushed up to the very roots of her hair, as we have seen her blush before; while the latter was shocked at the vulgarity (as she deemed it) of her husband, and dreaded lest he should expose his free and easy manner still further to the Pendray ladies; so, in order to check it, as she thought, she said, with quiet dignity, when the merriment had a little subsided, "My dear, you really must remember that you are not on board ship.—What will the ladies think?"
"I tell you what it is, Mrs. Courland;" he replied, in perfect good humour, "you've had it your own way a long time, and have put a stopper on my lingo often enough; I mean to steer the ship my own way for once, and to-morrow you shall take the helm again if you like. So, drink my toast, ladies and gentlemen:—'The Cornish Diamond!' and a brighter one was never discovered in the best of our mines. No heeltaps, mind! Fill what you like; but drink what you fill!—that's my rule."
Many other toasts were drank, and everyone except the party most concerned and one other, spent a right merry evening. These two melancholy ones were Alrina Marshall and Frederick Morley.
Julia saw how unhappy they were, and, in the course of the evening, she took Frederick aside, and told him (in confidence) the state of Alrina's mind, and explained to him her reasons for saying that she could not love him. He fully believed it, he said; for there was nothing too noble and disinterested to believe of Alrina; and he only wanted an opportunity to throw himself at her feet, and beg her to recall the rash declaration she had made.
"Come with me, then," said Julia; and she conducted him into a small room, in which Alrina was sitting waiting for her cousin, who had excused herself for a moment, having this object in view; and the mischievous creature, having brought the two glumpy ones together, as she called them, left them to fight it out in their own way. There was no fighting, however; for, when they appeared again, they were the merriest of the party.
CHAPTER XLIX. THE WEDDING BELLS.
The next morning gossip was rife in Penzance: nothing was talked of but the captain's dinner-party, and the circumstances connected with it.