The Everards had always been Tories. Mr Sleech supported the opposite party, and was now giving all his influence to the Whig interest.
The people in the neighbourhood, however, called very frequently at Madam Everard’s door to inquire after her. Among the few admitted was the Baron de Ruvigny. Each time he came he talked more and more of the Coppingers, and Mabel could not help discovering that he was completely captivated by the charms of Sybella Coppinger. He brought also all the news of the day. From Paul Gauntlett, however, who read the paper through, they learned chiefly the progress of the mutiny.
Mabel at length became very anxious about Harry. She did not know in what ship he was serving, and though she felt sure that he would not join the mutineers, she could not help dreading that he might be placed in danger in consequence of what was occurring. Her anxiety was increased by not hearing from him as she had expected. She was certain that he had not forgotten her. Her confidence, indeed, in his faith and love remained unshaken. At last Mary received a letter in an unknown hand. It was very unlike the one which Harry had written at Tuttle’s dictation, but this also professed to be from Jacob. It was short, for the writer was evidently not much accustomed to the use of the pen. It ran thus: “Dear Mary,—This comes to tell you that we’re in a mess. Some of our fellows have been holding out against the Government, and have got nothing for their pains. We have had a number of delegates going about from ship to ship, and they have been and got some of themselves hung, and not a few flogged round the fleet. Sarves them right, say I. I should not mind it, if it was not for a shipmate, you knows who, who has been put in limbo. His name abroad is Andrew Brown, but your young lady knows him, and knows that that is not his name. Worser still, he’s going to be hung. If I could get liberty, I’d go and see you and tell you all. It’s a sad thing, and I would give my eyes to save the young chap.—Yours to command, Jacob Tuttle—his cross X.”
Mary, who had not deciphered the letter very clearly, brought it to her mistress. As Mabel finished it, the paper fell from her hands. A deadly pallor overspread her countenance, and she fell back fainting into the arms of her attendant. Happily, Paul at that moment came into the sitting-room, and assisted the damsel in placing her mistress on a sofa. While Mary ran to get restoratives, and to call Madam Everard, his eye fell on the paper. Seeing the rough style of handwriting, he thought that he might with propriety read it over.
“That’s it,” he said to himself; “it’s that young gentleman, he’s gone and done something desperate. We must get him out of the scrape, or it will be the death of Miss Mabel.”
Mabel quickly returned to consciousness and found Paul and Mary standing near her. Madam Everard had gone out.
“I know all about it, Miss Mabel,” said Paul, “and I want to help you.”
“Do you think this can allude to Harry?” she asked; “I mean Mr Tryon.”
“Too likely,” said Paul; “I won’t deny it, because it’s clear to my mind that something must be done to save him. Cheer up, Miss Mabel. We will do it if it can be done. There’s that old gentleman who takes an interest in Master Harry—his guardian, you call him. I would go to him. He would be the best man to say what can be done, and I am sure he would do it.”
“Oh! that he would, for I am confident that Harry is innocent. He never would have done anything worthy of death. I will go up to the Admiralty and plead for him; I will tell them who he is. They would never allow him to be executed; or if they will not listen to me, I will go to the King himself. I will plead with his Majesty; he will surely have power to save him.”