Adeline Mowbray Part 13

'Aye, that I will,' cried he: 'and what is more, my sister Emma, who writes admirably, shall write her a letter to convince her that she had better be married directly.'

'She had better converse with her,' said Glenmurray.

The major looked grave, and observed that they would do well to go and consult the women on the subject, and tell them the whole story. So saying, he opened the door of a closet leading to their apartment: but there, to their great surprise, they found Mrs Douglas and Emma, and as well informed of everything as themselves;--for, expecting that a duel might be the consequence of the major's impetuosity, and hearing Mr Glenmurray announced, they resolved to listen to the conversation, and, if it took the turn which they expected, to rush in and endeavour to mollify the disputants.

'So, ladies; this is very pretty indeed! Eaves-droppers, I protest,'

cried Major Douglas: but he said no more; for his wife, affected by the recital which she had heard, and delighted to find that there would be no duel, threw her arms round his neck, and burst into tears. Emma, almost equally affected, gave her hand to Glenmurray, and told him nothing on her part should be omitted to prevail on Adeline to sacrifice her opinions to her welfare.

'I said so,' cried the major. 'You will write to her.'

'No; I will see her, and argue with her.'

'And so will I,' cried the wife.

'That you shall not,' bluntly replied the major.

'Why not? I think it my duty to do all I can to save a fellow-creature from ruin; and words spoken from the heart are always more powerful than words written.'

'But what will the world say, if I permit you to converse with a kept mistress?'

'The world here to us, as we a.s.sociate with none and are known to none, is Mr Glenmurray and Miss Mowbray; and of their good word we are sure.'

'Aye,' cried Emma, 'and sure of succeeding with this interesting Adeline too; for if she likes us, as I think she does--'

'She adores you,' replied Glenmurray.

'So much the better:--then, when we shall tell her that we cannot a.s.sociate with her, much as we admire her, unless she consents to become a wife, surely she will hear reason.'

'No doubt,' cried Mrs Douglas; 'and then we will go to church with her, and you, Emma, shall be bride's maid.'

'I see no necessity for that,' observed the major gravely.

'But I do,' replied Emma. 'She will repeat her vows with more heartfelt reverence, when two respectable women, deeply impressed themselves with their importance, shall be there to witness them.'

'But there is no Protestant church here,' exclaimed Glenmurray: 'however, we can go back to Lisbon, and you are already resolved to return thither.'

This point being settled, it was agreed that Glenmurray should prepare Adeline for their visit; and with a lightened heart he went to execute his commission. But when he saw Adeline he forgot his commission and every thing but her distress; for he found her with an open letter in her hand, and an unopened one on the floor, in a state of mind almost bordering on phrensy.

CHAPTER XIV

As soon as Adeline beheld Glenmurray, 'See!' she exclaimed in a hoa.r.s.e and agitated tone, 'there is my letter to my mother, returned unopened, and here is a letter from Dr Norberry which has broken my heart:--however, we must go to England directly.'

The letter was as follows:--

'You have made a pretty fool of me, deluded but still dear girl! for you have made me believe in forebodings. You may remember with what a full heart I bade you adieu, and I recollect what a devilish queer sensation I had when the park-gates closed on your fleet carriage. I almost swore at the postillions for driving so fast, as I wished to see you as long as I could; and now I protest that I believe I was actuated by a foreboding that at that house, and on that spot, I should never behold you again. (Here a tear had fallen on the paper, and the word, '_again_' was nearly blotted out.) Dear, lost Adeline, I prayed for you too! I prayed that you might return as innocent and happy as you left me. Heaven have mercy on us!

who should have thought it?--But this is nothing to the purpose, and I suppose you think you have done nought but what is right and clever.'

He then proceeded to inform Adeline, who had written to him to implore his mediation between her and her mother, 'that the latter had sent express for him on finding, by the hasty scrawl which came the day after Adeline's departure from the farm-house, that she had eloped, and who was the companion of her flight; that he found her in violent agitation, as Sir Patrick, stung to madness at the success of his rival, had with an ingenuousness worthy a better cause avowed to her his ardent pa.s.sion for her daughter, his resolution to follow the fugitives, and by every means possible separate Adeline from her lover; and that, after having thanked Lady O'Carrol for her great generosity to him, he had taken his pistols, mounted his horse, attended by his groom also well armed, and vowed that he would never return unless accompanied by the woman whom he adored.'

'No wonder therefore,' continued the doctor, 'that I was an unsuccessful advocate for you,--especially as I was not inclined to manage the old bride's self-love; for I was so provoked at her folly in marrying the handsome profligate, that, if she had not been in distress, I never meant to see her again. But, poor silly you! she suffers enough for her folly, and so do you;--for, her affections and her self-love being equally wounded by Sir Patrick's confession, you are at present the object of her aversion. To you she attributes all the misery of having lost the man on whom she still dotes; and when she found from your last letter to me that you are not the wife but the mistress of Glenmurray, (by the bye, your letter to her from Lisbon she desires me to return unopened,) and that the child once her pride is become her disgrace, she declared her solemn resolution never to see you more, and to renounce you for ever--(Terrible words, Adeline, I tremble to write them.) But a circ.u.mstance has since occurred which gives me hopes that she may yet forgive, and receive you on certain conditions.

About a fortnight after Sir Patrick's departure, a letter from Ireland, directed to him in a woman's hand, arrived at the Pavilion. Your mother opened it, and found it was from a wife of her amiable husband, whom he had left in the north of Ireland, and who, having heard of his second marriage, wrote to tell him that, unless he came quickly back to her, she would prosecute him for bigamy, as he knew very well that undoubted proofs of the marriage were in her possession. At first this new proof of her beautiful spouse's villany drove your mother almost to phrensy, and I was again sent for; but time, reflection, and perhaps my arguments, convinced her, that to be able to free herself from this rascal for ever, and consequently her fortune, losing only the ten thousand pounds which she had given him to pay his debts, was in reality a consoling circ.u.mstance. Accordingly, she wrote to the real Lady O'Carrol, promising to accede quietly to her claim, and wishing that she would spare her and herself the disgrace of a public trial; especially as it must end in the conviction of Sir Patrick. She then, on hearing from him that he had traced you to Falmouth, and was going to embark for Lisbon when the wind was favourable, enclosed him a copy of his wife's letter, and bade him an eternal farewell!--But be not alarmed lest this insane profligate should overtake and distress you. He is gone to his final account. In his hurry to get on board, overcome as he was with the great quant.i.ty of liquor which he had drunk to banish care, he sprung from the boat before it was near enough to reach the vessel; his foot slipped against the side, he fell into the water, and, going under the ship, never rose again. I leave you to imagine how the complicated distresses of the last three months, and this awful climax to them, have affected your mother's mind; even I cannot scold her, now, for the life of me: she is not yet, I believe, disposed in your favour; but were you here, and were you to meet, it is possible that, forlorn, lonely, and deserted as she now feels, the tie between you might be once more cemented; and much as I resent your conduct, you may depend on my exertions.--O Adeline, child of my affection, why must I blush to subscribe myself

'Your sincere friend, 'J. N.?'

Words cannot describe the feelings of anguish which this letter excited in Adeline: nor could she make known her sensations otherwise than by reiterated requests to be allowed to set off for England directly--requests to which Glenmurray, alarmed for her intellects, immediately a.s.sented. Therefore, leaving a hasty note for the Douglases, they soon bade farewell to Perpignan; and after a long laborious journey, but a short pa.s.sage, they landed at Brighton.

It was a fine evening; and numbers of the gay and fashionable of both s.e.xes were a.s.sembled on the beach, to see the pa.s.sengers land. Adeline and Glenmurray were amongst the first: and while heartsick, fatigued, and melancholy, Adeline took the arm of her lover, and turned disgusted from the brilliant groups before her, she saw, walking along the sh.o.r.e, Dr Norberry, his wife, and his two daughters.

Instantly, unmindful of every thing but the delight of seeing old acquaintances, and of being able to gain some immediate tiding of her mother, she ran up to them: and just as they turned round, she met them, extending her hand in friendship as she was wont to do.--But in vain;--no hand was stretched out to meet hers, nor tongue nor look proclaimed a welcome to her; Dr Norberry himself coldly touched his hat, and pa.s.sed on, while his wife and daughters looked scornfully at her, and, without deigning to notice her, pursued their walk.

Astonished and confounded, Adeline had not power to articulate a word; and had not Glenmurray caught her in his arms, she would have fallen to the ground.

'Then now I am indeed an outcast! even my oldest and best friend renounces me,' she exclaimed.

'But I am left to you,' cried Glenmurray.

Adeline sighed. She could not say, as she had formerly done, 'and you are all to me.' The image of her mother, happy as the wife of a man she loved, could not long rival Glenmurray; but the image of her mother, disgraced and wretched, awoke all the habitual but dormant tenderness of years; every feeling of filial grat.i.tude revived in all its force; and, even while leaning on the shoulder of her lover, she sighed to be once more clasped to the bosom of her mother.

Glenmurray felt the change, but, though grieved, was not offended:--'I shall die in peace,' he cried, 'if I can but see you restored to your mother's affection, even though the surrender of my happiness is to be the purchase.'

'You shall die in peace!' replied Adeline shuddering. The phrase was well-timed, though perhaps undesignedly so. Adeline clung close to his arm, her eyes filled with tears, and all the way to the inn she thought only of Glenmurray with an apprehension which she could not conquer.

'What do you mean to do now?' said Glenmurray.

'Write to Dr Norberry. I think he will at least have humanity enough to let me know where to find my mother.'

'No doubt; and you had better write directly.'

Adeline took up her pen. A letter was written,--and as quickly torn.

Letter succeeded to letter; but not one of them answered her wishes. The dark hour arrived, and the letter remained unwritten.

'It is too soon to ring for candles,' said Glenmurray, putting his arm round her waist and leading her to the window. The sun was below the horizon, but the reflection of his beams still shone beautifully on the surrounding objects. Adeline, reclining her cheek on Glenmurray's arm, gazed in silence on the scene before her: when the door suddenly opened, and a gentleman was announced. It was now so dark that all objects were indistinctly seen, and the gentleman had advanced close to Adeline before she knew him to be Dr Norberry: and before she could decide how she should receive him, she felt herself clasped to his bosom with the affection of a father.

Surprised and affected, she could not speak; and Glenmurray had ordered candles before Adeline had recovered herself sufficiently to say these words, 'After your conduct on the beach, I little expected this visit.'

'Pshaw!' replied the doctor: 'when a man out of regard to society has performed a painful task, surely he may be allowed, out of regard to himself, to follow the dictates of his heart.--I obeyed my head when I pa.s.sed you so cavalierly, and I thought I should never have gone through my task as I did;--but then for the sake of my daughters, I gave a gulp, and called up a fierce look. But I told madam that I meant to call on you, and she insisted, very properly, that it should be in the dark hour.'

'But what of my mother?'

'She is a miserable woman, as she deserved to be--an old fool.'

'Pray do not call her so; to hear she is miserable is torment sufficient to me:--where is she?'

'Still at the Pavilion: but she is going to let Rosevalley, retire to her estate in c.u.mberland, and live unknown and unseen.'