Japhet in Search of a Father Part 52

observed Timothy.

"Why so?" inquired I.

"How otherwise should it appear in the Reading newspaper? He must have examined the post-mark of my letter."

To explain this, I must remind the reader that Timothy had promised to write to Mr Masterton when he found me; and he requested my permission shortly after we had met again. I consented to his keeping his word, but restricted him to saying any more than "that he had found me, and that I was well and happy." There was no address in the letter as a clue to Mr Masterton as to where I might be, and it could only have been from the post-mark that he could have formed any idea. Timothy's surmise was therefore very probable; but I would not believe that Mr Masterton would consent to the insertion of that portion of the advertis.e.m.e.nt, if there was no foundation for it.

"What will you do, j.a.phet?"

"Do," replied I, recovering from my reverie, for the information had again roused up all my dormant feelings--"Do," replied I, "why, I shall set off for town this very morning."

"In that dress, j.a.phet?"

"I suppose I must," replied I, "for I have no time to procure another;"

and all my former ideas of fashion and appearance were roused, and in full activity--my pride recovered its ascendency.

"Well," replied Timothy, "I hope you will find your father all that you could wish."

"I'm sure of it, Tim--I'm sure of it," replied I; "you must run and take a place in the first coach."

"But you are not going without seeing Mr and Mrs Cophagus, and--Miss Temple," continued Tim, laying an emphasis upon the latter name.

"Of course not," replied I, colouring deeply. "I will go at once. Give me the newspaper, Tim."

I took the newspaper, and hastened to the house of Mr Cophagus. I found them all three sitting in the breakfast parlour, Mr Cophagus, as usual, reading, with his spectacles on his nose, and the ladies at work.

"What is the matter, friend j.a.phet?" exclaimed Mr Cophagus, as I burst into the room, my countenance lighted up with excitement.

"Read that, sir," said I to Mr Cophagus.

Mr Cophagus read it. "Hum--bad news--lose j.a.phet--man of fashion--and so on," said Cophagus, pointing out the paragraph to his wife, as he handed over the paper.

In the mean time I watched the countenance of Susannah--a slight emotion, but instantly checked, was visible at Mr Cophagus's remark.

She then remained quiet until her sister, who had read the paragraph, handed the paper to her. "I give thee joy, j.a.phet, at the prospect of finding out thy parent," said Mrs Cophagus. "I trust thou wilt find in him one who is to be esteemed as a man. When departest thou?"

"Immediately," replied I.

"I cannot blame thee--the ties of nature are ever powerful. I trust that thou wilt write to us, and that we soon shall see thee return."

"Yes, yes," said Cophagus, "see father--shake hands--come back--heh!-- settle here--and so on."

"I shall not be altogether my own master, perhaps," observed I. "If my father desires that I remain with him, must not I obey? But I know nothing at present. You shall hear from me. Timothy can take my place in the--" I could not bear the idea of the word shop, and I stopped.

Susannah, for the first time, looked me earnestly in the face, but she said nothing. Mr and Mrs Cophagus, who probably had been talking over the subject of our conversation, and thought this a good opportunity to allow me to have an _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_ with Susannah, left the room, saying they would look after my portmanteau and linen. "Susannah," said I, "you do not appear to rejoice with me."

"j.a.phet Newland, I will rejoice at everything that may tend to thy happiness, believe me; but I do not feel a.s.sured but that this trial may prove too great, and that thou mayst fall away. Indeed, I perceive even now that thou art excited with new ideas, and visions of pride."

"If I am wrong, forgive me. Susannah, you must know that the whole object of my existence has been to find my father; and now that I have every reason to suppose that my wish is obtained, can you be surprised, or can you blame me, that I long to be pressed in his arms?"

"Nay, j.a.phet, for that filial feeling I do commend thee; but ask thy own heart, is that the only feeling which now exciteth thee? Dost thou not expect to find thy father one high in rank and power? Dost thou not antic.i.p.ate to join once more the world which thou hast quitted, yet still hast sighed for? Dost thou not already feel contempt for thy honest profession:--nay, more, dost thou not only long to cast off the plain attire, and not only the attire, but the sect which in thy adversity thou didst embrace the tenets of? Ask thy own heart, and reply if thou wilt, but I press thee not so to do; for the truth would be painful, and a lie thou knowest, I do utterly abhor."

I felt that Susannah spoke the truth, and I would not deny it. I sat down by her. "Susannah," said I, "it is not very easy to change at once. I have mixed for years in the world, with you I have not yet lived two. I will not deny but that the feelings you have expressed have risen in my heart, but I will try to repress them; at least, for your sake, Susannah, I would try to repress them, for I value your opinion more than that of the whole world. You have the power to do with me as you please:--will you exert that power?"

"j.a.phet," replied Susannah, "the faith which is not built upon a more solid foundation than to win the favour of an erring being like myself is but weak; that power over thee, which thou expectest will fix thee in the right path, may soon be lost, and what is then to direct thee? If no purer motives than earthly affection are to be thy stay, most surely thou wilt fall. But no more of this; thou hast a duty to perform, which is to go to thy earthly father, and seek his blessing. Nay, more, I would that thou shouldst once more enter into the world, there thou mayst decide. Shouldst thou return to us, thy friends will rejoice, and not one of them will be more joyful than Susannah Temple. Fare thee well, j.a.phet, mayst thou prove superior to temptation. I will pray for thee--earnestly I will pray for thee, j.a.phet," continued Susannah, with a quivering of her lips and broken voice, and she left the room.

PART THREE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

I RETURN TO LONDON, AND MEET WITH MR MASTERTON.

I went up stairs, and found that all was ready, and I took leave of Mr and Mrs Cophagus, both of whom expressed their hopes that I would not leave them for ever. "Oh, no," replied I, "I should indeed be base, if I did." I left them, and with Ephraim following with my portmanteau, I quitted the house. I had gone about twenty yards, when I recollected that I had left on the table the newspaper with the advertis.e.m.e.nt containing the direction whom to apply to, and, desiring Ephraim to proceed, I returned. When I entered the parlour, Susannah Temple was resting her face in her hands and weeping. The opening of the door made her start up; she perceived that it was I, and she turned away. "I beg your pardon, I left the newspaper," said I, stammering. I was about to throw myself at her feet, declare my sincere affection, and give up all idea of finding my father until we were married, when she, without saying a word, pa.s.sed quickly by me, and hastened out of the room. "She loves me, then," thought I; "thank G.o.d:--I will not go yet, I will speak to her first." I sat down, quite overpowered with contending feelings.

The paper was in my hand, the paragraph was again read; I thought but of my father, and I left the house.

In half an hour I had shaken hands with Timothy and quitted the town of Reading. How I arrived in London, that is to say, what pa.s.sed, or what we pa.s.sed, I know not: my mind was in such a state of excitement. I hardly know how to express the state that I was in. It was a sort of mental whirling which blinded me--round and round--from my father and the expected meeting, then to Susannah, my departure, and her tears-- castle building of every description. After the coach stopped, there I remained fixed on the top of it, not aware that we were in London, until the coachman asked me whether the spirit did not move me to get down. I recollected myself, and calling a hackney-coach, gave orders to be driven to the Piazza, Covent Garden.

"Piazza, Common Garden," said the waterman; "why that ban't an 'otel for the like o' you, master. They'll torment you to death, them young chaps."

I had forgotten that I was dressed as a Quaker. "Tell the coachman to stop at the first cloth warehouse where they have ready-made cloaks,"

said I. The man did so; I went out and purchased a roquelaure, which enveloped my whole person. I then stopped at a hatter's, and purchased a hat according to the mode. "Now drive to the Piazza," said I, entering the coach. I know not why, but I was resolved to go to that hotel. It was the one I had stayed at when I first arrived in London, and I wished to see it again. When the hackney-coach stopped, I asked the waiter who came out whether he had apartments, and answering me in the affirmative, I followed him, and was shown into the same rooms I had previously occupied. "These will do," said I, "now let me have something to eat, and send for a good tailor." The waiter offered to remove my cloak, but I refused, saying that I was cold. He left the room, and I threw myself on the sofa, running over all the scenes which had pa.s.sed in that room with Carbonnell, Harcourt, and others. My thoughts were broken in upon by the arrival of the tailor. "Stop a moment," said I, "and let him come in when I ring." So ashamed was I of my Quaker's dress, that I threw off my coat and waistcoat, and put on my cloak again before I rang the bell for the tailor to come up. "Mr --,"

said I, "I must have a suit of clothes ready by to-morrow at ten o'clock."

"Impossible, sir."

"Impossible!" said I, "and you pretend to be a fashionable tailor.

Leave the room."

At this peremptory behaviour, the tailor imagined that I must be somebody.

"I will do my possible, sir, and if I can only get home in time to stop the workmen, I think it may be managed. Of course, you are aware of the expense of night work."

"I am only aware of this, that if I give an order, I am accustomed to have it obeyed; I learnt that from my poor friend, Major Carbonnell."

The tailor bowed low; there was magic in the name, although the man was dead.

"Here have I been masquerading in a Quaker's dress, to please a puritanical young lady, and I am obliged to be off without any other clothes in my portmanteau; so take my measure, and I expect the clothes at ten precisely." So saying, I threw off my roquelaure, and desired him to proceed. This accomplished, the tradesman took his leave.

Shortly afterwards, the door opened, and as I lay wrapped up in my cloak on the sofa, in came the landlord and two waiters, each bearing a dish of my supper. I wished them at the devil; but I was still more surprised when the landlord made a low bow, saying, "Happy to see you returned, Mr Newland; you've been away some time--another grand tour, I presume."

"Yes, Mr --, I have had a few adventures since I was last here,"

replied I, carelessly, "but I am not very well. You may leave the supper, and if I feel inclined, I will take a little by-and-by,--no one need wait."

The landlord and waiter bowed and went out of the room. I turned the key of the door, put on my Quaker's coat, and made a hearty supper, for I had had nothing since breakfast. When I had finished, I returned to the sofa, and I could not help a.n.a.lysing my own conduct. "Alas,"

thought I, "Susannah, how rightly did you judge me! I am not away from you more than eighteen hours, and here I am ashamed of the dress which I have so long worn, and been satisfied with, in your society. Truly did you say that I was full of pride, and would joyfully re-enter the world of vanity and vexation." And I thought of Susannah, and her tears after my supposed departure, and I felt angry and annoyed at my want of strength of mind and my worldly feelings.

I retired early to bed, and did not wake until late the next morning.

When I rang the bell, the chambermaid brought in my clothes from the tailor's: I dressed, and I will not deny that I was pleased with the alteration. After breakfast I ordered a coach, and drove to Number 16, Throgmorton Court, Minories. The house was dirty outside, and the windows had not been cleaned apparently for years, and it was with some difficulty when I went in that I could decypher a tall, haggard-looking man seated at the desk.

"Your pleasure, sir?" said he.

"Am I speaking to the princ.i.p.al?" replied I.