CORNELL 
 
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 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 BY EVERETT H. RANKIN, 1912 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
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PR 5549.T36Ri6 Wg'^ '""''^^ 
 Uf Iph Darnell. 
 
PR 
 :rrY f 
 
EALPI DAENELL. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 SEETA. 3 vols., crown 8vo, cloth. 
 
 A NOBLE QUEEN : a Romance of Indian History. 
 3 vols., crown 8vo, cloth. 
 
 THE CONFESSIONS OF A THUG. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 price 6s. 
 
 TARA : a Mahratta Tale. Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s. 
 
 LONDON : C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 Patebnostek Square. 
 
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ffli»:^=^^ i=^:^c^d: i,M.. J 
 
 
Ralph Darnell. 
 
 BY 
 
 MEADOWS TAYLOR, C.S.I., M.R.A.S., M.R.I.A., 
 
 Etc., Etc., 
 
 AUTHOR OF " TARA," " CONFESSIONS OF A THUG," ETC., ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 C.KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 
 187 9. 
 
COlSTOIf AND SON, PKINTEBS, EDINBCEGH. 
 
 1 '-'ol' 
 
 The Eights of Trcmslaiion and of Reproduction are reserved. 
 
TO 
 
 MY DEAR FATHER, 
 
 WITH THE LOVE OF MV LIFE 
 
 I leliirate 
 
 THIS VOLUME. 
 
 Old Codbt, 
 
 Uaeold's Cross, near Dublisi, 
 
 August 16, 1865. 
 
SSE'^ 63B 
 
PEEPACE. 
 
 When I wrote " Tara," it was to illustrate one of the 
 events which had an important effect upon the history 
 of India : the first blow against the dominant power of 
 the Mahomedans, which was struck in 1657. 
 
 A hundred years later, on the 23d of June 1757, a 
 blow still more momentous in character fell upon aU 
 native powers in India, Mahomedan and Mahratta 
 alike, by the foundation of a Political authority which, 
 heretofore insignificant, rose into immediate action after 
 the battle of Plassey. 
 
 In this volume I have endeavoured to follow the 
 events and actions of history; and to invest it with 
 such English interest as was, in many instances, com- 
 mon to the period, 
 
 MEADOWS TAYLOE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAET FIRST. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 1. THE GOLDEN 'COCK, LOWER THAMES STKEBT, 
 n. COMPANIONS, 
 
 III. A LITTLE PLAY, . 
 
 IV. SAEB HOME, 
 V. MORNING, 
 
 VI. ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY, . 
 VII. THE DARNELLS PAST AND PRESENT, 
 VIIL AN INDIAN LETTER OP 1755, 
 IX. IMPROVEMENTS, . 
 X. THE DARNELLS OP MELOEPETH, • 
 XL ROBERT SMITHSON's VISIT, 
 XIL BESSIE GEOVEK'S MISSION, 
 XIIL RESOLUTIONS AND PREPARATIONS, 
 
 PAGR 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 10 
 16 
 23 
 30 
 31 
 40 
 44 
 51 
 59 
 67 
 74 
 
 PAKT SECOND. 
 
 XrV. STEADY, RALPH ! .... 
 
 XV. MR. ELLIOT'S SUPPER AND CONCERT, 
 XVI. IN WHICH MISS CONSTANCE DARNBLL'a POLITICAL 
 
 EVINCED, ..... 
 XVIL "INSTRUCTIONS FOB A WILL," . 
 XVni. RALPH DABNELl'S VISITORS, 
 XIX. A DINNER IN BLOOMSBUEY SQUARE, 
 XX. PROMENADE, ..... 
 
 XXI. TEMPTATIONS, ..... 
 
 • 
 
 . 85 
 
 . 
 
 . 93 
 
 OPINIONS 
 
 ARE 
 
 . 
 
 . 101 
 
 , , 
 
 . 109 
 
 , 
 
 , 114 
 
 , , 
 
 . 123 
 
 , , 
 
 . 130 
 
 ^ , 
 
 . 137 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XXII. THE EAEONET IS EXPLICIT, . . . . . .142 
 
 XXIII. IN WHICH BBVEEAL IMPOETANT MATTEES AEE DETAILED, . liS 
 
 XXIV. BUET COUKT, AND OTHER MATTEES EELATING TO THIS HISTOEY, . 154 
 
 XXV. THE JOUENET AT NIGHT, AND WHAT CAME Off IT, . 169 
 
 XXVI. SUSPENSE, ........ 166 
 
 XXVII. IN WHICH EVEETBODT IS VEEY BUST, ..... 172 
 
 XXVIII. AND WHAT CAME OF IT, . . . . . .176 
 
 XXIX. OUTWAED BOUND, . . . . . . .186 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 XXX. EETEOSPECT, .... 
 XXXI. SOZUN, .... 
 
 XXXII. THE NAWAB AND HIS SLAVE, . 
 XXXUL THE DUKBAE AND THE DEKWI8H, 
 XXXrV. THE EACTOET, CALCUTTA, 1766, 
 
 XXXV. DISQUIET, .... 
 
 XXXVL PEEEIN'S EEDOUBT, JUNE IG, 1766, 
 XXXVn. EESIEOED, .... 
 
 XXXVIII. EEOONOILIATION, 
 XXXIX. EVENDfO, JUNE 19, 1756, 
 
 XL. THE STORM, AND WHO SURVIVED IT, . 
 XLI. THE BLACK HOLE — SUNDAY HISHT, JUNE 20, 1' 
 XLII. EELEASED, 
 XLIII. SOZUN'S PLOT, 
 
 XLiv. Julia's chance, 
 XLV. hopeless, 
 
 XLVI. A LETTBE EKOM ENGLAND, 
 
 56, 
 
 195 
 199 
 
 205 
 212 
 218 
 223 
 227 
 236 
 242 
 248 
 252 
 259 
 265 
 269 
 273 
 278 
 283 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 XLVn. COLONEL OLIVE AT MADRAS, .... 
 XLVin. COLONEL CLIVE AT CALCUTTA, 
 XLIX. THE NAWAB's TE0UBLE8, .... 
 
 L. SOZUN AND HEE PEOPLE, .... 
 
 LI. THE NAWAB'S SECOND VISIT TO THE GE,>JTLEMEN OF CALCUTTA, 
 LIL ITS EESULT — EEBEUAEY 3, 1757, 
 
 LIII. EEEE 
 
 291 
 
 296 
 301 
 308 
 316 
 323 
 330 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 LIV. THE EVE OP PLASSET, . 
 
 LV. THE BATTLE AND THE SEOKET, 
 
 LVI. PUEStllT AMD ESCAPE, 
 
 LVII. DESTINT, 
 
 LVin. THE NAWAB's LAST MABCH 
 LIS. HOMEWAEDS, . 
 
 PAGE 
 337 
 34i 
 
 350 
 
 356 
 363 
 371 
 
 PAET FIFTH. 
 
 LX. ■WHAT MRS. WHARTON WROTE, 
 
 LXI. SYBIL MORTON'S HISTORT, 
 
 LXII. ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY — DECEMBER 15, 1757, 
 
 LXln. ON THE TRACT, .... 
 
 LXIV. CRAIQPBBL, ..... 
 
 LXV. MBLOEPETH ONCE MORE, 
 
 LXVI. OUTWARD BOUND, 
 
 LXVn. OLD PEIENDS, . 
 
 LXVIU. MAEEIED, . . • . 
 
 LSIX. CONCLUSION, . . . • 
 
 379 
 382 
 391 
 400 
 408 
 418 
 424 
 432 
 437 
 444 
 
PAET FIEST. 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE GOLDEN COCK, LOWER THAMES STREET. 
 
 It was a rough afternoon tliat of the 21st March 1755. True to 
 its period, a blustering equinoctial gale had set in since morning, and 
 was rapidly increasing. Clouds of dust in the then ill-swept streets 
 of London swirled along with little intermission, enveloping horses, 
 vehicles, and passengers in temporary obscurity ; then passing on to 
 meet wayfarers, caught them suddenly at the corners of sheltered 
 streets, causing them to stagger, or clap their hands hastily upon the 
 small three-cornered hats which sate lightly upon the wigs then worn 
 by most of the liege subjects of His Moat Gracious Majesty King 
 George the Second. During the course of the morning, a few smartly- 
 dressed and venturesome beaux had tried the Mall ; and even a few 
 of the ladies of the then " fast " species of our ancestresses had sallied 
 forth, for the sky for a while was clear and bright ; but the wind was 
 too much for them. It blew in fierce gusts from the river down 
 Birdcage Walk, and even the unavoidable precautions of gay bandanas 
 tied round hats and wigs, or curls and toupees, had been frequently 
 insufficient, and many an honest sixpence had been earned by gamins, 
 porters, and chairmen, following and recovering lost possessions. 
 Beaux and belles, with their own powder blown into their eyes, 
 together with street dust ; their mouths closed tightly, or tied up in 
 mufflers ; the hoops of the one, and the gay-laced coats and ruffles of 
 the other, sorely discomposed by the storm ; unable to flirt, or even 
 in most cases to exchange more than the barest civUities, had already 
 given up the fight, and left victory with the boisterous element. It 
 was difflcult, very difflcult, for chairs to get about ; extra porters were 
 reaping a plentiful harvest by steadying those top-heavy vehicles ; and 
 as each passed, you might have seen that, whether gay lady powdered 
 and frizzed after the wonderful fashion of the time, or gentleman of 
 quality in lace or embroidered satin or velvet, bound to the rout, club- 
 house, or coffee-tavern, the person within expressed anxiety at every 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 succeeding blast ; and you might have heard very often a faint shriek 
 of alaitn, as a fair inmate nervously clutched the tassels which hung 
 at her sides. Hackney coaches seemed but little if anything better, 
 for they swayed about on their long springs ; and their drivers, half- 
 blinded, and barely able to keep their lofty seats, seemed hardly to be 
 trusted by the passengers within ; for here and there a head might be 
 seen to emerge suddenly from the window, to be as quickly with- 
 drawn when there came up a fresh whirlwind, and its fellow-travellers 
 urged the throwing up of the glass as rapidly as possible, and appa- 
 rently yielded themselves to their fate. 
 
 It was, however, on the river that the gale was beginning to be 
 felt most severely. Often during the morning, the skippers and mates 
 of the vessels lying below London Bridge, by the Tower Wharf, and 
 elsewhere, had looked up to the sky in their short, rapid deck-walk ; 
 and as they swung their arms with loud thuds against their sides, had 
 said, "It will blow off; it's only a fresh breeze, after all." They are 
 thankful, nevertheless, that they are not off Flamborough Head, or 
 the Goodwin, pitch iag and labouring in the heavy seas. As the 
 afternoon drew on, however, scraps of grey cloud came one by one out 
 of the east, and hurried up the river, seeming to sweep past the cross 
 of St. Paul's or touch the weathercocks on the church steeples. 
 They might easily be counted at first, as they disappeared over West- 
 minster Abbey and St. James's, and joined together beyond ; but they 
 increased so fast, that the sun, who had blinked from among them as 
 long as he could see, gave up at last, and was hidden away altogether 
 before he had set. As the sky grew thicker and the scud drove lower, 
 many a watchful mate and skipper looked to his ship's tackle, and 
 made everything as snug as he could. Topgallant masts were lowered, 
 and theii- yards struck ; topsail and lower yards were braced up sharp 
 to the wind ; the strong cables and hawsers by which vessels were 
 moored in their places were carefully looked to, precautions to pre- 
 vent chafing were taken as far as possible, and soft rope-fenders were 
 thrown over the vessels' sides. Still the wind rose, and the scud 
 flew faster overhead. 
 
 The wind was rising with the tide. As the sea-stream hurried up, 
 it seemed impelled by the gale, which swept on in gusts, blackening 
 the surface as the wind struck it, and often, indeed, scooping up and 
 whisking away in spray whatever it could lay hold of; but there 
 were no waves as yet. The current set upwards through London 
 Bridge, and a few wherries, plied with lusty stroke, seemed to fly 
 over the surface, and, as if endowed with life, to enjoy their rapid 
 course westwards. Those coming down the river, however grew 
 fewer and fewer. It was next to impossible to meet both tide and 
 wind, and, after struggling for a while, one by one the stout watermen, 
 like the fashionables on the Mall, gave up the contest, landed their 
 
TilE GOLDEN COCK, L OWER THAMES STREET. 3 
 
 fares at the nearest steps, and made their boats fast for the night as 
 best they could. 
 
 As it was no time for out-door amusement, or even safe passage 
 through the streets — ^for here and there a slate, or tile, or chimney- 
 pot came flying down through the air, and was smashed to pieces 
 on the pavement, barely avoided in many instances by those on 
 foot — so the taverns and coffee-houses were full of people. Some, 
 driven into them by stress of weather, were taking temporary 
 shelter; others had fairly settled down to a night of cards, dice, or 
 drink, as it might be. East or -west it was the same ; and in the 
 more fashionable resorts of St. James's, as in those of the city proper 
 and its outskirts, the gay and dissolute of London gathered together. 
 What matter if the houseless poor roamed about in rags and misery, 
 and shivering sought what shelter they could find in by-lanes and 
 under porches of great mansions or churches ? what matter if, on 
 the roaring sea, many a crew of hard-pressed seamen began to 
 find sails blown from their bolt-ropes and grim death staring them 
 in the face, and, with little hope of clawing off' the dreaded lee-shore 
 of eastern England, prayed their last prayer and commended their 
 souls to God ? I say none of these fierce and horrible strivings with 
 the elements troubled the tavern-goers. Within were warmth 
 and comfort ; rich viands, generous wines, or strong spirits ; and 
 amusement and excitement blended together in bright contrast with 
 the hideous riot without ; and thus the gay world, flirting, playing, 
 or drinking — ^in palace, mansion, or tavern — was happy after its 
 fashion, and defied the storm. 
 
 Not far from London Bridge, in Lower Thames Street, on the 
 right-hand side as you went eastwards, stood at that time an old 
 tavern of high local repute, which, as its sign without informed the 
 passenger, was "the Golden Cock." This building was long and 
 low, being of one story only over the ground-floor. Above, three 
 long projecting oriel windows in the centre, with others at the sides, 
 marked the positions of the large apartment frequented by parties of 
 the higher character of guests, and its smaller ones for possibly more 
 select or private company ; and the bright light which now streamed 
 from all, and the dark forms which occasionally flitted before the 
 latticed windows, showed them to be well filled as they were brightly 
 lighted. To the street, the oblong windows of the lower story, 
 of similar shape to those above, but guarded by grim iron stanchions, 
 were also full of light; and the whole place looked so cheerful 
 in comparison with the street, that many a chance passenger had 
 entered in at the half-open door, which was sheltered by a deep 
 projecting porch, instead of struggling more with the gale— and, 
 according to his quality, and perhaps the length of his purse, either 
 went UD the broad black oak stairs which led to the upper rooms, 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 or turned into the long low apartment to the left of the great hall. 
 There a cro-wd of persons sat drinking ale or hot punch, and 
 smoking vigorously ; and from the room, as the door opened 
 occasionally, a confused clamour of tongues, or a droning song or 
 lusty chorus, and a cloud of tobacco-smoke, and reek of ale, and gin, 
 and brandy-punch, escaped into the outer hall, till the door was 
 shut again. 
 
 This hall was a large room, in fact, with benches all round, and 
 opened into an apartment or deep bay towards the river, which in 
 summer was a favourite resort of watermen and sailors. Above it 
 was a similar projecting room, which formed a portion of the central 
 apartment before alluded to, and from both of these there was an 
 uninterrupted view of the river ; and nothing could be pleasanter 
 on a fine sunny day than to sit at the open windows of this room, 
 watching the wherries, the ships, and the varying objects and changes 
 of river lifa On the right of the hall was the bar, now set out gaily 
 with bright pewter pots, glasses, and a few silver flagons for the use 
 of quality who would drink their mulled wine only out of precious 
 metaL The place was brightly illuminated with strong oil lamps, 
 whose light was reflected by sconces. A roaring wood-fire burned in 
 a wide chimney ; and through another door the large kitchen was 
 discernible, glowing with brilliant tin and copper vessels, and with 
 delf plates and dishes on its shelves. Here a long bright coal-fire 
 glowing in the grate was covered with various pots and pans, 
 stewing and bubbling, and partly screened by several active wenches 
 with bare arms and short petticoats, whose principal employment at 
 the present time seemed to be the frying of rashers of bacon and 
 eggs — -the hissing, crackling sound of which, and their appetising 
 odour, came strongly into the hall. 
 
 It was said that this tavern was part of an old mansion which had 
 stood in the time of the Plantagenets ; and perhaps it did. Suits of 
 mail and weapons might once have hung on the great hooks round 
 the hall, and the benches and the wide fire-place have seen the rough 
 merriment and watch and ward of the retainers of the house. The 
 place was perhaps little altered from its original condition ; and 
 if well-worn flags in the hall, and the almost black colour of the 
 staircase, with its heavy carved banisters, of the oak wainscot and the 
 paneled ceUing, might be accepted as a proof of antiquity, there 
 could be no doubt of that of the Golden Cock. 
 
 The doors and windows of the rooms looking upon the river had 
 been carefully shut since the gale had risen ; else, as you passed 
 tlirough the hall and bay beyond, you emerged upon a broad wooden 
 terrace or stage, built upon piles, and protected by a stout rail to- 
 wards the water. Here, on fine .summer days or evenings, parties 
 sat at small tables provided by the house, and smoked, drank, played 
 
THE GOLDEN COCK, LO WER THAMES STREET. 5 
 
 or ate as. they had a mind to do ; while wherries rocked and bobbed 
 on the wavelets in the river, and a crowd of smart watermen, dressed 
 in their best, took fares for a row np to Westminster or Chelsea, or 
 down river to see the large Bast and West Indiamen at Blaokwall, or 
 for a ramble in beautiful Greenwich Park. 
 
 It will be allowed, then, that the Golden Cock had many advan- 
 tages of position for the entertainment of its frequenters ; and there 
 was not the least doubt that its host, Mister John Wilkins, was 
 master of his trade, and did not neglect his opportunities. He was 
 bound to serve his guests with the best, and he did so. A useful 
 good-natured wife overlooked the kitchen ; and her store of receipts 
 for all old-fashioned English dishes, and many French, were the envy 
 of all tavern-keepers in London who knew of them. Nay, I have 
 reason to believe that they formed the basis of that excellent book — 
 " The Compleat Housewife, or Accomplish'd Gentlewoman's Com- 
 panion, compiled by Mister E. Smith, and printed for J. & J. Pem- 
 berton at the Golden Buck, over against St. Dunstan's Church in 
 Fleet Street, in 1736." The excellent preface to which sets forth, 
 no doubt with Mistress Wilkins's entire concurrence, not only the 
 profane but the religious and metaphysical view of the science of 
 cookery ; and how, "in the Infant Age of the World the Inhabitants 
 contented themselves with the provisions of Nature ? The Art of 
 Cookery was unknown ; Apples, Nuts, and Herbs were both Meat 
 and Sauce, and Mankind stood in no need of additional Sauce, 
 Ragoes, etc., but a good appetite." How, also, "when Man began 
 to pass from a Vegetable to Animal Diet, and feed on Flesh, Fowls, 
 and Fish, their Seasonings grew necessary ; and probably Salt was 
 the first Seasoning discovered, for of Salt we read Gen. xiv." And 
 then how, " when Digestive Faculties became Weak and Impotent, 
 the use of Soops and savory Messes began. So that Cookery began 
 to be a Science, though Luxury had not brought it to the Height of 
 an Art." Thus we also read that "Jacob made such palatable 
 Pottage, that Esau purchased a Mess of it at the extravagant Price 
 of his Birthright ; and Isaac, before by his last Will and Testament 
 he bequeathed his Blessing to his Son Esau, required him to make 
 some savoury Meat, such as his Soul loved— i.e., such as was relish- 
 able to his blunted Palate." I am afi-aid I cannot find time to follow 
 the learned argument as to the identity of the first cook, therein set 
 forth— whether it was Abraham, Esau, or Rebekah. This, it^ is 
 pithily^ stated, is a question "too knotty for me to determine"— 
 and no doubt it is so. I am convinced that Mrs. Wilkins had 
 studied it profoundly, as she did the practice of her noble art. Was 
 it not needful that she should be as much mistress of her pecuKar 
 department as her husband was of his ? For the shipping was nigh 
 at hand, and mai<y foreign captains and their mates came to the 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Golden Cock, and were glad indeed to eat "ragoo," " Mcoassee,' 
 " ollas," and other dainty messes savouring of their o-wn countries ; 
 ■while there were many liquids, such as hot sack with cream, clary 
 wine with spices, brandy-punch or brandy-butter, ale-flip, and the 
 like, for rich and poor, which had raised the good dame's reputation 
 to a high pitch; and those that drank them declared them to be 
 incomparably the best in London city. 
 
 Perhaps, too, Mary and Susan, the two rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, 
 good-natured daughters of this worthy and loving pair, with their 
 smart caps and bright-green stuff gowns tamed out through their 
 pocket-holes over their tiny hoops, the bright scarlet quilted linsey 
 petticoat beneath, and we will not say how much of swelling calf and 
 neat ankle showing above the natty high-heeled shoes, might be 
 described as they sat in the bar overlooking the bar-maids, pot-boys, 
 and serving-men. But I am afraid this might only lead me into 
 a detail of the whole establishment, including Mrs. Sarah Baker the 
 cook — irreverently called " Sallibaky," as invented by the French 
 and Dutch captains ; and Richard Wiggins, the head-waiter, who 
 was called, in like manner, " Dickiwig " — both being well known 
 to the frequenters of the Golden Cock, and thriving well upon the 
 bounties paid for their particular and individual services. And, I 
 think, as all this might prove wearisome, and we are only visitors, 
 like all the other guests on the evening of the 21st March 1755, we 
 had better not stay with the young women in the bar, lest we should 
 be tempted to flirt with them — an amusement in which, by frequent 
 practice, they are doubtless well exercised — but go up-stairs at once, 
 and join the genteel company assembled there. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 COMPANIONS. 
 
 A BUSY and a noisy party filled the best apartment of the tavern. 
 The room was low and broad, set out with tables round the sides, 
 at which most of the company there were engaged with cards • or, 
 with flagons or glasses before them, were drinking the many-titled 
 potations which they ordered as fast as they could be brought by the 
 ever active Richard and his mates. According as the guests were 
 old customers or new-comers driven in by the storm the cries of 
 " Dickiwig " or more respectful " Richard " sounded from impatient 
 thirsty throats on all sides, and the errands to be done for viands or 
 for liquid compounds, were only equalled by the number of the guests 
 and their requirements. 
 
COMPANIONS. 
 
 The room afforded evidence of the noble rank of its ancient pro- 
 prietors. The walls were of polished oak wainscot, laid out in 
 panels ; the corners were finished in rich devices of flowers or scrolls 
 of carved ornaments ; and the ceiling, also divided into panels, had 
 three divisions along its length, the centre of each being marked by 
 a boss of carving similar to that on the corners of the panels, but 
 richer and more elaborate. From the dark colour of the wood, the 
 room might have had a gloomy aspect but for the brilliancy with 
 which it was lighted. All round the walls, in the centres of each of 
 the panels, were brass branches, holding polished silver or plated 
 reflectors, which increased the light of the oil-lamps burning therein ; 
 and from the centre bosses of the ceiling depended brass chandeliers, 
 holding in each twelve wax candles. The game, as old "Wiggins used 
 to say — ^he had picked up the saying from the French captaius, who 
 often came — ■" was worth the cancUes," and he would have nothing 
 but the best wax tapers in his domain. So, with the wind roaring 
 without, and now beating furiously against the long windows towards 
 the river, the room had a peculiarly rich and comfortable appearance ; 
 and even those who had intended only to stay a while altered their 
 minds, called for cards, and betook themselves to boston, piquet, or 
 cribbage; or ordered supper and wine, and determined to make a 
 snug night of it. 
 
 There might have been fifty people or more in the room. Here 
 were groups of the foreign captains, who, overtaken by the storm, 
 could not get back to their ships, French and Dutch together, men 
 with dark, bronzed faces, ear-rings in their ears, and wearing cos- 
 tumes gay with lace and embroidery, or clad in the plain cloth and 
 baggy breeches of Flanders and the Low Countries. Few, if any, of 
 these mingled with the Englishmen present ; they gathered together 
 according to their nationalities, and carried on their conversation in 
 their own tongues, playing at dominoes or cards, and apparently with 
 no stakes on their games. The Englishmen present, however, were 
 very different. 
 
 We see now in old portraits of the time, on the stage, in pictures, 
 or at fancy balls where proper costume is a point critically observed, 
 what the dress of our great-great-grandfathers was, and how richly 
 and how becomingly it clothed their figures : satin and velvet in full 
 dress, with a liberal use of costly lace and embroidery in silk, silver, 
 or gold ; cloth also, but never without gold or silver trimming on 
 those who affected or indulged in fashionable costume. The high 
 riding-boot, the neat long gaiter, or the bright sUk stocking, fitted 
 well with the short nether garment ; while the waistcoat fell low 
 over the hips, and was as resplendent as the genius of the taUor, or 
 the pocket of the wearer, could contrive it to be. My own opmion 
 is, also, that these garments were very eomfortable. The sleeves 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 were wide and loose, the waistcoat sat easily in its place, and tlie 
 nether garments, however continued below, gave free scope to the 
 limbs. For the trader or quiet merchant, the colour and fashion 
 were as sober as he could desire ; while for the gay man of fashion, 
 what limit was there, except his purse, to the brilliancy of the cos- 
 tume, whether for day or night ? 
 
 Not that there were any very memorable examples of this costume 
 present on this evening ; and the dress of the majority might have 
 been called plain almost to soberness ; but there were a few excep- 
 tions, and as they belong to characters which have to do with this 
 history, I may briefly note them. 
 
 At a small table, not far from the roaring fire, which was liberally 
 supplied with logs of wood, sat two men, more richly dressed than 
 others present, who, by the attention paid to them by the head-waiter, 
 were evidently persons of some consequence in his, and no doubt in 
 their own, opinion. The younger of the two wore a light grey velvet 
 suit, with bright steel buttons, which, as well as the richly-cut hilt 
 of his sword, sparkled in the strong light. On the front and flaps of 
 his waistcoat was a delicate embroidery of flowers in silk, and the 
 dress jabot or cravat, as well as the ruffles on his wrists and breast, 
 were of the finest Flanders lace. He was evidently dressed for an 
 evening party, and was not perhaps in the best of humours at being 
 detained by the rough weather, into which he was in no trim to 
 emerge from his present shelter. 
 
 He was eminently handsome. A "fair fresh face, the colour of 
 which was almost efieminate in its tone and bloom, with light wavy 
 hair, a high white forehead, and large blue eyes, were the first 
 features you noticed, and generally with a pleasurable impression : 
 but just then, the eyes were redder than they need have been ; the 
 colour on the cheek was heightened, and had flushed up into the 
 forehea,d; the brows were knit; and it was evident, that the com- 
 bined influences of a good deal of wine and some high play were 
 making themselves felt. The other features were perhaps not remark- 
 able or worth discussion, for there were weakness and sensuality 
 about the small but pale-red lips, and irresolution in the shape of the 
 chin, and white, soft, woman-like throat ; and as he now sat, there 
 was a reckless expression in the eyes which plainly betrayed a dis- 
 solute character. His figure left nothing to desire. It was tall, and 
 to all appearance strong; and the very movements of the broad 
 sloping shoulders and back, as he shifted his position occasionally 
 with impatient gestures, showed him to be lithe and active. 
 
 In truth, there were few better figures, or more graceful younw 
 
 men in London, than George Elliot at twenty-four. He walked welf 
 
 danced well, was master of his sword's use, and had already fouo-ht 
 
 .severals duels with credit. He had excellent taste in dress, and 
 
COMPANIONS. 
 
 always made a conspicious figure upon the public promenades ; and 
 because of all these outward evidences, and an independent position 
 as to fortune, he was already well advanced in the favour of the gay 
 ladies of the town, and into the rank of society which it was his 
 highest ambition to attain. When he should become a member of 
 White's or Arthur's, indeed, he considered he should take his proper 
 place in the world's esteem and his own. 
 
 Before him sat John Forster, his companion, and, for the time, 
 sworn friend, handsomely dressed in brown cloth, trimmed with gold 
 lace. Not that the man was wealthy, or belonged to that higher 
 class of gay folks to join which Elliot strove so hard ; but he knew, 
 or seemed to know, everybody, and partly by effrontery, partly 
 because of his very determined manner, and indifference to all 
 obstacles in the gratification of his own will, Forster had risen to the 
 place he occupied and maintained. Older by several years than 
 Elliot, but hardly yet thirty, John Forster was a man who at once 
 attracted attewtion and puzzled a good deal. He was not handsome 
 or noble-looking, or even dignified ; but his face interested at once, 
 nay, almost fascinated, especially the large brown eyes, which were 
 soft or fiery as it might be, varying with every thought — ^now sha- 
 dowed, by the long lashes, as with a woman's tenderness, or opened 
 wide with a daring, flashing stare, which few cared to provoke or 
 encounter. It seemed as if there were more than ordinaiy intelli- . 
 gence between those eyes and the mouth, for both varied together in 
 intensity of expression which could not be controlled. His might 
 have remained a gentle, loving, trustful, though passionate face 
 imder happy influences ; but these were long past, and it was fast 
 hardening into reckless vice under the combined influence of entire 
 selilshness, the society which he frequented, and its pursuits. John 
 Forster was shorter than George Elliot, and he appeared thinner ; 
 but the strength of the man was in reality much greater. In the 
 muscular throat, the strong round chin, the low square forehead and 
 high head, and the very slight projection of the under lip, which was 
 only noticeable under strong excitement, there were evidences of 
 strength of character as well as of body ; and as the two men sat 
 holding their cards, so that their loose cuffs fell back from their hands, 
 the contrast of the nervous resolute grasp of the one with the com- 
 parative irresolution and dimpled softness of the other, was very 
 remarkable. It was a critical period of the game too. Elliot, far 
 ahead of his adversary in score, had backed himself heavily to win, 
 but in this hand luck seemed to have changed. 
 
10 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A LITTLE PLAY. 
 
 Both parties tad counted up their cards, and begun to play. 
 Forster exhibited irrepressible triumph, though when his companion 
 occasionally spoke to him he replied from, behind his hand, as if 
 he feared to show the expression of his mouth. Elliot played very 
 slowly, and with much thought — and he was by no means an 
 indifi'erent player; but this was no common hand. Chance, or the 
 coolest calculation, might save him from a capot ; but he knew 
 Eorster would exert every ingenuity to mislead him, and there was a 
 heavy stake on the game, more than he cared to lose. At last there 
 remained but two cards in his hand, and one of these might win 
 a trick and save him ; which should he play ? What card had 
 Eorster reserved ? Perhaps, if he had shut his eyes and considered 
 well, he might have saved the game ; but it was already as good as 
 lost. In Elliot's nerveless fingers the two cards were moved about 
 irresolutely ; then he closed his eyes and played one desperately. 
 
 " The wrong one, by G !" he exclaimed, throwing the other 
 
 passionately on the table. " I thought it would be so. Thou hast 
 the devil's luck to-night, Jack !" 
 
 " Nay," retorted the other, " if thou wilt be such a fool, Geordie, 
 as to trust to luck when memory would have helped thee better, I 
 have no more to say. It was no clean capot, only thou hast made it 
 one ; and but for this," and he held up the card, " as your score 
 was at eighty -two, I had a poor chance." 
 
 " Well, so be it. Jack ; and what's to pay ? Let me see — I bet thee 
 three to two on the rubber, and there is the score besides." 
 
 " In ponies, Geordie. Nay, thou wouldst have it so." 
 
 " Yes, by George, it is true ; and here is only enough to pay the 
 score on the table, and my purse is empty." 
 
 " I wish my I XT were as good as thine," returned his friend. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it must be so. Here, Dickiwig ! a pen, ink, 
 and paper — sharp, my lad; and a glass of brandy next, to wash 
 down my ill luck. Come, Darnell," he continued, turning round to a 
 young man sitting by the fire with a glass before him which was half 
 full of steaming punch — "come, rouse thyself. Art asleep? It 
 is thy turn now ; here's Forster has won nigh a hundred of me, and 
 I hope it will all get back to thee. Come, bring another chaii-, for 
 there is no luck in this." 
 
 The person to whom Elliot spoke belonged to the small party 
 ■which that night, as often before, had met at the Golden Cock to 
 
A LITTLE PL A Y. 11 
 
 play. The youngest of the three, he was not more than twenty ; 
 and as he will have a good deal to do with this history, and may be 
 briefly described, I will not now pass him by. A fresh-faced, curly- 
 headed youth, who, you could not help thinking, would have been 
 safer and better in other company. What hair there was on his face 
 had been late in coming, and was as yet but down. Thick, wavy, 
 dark-chestnut locks clustered over the brow and temples, and, uncut, 
 curled over the ears and on the shoulders. The face was a good 
 deal freckled, but not plain — quite the contrary ; and though it was 
 not that of a man of good blood, so to speak, in which respect those 
 of Elliot and Porster were remarkable, it was one which many a 
 woman would have looked on with favour, from its bold, manly, 
 and usually good-natured expression. The mouth was small and 
 well-cut, showing white even teeth : the eyes dark grey with black 
 lashes, and sufficiently large to be capable of much affectionate 
 expression, though liable to passion, which was evinced by the bold 
 nose and open defiant nostril. In figure he was as tall as Elliot, 
 and showed evidences of greater future strength, though certainly 
 of less grace, than had been attained by that accomplished beau. 
 Believing Ralph Darnell to be the heir of a north-coxmtry baronetcy 
 and a large estate, his fellow-countrymen had taken him under their 
 patronage, and were educating him in the accomplishments of the 
 day, after their own particular fashion : while he, nothing loath, was 
 by no means an indifferent pupil. 
 
 " Come !" cried Forster, theatrically. " Ralph Darnell ! I dare 
 thee ! Sir Ralph Darnell, Baronet, of Melcepeth Castle to be. 
 Gad ! it has a sound of sea-waves in it, befitting the neighbourhood 
 of Dunstanborough and "WarkwortL I dare thee to battle ! I 
 have just capotted Geordie, and intend to capot thee ! Awake, O 
 sleeper ! Thou art not drunk, surely ? " 
 
 "Drunk 1" retorted the young man, drinking off the remaining 
 contents of his glass at a gulp — " no more drunk than you are. I 
 thought you would never have done with that infernal rubber, and 
 had wellnigh gone to sleep over my punch and the bright fire. 
 Here, Dickiwig — afresh cards, old fellow, and a fresh jorum of 
 punch." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Darnell," replied that worthy, as he brought the 
 cards, " if you're going to play with Mr. Forster, you'd as well not 
 have more punch ; that's the second glass I've brought you, and you'll 
 please to pay at the bar for what you had before." 
 
 "Mind your own business, you old fool," cried the young man, 
 " and I'll mind mine. I want the punch, I say, and if you won't 
 bring it, I'll go to the bar myself." 
 
 " Coming, sir ! " was Dicky's answer, as, in reply to some real or 
 fancied caller, he dashed away. 
 
12 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " But tlie punch," cried Darnell after him — " you old sinner — " 
 
 " Be quiet, Ralph," said Elliot. " I don't know that it is good for 
 you, but as you will. I am going to change these gay garments of 
 mine, and will tell Susan, your beloved, to send it to you ; and I think 
 I shall take a turn at hazard when I return." 
 
 " That means he'll flirt with her himself," said Forster ; "but come, 
 man — cut for deal, and let's begin. "What shall it be ? — guineas, and 
 ten on the rubber ? " 
 
 " Susan's a jade, and you may tell her so, Geordie, from me, and 
 you're welcome to her — if — you can get her, which is more than I 
 can ; but then you're a beau, you know, and I'm hardly a ' blood.' 
 Well, John ! Oh ay ! I got twenty yellow boys from old Sanders 
 to-day, and thei'e they lie against yours. And I've won the deal, 
 huzza ! Now for it." 
 
 They continued playing, and the luck had changed. Forster's face 
 was no longer triumphant, but it changed very little with ill-fortune, 
 the under lip only grew out, as it were, as the teeth were set and 
 occasionally ground passionately, and the strong upper lip closed over 
 it with a rigid pressure under a profane oath, which I cannot record. 
 Indeed, in this respect, the conversation of these young men was ordi- 
 narily interlarded by explosive expressions, which our ancestresses 
 used not to object to ; and therefore the quiet form of speech I use to 
 express what they said may appear strange and untrue to nature. 
 But as I think that I could not safely record the conversation exactly 
 as it was, without offence, it were therefore best modified. 
 
 " You will give me my revenge, Darnell," said Forster, with an 
 attempt at gaiety, as the rubber ended, and he had lost heavily : 
 " you're not going yet ? " 
 
 " No, by George, not in this furious storm ; and that's haU," he 
 continued after a pause, as sheet after sheet was dashed against the 
 shutters, and the blast fairly shook the old room, whistling throuj, a 
 crevices in the panels. " No, I'll play as long as you like, and you 
 may win all this back if you can. One, two, three — " 
 
 " I hate the chink of money. Ealph, let it alone, will yon, and 
 play," cried Forster, nervously. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! a good joke ! Mayn't I count my coin ? Come, 
 I've only won six-and-twenty of thee after all ; and here, Dicky, more 
 drink's wanted — ^burnt sack this time." 
 
 " Indeed, Master Ralph," said Dickey, you shan't have it to-night ; 
 you'll never get home, and it's time you were there." 
 
 "Then I'll sleep here, you stingy old scoundrel. I'll sleep on the 
 floor ; it's as soft as a ship's plank — isn't it ? No sack ! Look, 
 Diokiwig, here's the guinea for thee I've promised so long. Dost see 
 it ? Ay, but bring the sack, and then thou'lt get it ; not before old 
 boy ! " ' 
 
A LITTLE PLAY. 13 
 
 "Well, Master Ralph, and if I have Mr. Darnell here to-morrow, 
 asking why his nephew was drunk over-night, or Mr. Sanders, what's 
 to be said \ " 
 
 " D — n Mr. Sanders ! " cried Ralph ; " if ever you say a word to him 
 about me, I'll break every bone in your skin, or to my uncle either. 
 There, that's what you want, you old miserly rascal ; there's your 
 guinea," and he threw one to the old man. " Away now for the 
 liquor ! Tell Miss Susan to sweeten it with her sweet lips before she 
 sends it up ; and if it's weak, by Jove I'll make thee drink it thyself, 
 at the point of my sword ! Ha, ha, ha ! I shall get my liquor now, 
 I think, after the guinea — eh. Jack 1 " 
 
 " Come over here, Jack," cried Elliot, now advancing from the 
 centre table, where they had seen him playing after his return ; 
 " leave that cursed piquet ; they've got some hazard a-going here, and 
 that's better. What a glum face, to be sure ! and so thou'st been 
 losing. Jack?" 
 
 " Only six-and-twenty to me, Geordie," said Darnell ; " and thou 
 wouldst say it was sis-and-twenty drops of his life's-blood. Let him 
 alone. Let him win it back as he grudges it. I'm not drunk, Geordie, 
 not a bit ; I can see the cards quite well, and if they will come points 
 and quai-ts, don't blame me. 'Pon my life, I can't help it ! I've 
 played fair, indeed I have — and — I'm not — drunk ! I'm — " 
 
 " Come away, Jack ! I'll not let thee play another card with him 
 — no, not one, by the Lord Harry ! " cried Elliot, dragging Forster 
 from hie chair. " Nay, no need to look savage, man ; you know I 
 care nought for that. Can't we get him to my place some evening, 
 and do what we like with him ? " he whispered hurriedly. " Come 
 away, I say, both of ye. Look what I've won from the sea-captain 
 yonder, who is flourishing a bag of guineas as if they were half- 
 pence." 
 
 " If ^you'll give me another glass of hot sack, Geordie," said 
 
 Darnell, steadying himself upon his chair, " I'll go with you— to the 
 devil— old fellow— if you like. Here, Dickiwig ! " 
 
 " Come away, I say, you fools, and curse the cards ! " cried Elliot, 
 seizing the packs and flinging them to the other end of the room ; 
 " aiid, you old sinner, Dicky, if you give Mr. Darnell another drop, 
 I'll be the death of you ! mind that. Come along boys." 
 
 Darnell rose and steadied himself as well as he could before he 
 moved. He was not very tipsy after all, but in that state when he 
 would have braved anything or done anything without a thought. 
 " I'll give you your revenge any day — six-and-twenty, you know, Jack 
 — ^that's all — and don't be angry now." 
 
 " What a fool you are to think me angry," said Forster between 
 his teeth. "Lend me five pieces, and see if my luck turns 
 asfainst that sailor fellow." 
 
14 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Five ? nay, but here's ten," replied Darnell, gravely countiag 
 tliem on the palm of his hand, " and good luck to you with them." 
 
 " Seven's the main, gentlemen," cried the man of whom Elliot had 
 told them. " Don't be afraid of the gold, or of me. Here it is, won 
 on the coast of the Indies, gentlemen. Ah, you should see the soft 
 Hindu girls there, and the palm trees, and hear tales of Mr. Olive's 
 doings, and how he fights the blacks as I have. I'd a mind to have, 
 joined him, sirs — by the Lord HaiTy I had, with my ship's crew !" 
 
 The speaker was a dashing, bronzed young man, wearing richly- 
 laced cloths, and a strong sword, half hanger, half rapier, by his side. 
 His faced looked as though fierce suns had scorched it, and the hand 
 in which he held a leather bag of coins was as dark as mahogany. 
 " Should be glad to see you, gentlemen, on board the Yaliant any 
 time convenient," he continued ; " got a con^ifortable cuddy there, 
 and the best of grog, and these bones always ready. Seven's the 
 main, gentlemen ; who'll join ?" 
 
 " I will for one," cried Darnell, throwing down a handful of pieces 
 at once. Who's afraid ? Come Jack, come Geordie, don't be afraid. 
 I'm — I'm in luck, and I'm not drunk. Huzza for King George ! 
 and d — n — " 
 
 " Be quiet, you fool ?" cried Forster ; " you don't know who may 
 be here ; do you want a fight ?" 
 
 " Anything for me ! I'm not drunk ! " hiccuped Ralph. " Huzza, 
 I say, for King George, and damnation to all Pretenders ! They're 
 your friends. Jack, that you wince, aren't they ? " 
 
 " By Jove ! if you don't pick up your money I will," cried Elliot. 
 "Look out — see what you've won." 
 
 " Huzza ! double or quits. Captain ? What do you say 1" roared 
 Darnell. " Here's thirty of 'em !" 
 
 " Done, sir," replied the other. " I don't think he's fit to play, 
 though," he continued, apart to Elliot. "I'd have everything fair, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Mind your game, sir," cried Elliot, haughtily ; " we can look 
 after our friend's play as well as our own. You've a heavy stake 
 on that throw." 
 
 " Mind yours, sir," retorted the Captain ; " I know well what I'm 
 about. Any one backing the gentleman there? I'll take odds 
 against him — two to one ? three two five ? name your sums, gentle- 
 men. I've only brought a small bag to-night, but there's plenty 
 more where that came from." 
 
 " I back him then, three to five,'' said Forster, sharply. 
 
 " That's right, my blood of bloods ! " cried Ralph, slapping his 
 thigh. " Who's afraid to-night ? Gad, sir, we'll clean you out ! 
 and there, my hand that it'll be all fair! Drunk, sir' I'm not 
 drunk ! " 
 
A LITTLE FLA Y. 15 
 
 As Darnell spoke, and put out his hand to grasp the Captain's 
 across the table, he felt lus coat gently pulled behind. "What's 
 that ? " he cried sharply. " Let me go, Elliot ; I -will shake hands 
 with him ! " 
 
 " It's me, " said a soft girlish voice behind him — " it's only me. 
 Oh, come home, Mr. Ralph ! Nanny's in a sore fright for you, and 
 mother's ill, and I've run over the bridge with your cloak — come 
 with me." 
 
 " I'faith, a brave little wench ! " cried a dozen of voices round the 
 table. " Who art thou, my darling ? " coarsely added a man near, 
 who put his arm round the girl. " Nay, but I'll have a kiss from 
 thy sweet lips — by George, I will ! " 
 
 As the girl struggled to free herself, Ealph Darnell struck the 
 man heavily in the mouth with a back-handed blow, so that he stag- 
 gered back. " Who dares touch her ! " he exclaimed, haughtily, as if 
 suddenly sobered; and drawing his sword with one hand, gathered 
 the girl to him with the other, in spite of her frantic efforts to drag 
 down the weapon. 
 
 The dice had been thrown, and Darnell had won. Elliot gathered 
 up the stakes, and thrust them into Darnell's breeches pocket, just 
 as the man who had been struck attacked him fiercely, and the 
 swords crossed. " No brawling here, gentlemen ! " cried Mr. Wilkins 
 — "no brawling; ye can go into the streets for that; the Golden 
 Cock is no place for Mohocks. Mr. Elliot, Mr. Forster, look to Mr. 
 Darnell ! " 
 
 Neither, however, nor the company present, had any mind to let 
 the quarrel go on. The stranger was forthwith disarmed and 
 dragged away; and Forster, wrenching Darnell's sword from him, 
 thrust it into the scabbard, and he was hurried to the end of the 
 room near the door. 
 
 " I am well known," cried Elliot to the Captain, as he returned to 
 the table ; " and Mr. Wilkins will answer for me. Let him go ; you 
 shall have your revenge to-morrow night ; if you will come, we will 
 bring our friend." 
 
 "Nay, 'twas but a trifle," replied the good-humoured fellow; 
 " and one must lose and another win with the bones' rattle. I shall 
 be happy to see you, sir, here or in the cabin of the Valiant, as you 
 will. The ship is easily found ; and I am Captain Abel Scrafton, at 
 your service or your friend's, always." 
 
 Meanwhile Ealph Darnell had been hurried on by Mr. Wilkins, 
 Dicky, and a posse of tapsters — some of whom had caught up stout 
 sticks and flourished them over their heads — down the stairs, and 
 into the hall, where he sat down doggedly on the flags, swearing fright- 
 ful oaths, and declaring he would not stir till he had more drink. 
 The girl was crying bitterly, but would not leave him ; and now 
 
16 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 folded his thick cloak about him, buttoning it at the throat — ^an 
 office in which Forster and the old waiter assisted — trying to raise 
 Darnell to his feet. 
 
 "Susan, another flagon of sack, and a kiss from thee, my darling," 
 hicouped Ralph ; " and I'll go, I'll go ; I'm not drunk ! and Sybil, 
 wait ! 'pon my soul, I'll go home quietly if I get it." 
 
 " Oh give it him, Mr. Wilkins," cried the girl, clasping her hands 
 piteously ; " give it him, else I shall never get him away, and they 
 don't know I am out — indeed they don't — and I can't wait, sir; I 
 will not leave him." 
 
 " Now, that's the last, Mr. Ralph, and it's only because you pro- 
 mised to go home that. I give it you," said the host, gently. "Now, 
 go— that's a good lad, and let's have no more of this nonsense." 
 
 " If that fellow had not insulted Sybil," cried Darnell, rising to 
 his feet and steadying himself, as he received the small tankard, " I 
 would not have hit him. Served him right ; didn't I Jack ? didn't 
 I, Mr. WUkins ? Here's to your good healths, all round. Now, 
 Sybil, your arm, my darling. It's a bad night, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Ralph, we have not far to go, and we'U soon 
 be over the bridge," said the girl, who, not heeding the pitiless storm 
 without, was only anxious to get Ralph away. 
 
 " Good night, then, Mr. Wilkins ; good night, Jack ; where's 
 Geordy? Ah! I'm the better for that hot sack and the ginger. 
 Bless thee, Susan ! I blow a kiss to thee, my dear." 
 
 The damsel in the bar tossed her head scornfully as Ralph blew 
 his parting benediction from the tips of his fingers, and the door 
 being opened, admitted a furious blast of wind with snow, as he 
 emerged from it staggering into the street. 
 
 " My mind misgives me about the lad. Jack,'' said Elliot good- 
 naturedly, as he returned from the upper room ; " we had better 
 follow him and see him safe home." 
 
 " It will be a charitable act, gentlemen," added the host. " He 
 has too much money about him to be alone so wild a night as this." 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 SAFE HOME. 
 
 I LEAVE it to scientific professors to define why, if a half tipsy man 
 goes out suddenly into cold air, the inevitable result is that he 
 advances a stage further in inebriety. No doubt this phenomenon 
 is capable of a most easy-to-be-comprehended solution, but I have 
 
SAFE HOME. 17 
 
 only to do with the fact ; and though it is no doubt painful to have 
 to exhibit a fine young fellow like Ralph Darnell in the condition he 
 had attained after his steady potations of strong brandy-punch and 
 burnt sack, I profess that this history has to deal with the truth, and 
 that, whether the acts of those who have part in it be good or evU, 
 they shall be faithfully set forth to the end. 
 
 For after all, my friend, this is the true aspect of all human 
 nature — ^poor, imperfect, blind, striving, jostling human nature ; and 
 my opinion is, that you would no more believe all the characters I 
 have to bring before you to be perfectly good, not though I painted 
 them with the brightest colours and the softest moral brushes I could 
 find, than you would believe them to be perfectly bad, even though I 
 blackened them with all the sins named in the commination service. 
 And while I shall have no occasion, I hope, to do either one or the 
 other, you must be prepared, in the course of this history, to take the 
 people who belong to it in general, and this very Ralph Darnell in 
 pai-ticular, as you may find them. 
 
 Just now, as we see him, he is certainly in no very dignified con- 
 dition ; but we cannot help that. After passing out of the porch of 
 the Golden Cock, above which that resplendent bird was swinging 
 rapidly and creaking loudly in the blast, Ralph and Sybil fairly faced 
 the snow and wind ; and it was as much as the girl could do to steady 
 her companion, even thoxigh the gale helped them occasionally, as 
 the blasts came from the east down the .street — and the snow, whirled 
 round and round by the eddies among the houses, had settled into 
 drifts which were deep enough to puzzle any one whose footing was 
 not quite within his own control. Ralph, then, had fallen more 
 than once into soft places, but he was in good humour, laughing 
 heartily at his own erratic steps, and the girl, gaining confidence 
 from his merriment, was leading him as well as she could onwards. 
 Fortunately there was a good deal of light, not only from the effect 
 of the moon, dark as the clouds were, but from the snow, which now 
 lay thick on the ground. 
 
 It was, however, very different when they turned the comer of 
 Thames Street, and emerged upon the bridge. There they had to 
 encounter the full force of the storm, and for a while Darnell's 
 spirits appeared to rise higher as he struggled against the furious 
 wind and blinding snow. I am afraid no modem ears would like to 
 hear of the scraps of vile, ribald songs he sang, of the volleys of pro- 
 fane oaths he fired against the tempest, or of the frantic manner in 
 which he roared and howled more and more impotently as he strug- 
 gled on. He had flung off' Sybil more than once as she attempted to 
 steady and guide him ; and it was evident to the tei-rified girl that 
 his intoxication was much increased, and increasing. What if he 
 fell insensible ! She could not stir him ; he must be snowed up, and 
 
 B 
 
18 RALP H DARNELL. 
 
 so perish. She had heard her mother and Nanny tell of travellers 
 on northern moors overtaken by the snow, who had gone to sleep, 
 and were found dead in the morning; and her terror increased. 
 There was no one on the bridge, not even a watchman, and only a 
 few street lamps, at great intervals, remained alight in the storm. 
 "What should she do ii he fell, but watch by him like a dog? Ah ! 
 yes, she would be as faithful. 
 
 The bridge, too, was steep — steep, that is, for a tipsy man to 
 ascend with such a storm raging; and Darnell's steps became so 
 painfully erratic that Sybil no longer dared to touch him. His 
 shouts and songs had gradually died away, and a change was coming 
 over the young man, by no means uncommon in phases of such ex- 
 citement. He was now sullen and silent, and Sybil feared these 
 moods, which came over him sometimes even when there was no 
 cause like the present. Suddenly, as he staggered more than usual, 
 a blast from the river, fiercer than any they had met before, fl\mg 
 Darnell into a drift of snow, and he lay there without stirring. 
 
 It was what Sybil had feared, and she crept to him under shelter 
 of the parapet ; but he had raised himself up, and sat crying and 
 sobbing in a maudling tone, which to her was far more painful than 
 the previous ribaldry, and cursing all belonging to him ; and, as it 
 often happens, what is nearest the heart of any one so affected comes 
 out first. 
 
 " Curse 'em, I say — curse them all," he whined, " for a pack of miserly 
 scoundrels, who want — cheat me — cheat me. There's IJncle Geoffrey 
 — Sir Geoffrey — and I'm Sir Ralph to be, by-and-by, if they'll let 
 me ; but no ! they won't. I know they won't, else why was I sent to 
 this infernal place ? And they won't let me have my Constance — no, 
 they won't ; and I curse them all, and Uncle Eoger, and Sanders, 
 and — . Constance ! my darling, my darling," he continued, 
 stretching out his arms and whimpering, " come here — come and get 
 me out of this snow. I can't get up. my darling ! don't, don't 
 leave me here." Then he howled more curses and profane oaths, and 
 the gentle girl crept nigher and nigher to him in the snow-drift. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Ralph, don't curse so," she said gently; "get up and 
 come home with me. Lean on me ; I'm quite strong, and we'U soon 
 be there. It's only SybU— your own Sybil — come." 
 
 " No, d— n you," roared the young savage ; " get away ! I hate 
 you ! I want Conny ! Go and fetch her, you — . They've taken 
 my Conny from me : they've sent me here, and won't let me see 
 her, and I shall never go to Melcepeth any more — no, curse them-^ 
 and you— everybody ! — " 
 
 The girl had raised him up partially, and helped to get him on 
 his feet, but this time he caught hold of her dress, shook her vio- 
 lently, and flung her from him with all his strength. It was well 
 
SAFE HOME. 19 
 
 that the snow lay thickly on. the pavement, else she had been ter- 
 ribly hurt. As it was, she was partially stunned ; and he looked at 
 her lying before him with a stupid wonderment which, for the 
 moment, partially sobered him. As he rose and staggered back to 
 the parapet, to which he clung moaning, his feet refused to obey him. 
 
 How the wind shrieked and the snow fell ! To look towards the 
 river was impossible. Darnell had faced the storm for a moment ; 
 and his small hat, over which one of the tapsters had kindly tied a 
 handkerchief, had been wi-enched instantly from his head, and blown 
 away like a feather. Nothing could be seen of the water, or the 
 ships, or the houses by the river-side — all was a confused cloud of 
 battling, whirling, blinding snow-flakes : but the sounds were fearful. 
 Far below, the tide was running out — and some of us may remem- 
 ber with what violence it used to pour through the old arches at 
 ordinary times ; but now the ebb-flood met the gale, and the furious 
 waves dashed high against the bridge piers, or raged in a fearful tur- 
 moU in the centre of the river. From the shipping there was a 
 hoarse and continuous roar of the wind through the rigging, which 
 often rose into a wild howl as if of evil spirits riding on the storm. 
 With it, a confused sotmd of plashing and rolling vessels mingled 
 with heavy thuds of collision : and above all these, hoarse but con- 
 stant cries of human voices came up fitfully. It could not be said 
 whether they were orders on board the ships, shouts for help, or the 
 death-shrieks of the crews of shattered and sinking vessels. 
 
 But of anything precise, Ralph Darnell was now unconscious. 
 Just as he had steadied to advance, SybU raised herself and looked 
 round. Wiping the snow from her face, she saw Darnell ; and, re- 
 membering his curses and despair, the first thought which occurred to 
 her was that he would destroy himself in the river beneath. 
 
 " No ! no 1 no ! Ealph ! " she shrieked, as she rose suddenly and 
 staggered through the snow. " Help ! help ! Oh save him, save 
 him ! " 
 
 Her cry had been heard. She was clinging to him in her terror, 
 as his two companions, who had followed on the track of his foot- 
 steps, came up. 
 
 "Ay, thou art a rare brave wench ! " cried Elliot; " and hast not 
 left him. But for thee, indeed, we had missed ye both, for we were 
 on the other causeway. Hallo, Ralph ! who is this fairy ? A 
 sweetheart of thine ? Fie ! man, she's but a child." 
 
 " Hie on home, lassie, and get into shelter," said Forster, good- 
 naturedly. " We'll bring him to you safe. This is no place for the 
 like of you." 
 
 " Please, sir," said Sybil, timidly, " I'm not his sweetheart— I m 
 
 only—" , , 
 
 " Never mind what thou art ! " cried Elliot ; " there s a smack of 
 
20 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 my ain county's ' burr ' about thee ; and thou'rt a brave lass. If I 
 liadn't more sweethearts than I know what to do with already, thou 
 shouldst be chief of mine. But there's Jack Forster — he wants one ; 
 and a canny lass frae the North will just — Bless me, she's 
 gone ! " he continued — " vanished, 'i faith ! perhaps in the snow 
 among Mother Bunch's feathers; an' wha kens, Johnnie Forster, 
 but the deil's maybe sent ye a leman, my bonny lad — an' you've 
 letten her gang. Did ye no see her broomstick ? " 
 
 " Peace, with your ribald foolery, George," retorted the other; " and 
 help me with this stupid ass. Darnell ! do you know who we are ? " 
 
 Ralph looked dreamily from one to the other, and dashed the snow 
 from his eyes. " I know you," he hiccuped. " It's the sack, Geordie, 
 that did it ! One shouldn't mix — ^you know — I'm better now ! 
 Come along. Hurrah for King George, and d — n the Pretender ! 
 Tol de rol, de rol, de rol ! Fol de rol de ray ! " 
 
 There is nothing so efficient for the care of a tipsy man as two 
 stout sober companions, one on each side. The sufferer may stumble, 
 or stagger, or reel ; but he must walk ; and legs incapable of any 
 independent action, obey the laws enforced upon them by those of 
 others. Accordingly, though Ralph Darnell did huzza for the King 
 once more, and d — n the Pretender — much to Elliot's amusement, 
 who knew Forster to be one of the secret agents of a ruined house — 
 and roar out scraps of ditties, he was forced along the bridge till the 
 trio reached Tooley Street corner, where they stopped. They knew 
 Darnell lodged somewhere in that vicinity — ^but where ? And could 
 he direct them now Sybil was gone ? 
 
 Ralph, however, was now somewhat more sober, and knew his way 
 perfectly. " Come on, boys ! " he said, with tipsy gravity ; " Mrs. 
 Morton will be glad to see my friends ; and I've got a glass of brandy 
 apiece for ye. It is but a step ; " and he moved forwards by himself. 
 
 " Let's see where he lives," said Forster ; " we may need to know 
 some day ; and I should like to look at that little girl's face again, to 
 know it better." 
 
 " I hope she may never see thine to know it better," rejoined 
 Elliot, laughing. " If she ever do, so much the worse for her — that's 
 all. I hope the old lady may give us the brandy too ; we've got to 
 face that bridge again, and a cordial will do us no harm." 
 
 And they followed close on Darnell's heels, lest he should fall 
 again; but, partly by aid of the wall, and by considerably more 
 command over his legs than before, the young man made his way 
 forward very surely, and, turning into a small street apparently close 
 to the river, as the dashing and gurgling of waves among the piles 
 denoted, he stopped at the porch of an ancient house and knocked at 
 the door, which was instantly opened by an elderly woman, carrying 
 a candle, who held out her hand to Darnell. 
 
SAFE HOME. 21 
 
 " Tak' care, Master E-raafe," she said, in a broad Norttumbrian 
 accent ; " tak' a grrip o' me, and haud fast doon the step ; that's 
 richt. Eh lad ! but what hae ye been doin' wi' yoursel' ! an' -wha's 
 them wi' ye ? 'Deed, gentlemen," she continued, curtsying to Elliot 
 and Forster, " ye've dune the daft lad a gude turn the nicht — A've 
 heerd on it, of my young Icddy ; an' my mistress, that's Mistress 
 Morton, ye ken, she's vary obligated t'ye." 
 
 " Don't prate, Nanny," said Ealph, who had steadied himself 
 against the parlour door as she shut the outer one ; " let us in here, 
 and stir up the fire ; they're not going yet. Come in, Geordie — 
 come in, both of ye. It would be hard if a Darnell turned out an 
 Elliot and a Forster in sic a nicht wi'oiit a tass o' brandy to help 
 them hame ; quick, Nanny ! I'm not drunk now, ye auld fule ! ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! — not now." 
 
 The fire was blazing up cheerily as the parlour door opened and 
 they were shown in. 
 
 " You're welcome to my poor room, Geordie — not like yours 
 exactly," continued Ralph ; " but you've both done me a good turn 
 to-night, and I'll drink your healths for it, I'm d — d if I don't. Now 
 Nanny ! " 
 
 " Ma mistress's compliments, surrs,'' said Nanny, bringing in a 
 small tray with glasses, and a case-bottle in a filigree stand, " and 
 she hopes ye'U tak' no harm o' the nicht ; and she's thankfu' t'ye for 
 your service, and hopes ye'll tak' a glass apiece, or mair if ye like the 
 sperrit ; but it's frae Melcepeth Castle, ye ken, so that's paid no king's 
 duty. Ye'll be frae the North yersels, gentles. Forster an' Elliot 
 they ca'd ye ? eh sirs ! but they're canny names, an' ye'll be of gude 
 people, I'll warrant." 
 
 " We'll drink Mrs. Morton's good health," said Forster ; " and if 
 you'll tell her I ?im Mr. Forster of the Craig Peel, she'll know who 
 I am ; and this is Mr. Elliot, of Wooler Hall, and she'll know well 
 of him too : we're friends of Mr. Darnell's." 
 
 Nanny curtsied low as each familiar name and place was men- 
 tioned, and, pouring out bumpers of spirit, handed them to the 
 guests, as she set down the tray on the table near Ralph, who was 
 looking from one to the other with tipsy gravity. As he saw the 
 tray set down, however, and as Nanny was smoothing her apron 
 prior to beginning a set speech, he suddenly poured out a quantity of 
 the spirit into a large silver flagon which Nanny had brought with 
 the glasses, and, with a wild hurrah to their health, drank it off at a 
 draught, and fell heavily to the floor. 
 
 " Enough for to-night," exclaimed Forster, with a sneer ; " keep 
 him quiet, ma'am, and his head high, and let him lie there before 
 the fire till he comes round. Take care of the money in his pockets — 
 he has more than he needs, and," he added bitterly, " he won much 
 
22 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 of it from me, with his cursed good luck. But perhaps we could see 
 the young lady again to say how much we admired her courage," he 
 continued, " if we might be so honoured before we go." 
 
 "Miss Morton's wi' her mither, surrs," replied Nanny, with some 
 dignity, and drawing up her tall slight figure ; " an, she's no minded 
 to see stranger gentry at this time o' nicht. A'll mind him mysel', 
 Burrs — a' ken weel what to dee. Ye'd as well go, surrs." 
 
 " Come away. Jack," cried Elliot, laughing, and pulling Forster to 
 the door, " the old woman's more than a match for you. Eh, but 
 that's good stuff ! wadna ye gie us just anither tass o't, my darlin' ? " 
 he added in the broad dialect she was speaking in. 
 
 " Awa wi' ye, ye reivin' loons," cried the old woman, angrily — 
 " awa wi' ye ! a'll be glad when I've steekit the dure behint ye. 
 There ! " she exclaimed, when they had gone out, and she drew the 
 heavy bolts and turned the key twice in the lock. " Elliots and 
 Forsters were ever a dour set, and these are nae good, I reckin. 
 Miss Sybil, they're baith gone ; come doon and see till Mister Ralph ; 
 he's in a sair dwam ; come doon, hinny, if yer mither's asleep." 
 
 " Thank God, Nanny," said Sybil, descending the stairs gently, 
 with a candle in her hand. " I was sore afraid of those bold men, 
 hut the Lord has truly protected us this night." 
 
 " Ay, hinny darling, ye may say that indeed ; but there's nae sleep 
 for me the nicht ; he'll be restless in his drink, an' need watchin'. 
 Get thee to bed, childie, I'd be better wi'out thee, darlin' j drunken 
 lads is no fit company for the likes of thee." 
 
 " Nay, Nanny, but I'll sit by you for a while and watch. I'U go 
 by-and-by." 
 
 And the two sat down beside Ealph, while he groaned and moaned 
 in his heavy sleep ; and the storm raged still without, the river 
 waves surging up against the piles, and the wind roaring its unearthly 
 chorus in the ships' rigging. 
 
 " It's the first time he ever was like this, Nanny," said the gentle 
 girl, as she smoothed the pillow beneath the sleeper's head, and 
 covered him more carefully, while she prayed for him after her simple 
 fashion, " May the Lord in His mercy grant it be the last ! " 
 
 "Amen, amen, hinny; but men's dour folk, ma darlin,' and 
 uz women has to bear wi' mony an evil time they bring on uz. 
 Wae's me ! but I've seen mony o' them ; and this callant '11 be nae 
 wiser, I reakon, in his young time, than his folk wuz before him. 
 The Darnells wuz iver a wild race, and it's ill gettin' a tame bird oot 
 o' a wild bird's nest. Eh ! but thou'rt a brave lassie, ma pet. If 
 iver a man's life was saved before, it was done by thee the nicht." 
 
 " God was good to me, Nanny," murmured Sybil, wiping away 
 her tears. 
 
MO-RNING. 23 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 If the Louse where Mrs. Morton dwelt was not so imposing in its 
 appearance as the Golden Cock nearly opposite, on the city side of 
 the river, it was perhaps as old, and much in the same style. The 
 ground floor had similar narrow oblong windows, and the story 
 above the like projecting oriels, which, over some intermediate 
 stairs and wharves, commanded a beautiful view of the river. Ori- 
 ginally the house had been large ; and, as with the Golden Cock, 
 might have been the residence of a noble family in days gone by j 
 but what remained of the original structure had been divided into 
 several tenements, occupied by respectable, but comparatively poor 
 families; and in one of these lived Mrs. Morton, her daughter 
 Sybil, and her old servant, Nanny Keene, with Ealph Darnell as 
 a regular boarder in the family. 
 
 Mrs Morton's story was a sad one. Her husband's family, and in- 
 deed her own, had been staunch Cavaliers, and adhered to the house 
 of Stuart to the last. Others had fought in the civU wars, had 
 risen and fallen with the times, and had finally settled down into 
 recognition of, and adhesion to, the Hanoverian succession ; but this 
 Walter Morton's father could not do ; and when he died, he left all 
 his devotion, all his loyalty, all his energy and bravery, represented 
 in his son. lam not, however, about to recapitulate old scenes in 
 history, which are familiar to us under a thousand illustrations. We 
 all know of the Pretender's campaign in 1745, and of its fatal 
 termination. Colonel Morton was among the first to join the Prince 
 Charles Edward, with a strong body of his tenantry and levies, and 
 no more efficient troop of horse belonged tO the soi^disant " Royal " 
 army. To support these, and to aid the cause in general. Colonel 
 Morton had not only raised money by mortgages on his estate, but 
 had even pledged his plate, his wife's jewels and other valuables; 
 and, in this respect, as in all others, there were few adherents of the 
 Stuart cause who had shown more true devotion and disregard of 
 personal interest. I feel certain, indeed, that, mercenary as were the 
 motives of many of the Prince's friends, and deeply as they hoped for 
 eventual personal aggrandisement by the success erf his cause, no such 
 motive had crossed the mind or tarnished the lustre of the character 
 of Walter Morton. As with his father and his ancestors, so with 
 him attachment to his Prince's cause was an article of faith, as 
 earnest, and as devout, as his religious belief. 
 
 The story of the end is soon told. Colonel Walter Morton charged 
 boldly, and shouted " victory," at Prestonpans ; marched in triumph 
 
24 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 to Derby ; and when Hawley's dragoons charged at Culloden, was 
 knocked from his horse in a vain attempt to check them, stunned by 
 the fall, and so taken prisoner. For the sake of a beloved wife and 
 one darling daughter he would have been glad to live on ; for the 
 results of the campaign, the disunion of the leaders, and the irresolu- 
 tion of the Prince himself, had removed from his eyes many of the 
 old veils of romantic devotion. But the Government of the day was 
 not placable, and little mercy was shown to Charles Edward's ad- 
 herents. From his well-known character. Colonel Morton expected 
 no mercy, and received none; and being removed to London, was 
 tried, condemned to death, and executed on Kennington Common 
 with his companions. 
 
 You may read the terrible narrative anywhere in the history of 
 the period, if you have a mind to do go. If you do, it will present 
 to your imagination a fearful scene of human suffering and human 
 revenge; and you will be thankful that times have changed, and 
 that we are changed in them, I hope for the better. Whatever the 
 provocation, England would not now endure the bloody, horrible 
 executions of 1746 ; nor will Temple Bar ever again be garnished 
 with that ghastly row of pale faces, blistering and rotting in the sun 
 and wind, to which loyal London citizens, and many a fair dame of 
 the period, then looked up with exultation. 
 
 Mrs. Morton had followed her husband faithfully to the last ; had 
 exerted what interest she had, personally or through others, with my 
 Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Pelham, but to no purpose. Her dear 
 husband had told her from the first it would be so ; but she strove, 
 nevertheless, as it behoved her to do, for it was hard to think that 
 he, so glorious in his noble manhood, was to die at man's bidding, 
 and leave her alone. Sho was an orphan, whom he had seen and 
 had loved in the courtly society of St. Germains, and her family so 
 completely died out, tiiat her husband knew, and knew bitterly, 
 there would be no one henceforth to protect her but the merciful 
 Father into whose gracious care he fervently committed her. 
 
 I have said already there is no use raking up the past — else I 
 might tell of the widow's frantic cries from her coach window on 
 Kennington Common ; of her prayers, even to the last, for rescue — 
 for his life — which went by on the blustering wind unheeded, and 
 were lost in the shouts of a crowd looking on traitors' deaths. Who 
 heeded the misery of a traitor's wife, when huzzas for King George, 
 and damnations to all Pretenders, rent the air ? So she returned 
 with her child to the city ; and as all her husband's estate was con- 
 fiscated, and she had no longer a roof to shelter her, she dismissed her 
 servants, and henceforth lived in obscurity, on the comparative 
 pittance which remained, guarded by the one faithful heart which, in 
 all her direst agony, only clung more closely to her. 
 
MORNING. 25 
 
 It was long, indeed, before she regained proper consciousness ; and 
 ■when any did return, that last frightful scene — the surging crowd ; 
 the tall'gibbets beyond, rising grim and black out of the smoke of the 
 fires by them ; the Dutch dragoons, with their heavy brass caps ; the 
 halberdiers' pikes ; and, above all, the huzzas, shrieks, groans, and 
 shouts of the multitude — fell ujjon her eyes and ears again, as 
 though they were then present, and she relapsed. But the most 
 terrible acuteness of misery can be blunted by time ; and if in Mrs. 
 Morton this proved a long process, it was only when the finer chords 
 of her nature — relaxed by the daily cares and events of common 
 existence — gave forth no painful responses. 
 
 It was well that a sum of money had been saved before the 
 general wreck came on, and had been lodged with the great house of 
 Roger Darnell and Company, of London, by Colonel Morton, in his 
 wife's name, in case of accidents ; for of this Mr. Darnell proved as 
 faithful a steward as dear old Nanny Keene was a faithful servant. 
 After many explorations, the old house near Tooley Stairs was 
 found, and, as Nanny said, "was a bit cannie auld placie, where nae- 
 body wad care to speer after them ; and though the watermen lads 
 wuz whiles rough and drucken, yet she'd nae fear o' them, nor the 
 mistress either, an' they were aye kind to the bit lassie." 
 
 If her mind were weakened considerably in some respect, Mrs. 
 Morton had not forgotten her aqcomplishments. French she spoke 
 like a native ; she played prettily on the harpsichord ; and a talent 
 for embroidery, originally learned in France, was now a means of 
 constant, and in many respects profitable, employment. By degrees all 
 her little accomplishments had been imparted to Sybil. There was no 
 need of any more formal instruction. The child had been docile and 
 intelligent, and was now excelling her mother in many of these 
 pretty arts, more especially in music and embroidery ; and while 
 they used the one for their pleasure and amusement, the latter was 
 an occupation which could not now be interrupted without denial of 
 many comforts. When also Mr. Darnell found it no longer con- 
 venient to have his nephew Ralph living in his house, he had taken 
 a boat across the river, and paid Mrs. Morton a formal visit. The 
 subject of her receiving the lad had been finally discussed, and being 
 open to no objection, was gratefully accepted. There was a comfort- 
 able bedroom for him ; and the sitting-room above stairs, which 
 looked out on the river, as well as the small parlour below, were to 
 be common to him as to them. 
 
 So Ralph Darnell had been living in the old house for five years, 
 and had grown to be one of the family. He was an orphan, and his 
 story will be told by-and-by ; and while he had grown to look often 
 upon Mrs. Morton as a mother (he had never knewn his own), Sybil 
 was as a sister, and, after a fashion, a dear one. It was a conveni- 
 
26 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ent place for the young man to live in. The counting-house of 
 Roger Darnell k Co. was in Lombard Street, and it was a pleasant 
 row in the ferry-boat to the Tower Stairs on fine days, or an easy 
 walk across the bridge, to his daily occupation, returning early to 
 take Mrs. Morton and Sybil either for a row on the river, or a walk 
 in the Temple Gardens or the country, which was soon reached in 
 the direction q£ Newington, and too-well-remembered and fatal 
 Kennington Common. 
 
 Yes, five years had passed pleasantly and peacefully in the house. 
 Ralph had been as regular and orderly a lad as even the precise old 
 Nanny Keene could deswe, and he loved the old dame perhaps as 
 much as Sybil did, which is saying a good deal. If Nanny scolded, 
 he was penitent ; if she praised him, he felt a greater pride in those 
 few, simple, loving phrases, in the dear old Northumbrian dialect, 
 than he did at the more elaborate speeches of Mrs. Morton. To the 
 residence of Ralph Darnell beneath that roof, he owed whatever 
 good principles and whatever religious feeling he ever displayed in 
 after life ; and Mrs. Morton was no niggard in her instructions, 
 which he shared with Sybil. When he came home in the evenings — 
 and merchants' offices closed then earlier than they do now — ^there 
 were pleasant French and Italian exercises to do ; a few stanzas of 
 Dante, or a tale of Boccaccio to be read, for there was not much 
 prudery in those times, and women read and heard innocently, what 
 it would be an insult now even to repeat. Nor was music neglected. 
 Ralph had developed a sweet manly voice, and it was the great 
 delight of old Nanny to linger on the stairs by the sitting-room door, 
 listening to some of those grand old Italian duets and trios, and 
 oftentimes to passages from Mr. Handel's music, then growing into 
 high repute, and rivalling, if not exceeding, that of the Italian masters. 
 
 Ai well, those were pleasant days ! when there were no cares nor 
 anxieties, and when passions had not been stirred which were slum- 
 bering iinknown and unsuspected, growing in strength with age, to 
 break out and distort what was otherwise fair to look at. As yet 
 Mrs. Morton knew little, or comparatively little, of Ralph's wild 
 doings. If she remarked he was not so regular as he used to be as 
 a lad, and often came home at nights after she had retired to her 
 room, were there not two apologists always ready in his defence ? 
 
 " Wad ye hae the puir lad be always cooped up wi' twa aiild wives 
 and a bit lassie ? " Nanny would say. " Eh, mum, but ye'd ne'er 
 haud a Darnell that gate ! Na ! na ! I'se seen mony siccan, and a'll 
 see till hira. Dinna ye speer too much at him ; it'll do nae gude. Ye 
 maunna check a het colt too sharp." 
 
 And there was truth in this homely advice of Nanny Keene's • 
 nevertheless, she could not conceal from herself that Ralph's irref'u- 
 larities were increasing, and she and Sybil had had many an anxious 
 
MORNING. 27 
 
 conference about them, which had been productive of no very practical 
 result. Now and then, for a week or even a month, Ralph would 
 refoi-m, and be once more what they were proud of. Then there 
 would^ be fresh relapses. Is it not always so ? Facilis descensus 
 Avemi is an ancient saying truly, now passed into a proverb ; but 
 I don't know that it is very easy ia all cases, in spite of the old 
 pagan's assertion. Then, as now, there were often sore struggles to 
 regain lost footing, which sometimes succeeded ; and as temptation 
 must needs assail every son of Adam, it is well that some places are 
 found on the slippery path where sorely tried souls can rest for a 
 while, look round and think, and so, praying for safety, be helped up 
 again. 
 
 Thus we have seen Ralph Darnell already slide down a long way. 
 The path was very pleasant, and he was in good company too. He 
 liked play, and was growing to like it still better, not for the sake 
 of money, but for the excitement which accompanied it. . He liked 
 drink too. Most men of spirit drank heavily then, and to be drunk 
 was a very venial sin indeed. Did not his most sacred majesty King 
 George drink? Did not Sir Robert Walpole drink? Was there 
 any one, in fact, who did not drink ? And did our ancestresses think 
 the worse of their brothers, lovers, and husbands if they drank ? I 
 fear not ; and perhaps some of them even gloried in it. Above all, 
 Ralph was getting into a set of his own : a right merry set of " hot 
 bloods," not numerous but choice ; such men as were his equals in 
 birth and breeding, and who, having preceded him in the royal road 
 of Hfe, had experience to lead him on. No wonder he found it a 
 pleasant one ! 
 
 Very pleasant at the time ; but afterwards ? Well, I have heard 
 it said, that the waking after a night such as Darnell had passed is 
 not pleasant — quite the contrary ; and so it proved in this case. As 
 morning was breaking in grey streaks, and the few last patches of 
 scud were flying lazily below the motionless clouds above, Ralph 
 turned heavily on his pillow, yawned, stretched himself, and suddenly 
 sat up. How the room seemed to reel ! how ill he felt ! how every 
 bone ached ! Where was he ? On a floor somewhere, not certainly 
 in his bed. What was that seated in the large arm-chair, with a red 
 petticoat or cloak over it, and the feet set up on another, fast asleep ? 
 He looked again and saw it was old Nanny, and felt ashamed as 
 most of the events of the evening flashed suddenly upon him. He 
 remembered Sybil's calling to him in the tavern, and that he left it 
 with her ; but of what had passed afterwards, or how he got home, 
 his memory was very confused. Had Elliot and Forster brought 
 him home? Something hard pressed against his thigh as he turned 
 round. Yes, it was money, a large sum, too — more than he knew 
 of. " Nanny ! " he cried softly, " dear Nanny ! " 
 
28 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 The old woman had too long attended sick-beds to be a hard 
 sleeper ; she opened her eyes at once, and looked down. " Master 
 Rraafe, are ye wakin ? " she said in a low tone, as i£ unceitoin 
 whether he had called or not. 
 
 He tried again to rise, but it was impossible ; the heavy head sank 
 down on the pillow, and he groaned aloud. 
 
 " Puir bairn ! puir laddie ! " she said, rising ; " ye'll be no happy 
 the morn ; an' it's aye thatten wi' 'em. Dinna get up ; lie there a 
 bit, an' dinna stir for yer life. It's early yet, an' there's naebody 
 movin'. Ma certie, but it was a wild nicht ! let's see what it's like 
 noo, and the daylight breakin'." 
 
 She went up into the sitting-room above and looked out on the 
 river. The wind had quite fallen, and the dappled-grey sky was 
 tinged with gold where the sun was now rising. The river had 
 already calmed down, and the swell which broke lazily among the 
 wooden piers, and rocked the ships and boats gently, was like the 
 heaving of a child's breast with an occasional sigh and sob, after 
 passion. Broken rigging and masts, however, showed what the 
 force of the storm had been ; but the seamen were already at work, 
 damages would soon be repaired, and many wheriies and other boats 
 were busily plying to and fro among the shipping. It was a fair and 
 beautiful sight ; and the pure snow was lying upon the roofs of the 
 houses and churches beyond the river, clear and bright in the sun's 
 rays, which now broke out cheerily. 
 
 " It's the only thing for him noo," said the old dame to herself ; 
 " the only thing he'll care for ; and maybe a het griddle cake and a 
 bit of rede harrin' by-and-by, and a strong cup o' the green gunpouther 
 tey ;" and she opened the door of a cupboard in the corner of the 
 room, and took out the flask which had been produced the night 
 before. Holding it up to the light, " Eh my ! " she exclaimed, 
 "but it's nigh empty, and it was full ! Wasn't I jist an auld fule 
 for pittin' it nigh his hand ? But there's enow for him the morn. 
 It's a hair of the doggie that bit him that'll dee him service, an' 
 nothin' else." And so saying she poured out a small glassful of 
 spirits, and descended the stairs gently. 
 
 Ralph Darnell had risen from the floor and taken possession of the 
 chair. A few embers of the fire were still alight, and he had stirred 
 them into a blaze. 
 
 " An' sae ye're up, Master Ralph," said Nanny, kindly ; " but did 
 I no tell ye to lie quiet ? Here, drink that, ma lad, and ye'll be the 
 better o't. Aff wi' it at ance — it's no ony physic stuff ! " 
 
 Ralph's hand trembled as he took the glass, but he drank off the 
 contents, and felt revived. " O Nanny, darling ! " he said, piteously, 
 " what have I done ? what have I done to be like this ? " 
 
 Ah, what a face it was ! So pale, so weak, so scared ; the eyes so 
 
MORNING. 29 
 
 red and swollen : so different to that of the hale, ruddy, handsome 
 youth, who had gone forth the evening before dressed in his smartest 
 suit. " O Nanny, darling ! " he cried again, " what have I done ? 
 You'll all hate me after this ! " 
 
 Nanny brushed some hot tears from her eyes, and took the poor 
 aching head to her bosom, where it lay helplessly, as she stroked the 
 wan cheeks and smoothed down the rough curly hair. " A'll no 
 greet," she said, " and a'll no be scoldin' ye neyther, ma bairnie, for 
 that's nao gude, ye ken. Dinna dee the like again, Master Ralph, 
 that's all old Nanny Keene asks o' ye. Ye will not? and ye'll 
 promise me truly ? The word of a Darnell's true before God and 
 man, an' ye'll mind it, hinny. O ma bairn ! but ye're safe hame, an' 
 ye may e'en thank the Lord for it, as I do, and as sweet Miss Sybil 
 did, when ye lay helpless in the snaa." 
 
 " Ah ! she, too, saw me then. God bless her ! " said the young 
 man, fervently — " God bless her ! But she'll never speak to me after 
 this disgrace. And Mrs. Morton ? " 
 
 " She was asleep, darlin', an' no sound of ye reached till her. I 
 was watchin' her when Miss Sybil brought ye back, and the strange 
 men wi' ye. But ye'll promise me— O Master Ralph ! ye'll no deny 
 me, nor her, what I axed o' ye ! " 
 
 I will ! I will, Nanny ! " he said, hiding his face still deeper in the 
 woman's breast. " May God help me ! It was the first time, and 
 it'll be the last. And she brought me home ! O Sybil ! " 
 
 Nanny sighed. Was this a promise to hold good ? She had little 
 hope of it in her heart, but she took what came, and treasured it up, 
 praying that it might be true. " Ye're better noo," she said, " an' 
 I'll believe be, Rreaafe Darrnell. It's no the likes o' me that suld 
 be preachin' t'ye ; and ye'll be none the better of an auld wife's 
 foolin'. Get you to rest a while ; I'll bring ye some het water, and 
 ye'll soon be fit for wark again." ^^ 
 
 " But Sybil," said the young man, — " can I not see her ? ' 
 "Better not, ma pet— better not. When ye come hame the after- 
 noon, the nicht's wark wUl be a' clean forgotten. Ye'll get across 
 the river by the ferry, an' I'U have the het griddle cake, and a bit o 
 harrin', an' a cup o' the green gunpouther tey ready agin ye come 
 doon ; an' ye maunna be lang aboot reddin' yersel' up, ye ken. 
 There, awa' wi' ye— that's a gude bairn." 
 
30 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER YI 
 
 ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 
 
 The counting-liouse of Roger Darnell and Company was situated, as 
 I have before mentioned, in Lombard Street, precisely wbere the 
 establishment of so great a merchant should have been. If there 
 were no plate-glass windows, gay brass railings, or architectural de- 
 corations of the front in inconceivably magnificent Byzantine and 
 other styles, such as we see prevalent at present in that and other 
 parts of our most wonderful metropolis, there was at least a healthy, 
 well-to-do look about the handsome red brick edifice, and its scrupu- 
 lously clean bright windows, which imparted confidence as you entered 
 it. In this respect there was a great and very pleasant contrast 
 between it and other merchants' and brokers' offices in the vicinity, 
 in which as much dirt outside and in, as much gloom and mystery as 
 was consistent with any possible endurance, seemed to be affected, as 
 proofs, perhaps, of wealth and devotion to trade. 
 
 Not such, however, in any shape or degree, was the house of Roger 
 Darnell & Co. now, whatever it might have been before the days of 
 good Queen Anne, when the old premises had been pulled down and 
 rebuilt on a handsome scale by one of the best city architects of the 
 period, for the residence, as well as the offices, of the then senior 
 partner. We most of us know what good houses those were — how 
 noble the broad staircases and halls, how richly ornamented the ceil- 
 ings and cornices, how ample the dimensions of the rooms, and their 
 quaintly decorated panels and lofty marble chimney-pieces. All 
 through the reigns of the Queen and of the first George, Mr. Roger 
 Darnell's predecessors had lived in this house, had entertained their 
 friends there after a princely fashion, and had become in time mag- 
 nates of the city where their wealth was gained, and to which their 
 sympathies were confimed. But though the upper portion was stiU 
 well furnished, it did not suit the taste or the convenience of the 
 present senior partner to reside there, and he had removed, on his 
 marriage, to a handsome mansion of the same period in Bloomsbury, 
 Not that Mr. Darnell, and still less his wife, aftected the fashionable 
 society of the higher gentiy and aristocracy of the time, who were 
 gradually progi-essing westward ; but it was felt that a relief from 
 City business, and in some respects a purer air, was desirable, and 
 without going to any extreme, Bloomsbury afforded all that was de- 
 sired. Many of Mr. Darnell's friends and contemporaries had already 
 set up their Lares and Penates there ; the neighbourhood was emi- 
 nently respectable, in the highest sense of the word; and if the 
 aristocracy and landed genti-y of the realm gathered together in the 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 31 
 
 western quarter of the metropolis, there was, in the Bloomsbury 
 district, a genteel aristocracy of wealth which held its own defiantly, 
 and was content therewith. 
 
 The upper portion of the house was not, however, deserted. 
 When Mr. Sanders, the ostensible, head clerk and local manager, 
 returned from Calcutta, where he had been for many years em- 
 ployed as a servant of the East India Company, and was, it was 
 supposed, now the " Co." of the firm (though he was only advanced 
 to the dignity of signing " per pro." for Roger Darnell and Company), 
 he had arrived, as he went, a bachelor ; and for the convenience 
 of business, as well as on account of the high and well-earned regard 
 in which he was held by Mr. Roger Darnell, was ofiered the use of 
 the house, or such part of it as he needed. Here, then, Mr. Sanders 
 ruled supreme. Two maiden sisters, whom his bounty had supported 
 in his absence, lived with him and managed his household afiairs with 
 such admirable discretion and care, that it was assumed, and with 
 good foundation, by those who knew them, that their brother would 
 never need to marry, and the fact was that he never did. 
 
 How often, in the anxiety of business in India, in the half- 
 mercantile half-political transactions of those days, in charge of 
 up-country factories, making advances for silk, for saltpetre, sugar, 
 or cotton, with the native merchants of Bengal, or negotiating with 
 native princes, and in the lonely hours of endurance of sickness 
 in a climate which had never suited him — had the thoughts of John 
 Sanders turned wistfully and painfully to those two dear sisters, 
 longing, and praying too, to be reunited with them. And when he 
 could be spared — ^when, in fact, by the death of his predecessor in 
 office, Roger Darnell had written that his experience, knowledge 
 of the country, and of business in general, would be most valuable — 
 how gladly and thankfully did John Sanders resign the service he had 
 belonged to, and, investing all his savings in a last venture, had 
 found it a profitable one, and so rejoined those whom he had left 
 twenty years before. 
 
 They were changed, of course, those dear ones. Susan, the fair, 
 merry, bright-eyed girl whom he had left just budding into woman- 
 hood ; Mary, the elder, with her soft brown hair, now being streaked 
 with grey, her gentle trusting face and loving eyes, — were changed 
 into women of middle age, and yet not very much changed after all. 
 They had watched, while they were permitted to watch, the declining 
 years of a beloved mother, long spared to them ; and they had laid 
 her gently to rest in one of those quiet, still, beautiful city ceme- 
 teries with only one regret^-that John was not with them to receive 
 her last sigh of blessing for the care which he had guarded her from 
 every discomfort. It was said that both sisters might have married, 
 and that many a rich rderchant or tradesman of consequence had 
 
32 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 wooed them, but in vain. Would they have been happier as wives 
 and mothers, doing their parts in the world's work ? I cannot tell. 
 The natural yearnings of woman's inner life, which so few of us 
 ■understand, may have existed for a while, and jihere may have been, 
 for all any one knew, many a bitter struggle between duty and. 
 inclination to be overcome ; but the sense of duty overbore alL 
 Mother, dear mother, weakly as she was, could not be left ; and, 
 above all, there was such unbounded faith in, and love for, brother 
 John, that, had there been no mother at all to absorb daily care, 
 I think their absolute devotion to him alone would have borne them 
 tip. They were well repaid for it at last, and the yearnings for 
 prattling children about their knees, or for the pride of independent 
 establishments, had died out. Others of their schoolfellows or con- 
 temporaries had all these to their heart's desire, but they excited no 
 envy. In their brother's safe return their fervent prayers had been 
 answered, and daily, as I may say, these three persons seemed to 
 grow more and more into each other. 
 
 Ah, how proud they were of brother John ! Away in the East, 
 in a land then unknown in any intelligible manner to English people, 
 his letters, minute in detail as they used to be in his daily life, 
 though very precious, were often quite incomprehensible. They 
 only knew he had charge of vast responsibilities and of vast wealth, 
 and was valued and trusted. But now they saw why this had been; 
 they knew and felt, as a thing close to their hearts, that, as manager 
 of Roger Darnell and Company's business, brother John was a 
 great man. True faith ever exaggerates perhaps, and, I fear, more 
 that of fond, devoted women, than of harder-minded men. " Mr. 
 Darnell, indeed ! he was very well ; but what would he be, or have 
 been, without John ? " 
 
 " Had I remained in India," John had said to his sisters that 
 morning at breakfast, " what might not I have been now ? There's 
 Drake — ^why, he was my junior by a long way, and Holwell, and 
 Watts, -and all the rest of them, second to me ; and now Drake's 
 head of the factory. And there are letters to-day from Wharton, by 
 the Valiant, and he mentions — ^never mind, girls, you wouldn't 
 understand it ; but all I know is, that I might have been now head 
 of the factory instead of Drake, and here I am, after all, only a 
 clerk." 
 
 " What if you had been in your grave, brother John, with some 
 of those wild Indians with scalps at their girdles dancing on it?" 
 replied Mary, with a shudder. " You know you could never bear 
 the heat; as it is, even here, on a warm day you are good for 
 nothing." 
 
 " They would not have danced on it, Molly," he replied gravely ; 
 " and they don't carry scalps like the savages of the West, as I 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 33 
 
 have often told you. Perhaps these simple people would have lighted 
 a lamp eveiy night there ; and when the day came round on which 
 they had laid me to rest, they would have hung garlands of flowers 
 over me lovingly, or done something else equally foolish, as they 
 have often done to those they loved, before now." 
 
 " No, no, John," both cried in a breath ; " you are best here 
 ■with us, you darling old brother ; and what could Mr. Darnell do 
 ■without you ?" 
 
 But this, perhaps, is a digression altogether ; for these worthy 
 folks have little to do with our history, and might have been passed 
 by altogether, but for their connection ■with the firm of Roger Darnell 
 & Co. \ and it will suffice to know that they exist, and that all invest- 
 ments in the house are secure so long as John Sanders is the 
 manager ; for he is certainly not the " Co." 
 
 For the " Co." ■was in Calcutta, and, after his fashion, very busy 
 there. Presently we may even come to know him ; but now I can 
 only mention that one Henry Wharton was the mysterious person 
 ■who figured as " Co." in the style and title of the London house, who, 
 under cloak of his official situation as a servant of the Honourable 
 East Indian Company, -was in the habit of making large investments 
 in silk, saltpetre, sugar, and the like, and transmitting them to the 
 house of Roger Darnell & Company, and receiving and selling on 
 mutual account hardware, broadcloth, and other English productions, 
 ■W'hich were readily negotiable ■with the native merchants of Bengal. 
 The local official pay of Mr. Henry Wharton was not much above twenty 
 pounds sterling per year, and how it was that he contrived to send 
 to England some fifty thousand poxmds' ■worth of goods every year, 
 seems incomprehensible to us, though it was not in the least so either 
 to Mr. Roger Darnell or John Sanders. One -way or other, the goods 
 came ; and again, one ■way or other, a corresponding shipment was 
 made against them ; and so, on the ■whole, a very pretty trade resulted. 
 Its generalities, Mr. Roger Darnell's very clear mercantile head 
 could master ; but the details, and the purchases from Juggut Seit, 
 Omichund, and Ram Narrayun, or the bazaar or market prices, and 
 the Exchange, ■were mysteries only known, to, or capable of being 
 checked by, John Sanders. Alone, Mr. Darnell would have been 
 much at the mercy of his Indian agent ; but no Bengal factor would 
 have dared to venture an irregularity when his invoices, and bills of 
 sale and purchase, were to be examined by " the manager." 
 
 So this morning, precisely as the office clock began to strike ten, 
 Mr. John Sanders had opened the glazed door which led from the 
 hall into that spacious apartment; and as the last stroke sounded 
 through it, he had seated himself in a comfortable arm-chair at a 
 table covered with green baize, as befitted the rank of " the manager," 
 and looked around him. 
 
 c 
 
34 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Mr. Darnell is not come yet, I think, Mr. Sims? " he said to a 
 respectable, plainly-dressed clerk, who bo-wed humbly as he desposited 
 a pile of rather yellow-looking letters before him. 
 
 " No, sir, not yet ; it is hardly time." 
 
 " Is Mr. Kalph come ?" he continued, brushing a very imaginary 
 speck of dust from his elaborate and neatly-adjusted breast ruffles. 
 
 " No, sir," rejoined Mr. Sims, with somewhat of a sneer perceptible 
 in his voice ; " Mr. Ralph Darnell usually takes his time." 
 
 " Ah ! it was a bad night — a great storm indeed, and part of the 
 river is stUl too rough to cross. He will be walking round by the 
 bridge. Let me know, Mr. Sims — ahem ! — when he comes." 
 
 " Very good, sir ;" and as Mr. Sims retreated to his desk, the 
 manager applied himself to his task of opening and docqueting the 
 several despatches which Mr. Roger Darnell had to read. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DARNELLS PAST AND PEESENT. 
 
 Not many minutes afterwards, Mr. Roger Darnell entered the office, 
 shook hands warmly with John Sanders, who rose to receive him, 
 and passed on into his own sanctum, which, by a door near the large 
 fireplace, communicated with the counting-house. Here he carefully 
 hung up his laced hat, deposited a stick with an ivory handle in the 
 corner, and a cloak, which the sharp, morning air had rendered 
 necessary. After this, he took off his high strong shoes, and gaiters, 
 spread them before the fire, and put on a pair of warm fur slippers, 
 which had been duly set out for him : at the same time seating him- 
 self and stretching out his hands and handsome legs, cased in ribbed 
 woollen stockings, to be well warmed ere he should proceed to busi- 
 ness. Mr. Darnell also removed the wig in which he had walked 
 to the ofiice, took another of a lighter fabric from a stand in a 
 small cupboard, and, having perfectly aired it, put it deliberately 
 on his head, looking at the same time into a mirror on the marble 
 chimney-piece to see that it was quite straight, and smoothing down 
 the rufiles on his breast, which had become slightly discomposed. 
 
 You will say, perhaps, that Mr. Roger Darnell was exceedingly 
 particular, and took veiy good care of himself : and you are quite 
 right. He did so in every respect, and had need to do so. Was he 
 not the head of the gi-eat house of Roger Darnell & Co. ? a director 
 of the Honourable East India Company, and the brother "of a baronet 
 descended from one of the most ancient Saxon families of England ? 
 
THE DAR NELLS PAST AND PRESENT. 35 
 
 Was lie not also an alderman of the city of London, a member of tlie 
 Honourable Company of Goldsmiths, and governor or director of I 
 hardly know how many charitable institutions ? Truly Mr. Roger 
 Darnell had need to be careful of himself. Dear me, I dread to think 
 what would have happened if, by any mischance or neglect of pre- 
 caution, Mr. Darnell had then fallen ill and died ! But as I cannot 
 bring myself to anticipate anything so shocking, I wiU not attempt to 
 portray what will eventually ensue, when he, like all others who 
 have sat in the same chair, and who are looking at him from their 
 canvases from all sides of the room, receives the awful message 
 which they have heard in turn and answered. 
 
 If they could speak, all those predecessors would agree that their 
 present representative was worthy of them, as well in professional 
 reputation as in personal appearance. The Darnells were ever a 
 handsome race. There was not one of the portraits round Roger 
 Darnell then which did not show talent, high-breeding, and intellec- 
 tual character which had elevated their mercantile pursuits. There 
 they were, gi-ave men in costly suits, from the time of Henry VIIL 
 and Elizabeth — one painted by Holbein and one by Vandyke — down 
 to the first George. One more too would be shortly there, for Mr. 
 Roger, as befitted his position, was sitting to Mr. Reynolds for his 
 portrait ; and as it may be seen by the curious in the noble mansion 
 of the Earl of Whinborough, in Midlandshire, I may be pardoned if 
 I describe it briefly. 
 
 Mr. Reynolds had become Sir Joshua before he entirely finished 
 this picture : on which, as the original interested him more than 
 ordinarily, he had bestowed unusual pains, and hence its great value 
 now. Was there a more beautiful specimen of the master in the 
 Manchester Exhibition, or the noble collection of Sir Joshuas in 
 1862? I do not think there was, and I believe it to be priceless. 
 Dr. Johnson had watched its progress on the easel, and had given 
 his opinion freely as to the high intellectual character it demanded. 
 " None of your turtle-eating, poi-t-wine-drinking, guttling aldermen, 
 sir," he had observed, " and I won't have you make it like one. 
 That man ought to be Prime Minister of England, sir, and I wish he 
 were. Look at his eyes, sir— look at his eyes." 
 
 Well, whether Dr. Johnson's, Mr. Bo^ell's, my Lord Chester- 
 field's, Sir Horace Walpole's, or any other individual or collective 
 opinions of the time urged the painter to do his best, I know not ; 
 but this I do know, that I can never look at that face for any time 
 uninterruptedly, but it seems to me to be alive. The deep, dark 
 grey-blue eyes, with their long soft eyelashes, flash from under the 
 strong black eyebrows, with no scowl of ambition or excitement of 
 study, but with a keen healthy intelligence, worldly if you like, but 
 moet piercing ; they verily look through you. If they were alive, 
 
36 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 you would feel them busy about any skeleton you bad hidden away 
 in your mental cupboard ; and I can imagine how they may have 
 looked a thousand times upon petitioners for advances, dishonest 
 tradesmen, struggling merchants, or keen rivals in business, who had 
 encountered them in that room. All the Darnells round you had 
 fine eyes, black, brown, and grey ; but there was not one pair to equal 
 their descendant's. The forehead is high and broad, the complexion 
 is bright and clear ; and though the vivid carnations of the original 
 painting have perhaps faded somewhat with time, they have been 
 treated gently by the old destroyer, and are clear as skin itself. 
 The lips are a little full, and the mouth and chin are perhaps some- 
 what sensual ; no matter, they are firm, and yet have a very sweet 
 expression — ^benevolent, one would rather call it — which you at once 
 respect and honour involuntarily ; and over it sits a grand nose, 
 which you would swear projects from the canvas, so admirably is it 
 drawn — ^a strong manly nose, with the thin, open, quivering Darnell 
 nostril, the effect of which has been deftly given with pure scarlet in 
 the shadow. 
 
 A glorious picture truly, and you feel perhaps, if the man there 
 painted were great, this is greater. You do not care about the 
 clothes, beautiful as they are. The satin is satin, the embroidery 
 silk, the lace gold, and the figure — it is fuU length — standing at a 
 table on which are some letters ; and one dated Moorshedabad, 
 July 4, 1757, and signed " Robert Glive," is shown as far as the date 
 and signature of a dear friend. Ah ! that is a wonderful letter too, 
 for it tells how the battle of Plassey was won, and what mai-vel if 
 Mr. Darnell asked Sir Joshua to put it where it is ? You do not 
 caie for this letter, casual spectator ! as I do, who have to tell you 
 about it, and even perhaps many have forgotten who Mr. Olive was ; 
 but you do care for the manner in which the man stands before you, 
 so nervously, yet so firmly, as if with the will to stand and com- 
 mand, and never be displaced. Involuntarily you do him homage, 
 and remember the head of the house of Roger Darnell & Co. as long 
 as you live. 
 
 When Mr. Darnell was ready — after, as we have seen him, he had 
 secured his person from all chances of damp — he tapped at the door, 
 at the same time wheeling round his chair to his writing-table, which 
 he unlocked, and the covet of which he turned over. Mr. Sanders 
 knew the signal, and, gathering the bundles of letters together, took 
 them in. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Sanders," said Mr. Darnell, rising, and courte- 
 ously handing the manager a chair — " sit down. A rough night, 
 sir, last night. I hope the Valiant took no harm ; we have a good 
 deal in her, I think. I hear there was some damage done on the 
 river." 
 
THE DARNELLS PAST AND PRE SENT. 37 
 
 " Principally upon the small craft, sir — colliers and coasting 
 smacks, and some were even sunk at their moorings ; but the large 
 vessels are all safe. I sent one of the porters to Blackwall early, 
 and he has just returned to say the Valiant had not started a rope. 
 The captain had gone ashore last evening, and could not get back ; 
 but the chief officer, Mr. Duggan, had her well in hand." 
 
 " As was certain, Mr. Sanders. Oh yes, Abel Scrafton would be 
 after — No matter, sir ; he is a good commander and a good 
 fellow ; and we've no occasion to mind what he does when he gets 
 ashore after five months of the sea." 
 
 " None whatever, sir," replied Mr. Sanders, smiliag ; " and here 
 are some of the letters and invoices. You must have received 
 private letters from Deal direct — they were put ashore by the pilot- 
 boat." 
 
 " Here they are," said Mr. Darnell, taking a bundle out of his 
 pocket. " Wharton is as particular as usual in regard to purchases 
 and sales ; and, by the prices quoted, we shall do very well both 
 here and there. Look over them at your leisure. Stay, there is 
 one letter which will interest you more, perhaps, than it does me, 
 for there is a good deal of political news in it. You can cast your 
 eye over it whUe I examine the rates of silk and sugar. It appears 
 to me that we shall do very well to sell all at once, Mr. Sanders, and 
 realise. Wiat do you think ? " 
 
 Mr. Sanders did not immediately reply — the letter put into his 
 hand had absorbed all his interest, and he read it to the end so 
 attentively, that he did not notice how Mr. Darnell had several 
 times looked up from his papers, and even said, " Well ! what do 
 you think ? " more than once. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Sanders at length, when he 
 had finished all, and laid down the letter with a deep sigh — "I beg 
 your pardon, but Mr. Wharton's news is most interesting ; and, 
 indeed, sir, for the time I seemed to be back once more in the old 
 factory, hearing the old sounds, talking the old language, and looking 
 on the broad river with the royal ensign flying from our grand ships 
 over a crowd of native boats, which I used to think emblems of 
 the difference between us and the people there. And the notices of 
 all my old companions, too ! I have no letter myself ; perhaps you 
 would let me have a copy of this, Mr. Darnell ? " 
 
 « Certainly, Mr. Sanders, certainly \ take it with you ; I don't 
 profess to understand it, and these are much more to my purpose. 
 Ah yes ! I remember ; Wharton regrets you are not there instead of 
 Mr. Drake. You would have been head of the factoiy, he says. 
 Well, I don't know what that may be ; but, for my own part, I 
 would rather live in a snug house in Lombard Street, with two 
 pleasant sLsters and a troop of friends about me, than — " 
 
38 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 "It means,'' broke in the manager, with entliusiasm, "that I, 
 John Sanders, should be now the political chief of Bengal. That 
 the native princes, the native bankers, the zemindars, even the 
 Emperor of Delhi himself, would be suitors to me ; and that I 
 should be wielding a power of which even you, Mr. Darnell, director 
 though yon be, would have but a faint — a very faint — idea. And it 
 means, too, that all this power is now in the hands of that drivelling 
 coward Drake. But forgive me this earnestness, Mr. Darnell. It 
 appears to me a very momentous period indeed — a crisis, as I may 
 say. What will be done when Ali Verdy Khan dies ? What terms 
 will the factory get ? What amount of nuzzurana — that is, fine — 
 will they be obliged to pay — " 
 
 "Well, I daresay this is very interesting to you Indians," observed 
 Mr. Darnel], interrupting him, " and I have no doubt we shall 
 discuss it all very wisely in Council by-and-by, for all we cannot 
 affect actual occurrences in Calcutta one way or other ; but what I 
 want to know is, shall we sell what the Valiant has brought, or 
 not ? " 
 
 " No, sir, not yet ; not certainly the saltpetre or the sugar. A 
 good deal will depend upon the succession in Bengal whether we get 
 any more. In any case we can afford to wait ; and we may soon 
 have a war with France." 
 
 " We should gain cent, per cent., Mr. Sanders, now." 
 
 " We shall gain five hundred per cent., Mr. Darnell, if I am 
 right." 
 
 " Well, I daresay you wUl be — you always are," said Mr. Darnell, 
 laughing, " I never knew you wrong, by George !" and the keen eyes 
 looked up and through his manager. 
 
 All he saw was clear and pure, person as well as heart. The first 
 as nice in all respects as his own — the second perhaps purer, nay, a 
 good deal pru^er ; and the blue eyes met black ones as intelligent and 
 apparently as fitted, if not for command, at least for counsel. 
 Large black soft eyes, with at times a dreamy expression in them ; 
 but not often, though an occasional look of languor could not be 
 mistaken. A colourless olive face, in which a blush like that of a 
 girl showed itself beneath the skin sometimes, and instantly faded 
 away. A thin straight nose, and a firm expression, but a most 
 kindly one, about the mouth. Titian has painted some such faces, 
 which we meet occasionally among our galleries ; and he is the only 
 man except Vandyke who ever could paint that clear yet sallow 
 complexion. Mr. Sanders wore no wig; his strong iron-grey hair 
 was enough ; and it fell in waves and curls about his brow and 
 neck, to the great pride of his sisters and his own comfort. In 
 regard to wigs "he defied," he said, "the English fashions." For 
 the rest, a tall thin figure, as tall as Mr. Darnell's, and much 
 
THE DARN ELLS PAST AND PRESENT. 39 
 
 thinner — perhaps constitutionally, perhaps the effects of the Indian 
 climate. 
 
 Mr. Sanders rose to go. " By-the-bye, sir," he said, " I wish you 
 ■would speak to Mr. Ralph — he is not steady, I fear, at all, and sets a 
 bad example in the office. He only just came in as I got up to come 
 to you, and it was half-past ten by the clock. His looks, too, are 
 not pleasant this morning." 
 
 " What ! again, and so soon, Sanders ? Well, send him to me," 
 and Roger Darnell sighed. He loved Ralph, and he had no son of 
 his own. Here was the last Darnell, it seemed, and he looked round 
 the room. He was looking round the familiar pictures as Ralph 
 entered. 
 
 Xo, as Mr. Sanders said, Ralph was not pleasant to look upon ; 
 and there was a sullen expression about his red swollen eyes which 
 Mr. Darnell saw at a glance was only to be met with one course. 
 Anger would not answer then — it would only aggravate. 
 
 " Ralph," said Mr. Darnell, kindly, putting out his hand, " I was 
 just looking round at the old folks — they are so bright to-day from 
 the snow on the roof beyond, and so beautiful, that I hardly heard 
 you come in. Beautiful, are they not ? look at the old Holbein 
 yonder ; and there, my namesake, Roger, the Vandyke ; and your 
 namesake by Heine." 
 
 " Beautiful indeed, sir," replied the young man, who did not see 
 what was to follow, and whose heart was thumping almost loudly 
 against his ribs. 
 
 " And I was thinking," continued Mr. Darnell, " that not one of 
 them was unworthy, and that we can look back on them all to Queen 
 Bess's time, ay, and beyond that, too, without a blush. Can we not ? 
 and hope that those to come, if there be any, will be like them ? 
 May we not, Ralph ? " And as he spoke he turned his keen blue 
 eyes straight upon the youth, and looked into him, as Ralph felt, 
 into his very heart. 
 
 We know what he saw there, and it was not pleasant \ but there 
 was no deep vice as yet, only low habits, for which Roger Darnell 
 thought he knew a reason, and cure might come. There was no 
 occasion to speak ; a kind look had been enough, and all the Darnells 
 round the room were witness to it. 
 
 Ralph fell on his knees before his uncle. It was a common thing 
 to do in those times : more respectful than the prodigal son nowa- 
 days is, who swaggers into the " governor's " room, and thinks " the 
 governor awful slow." I say Ralph fell incontinently on his knees, 
 and put up his clasped hands. He could not speak, and the tears 
 had started from his eyes, and were rolling down his cheeks, as 
 he was gasping with a choking ball in his throat. Oh, what would 
 he not have given to lay his head on his uncle's breast, as he 
 
40 RALPH DARNELL. ^___ 
 
 had laid it on Na.nny Keene's, and sob out his penitence there and 
 then! 
 
 " I know, Ralph — I know it all," said his nncle, kindly. ■' Bless 
 the boy ! don't choke ; thine eyes tell tales enough. There now. I 
 want no promises, and will take none. Make them to the Lord, not 
 to me, and pray to be deliyeied from temptation, as I do every day 
 of my life. Enough, Ralph ! — get up, lad, and never forget that 
 there was never a Darnell — not one of those yonder — that was not a 
 gentleman. We have all of us gone through what you have, Ralph 
 — may God forgive us : but no Darnell ever forgot he was a gentle- 
 man. Now, up with yoii ; and if you have nothing particular to do, 
 go to Mr, Sanders as you leave this, and tell him I wish you to copy 
 Mr. Wharton's letter, that he took away with him. I give you this 
 work in proof that my confidence in you is not weakened." 
 
 Ralph Darnell did not venture to speak ; but he rose, and taking 
 his uncle's hand, kissed it fervently, and turned away to the door. 
 " I will do it carefully, uncle," he managed to utter, brushing away 
 his tears as it closed after him. 
 
 , Roger Darnell sighed. " Where will it all end," he said to him- 
 self, " and how ? O Henry ! O once dear brother ! we have, indeed, 
 an anxious care of what thou left us ! but that shall not be neglected. 
 And now for these invoices." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN INDIAN LETTER OF 1755. 
 
 Mb. Sanders felt what had happened. He was thankful there had 
 been no violence between the two, such as had occurred before; but 
 he thought for a moment Mr. Darnell might have been too indulgent. 
 Would he have been less so ? I think not. 
 
 "I am to copy a letter of Mr. Wharton's, which my uncle gave 
 you just now," said Ralph ; " may I have it ? " The young man's 
 eyes were wet with tears, and the wide nostril was scarlet and quiver- 
 ing ; but there was a better expression on the face, and therewith 
 Mr. Sanders was content. 
 
 " Here it is, Mr. Ralph," he said gently ; " please be careful about 
 the copying, for the letter is important. Bring it to me, with the 
 copy, and we will compare the two." 
 
 And Ralph took the letter to his desk, not noticing any one, and 
 set to work diligently. A great load of apprehension had been 
 removed from him. " Yes," he said to himself, " they were gentle- 
 men, I shall be a baronet some day, and I will be a gentleman too." 
 
AN INDIAN LETTER OF 1755. 41 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Sims, the book-keeper, and others ■who had been specu- 
 lating upon his disgrace, were disappointed ; but they saw, plainly- 
 enough, that Ralph, smiling through his tears, was not ; and so went 
 on with their work as steadily and noiselessly as Ealph Darnell did. 
 Yes, to Ealph this was a curious letter, and in spite of his igno- 
 rance, interested him warmly. Who were these Eastern magnates of 
 whom he read in Mr. Wharton's clear, clerk-like hand ? What like 
 the great country which they inhabited ? Let me transcribe from 
 the paper itself, now yellow, and the ' ink faded, some of what was 
 written there. We have nothing to do with the mercantile portion 
 of it, which was of temporary interest only to those immediately con- 
 cerned ; but the rest belonged to the time — to all time — and was full 
 of momentous considerations, present and future. 
 
 " And now that I have finished with details of Purchases and 
 " Sales," Mr. Wharton wrote, " it is necessary to inform you, 
 " ia some sort, as to our local Position, and of what is going 
 " on about us, which causes me much anxious Thought, 
 " which I doubt whether any of my colleagues do quite share 
 " with me. It is reported that the Nabob, AU Verdy Khan, 
 " is growing to be more and more infirm, and very incapaV)le 
 " of Busiaess. On the whole, I may say he hath been, and 
 "stUl continues, a fair Friend to us. His loss, whenever 
 " it may happen, will be one we shall have much reason to 
 " deplore seriously ; for I do not see, in the Heir to whom we 
 " shall have to look, any good Hopes, nor any Hopes at all, of 
 "that consideration which we have enjoyed, and which we 
 «' must strive hereafter to maintain. Por, Sir, in this country, 
 " among Gentoos and Moors — who look more to the eifects of 
 " physical than moral Power than you are accustomed to do 
 " in a free country like England — 'tis only by showing our- 
 " selves prepared to resist and overcome any attempt at Oppres- 
 " sion, that we can insu»e that Weight and Respect which are 
 " the foundations of all Commercial transactions, with which 
 " those of a Political Nation are inevitably involved. On this 
 " point it appears to me a miserable Fatuity to risk anything ; 
 *' and a very poor oeconomy also, when the vast amount of 
 «' Trade and Capital vested in it, both public and private, is 
 " considered. Should any reverse overtake us by any Native 
 " combination, or sudden onslaiight, the sacrifice of immediate 
 " Advances and Investments, however gi-eat the loss would 
 " prove, would be trifling in comparison of the difficulty of 
 «' regaining a lost Position — a position which, no one knows 
 "better than our friend Mr. Sanders, it hath costs years of 
 " pain and anxiety and a vast expenditure of Money, to main- 
 " tain and raise to what it is. 
 
42 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " We fcaow the Nabob's Armies to be very considerable, and be 
 " bath some excellent Soldiers among them. He may have 
 " from thirty to forty thousand men, with Artillery ; while we, 
 " to defend ourselves, have barely one hundred effective Euro- 
 " peans. "We have no hope of assistance from Madras or Bom- 
 " bay, or from the Dutch — in short, of none, Sir ; and this it 
 " is that makes our native friends so apprehensive, and our 
 " credit so low. These men. Sir, are as keen and careful in 
 " their busiaess as any merchants of London : and had we the 
 " means of assuring them, and protecting them as well as our- 
 " selves, there is no saying to what extent we might not extend 
 " our authority in Bengal ; yea even to the control of the 
 " country itself. 
 
 " It is not too late to assist us, and, by a timeous display of Force, 
 " to guard the Company's interests and our own. With a 
 " strong Fort, and such extension of the present as would 
 " afford us more accommodation, and with a respectable Army 
 " of English Soldiers and Artillery, our position would be 
 " strong and beyond any risk ; and we could make our own 
 " terms with the young Nabob. He is no valiant Hero, we 
 " hear ; and comparatively very little addition to our means 
 " would deter him from any overt act against us. 'Tis not 
 " that, as hath been the case at Madras, I would advise war 
 " with the Nabob, or with any one. There, great Wars have 
 " been undertaken with varying success. Mr. Olive, who is 
 " now in England, will have related to you all particulars of 
 " these great doings. I, a humble servant of the Company, 
 " have no right to discuss the propriety or otherwise of the 
 " Madras course of Policy — ^nor, indeed, that of Bombay. 
 " Both Factories are in the neighbourhood of much more am- 
 "bitious and unquiet folks than we are; and it hath been 
 " necessary for them to defend themselves against Treachery : 
 " and they have Forces enough for this. But we, dear Sir, 
 "are very helpless; and we ought not, nor ought the Com- 
 " pany, to trust to good appearances, which at any moment 
 " may break down. 
 
 "And there is another great subject of disquiet to my mind, 
 " and that of Mr. Hoi well, and others, at this critical junc- 
 " ture, which is, the French progress in the central part of 
 "the Deccan, under Monsieur Bussy. 'Tis said openly at 
 " Chandornagore, by Natives of good repute, that the aim of 
 " M. Bussy is to extirpate us from India ; and, if he cannot 
 " effect this in Madras or Bombay — which, thank God, are 
 " too strong for him just now — that nothing will deter him 
 " from an attack upon us in our weakest Settlement : and, 
 
AN INDIAN LETTER OF 1755. 43 
 
 " furthermore, that the young Nabob, who hateth us with a 
 " bitter Hatred, hath already covenanted with the French for 
 " assistance, which they will readily give. If, therefore, M. 
 " Bussy can, by marching by the Sircars (for he hath already 
 " the control of the whole of the Deccau Soubadar's Do- 
 " minions, and possesses a large Army devoted to himself, 
 " both of Frenchmen and of natives — Telingas they are called, 
 " whom he hath trained and disciplined — with much heavy 
 " Artillery), penetrate to Ohandernagore, and join the young 
 " Nabob — then, dear Sir, may God help us ; for we have no 
 " hope to resist this double combination, and no Means whatever. 
 " "We should, so far as I can see, be driven from the Country 
 " ignominiously ; and in this opinion not only does Mr. Hol- 
 " well and all steady thinking men here concur, but our 
 " Native Friends are perpetually warning us of it, and most 
 " heartily marvelling at our Inaction. As I have said before, 
 " Sir, Power can alone insure us respect, and the faithful 
 " observance of all Treaties and Agreements. Without it, I 
 " well believe them to be only so much waste Paper — nay, 
 " worse, the very means of provocation for their annulment. 
 "Most Private. With these anxieties on general political 
 " grounds, I am more beset by others of a local nature than I 
 " can describe. Our chief here hath, I may say it to you, 
 " neither Ability nor Firmness to guide our Ship into a safe 
 " Haven if ever a Storm should arise, which may God avert. 
 " Depend upon it, dear Sir, that I write the Truth, and the 
 " Truth only ; and hard as it may be to say anything deroga- 
 " tory of my Superior, I cannot think it inconsistent with my 
 " Duty to allude to this painful Subject. Sir, he hath no 
 " Respect from us nor from the Natives ; and I sadly fear — • 
 " and many share this fear with me and Mr. Holwell— that 
 " he hath no Courage neither. Alas ! that I should have to 
 " say so of any Englishman ; and alas ! if ever it hath to be 
 « put to the proof ! If you could send us Mr. Clive, indeed, 
 " Courage would at once be infused into every one ; and 
 " though he might come in a Military capacity, there is not 
 " one of us who would not stick to him in case it were neces- 
 " sary for him to assume the chief Authority. 
 " You may say we may still depend upon the Emperor of Delhi 
 " Alas, Sir, that great Empire is breaking up fast, and little 
 " beyond very nominal Power remains to him. He could not 
 " protect us against the Nabob, even did he desire to do so. 
 "The Morattoes are pressing him hard. His own subjects 
 « are everywhere rebellious and inconstant ; his Viceroys and 
 "Deputies are growing fast into independent Princes, and 
 
44 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " the Morattoe kingdom is increasing. 'Twas only last year, 
 " as you may have heard, that the old Emperor, who, for his 
 " part, was well affected towards the English factories, was 
 "taken by treachery to the Morattoes, and had his eyes 
 " cruelly put out in their camp, and is now a prisoner. His 
 " Successor is powerless to help himself— a mockeiy in truth 
 "of an Emperor; from whom, or indeed from any other 
 " Native Power, near or far away, it would be only a delu.sion 
 " to hope. 
 " Now, dear Sir, if I have written in any despondent tone m 
 " this most confidential Communication, I pray your Eorgive- 
 " ness ; for indeed I cannst help doing so under the threaten- 
 " ing circumstances of our Position ; and, for the better com- 
 " prehension of its details, I pray you also to lay it before our 
 " excellent friend Mr. John Sanders, who, from his long resi- 
 " dence here, and great Experience, hath Ability to give you 
 " such explanation as may serve you in the Council-parlour 
 "of the Directors. Were Mr. Sanders indeed here, we 
 " should not need Mr. Clive. We deplore that his Health 
 " would not allow him to remain, to be, as he would be now, 
 " Chief of the Factory ; for were he among us, we should 
 " have no occasion to fear the treacherous wiles of the Moors 
 "or the Morattoes, however we might be apprehensive of 
 " their great Armies." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 Ralph Darnell's penmanship was none of the most rapid ; and in 
 common with the political portion of the letter, there was a long 
 detail of mercantile, official, and private transactions, which had also 
 to be copied. Ralph had done it all in his best and clearest hand. 
 He was very happy, and with a light heart no toil is irksome. It 
 was nearly two o'clock when he had finished the whole, and he had 
 not moved once from his seat. Just as he was about to conclude, a 
 stout active young man of middle height, richly dressed in a military 
 uniform, opened the office door, and crossing the room with a quick 
 decided step, greeted Mr. Sanders kindly, and asked whether Mr. 
 Darnell was to be seen ; the reply was in the affirmative, and he 
 passed on to the parlour ; and while Ralph was showing his work to 
 Mr, Sanders, and they were about to commence their comparison. 
 
IMPROVEMENTS. 45 
 
 the door opened, and Mr. Darnell requested the Indian letter might 
 be sent to him. 
 
 " Let me take it, Mr. Sanders," said Ralph eagerly — " let me 
 take it ; I'm not afraid now, and my uncle will be glad to see that I 
 have made clean work of what he bid me do." 
 
 " By all means, Ralph," replied the good-natured manager ; " one 
 of the gentlemen mentioned in that letter. Colonel Clive, is now with 
 your uncle, and you may like to see him ; go at once." 
 
 Ralph did not then understand the weight of that illustrious name, 
 though the mention of him by Mr. "Wharton had excited his curio- 
 sity ; but as he entered the room it was impossible not to be struck 
 with the soldierly aspect, the quick, penetrating glance, and ener- 
 getic gestures of the man before him. How well Ralph remembered 
 this meeting in after times ! Perhaps he was not much struck with 
 Mr. Olive's appearance because he knew nothing, so to speak, of his 
 history or his achievements, beyond a very confused impression of 
 battles in India ; but he felt, as he entered with the papers, that, for 
 a second time that day, he was being measured from head to foot, 
 and looked through." 
 
 "No need to say who that is, Mr. Darnell," said Mr. Olive, 
 laughing ; " I'd swear he was one of your blood, if I had met him in 
 Fort St. George ; yet I did not know — " 
 
 " Not a son of mine. Colonel," replied the merchant, hastily — " a 
 nephew. Ralph, I must present you to Colonel Clive, about whom 
 you have read a little to-day, and of whom you will read a great 
 deal more by-and-by." 
 
 " Glad to see you, sir," said Clive, cordiaUy ofifermg his hand. 
 " I wish I could tempt a Darnell to join me in the East ; but I sup- 
 pose no scion of the great house would think it worth his while to 
 become a poor soldier of fortune like me." 
 
 « Don't unsettle the lad's mind, Mr. Clive, I pray you, said Mr. 
 Darnell, laughing. " We shall have him flying away with you to 
 India; but look, here is the letter I told you of. You will read 
 Ralph's fresh clear writing better perhaps than the ongrnal. Show 
 Mr. Clive, Ralph, where the political portion begins— he wont care 
 about our trade details— and wait tUl he has done." 
 
 Colonel Clive read with evident interest, and Mr. Darnell, as 
 Ralph could see, watched him narrowly. His uncle's keen eyes were 
 fixed upon the well-bronzed face of the soldier, and followed every 
 change of his countenance. As the letter was finished, Clive rose, 
 gave it to Ralph, and began to pace the room ra,pidly. _^ 
 
 « Well," said Mr. Darnell, « what do you make of it all !< 
 
 "Make of it, Mr. Darnell? why, only this, that by God, I will 
 see it out with that d-d Frenchman yet, and you 11 hear then who 
 is best man in India, he or I. He's a very clever fellow, su-, and a 
 
46 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 good soldier, and I respect him for all he has done at Hyderabad ; 
 but there's no room for both of us in that country, and one, sir, 
 will have to leave it. If I had a doubt on the subject of going soon, 
 that letter has done more to clear it away than anything else I have 
 heard or read." 
 
 "But about our Calcutta factory, Mr. Clive ? shall we get any 
 more sugar ? and what of this young Nabob, sir ? " 
 
 " Ask Mr. Sanders," replied Colonel Clive, with somewhat of a 
 sneer. " What do I know about sugar and saltpetre ? my hand has 
 ever been more familiar with this, Mr. Darnell," and he touched his 
 sword, " than with mercantile afiairs. I do not think there is any 
 immediate danger in Bengal, and if there should be, I will see to it 
 when I get out. Sugar and silk, silk and sugar, and that's all you 
 folks here care about ; I can't account for it, Mr. Darnell. Have 
 you no ambition ? With all the old political organisation of that 
 vast country breaking up — ^resolving itself into new forms, can't you 
 • — cannot England, strike in," he cried, as he paced to and fro more 
 rapidly, " and establish a political power which should overwhelm 
 every other ? That Nawab, sir ! why, he's only of yesterday ! why 
 should not we be there instead of him ? Give me a couple of thou- 
 sand Englishmen, Mr. Darnell, and let me march through India to 
 Bengal ; I wUl sweep away Bussy, clever as he is, and the Company 
 — by God, sir ! — shall rule in Bengal instead of the Nabob, and do 
 as they please. But no, you cannot understand this here, Mr. 
 Darnell — not yet, not yet ; wait till I get there." 
 
 " I trust sincerely, Mr. Clive," said the merchant, gravely, " that 
 you will become dispossessed of such wild, impracticable thoughts. 
 What could we do with any territory ? what do we want with 
 Eastern politics ? what does the crown want, sir ? Have we not 
 enough of anxiety already with America ? No, sir ! I shall grieve 
 to see one whom I love and honour, betraying the trust we repose in 
 him by wild ambition, which may only lure him on to destruction." 
 
 " You cannot understand the country, Mr. Darnell," replied Mr. 
 Clive, " and we might only quarrel over what my poor thoughts lead 
 me to express ; but that we shall possess that country, Mr. Darnell 
 — that we must inevitably possess it — I believe as firmly as that I 
 am Robert Clive. I thank you for showing me that letter; it is 
 most important to any one who can understand it." 
 
 " In confidence, Mr. Clive — in the utmost confidence that one man 
 can show to another," said the merchant, decidedly. 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Darnell — certainly ; Robert Clive never yet for- 
 feited any that was reposed in him, and I may live to repay this. 
 Good morning. And you, young gentleman," he continued, turning 
 to Ealph, " cannot you be tempted to follow a soldier's fortunes ? 
 There should be one Colonel Darnell to hang up among that goodly 
 
IMPR O VEMENTS. 47 
 
 company. No? well, I don't blame you. If I had had wealthy 
 uncles lite you, and were heir to a baronetcy, instead of being the 
 poor son of a poor lawyer, I should never have seen India. Now 
 my fate is there, and I must follow it. Farewell, Mr. Darnell, I do 
 but interrupt you ; but I shall see you again before I leave England, 
 and I shall be at the Council by-and-by, and you must wish me good 
 luck." 
 
 " That I shall always do. Colonel Clive," returned Mr. Darnell, 
 " from my heart ; and you have but to command my best services! 
 Don't let his offer tempt you, Ealph," he continued, as Ealpli 
 thought, gravely, after Mr. Clive left the room. "He is one of 
 the finest fellows that ever served the King, but that is no country 
 for a Darnell while we are here. I am quite satisfied with you, 
 Ralph, to-day ; you have copied this letter veiy neatly and carefully, 
 and had better get home ; 1 am going to the Council, at which there 
 may be some anxious matters to discuss ; " and as he turned to gather 
 up his papers, Ralph bowed to him and left the parlour. 
 
 " My uncle has taken the letter, Mr. Saiiders, but here is the copy; 
 it is quite correct, for Colonel Clive has just read it all through." 
 
 "And what did he say? what did he say?" cried the manager, 
 eagerly ; " can you remember ? " 
 
 " Very little indeed, sir," said Ralph, laughing ; " he seemed to 
 care more for the mention of Monsieur Bussy than about Bengal 
 He said you knew more of that country than he did." 
 
 " Just like him, Ralph," replied the manager ; " he has been all 
 his life as yet fighting with the French, and has thoughts just now 
 for nothing else. But we shall see — we shall see. Now you may 
 go ; there is nothing else to do." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied the young man, " and good-day to you." 
 
 " You are going home, Ralph, I hope ? " added Mr. Sanders, with 
 some emphasis on " home." 
 
 "Yes, sir; I intend to go home.'' 
 
 It would have been well for Ralph if he had gone — if he had 
 turned towards the river and taken the ferry-boat at the Tower 
 Stairs; and for a moment, as he stood at the hall-door of the house, 
 he was irresolute. In truth, the events of the past night were 
 rapidly coming more clearly to his mind, and the money he had 
 won was lying heavily in his pocket. He had not dared to count 
 it, and he knew he had promised his revenge to the sailor captain. 
 It would be an ungentlemanly thing to evade this, and Darnells 
 should be gentlemen ; had not his strict uncle said so ? He would 
 at least offer the captain his chance ; and Gracechttrch Street, too, 
 would lead him home quicker than round by the Tower. If he met 
 Elliot and Forster, well and good ; he would take his chance of the 
 result. Yes, it was the open and manly course to follow. Why 
 
48_ RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 should lie sneak home with a pocket full of another man's money ? 
 So, he turned into Gracechurch Street, and walked rapidly towards 
 the Golden Cock. 
 
 I am not going to moralise upon this act. I, too, as well as you 
 who read this, well know what has befallen some of the best of owr 
 virtuous resolutions ; and here I have to tell you of one by no means 
 strong-minded, or as yet strongly grounded in his. Many a hard 
 tussle, many a painful weary fall, has to be endured before they 
 become able to compete with what they have to encounter in the 
 fierce struggle of life ; and many a slip on the road, which I have 
 before noticed, to be regained, with cries and tears before God, ere 
 the mental footing is firmer. Happy they who have had none of 
 them ; I say, very happy, and to be envied truly. But are there 
 any ? Well, Ralph Darnell was not at least one of them, and so he 
 went on. 
 
 Nor had he to go far. As he neared Thames Street, the trio he 
 almost looked for met him plump, and could not be avoided. 
 
 " Confound that counting-house of yours, Darnell," cried Elliot, 
 cheerily ; " we thought you had been shut up for good by that great 
 uncle of youi's for being a naughty boy last night, as we did not find 
 you at the old place of tryste. Why, we have been there ever so 
 long, and had wellnigh given you up." 
 
 " A good day to you, sir," said the Captain, raising his hat cour- 
 teously, " and I hope you are none the worse df last night. Your 
 friends have done me the honour to accept my invitation to take 
 their dinner on board my ship, and I hope you will not object. We 
 are not yet in harbour trim, sir, and things look rusty after a long 
 voyage ; but I have a fair cook, and for the rest will do my best, 
 gentlemen, to entertain ye. I have a boat ready at the stairs here, 
 and I will send another crew to see ye home. It is calm on the 
 river, and a row down will be pleasant pastime for you landsmen." 
 
 Could Ealph refuse ? The Captain's guineas were clinking in his 
 pocket, as heavy there as they were on his mind. Before him was 
 the bridge, and Nanny and Sybil would be looking for him, he knew, 
 anxiously. Should he go on ? What excuse could he make ? An- 
 other time he could meet them — to-morrow. Could he say so ? 
 
 Forster seemed to read his thoughts. " No time like the present, 
 Ralph," he said, taking the young man by the arm. " Come along ! 
 we have enough to do to-morrow, Elliot and I, and we may not have 
 another chance for a week. Come along," and — he went. The 
 party passed through the Golden Cock, and by the wooden stairs 
 was a smart eight-oared cutter lying. " Oars !" cried the coxswain, 
 as he saw the party ] and they were raised at once, as if by men-of- 
 war's-men. "Now, men, let these gentlemen see how a Valiant's 
 crew can row them down to the good old ship. Give way — with a 
 
IMPROVEMENTS. 49 
 
 ■will," cried Captain Scrafton, cheerily ; and the boat shot down the 
 noble river more rapidly than ever Ralph had been rowed before. 
 
 His care gone ; and, with a perversity of judgment, he was 
 now rejoicing in the idea of having done what it was incumbent on a 
 gentleman and a Darnell to do. He only hoped he might lose, and 
 so be rid of the captain's money, and of play for ever ; and he was 
 as joyous and cheerful at the thought of this as his companions had 
 ever seen him. 
 
 And it was a pleasant dinner in the cuddy of that stately ship, 
 where they had been welcomed with all the honours of the boat- 
 swain's pipe, a guard of marines with side-arms, and the officers 
 in uniform. As the captain saluted them, and the quarter-deck, 
 with a wave of his laced hat, the others followed his example, and 
 looked around with admiration on the white deck, and polished 
 brasses, and carved wood-work of the deep poop awning. 
 
 " You are welcome, gentlemen, to the Honourable East India 
 Company's ship Valiant ; not quite a frigate, sirs," said Captain 
 Scrafton, looking proudly about him, " but a ship of which no officer 
 of King George's navy need be ashamed." 
 
 It was a pleasant dinner, I say, with honest English fare. Many 
 a strange and savoury Eastern condiment ; pickles, and presei-ves of 
 rich flavour too, were set before them ; and the party did justice to 
 the gallant captain's good cheer and generous wine, while they 
 enjoyed his tales of sea life, of Indian experiences, and of the wars 
 there, in which Englishmen were beginning to bear so proud a part. 
 Of most of these Indian, stories Colonel Olive was the hero ; and as 
 Ralph heard of Wandiwash, Arcot, and many another bloody fight, 
 he began to understand what manner of man that was, of whom his 
 uncle's kindred nature was so fcmd. 
 
 I will not go through the rest of the evening. Ralph had come 
 there with two settled objects— one to lose his money if he could, the 
 other to be sober like a gentleman ; and he fulfilled both. Captain 
 Scrafton did not press wine upon him, and he was for the time 
 proof against the raillery of his companions. The captain, too, had 
 his revenge, for Ralph not only lost all that he had won, but more 
 to boot ; for Elliot had pressed money upon him persistently j and 
 while the play went on, could he withdraw with any spirit ? He 
 did not think so at any rate, and so i)layed on. It was well that 
 the party broke up early. Elliot and Forster had both other 
 engagements for the night at the west end of the city, and must 
 fulfil them; and the captain, after many hospitable protestations 
 against it, ordered the cutter, and let them go. It was a calm, 
 nwonli-'ht night, the water was smooth, and the men stretched to 
 their oars, as they believed only Captain Sorafton's " Valiants could 
 do. As the clocks were striking ten, the cutter ran in among the 
 
 D 
 
so RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 wherries at Tooley Stairs, and, giving a crown to the coxswain, 
 Ralph sprang ashore, and watched the boat in its course through the 
 rapids under the bridge, dashing the spray from its bows in bright 
 sparkles as it danced over the roaring ebb. 
 
 "An' what hae ye dun wi' a' them gouden guineas, Maister 
 Eraafe ? " asked Nancy Keene, as she lit a candle for him in the 
 parlour. " Maybe ye ha' bin winnin' mair o' them ? " 
 
 " Nay, Nanny dear ; but I've lost them all to the man I won 
 them from, and I'm glad of it — aren't you ? Where's Sybil ? " 
 
 " Deed an' she's gane to bed this lang time, Maister Rraafe. 
 D'ye think she'd be stoppin' up for yow ? An' sae they're gane ? 
 Deed, then, I'm glad o't, Maister Rraafe. What wad a Darnell, 
 that's to be a barrinit, be doin' wi' ither folk's gowd in his pouch \ 
 Has they not enou' o' their ain ? Deed, then, I'm jist glad, ma 
 bairn, an' that's a' aboot it. Get to bed wi' ye — they're a' gane lang- 
 syne, an' when a've steekit the door, a'll follow ye. A' thank 
 the Lord," continued Nanny to herself aloud, " there's nae ony sign 
 o' drink on the lad. Eh my ! but we bided his comin' wi' sair 
 hearts — didn't we jist ? " 
 
 It had been an anxious watch. Sybil and the old servant had 
 listened for every footfall near the porch door for many an hour since 
 early evening, vainly speculating upon the reasons of Ralph's absence, 
 and dreading a recurrence of the scene of the previous night. Indeed, 
 Nanny's reminiscences of tipsy men, and how the " drout o' the 
 drink drav them agin an' agin to't," seemed to be the sole burden of 
 her tale, till Sybil could bear it no longer, and had retreated to her 
 room, whence, as Nanny opened the porch door, she listened with a 
 throbbing heai-t ; and as the old woman's soliloquy fell on her ear, 
 she gently closed her door as Ralph steadily ascended the stairs, 
 knelt down, and with a grateful heart blessed God that he was 
 safe. 
 
 I fear Ralph Darnell's heart was not so grateful or so devout ; and 
 that as he lay down, his thoughts presented a very different aspect to 
 Him who saw them, than did those of the gentle girl's. He had lost 
 money, more than fifty pounds, and given Elliot an I O U for it. 
 Where was he to get this sum ? Well, Elliot said, " it might lie over 
 till he was a baronet ; " and had they not drunk his health with a 
 hip-hip-hurrah, wild and earnest, and his speedy succession to the 
 ancestral dignity of all the Darnells ? Yes, he would be a baronet, 
 but when? His Uncle Roger never mentioned the subject; Sir 
 Geoffrey sent him an occasional blessing, and paid his quarterly 
 allowance, which had been his father's, regularly. That was all. 
 He would be of age in a few months ; would he then be recognised 
 and placed in his proper position? Proper? pshaw! Roger Dar- 
 nell might yet have sons, and did not he come first after his brother ? 
 
THE DARNELLS OF MELCEPETH. 51 
 
 AH seemed dark here too — uncertain and undefined, as if some 
 mystery hung over him which he could not penetrate. Who was 
 Mr. Smithson, and who Miss Grover ? Gradually, as sleep followed, 
 the lines of thought in the young man's mind seemed to cross each 
 other, and interweave like confused webs spinning around him. His 
 Uncle Geoffrey and his Uncle Roger appeared to be at cross purposes 
 with each other- and with him ; and along with them, the deeply 
 bronzed and keen-eyed Colonel Clive, wearing an Eastern dress, was 
 beckoning him on through hosts, countless and still increasing, of 
 struggling, surging, turbaned men, whUe his mouth felt parched, and 
 his brow was covered with sweat in the fierce turmoil. Then all this 
 faded away, and there was with him a bright fair-haired girl by the 
 wooded banks of a brawling northern river, with the trout rising in 
 its pools, and a warm summer sun shining upon all. 
 
 " O Constance ! my own, my darling, why was I sent away ? I 
 will come ; I have not forgotten," the lips murmured ; and if the 
 young man could have been watched, it would have been seen how 
 the knit brow, the clenched hand above the bed-clothes, and the 
 uneasy restless postures, were changed for a soft sleep, while tears 
 glistened on the eyelashes, and the name of Constance seemed to 
 linger upon the smiling ruddy mouth. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DARNELLS OP MELCEPETH. 
 
 Above the point where the present railway bridge crosses the deep 
 bed of the Coquet river, in Northumberland, and from thence to the 
 sea, there are few streams in England which surpass this in beauty of 
 a striking and peculiar character. • The banks are high and broken ; 
 there are lofty scaurs, and bold knolls and promontories, covered with 
 lirxuriant woods ; and the river itself brawls over a rocky bed, or lies 
 in still, deep pools speckled with foam and overhung with graceful 
 foliage, where there appears scarcely any cuiTcnt at all. Such 
 localities seem to have afforded favom-ite sites for the old local 
 princes, or Saxon thanes; and examples of them still exist in the 
 county, which are proud and precious memorials of the past. 
 
 Of such, the most remarkable, perhaps, is Mitford Castle, above 
 Morpeth, in the lovely valley of the Wansbeck, a sister stream to 
 the Coquet ; for the site combines the utmost picturesque effect with 
 natural strength at a period when artillery was unknown, and when 
 bowmen, and rude engines for casting stones, could have had little 
 
52 ' RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 eflfect upon defenders protected by those massive walls^ For many a 
 century, Mitford must have flourished defiant and uninjured ; but its 
 now shattered walls and keep evince the terrible power of a compara- 
 tively modern system of warfare. Centuries have passed since the 
 artillery of an English king was planted against those stout defences 
 and brought them low ; and Time has perhaps done little more than 
 hang his victorious banners of ivy and fern, woodbine and wild rose, 
 over the ruins, till they have assumed their present graceful and 
 romantic aspect. In other respects the place is little changed. The 
 broad meadow round the castle foot is smooth and green, as when 
 Norman and Saxon fought there, or tilted in manly sport. The 
 beautiful Wansbeck babbles by, under the lofty^ scaurs festooned 
 with hanging ivy ; the rooks swing and caw in the great trees by 
 the little church ; and the Mitfords still possess those noble ancestral 
 properties they have held round their castle for a thousand years — 
 nay more, far back into the dim period of Saxon possession. But it 
 has been otherwise with the Darnells. 
 
 I have no doubt, in old times, before the Conquest, that these 
 Darnells and Mitfords were stanch friends or bitter enemies, as it 
 behoved neighbours to be in rough old border society, and the vari- 
 ous feuds and petty wars then occurring ; and there can be no doubt 
 that Melcepeth, like Mitford, was a place of strength and of war. 
 Like it, also, the castle had suffered heavily, perhaps at the same 
 period ; but the destruction had either been more complete, or the 
 place had been less cared for afterwards ; for at the period of this 
 history there was little of the ancient structure remaining, except a 
 portion of the keep, and one tower, which had been incorporated 
 with the more modern stables and farm-buUdings. Pali; of the great 
 hall was the present baronet's dog-kennel ; the ancient buttery was 
 the dairy ; and, in like manner, some other portions remained, while 
 all the stones of the rest had been used to build the present manor- 
 house. I cannot say, either, that this was a noble or a capacious 
 building. It had the look of being a temporary structure, and had, 
 in fact, been built in the time of Elizabeth as one. Not, however, 
 in the elaborate style of that period, or with the comfortable adapta- 
 tion to improved domestic habits which was then progressing ; but 
 as a makeshift and in the prospect of an altogether new edifice, 
 which had never been carried out. One possessor after another had 
 left that work to his heir ; no building fund, as I may call it, had 
 been accumulated; and though the present baronet. Sir Gpoflfrey 
 Darnell, having encountered much rough weather in the early por- 
 tion of his life's voyage, had gained smooth water, he, too, did not 
 seem inclined to launch again into new enterprises, and always said 
 to his steward, as he looked up at the old place, " It will last my 
 time, Smithson; anybody after me can do as they like with it." 
 
THE DARNELLS OT MELCEPETH. 53 
 
 And so, -with a patch here, a new floor there, and general overlook- 
 ing, the old castle; as it was still called, lasted very well. 
 
 There could be no doubt of the beauty of its situation. A little 
 further back than the old castle — that had been perched upon a high 
 scaur, with an almost precipitous face towards the river, which 
 boiled and foamed at its foot in a rocky channel, here considerably 
 narrowed — the present Melcepeth occupied a round knoll, sloping 
 down from the fields above to a meadow by the river-side, now con- 
 verted into a lawn. To the north and east, the high castle-crag pro- 
 tected the house from the bitter winter winds ; and the hollow, as 
 it were, in which the mansion lay, always presented a warm and 
 cheerful aspect. I have often wondered why such a situation was 
 neglected ; but when the place was no longer wanted as a residence, 
 the Earl of Whinborough's family having a palatial mansion in Mid- 
 landshire, and other noble houses on other family properties, it fell 
 to ruin, was not worth repair, and being inconvertible into a farm- 
 house, was pulled down, and so has disappeared as completely as the 
 Darnells have, who owned it, and as has been the fate of many 
 another Saxon family as proud and as wealthy as they were. 
 
 But at the time of this history, the castle was in excellent order. 
 Sir Geoffrey Darnell was not perhaps wealthy, so to speak, but he 
 had an income _quite equal to his position, drawn from prosperous 
 estates in Durham and Yorkshire ; and he always said that when a 
 new place was necessary, it had far better be built in either of 
 those pleasant counties, than in the locality in which the family pos- 
 sessed least land, and where they lived ouly in conceit of the 
 "Saxon" Darnells. "If they had," Sir Geoffrey said, "like the 
 Mitfords, indeed, all their lands about them, it would be a different 
 matter truly ; but, as it is, Smithson, as it is, I am not going to be 
 such a fool as to burn my fingers with bricks and mortar. The 
 place will last my time very well." „ . , , . 
 
 There was a good deal in that simple "as it is of the baronet, 
 which Mr. Smithson understood perfectly ; and I owe it to the 
 elucidation and comprehension of this history, to explain in some 
 decree why the baronet had laid such particular emphasis on a 
 repetition of those three little words; and I think, when my readers 
 eyes have glanced over what I have to write, that, m consideration 
 of its details, I may be forgiven for an apparent digression. 
 
 There is no need for me to go into the past. Any curious person 
 can, by paying a registrar's fee, know all about the family— whom 
 they married, who were born, who died, and when— if the family- 
 tree in the Heralds' College be consulted; but I dont know, after 
 all that any one would be much the wiser if they did this. There 
 had been always a Darnell a baronet, since baronets began, and 
 always a Darnell— brother, uncle, or cousin, or as it might be— at 
 
M RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 the head of the great firm in Lombard Street. Therefore we have 
 only to do with the present, Sir Geoffrey and his belongings. 
 
 I must now mention that the family had always been loyal — most 
 loyal, to their ancient princes ; and that the Stuarts possessed their 
 adhesion and support as heartily as those of any family in the land 
 — so heartily, indeed, that Sir Geoffrey, then a young man of twenty- 
 five, had joined Forster and the Earl of Derwentwater in 1715, and 
 shared their fortunes, rough and fatal as they were to many. The 
 youth only, perhaps, of Geoffrey Darnell had saved him from the 
 fate of the chiefs of that unhappy rebellion. I do not think the 
 Jacobite Northumberland baronet had many friends, or much inter- 
 est at Court ; but his life was spared when he was taken with others 
 at Preston, and he was one of that sad company which, amidst 
 thundering huzzas for King George, and uproarious demonstrations 
 of London loyalty, suffered the indignity of being marched, bound 
 and pinioned, through the streets, as a warning to future dabblers in 
 treason and rebellion. 
 
 Geoffrey Darnell, as might be supposed, did not often visit the 
 city after that. "He hated the d — d place," he said; and had no 
 craving for town pleasures or occupations. In 1745, when his 
 neighbour Morton, and many another too, joined Prince Charles 
 Edward, Sir Geoffrey was not to be deluded. He had had enough 
 of the first trial ; he thought this would succeed no better : and 
 though he gave what money he could spare secretly — ^through Mor- 
 ton — he personally kept entirely aloof. Sir Geoffrey had married, 
 too, and his wife's pleadings accorded with his own thoughts. Mor- 
 ton had left as dear a home, as deeply loved a wife, and a child 
 nearly the same age as his own, and what had been the result ? 
 Misery to all, and ruin past redemption. Sir Geoffrey Darnell, per- 
 sonally because of his disgrace, and hereditarily because of his family 
 predilections, detested the house of Hanover ; but saw it was no use 
 contesting its power with any Jacobite means, and, as he escaped all 
 accusation or siispicion in 1745, he was grateful that he had been, 
 able to resist so much temptation. 
 
 His first wife. Lady Jane, died in childbirth of her second child — 
 a boy still-bom. Had she lived, indeed, or had that infant lived, 
 8ir Geoffrey's situation would have been very different to what it 
 was at the present juncture. He grieved deeply for his wife, indeed 
 for a time was inconsolable ; but he was lonely, and he married, 
 about five years after her death, a lady whom he loved as dearly, 
 and who, with more grace, more accomplishments, and allied to 
 greater families, promised to be a lifelong joy to him. But it was 
 not fated to be so. Ah ! it was a sad story^ — a sad tragedy, too. 
 They were riding out one day ; they had ridden to Mr. Smithson's 
 farm; nea; Dunstanborough, and, on their return, Lady Honoria's 
 
THE DARNELLS OF MELCEPETH. 55 
 
 horse had swerved at some object, as she cantered homewards, too 
 heedlessly, by her husband. The spirited animal had then reared 
 and become unmanageable ; there was a heavy fall, and the poor lady 
 never spoke more. This had happened in 1749. Sir Geoffrey did 
 not marry again. He began to conceive that fate had set against the 
 Darnells ; and though many friends, and, most of all, his brother 
 Roger, urged him to take a third wife, he would not hear of it, and 
 the expectations of many a bright county damsel were sorely disap- 
 pointed. Bessie Grover, his first wife's companion and schoolfellow, 
 who had lived with her, and taken charge of her child after her 
 death, was again invited ; and, acting as governess to the little Con- 
 stance, as well as housekeeper, she reigned, as much supreme as she 
 desired to be, at Melcepeth. 
 
 The baronet had two brothers; one, Roger, we know already. 
 He had been early sent to his uncle and godfather, Roger, after 
 whom he had been named, and, being adopted by him, became, on 
 his death, head of the house. There was little communication be- 
 tween these brothers. Roger Darnell the elder had no Jacobite 
 sympathies, and he, as well as his nephew, had looked with shame 
 upon Sir Geoffrey's march through London city, where their name 
 stood so high. The only consolation was, that no one knew the 
 sufferer, and the event soon died out of men's memories. As the 
 brothers grew older, and Geoffrey never came to London, the con- 
 nection grew even slighter, and was confined to interchanges of game 
 from the north in the season (which, Roger complained, seldom 
 leached him so as to be fit to eat), with a box of Indian (East or West) 
 condiments or preserves, and tea, in return, such as money could 
 not buy. There were letters of sincere condolence written on the 
 deaths of both Ladies Darnell, and of congratulation when Roger 
 married the daughter of a rich Virginia merchant and quondam 
 planter, who, having sold his estate there, had again settled in 
 London. "When the Baronet had proposed that nephew Ralph 
 should come to London, when he was falling into wild country ways, 
 as his father had done, Roger had accepted the charge under some 
 necessary reservations only known between the brothers ; and th<» 
 young Ralph had been sent about five years before — shortly, indeed, 
 after the last Lady Darnell's sad death. Perhaps, had she lived, he 
 would not have left Melcepeth ; but, as we know, she had been early 
 taken, and Ralph had lost in her the truest friend he ever possessed. 
 
 As it sometimes happens in families, the youngest born had been 
 the father's favourite. Geoffrey held his own as heir ; Roger was 
 gone to London to his Uncle Roger ; and Henry, a fair, beautiful 
 child, remained to the old baronet Sir Henry, as his life faded awa,y 
 quietly enough. Geoffrey had gone to Oxford, and had worked his 
 way through London society with the nominal profession of the law; 
 
66 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 but Henry, whose mother died when he was young, was never sent 
 away, not even to school. The curate of the village near, who acted 
 as domestic chaplain at Melcepeth, and lived in the house, was the 
 young Henry's tutor ; and so he grew up, learning very little — for 
 some of his letters that I know of are sadly illiterate, both as to 
 spelling and composition — but the best rider, the best shot, the best 
 tier of flies, and the best fisherman in all Coquetdale. 
 
 If that had been all, Henry Darnell might well have been alive at 
 this period, and as prosperous in some honest calling as either of his 
 brothers ; but his Jacobite sympathies had prevented him joining the 
 Hanoverian army ; and his father had always said he would not part 
 with Harry, and had allowed him a handsome income as he grew up — 
 indeed, settled it upon him; and looked to his marrying a county beauty, 
 and becoming a squire of the land. The issue, however, was not so. 
 There was no one to check Henry Darnell ; and his sporting friends 
 were none of the cleanest handed, or most respectable. If there 
 was good salmon-fishing by Warkworth, there were men there who 
 followed the exciting trade of smuggling ; and, among many more, 
 Eobert Smithson, the farmer and land-agent, was not idle. Was he 
 not owner of three smart luggers, which, under pretence of herring- 
 fishing, ran over to the Low Countries and brought tea and silks, 
 tobacco and brandy ? Many a pleasant trip had Henry Darnell 
 taken in them, and many a keg of hoUands had he assisted to run 
 ashore among the caves and rocks under the gaunt walls of the old 
 castle of Dunstanborough ! 
 
 A wild, lawless life it was ; against which the old baronet, Sir 
 Harry, now reaping the fruits which his own course of conduct had 
 rendered almost inevitable, often protested in vain. When at last 
 he died, and Geoffrey succeeded, the brothers tried to live together 
 for a while, but it would not answer : they quarrelled bitterly. The 
 remonstrances Henry had endured from his father were inadmissible 
 from his brother Geoffrey, and they separated in anger. 
 
 Henry's character declined after this rapidly. He went to reside 
 in the fishing village at Warkworth, built a lugger for himself, and 
 in fine weather ran across to the Low Countries or to Northern 
 Germany so frequently, and stayed away so long, that it was often 
 said he had married there. There was a daughter of Smithson's, 
 however, who grew up to be very lovely, and was the belle of the 
 fishing village and of the country-side. Her mother, a vain, foolish 
 woman, doted upon this child, her only one, and lavished on her all 
 the means and finery which could be procured by the skippers of her 
 husband's luggers. Dutch ear-rings, and brooches, and chains of the 
 purest gold ; laces, silks and satins, which many a town lady would 
 have envied, were made up for the beautiful child ; and so what 
 marvel that she grew out of her natural rank of life, and that, in 
 
THE DARNELLS OF MELCEPETH. 57 
 
 spite of her broad Northumbrian- dialect and utter want of the com- 
 monest education, her mother told her she " wad be a bonny leddy 
 some day;" and she believed what she was told every day of her 
 life. 
 
 At sixteen, Grace Smithson was truly lovely ; and, till she opened 
 her mouth, might have passed for a daughter of the highest house in 
 the land. When she spoke, however, you knew what she was, and 
 grieved that she had been spoiled. Henry Darnell had watched 
 Grace grow up, and the fond mother encouraged the intimacy. 
 " "Why should her Gracie no marry a Darnell ? Gin they had birth, 
 Gracie was bonnie, and fit bride for a king — bless her ! an' a gude 
 lassie tae," said the mother. The result of all was, that one summer 
 day the Ariel went out for "jist a bit sail roond the castle," as Mrs. 
 Smithson told her husband when he came in and asked for Gracie, 
 and Mr. Henry said " he'd not keep her oot long ; " but they did not 
 return at sunset — no, nor afterwards ; and when the distracted 
 parents looked into the girl's room, they found all her clothes had 
 been removed, and that she had gone away from them deliberately. 
 Grace did not return for nearly two years. Henry had taken her to 
 Amsterdam, and there she had learned some accomplishments ; and 
 her native grace and beauty were developed by foreign culture. Her 
 parents had forgiven her ; and as she always told them in her letters 
 she was lawfully married, they had believed her fully, and never — 
 her mother at least — beyond the first miserable suspense, had had 
 any doubt on the subject. 
 
 They returned, I say, in about two years, bringing with them an 
 infant of a few months old ; but Henry Darnell could not be per- 
 suaded to remain, nor indeed could Grace. Both had imbibed a 
 liking for foreign society, where they had formed a position ; and 
 both felt they could obtain none at Warkworth. Sir Geoffrey Dar- 
 nell had once received his brother, but had refused to receive Grace, 
 and denied the legality of her marriage ; and Henry, ever haughty 
 and wilful, did not press proofs of it upon him. " So long as there 
 is hope of a son being born to you or Eoger," he had said, " I will 
 be silent. When that no longer exists, I will defend my boy's 
 rights." So the brothers parted in anger— never, as it proved, to 
 meet again. 
 
 The object of Henry Darnell and Grace in coming to Warkworth 
 Lad been to leave the boy with her mother ; and for this Grace had 
 pleaded very earnestly. " There was naebody like mither to rear the 
 child ; an' I dinna trust thae Dutch wives, nor their ways, wi' my 
 ain bairn ; and wha was to christen it ? I dinna like them Dutch 
 parsons wi' black cloaks, neyther — they're no canny," she had said 
 in her own broad mother tongue ; and Henry Darnell had con- 
 sented. So the child was christened Ralph Darnell, and left with its 
 
58 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 grandparents ; and the ill-fated pair sailed again in the Arid. They 
 were never heard of afterwards. John Eobson, the skipper of 
 Smithson's best lugger, cruised long off the Dogger Bank and round 
 to Amsterdam, visiting all the ports, and even fishing villages, on 
 the coast; and returned with only part of a broken stern-frame 
 
 which had been thrown up, with " GRACE, OF W ," on it, in 
 
 the gold letters which he knew Davie Smith, of his own village, who 
 had painted the lugger's pretty cabin, had put on the vessel's stern 
 while she lay there, to please " Miss Gracie." Wasn't it " her ain 
 wee boatie ? " 
 
 The first Lady Darnell knew the story, and believed in the mar- 
 riage. She always told her husband that if he had received Henry 
 kindly he would have told them all about it ; but, under the circum- 
 stances, she did not marvel that Henry was intractable and defiant, 
 and ought not to have been threatened. She had liked Henry in 
 spite of his faults — as who indeed did not ? and she grieved over 
 his fate very sincerely. And I must do Sir Geoffrey the justice to 
 say that he too sorrowed much. As the child grew up, a bold 
 handsome boy, Lady Jane induced her husband to ask for it, and 
 to rear it with their own girl. The boy had been christened Balph 
 Darnell ; and whether legitimate or otherwise, was not to be left to 
 the Smithsons, to be brought up among the rough farmer's children, 
 fishermen, and smugglers of the little village by the sea. There had 
 been no opposition on the part of Smithson or his wife — quite the 
 contrary. They were wise enough to see that provision would be 
 made for the boy ; and the fond grandmother in her heart believed 
 it possible that her darling Grade's child might be yet Sir Ralph 
 Darnell of Melcepeth Castle, and believed it the more firmly as time 
 passed, and no heir to the baronetcy was born. 
 
 So the lad grew up, a strong, daring boy, and, in spite of many 
 misgivings, Geoffrey Darnell loved him deeply. As time flew by, 
 the good points of his brother's character returned upon him with 
 greater force and frequency than his faults and follies ; and could 
 the stolen marriage, if there ever had been one, have been proved bj* 
 any means, he would not have hesitated in formally acknowledging 
 it. True, his brother Roger might have male children, and time 
 could not be anticipated. There was no course open but to wait 
 patiently. Meanwhile the" boy grew and thrived well ; like his 
 father, a good fisherman, a bold rider, and with winning ways which 
 none about him could resist. With Bessie Grover — ^his almost 
 mother — as instructress, and occasional help from the parson, who, 
 in succession to the foi-mer one, was domestic chaplain and curate, 
 Ralph was fairly educated ; learned rudiments, if no more, of Greek 
 and Latin, and made progress in French and Italian, in both of which 
 Bessie Grover was a proficient. In those respects he promised well j 
 
ROBERT SMITHSOlSrS VISIT. 59 
 
 but in spite of all precautions, the father's spirit seemed to be revived 
 as he grew up, and the company of the fishermen — with whom Ealph 
 fished every pool and run of the beautiful river, and was sometimes 
 taken "a sail" in their fishing luggers, and from whom he heard 
 many a thrilling tale of his father's wild exploits — of old Smithson, 
 who had not abandoned his smuggling propensities, and of others 
 even perhaps more objectionable, was gi'adually changing the lad's 
 disposition to what his uncle well remembered of his father, and had 
 so much cause to dread. Therefore the baronet and Bessie Grover 
 had held many an anxious council on this subject, and they ended in 
 the formal proposal, which we already know of, to Roger Darnell, 
 that, to save the youth, he should be transfeiTed at once to new 
 scenes, and duties in a profession which would save him from farther 
 risk of local contamination. Whereupon, Ralph had been sent to 
 London to his Uncle Roger, when he was fifteen years old. 
 
 It was a hard parting on all sides. The boy was stupid with grief. 
 As to Constance Darnell, his dear, beautiful, loving cousin — his play- 
 mate, his confidant, his ally in all his enterprises, troubles, and often 
 disgraces; for whom he would dare anything or do anything; for 
 whom he caught the finest trout in Coquet, and shot woodcocks when 
 he was old enough to be trusted with a gun ; the companion of all his 
 rambles in the woods after birds' nests ; — and had she not the most 
 beautiful strings of eggs that coiild be collected ? — ah ! she was 
 stupid too, and wept, as her nurse said, " her bit heart oot o' her." 
 But the fiat had gone forth, and the boy went to the great city to 
 grow into a man ; clinging more and more fondly, under the effect 
 of absence, to those home scenes in which his young life had opened, 
 and to one object more dear to him, far as he was away from it, than 
 all the world besides. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 EGBERT SMITHSON'S VISIT. 
 
 Although Mr. Smithson and Sir Geofi"rey Darnell had the peculiar 
 relationship to each other which has been detailed in the last chapter, 
 the subject of their mutual concern was rarely alluded to in any form 
 between tliem. One of the first stipulations made by Sir Geofirey, 
 after he took Ralph to the capital, was to that effect. If his brother 
 Hem-y had indeed openly and defiantly married Grace Smithson, as, 
 being independent ofhis brothers, he had a perfect right to do if he 
 pleased, there is little doubt that Sir Geoff'rey would at once have 
 
60 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 discarded his steward for having lent himself to bring about a con- 
 nection which his station in life did not warrant a thought of. But 
 there was no question whatever, from the man's frenzy at the time, 
 his deep vows of revenge on the seducer, which he had poured out to 
 his master, as well as from the circumstance of the girl's flight, that 
 neither her father nor her mother had known of her intention. 
 
 When that flight was discovered, however, and the bereft husband 
 and wife were alone in the room whence their child had gone, her 
 father's mind had misgiven him as to his wife's possible, nay probable, 
 complicity ; and the scene between them had been violent in the 
 extreme. A woman who was serving in the dairy had seen Mrs. 
 Smithson on her knees, in the middle of the floor, with her hands up- 
 lifted, and her husband, " the master," " wi' a meikle pistil, cock'd 
 and set at her heed, and cryin' out, ' Did ye no know o't, ye daft, 
 dooless womin ? Can ye deny that ye sent them awa' owre the sea, 
 
 d — n ye, ye dotin' auld ? ' an' the puir mistress's face as white 
 
 as deeth, ye ken ; an' only sayin', ' A' didn't, a' didn't, Rrobert ; if 
 ye kill me, a' didn't ; she's gone and gane, and ne'er tou'd me a word 
 o't.' " And this stovy had come round to the baronet, and he re- 
 spected a grief which he himself shared, and of the truth of which he 
 had no question. 
 
 I have said that Robert Smithson still continued to be the baronet's 
 land agent and collector, as he was also farmer of a large farm near 
 Dunstanborough. Smithson's father had been so before him ; and 
 one of the Darnell sources of revenue, belonging to feudal times, was 
 the right of Ashing the sea for a certain distance, collections of fish, 
 whatever they might be, and, above all, salmon-nets. Not at that 
 time indeed was salmon selling at half-a-crown a pound ; but for all 
 that, the revenue was considerable, and required looking after. This 
 was spring time too ; the clean fish were coming in fast, and money 
 had been collected which Robert Smithson had to pay to the baronet. 
 
 It was on rare occasions that he told his wife he was going to Melce- 
 peth — indeed he kept those visits from her as much as possible ; for 
 they only raised griefs long since dead and buried in the deep sea. 
 It was this sorrow, combined with Ralph's absence, which had made 
 poor Mrs. Smithson the wreck she was ; for her whole soul had been 
 centred in one object — her daughter while she lived, and upon the 
 boy so long as he remained. True, she h ad let him go to Sir GeoflFrey's ; 
 and as long as he was at Melcepeth, and she could see him occasionally, 
 or the lad came down to the sea when the nets were to bo drawn, or 
 she herself was driven up by Robert in the light cart, she was con- 
 tent ; but since he had gone to London she had become very restless, 
 and could witli difficulty be pacified. With her interest and her 
 thoughts centred upon one object, from the time she awoke in early 
 morning till she went to sleep, it is not strange if her naturally weak 
 
ROBERT SMITHSONS VISIT. 61 
 
 mind bad become morbidly diseased ; and the point now reached was, 
 that her boy, " her ain Grace's bit bairnie, wad be speerritted away." 
 
 " Wha kens," she would whine to her husband as he smoked his 
 last pipe before he went to bed — " wha kens, Rrobert, but he'll be 
 speeritted awa' owre the sea, maybe to Virginny, where them wild 
 Injins is that scalps folk ; an' ye sit here quiet, as if there was nae 
 manhood left in ye ; an' nae wonder, for ye never cared for the bit 
 lassie like mey — no, niver." 
 
 These garrulous groanings of his wife had little effect upon Smith- 
 son at the time ; but, nevertheless, he too brooded over the past, after 
 his own fashion, and saw no light in the future. Ralph was growing 
 to be nearly of age — the baronet would never marry — Mr. Roger 
 Darnell had no son. For his own part, he had faithfully kept the 
 secret of his birth from Ralph ; but why should it be kept ? Was 
 Sir Geoffrey going to acknowledge him or not ? If not, why did he 
 keep him at all ? Better let the boy come back to Warkworth ; he 
 would be at least as independent as his father had been, for Henry 
 Darnell's property was kept under strict trust ; and if he were illegi- 
 timate, he had far better be told so, than be kept in an uncertain and 
 anomalous position. Beyond being the son of Henry Darnell, Smith- 
 son doubted whether Ralph had ever been told anything further. 
 He certainly did not know that he, Robert Smithson, and his wife 
 Lucy were his grandparents. 
 
 A Why, it is immaterial to detail. Smithson could not indeed have 
 accounted for it himself, except that Johnnie Robson had run a new 
 cargo during the night under the old castle walls, and as they met in 
 the morning, there was a package of tea for the castle, and an anker 
 of brandy ; and talking together; some old allusions about Mr. Harry 
 had come up, and Robson had asked about the "lad Raafe" kindly 
 enough ; — I say, why Smithson, as he put the fish-dues in his pocket 
 on the 20th May 1755, should have said to himself, as he ground his 
 teeth, "that he'd be shot if he didn't ' hev it oof with the baronet 
 about Raafe," I do not know — but so it was ; and when Mrs. Smith- 
 son, who had seen her husband taking money out o' the " barrinit's" 
 box, and heard him give orders for the gig, tottered to him on her 
 weak limbs, and, putting her thin hand on his arm, looked up in his 
 rough, weather-beaten face with wan, wasted features, and scared, 
 hollow eyes, from which the tears were streaming, he was obliged to 
 listen to her. 
 
 « Eh, Rrobbert," she said solemnly, " if ever ye loo'd yer puir Lucy, 
 if ever ye loo'd that sweet darlin' that's lyin' under the sey, ye'll 
 speyk to the barrinit aboot the lad the day— ye'll no come back an' 
 tell me ye couldna speyk, ma man ; if ye dee, a'U be deed afore the 
 morn, Rrobbert, for a'm no Strang, ye ken— no like what I was. 
 'Deed a'd gae mysel' an' speyk tiU Mistress Grover if a could, an 
 
62 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 maybe she'll come an' sey me before the Lord takes mey. Ye'll tell 
 her that, Krobbert, frae mey ; an' ye'll be true tae our puir sweet 
 lassie — yer ain bit GracaeT^or oh, Rrobbert, she was married as gude 
 as a' wuz, and she always s^ she had her marriage-lines safe at her 
 breest, though she niver showed them me. Oh, Rrobbert, if ever ye 
 loo'd the mither o' that sweet bairnie, ye'll no deny me the day what 
 I'm asking o' ye ? " 
 
 Smithson was startled by his wife's earnest, solemn manner, so un- 
 like her habitual querulousness, and he put his arm round her ten- 
 derly, and looked at her till his own shaggy eyelashes glistened, and 
 tears blurred his sight. How well he remembered her lovely youth 
 and the little village, by Mitford Castle where he had courted her, 
 and wandered with her in the woods, or fished the Font andWansbeck 
 down to Morpeth Bridge, while she proudly carried his well-filled 
 creel ! Ah, yes ! as he looked into the wasted light-blue eyes, still 
 so tender, all the events of years rushed upon his memory in a flood, 
 and he stooped down and kissed her brow tenderly. " A' had it in 
 ma mind, Lucy," he said kindly, " to speak to the barrinit to-day, an' 
 I'll no come hame empty-handed, ma lassie, mind that ; an' if Mis- 
 tress Grover '11 come to see ye, 'all bring her doon, or maybe she'll 
 like the castle gig better, Dinna fash yersel', Lucy dear ; a'U no be 
 lang away. Come, get intil yere cheer, an' dinna greet. It's a' in 
 the Lord's hands, an' He'll jist dee as He pleases — ye ken that weel." 
 
 And with these thoughts at his heart Smithson had driven up to 
 the castle, had duly made over his freight to the butler in the stable- 
 yard, and asked for Sir Geofii-ey. 
 
 " 'Deed, then, Mister Smithson," said Mr. Harbottle, the worthy 
 old butler, " if I wuz you, surr, I'd gae back hame wi' mey, an' no 
 see the barrinit the day. He's no canny, surr — he's no canny 1 
 mind that." 
 
 " An' what ails him, Mister Harbottle ? Is't the goot agen ?" 
 
 " Na, na, surr ; no the goot. There wuz letters to-day frae 
 brither Roger ; an' 'as he redde ane o' 'em, the barrinit he gi'es a 
 skiril, surr, ye'd ha' heer'd in the servants' haale, and a great ' Damm- 
 nation !' surr, between his teeth, as he threw the letter till Mistress 
 Grover, that ye'd ha' thowt it was the big bull rroutin' in the meddy 
 yonder ; an' she winked at mey, an' I git oot o' the parler : an' . a' I 
 heer'd was, ' Curse Rra-a-fie !' and that's a', surr ? " 
 
 " I'm no feered o' him, Mr. Harbottle, an' I've gotten some fish- 
 money to pay him, an' maybe that'll pit him in good humour. 
 Wharishe?" 
 
 " Jist in the justice-room, Mr. Smithson, an' ye'll excuse ma goin' 
 wi' ye. Ye can knock at the door, and if he- won't let ye in, he'll 
 d — n yer eyes, and ye can come awa' to mey ; a'll have jist simthin' 
 fur ye in my ain room — a'ready, surr." 
 
ROBERT SMITHSON'S VISIT. 63 
 
 Mr. Smithson took the package of tea, and well knew where he 
 had to go, and what he was to see. He knocked at the door bravely, 
 and the baronet knew the knock. " Come in," he shouted : " are ye 
 afraid?" 
 
 " No, Sir Geoffrey," replied Smithson stoutly, " not of you, Sir 
 Geoffrey ; I was only puttin' doon ma hat in the haale. A gude 
 mornin' till ye, surr, an' I hope ye're weel. A've brought ye some o' 
 the fish-dues, an' there's a rare take of salmon in the castle pool ; 
 an' I'd like to see ye there wi' a rrod to-day, tnirr. There's some 
 heavy fish lyin' there, surr. 
 
 " Curse the fish !" cried the baronet, testily — " curse the fish ! 
 What have ye brought ? Let's see." 
 
 " Weel, surr, it's vary weel for the first o' the season. An' I've 
 left a gude clean fish wi' Mister Harbottle ; a' thowt ye'd like it, or 
 Mistress Grover, or Miss Constance maybe ; an' there's saxty- 
 fowr guineas. Sir Geoflfrey — a'U coont them, surr, if ye please ;" and 
 untying a leather bag, Smithson poured the contents out on the 
 table. 
 
 The baronet began to count them, but it was easy for Smithson to 
 see that the strong sinewy hand trembled mnch, and that his agita- 
 tion could not be concealed. While he is counting them, let me tell 
 what manner of man sat there. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey Darnell's white hair, and a beard which he had 
 allowed to grow, equally white and curly, mingled together round a 
 face which, as became a Darnell, w;as undeniably striking ; but it 
 was flushed and angry. A storm of passion seemed to be collected 
 about the small, quivering mouth and nostril, and the deep-set blue 
 eyes flashed beneath the shaggy white eyebrows. The baronet was 
 a hale, strong man yet, and, from his great height and stalwart 
 figure, was always remarkable. When he was in good humour — 
 and I am bound to say his fits of passion were not frequent or last- 
 ing — ^the expression of his features was as sweet as it was dignified 
 and manly ; but passion sadly disfigures most faces : and here, 
 certainly, there was no exception. Smithson, however, was too old 
 a servant to care a rush for anger which he had endured many a time 
 without flinching, and it suited the grim humour in which he had 
 left his suffering wife, to meet whatever was to happen — calmly if 
 he could — but at least to meet it ; nor did he delay in his purpose. 
 
 " It's a' richt, Sii- Geoffrey ? " he asked respectfully ; " it's a' 
 richt, a' hope ? " 
 
 " Yes, it's right enough, Smithson — quit* right ; but what the 
 deva. brought you here to-day ? Why did you come to disturb me 1 " 
 
 " 'Deed, surr, there was the money, ye ken, an' the tey there, an' 
 an anker I've given till Mister Harbottle, and the fish for Mistress 
 Grover, an' — an' — " 
 
64 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 "Well, an' — an' — " cried the baronet, mocking him with a 
 sneer ; " somebody won't pay his rent, I suppose, or — '" 
 
 " No, surr," returned Smithson, interrupting him, " it wasn't 
 that ; naebody's behint wi' rent, a' reckin ; but mey and ma glide 
 womin was talking o' Maister Eraafe the mom, an' we'd be thankful 
 if ye'll tell uz what the lad's doin'." 
 
 " All ! some of your old plots and contrivances up again, Robert 
 Smithson ? " retorted the baronet, grimly ; " but I'm — " (I fear I 
 cannot write all the baronet's peculiarly savage and offensive exple- 
 tives, which the reader may fill in if he pleases, after the fashion of 
 1755) " if you or he, or your croaking old wife, get anything more 
 out of me for him. There, if you want to know, read that j it came 
 only this morning, and spoilt my breakfast — it did, by George !" 
 
 " 'Deed, surr, an' it wad take mey a lang time to read quality 
 writin' ; but if you'd only say what — " 
 
 " There, take it to Mistress Grover, your friend and his,'' inter- 
 rupted the baronet, with a sneer, " and she'U read it to you. 
 Doing, sir ? why, he's a disgrace to us, that's what he is ; gambling 
 and drinking, like his father, and going the same road to hell, sir. 
 Is that enough for you, or — " 
 
 " If that's the case," said the steward, firmly but respectfully, 
 I'm not tired of him. Sir Geoffrey, if you are, an' a'll see to the lad's 
 richts when he needs them. You'd better give him up, sir, an no 
 daum him, surr, like that, wha's yer ain blude, an' mine — " 
 
 " I thought so," said the baronet, throwing himself back in 
 his chair, and striking the table so violently that many of the 
 guineas leaped up and rolled in confusion to the floor — " I thought 
 so. I was certain some more of your sneaking schemes were on 
 your face when you came in. Well, sir, have you anything new to 
 tell me of about that bastard ?" 
 
 " Bastard in your thrrote ! crruel man that ye are," retorted 
 Smithson, starting to his feet. " Weel ye ken that lad's nae mair 
 bastard than ye are yer ain sel', Sir Geoffrey Darnell. If I wuz yer 
 equil, ye daur not say bastai'd to mey." 
 
 " I'll say it again in your teeth, Robert Smithson," cried the 
 baronet, fiercely. " Bastard ! there — d'ye hear ? — bastard ! That's 
 what I call him ; that's what I think him ; and that's enough for 
 you and the like of you. Prove he's not one, and I, Geoffrey 
 Darnell, will do him and you justice ; yes, before God and man, and 
 a Darnell's word is true before both. But .listen, Smithson j I'll 
 have no scheming, no lawyer's work, for his ' richts,' .as you call 
 them; nothing less than good proof of that horrible marriage— d'ye 
 hear me? — good proof, I say, tLat even my lawyers will adtpit. 
 When you've got that, come to me ; till then, if ever you mention 
 that wretched lad's name to me, Smithson, it'll be the last, word 
 
ROBERT SMITffS ON'S VISIT. 65 
 
 you'll ever speak to Geoflfrey Darnell. Now, mind that, and be off 
 with you ; don't stand snivelling there." 
 
 Alas ! there was no proof. How often had Robert Smithson gone 
 to Lamberton Pike, where the marriage was said to have been per- 
 formed by the pike-keeper, before whom many an honestly-living 
 couple in the country haid ascended " the steps o' grace," as the mock 
 altar was called. How often had he heard his poor child declare 
 with bitter sobs that it was " a' right ; that she had the marriage- 
 lines at her heart, only she had sworn to HaiTy never to show them 
 to mortal man or woman — ^no, not even to her father and mother — 
 till he bid her." How well he knew of weary pilgrimages to every 
 church, small or great, lying near the sea, from Berwickmouth to 
 Tynemouth Priory, over and over again ; and searches of registers 
 without a gleam of success. How much money had he not paid to a 
 smart attorney of Newcastle to help him ; and how honestly he had 
 resisted the sore temptation which had been set before him, to have 
 papers prepared which' should defy scrutiny ! How often had all 
 this ground been gone over, and the conviction arisen that the 
 girl had fallen, and had been carried off willingly ; and if married 
 at all, married away in Holland, by some outlandish Dutch parson 
 who would never be discovered. Ah yes ! and the marriage-lines 
 were all the time, as he believed, lying against that true loving 
 heart when it sank into the sea and beat no more ! All this, I say, 
 flashed upon Robert Smithson's heart as vividly as the sweet com-t- 
 ship of his wife had in the morning, and he hung his head ; he had 
 no strength to say more ; the sad truth was too strong for him, and 
 overmastered his passion. 
 
 " Eh, Sir Geoffrey, then she maun dee — ^ma puir Lucy ! " he said, 
 gasping as it were at every word ; " ma puir Lucy ! " 
 
 " Your poor Lucy," cried the baronet, rising kindly, all his pas- 
 sion gone, under the effect of non-resistance and his old servant's 
 evident grief. " Your poor Lucy ? What, Mrs. Smithson ? God 
 bless my soul, she's not ill ! What on earth's the matter ? Here, 
 Grover, Mrs. Grover," he cried, opening the door, " come in, come 
 in. Here's Smithson and I, like two fools as we are, have had a 
 fight about the old matter: and there's poor old Mrs. Smithson 
 dying — dying, by George ! and there's something on her mind, I 
 daresay, as she sent her husband to beset me on a subject on which 
 he has held his tongue — yes, held his tongiie, I must say, Mrs. 
 Grover, for years — for years. Now go, put on your things directly, 
 and get away to Warkwortb. Let me know what she says before 
 evening — before evening, ma'am, if you please. Now be off, Smith- 
 son, with her; don't mind what an old passionate fool like me said 
 to you. What the devil, as I said at first, brought you here to-day, 
 and be d — d to you ? " 
 
66 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " 'Deed, Sur Geoffrey, but ye flung hard words at mey and at 
 Master Eraafe — hard words, barrinit; an' if I said ony thing, ye 
 ken—" 
 
 " Never mind what you said. I daresay I deserved it all, and 
 much more. Be off with you, and take Miss Constance with you, if 
 you like." 
 
 " Oh, papa,'' cried that young lady, bursting into the room with a 
 bright, joyous face, beaming with excitement, " Grover says — ^that's 
 Mistress Grover, ye ken, papa," she continued, dropping a demure 
 curtsy, " says she's goin' to Warkworth, and there's lots of fish there, 
 and the nets'U be drawn, and if dear Rralph was here he'd catch me 
 a salmon with his ain rrod. Oh, Mr. Smithson, do take me ; I'll go 
 wi' you, it's such a lovely day — " 
 
 " If Sur Geofirey will let ye. Miss, we'll gang on before Mistress 
 Grover. Ma mear'U beat the castle gig, an' we'll get the nets into 
 the water as the tide's makin'," 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'll come, I'll come ; mayn't I go, you dear old daddy— 
 mayn't I go ? " 
 
 " Be off, then, for a spoilt minx, as you are, and come home quietly 
 with Grover. Now mind." 
 
 Away sprang the excited girl, her long curls flying behind her, up 
 the stairs three at a bound, and away down the corridor. 
 
 Both men looked after her. " God bless her, the darling ! " said 
 Smithson devoutly, — " God bless her ! " 
 
 " Amen, Robert, Amen ! It must be true justice, ye see, to 
 change her hopes and prospects in this world ; but you and I have 
 to do it Robert Smithson, if needs be, and there's my hand on it." 
 
 Smithson took his master's hand, kissed it reverently, and turned 
 away. The baronet thought he heard a sob break from his steward 
 as the door closed after him, and perhaps he did. 
 
 " Gad," he said to himself, as, having picked up his guineas, he 
 locked them away in his escritoire, and once more sat down in his 
 arm-chair, turning it to the fire, " I suppose that old woman has the 
 marriage-lines after all ; she was always a doting old fool, but the 
 girl may have told her more than she told her father. Suppose she 
 has, how it would clear up everything, and I could have the lad 
 back, and the salmon up the river too ! Gad, how he would enjoy a 
 month's fishing ! One thing, however, is certain, whether there is 
 clue or not to the marriage, I must make my will ; it's no use delay- 
 ing that, with this gout flying about me ; and what's more, I must 
 go to London to get Peed to draw it up. What a fool I was to get 
 angry ! Oh, Henry, Henry ! if— Well, nothing can be helped 
 now, unless the old woman — I wonder what Grover will say to it 
 all. Ah, here you are, Bessie ! Well ? " 
 
 " I came to ask, sir, whether you have any particular message to 
 
ROBERT SMITHSOISrS VISIT. 67 
 
 Warkworth, for I must go. Conny and Mr. Smithson are off/' said 
 Mistress Grover. 
 
 " Yes, I have — don't be in a hurry — sit down there and listen for 
 a minute, can't ye, and don't fidget." 
 
 Then Sir Geoffrey told Mrs. Grover what Smithson had said, and 
 how he had called Ralph a bastard, and was sorry for it. 
 
 " Now, Bessie," he cpntimied, " my opinion is, that that croaking 
 old parrot has got those marriage-lines, or knows whei'e they are ; or 
 at any rate there is something more than common in what brought 
 Robert Smithson here to-day in that grim humour. So you'll just 
 find it all out and come back to me. Don't waste your time witli 
 that mad child ; she'll be leading you a dance after the nets, and ia 
 quite safe with old Smithson. That's all, and come back as sharp as 
 possible, and get all you can out of the old woman." 
 
 " Gad," said the baronet to himself as he settled once more into 
 his chair — " Gad, I wonder what Bessie'U find out — and what the 
 old woman'll say about the will ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BESSIE GEOVEK's MISSION. 
 
 Bessie Grovek belongs so essentially to this history, and the per- 
 sons connected with it, by so many ties of interest, which began 
 with her earliest life, and were never broken to its close, that I 
 should be wanting to my readers if I did not make more particular 
 mention of her than I have yet done. She had been Lady Jane 
 Darnell's friend, and was an orphan. The same cause that had 
 desolated so many Northumbrian hearths, and ruined so many fami- 
 lies, had ruined hers also, for her father was killed in General Wills's 
 attack on Preston, and her mother, after giving birth to Bessie, and 
 struggling with her grief for a while, gave up the contest and died. 
 Such bereavements, however, have often raised up kmd friends, and 
 Lady Jane Darnell's mother, Mrs. Craster, took the desolate child 
 and brought her up with her own. When Lady Jane married, she 
 begged of the baronet to let Bessie Grover come with her to Mel- 
 cepeth. The old housekeeper was infirm, and had not Bessie kept 
 the keys and the house-accounts at home? and could mother have 
 done anything without her ? was she not the most useful creature in 
 the world, and knew everything? So Bessie Grover had taken her 
 place at Melcepeth and never left it. She had many offers of mar- 
 riage, for she had a little property of her own, enough for mdepend- 
 
68 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ence j and with a bright open face in her youth, a lithe, active figure, 
 she attracted many admirers ; but somhow or another she had pre- 
 ferred a single life, and a respectable position which involved exer- 
 cise of all her useful accomplishments, to one which might prove 
 uncertain. 
 
 We already know that she had lived with Lady Jane Darnell till 
 her death, and till the baronet remarried ; after that, there was no 
 need of her services, and she went to reside with a friend in France, 
 with a view, as she averred, of perfecting what accomplishments she 
 possessed, and accepting teaching in families of the upper class, as a 
 profession for her future life ; but when the second Lady Darnell 
 died, as we know, so sadly, and her sweet pet Constance, ay and the 
 lad Ralph Darnell too, were more unoared for than they ought to be, 
 and the baronet wrote to her to come, " for he could not get on with- 
 out her," she went to him bravely, and did her duty. 
 
 I say she went bravely, because it required a strong will and self- 
 reliance to place herself voluntarily in a position which must neces- 
 sarily be unchanged for many years, and would expose her to some 
 suspicion ; but she loved the children dearly, and Sir Geoffrey also, 
 after his own fashion, very truly. For a time county gossips sneered, 
 and were even shy of her. She might be the baronet's mistress — 
 what more likely ? or she was scheming to be Lady Darnell the 
 third, and had worked upon him so that he had fallen irretrievably 
 into her hands. I daresay, after the fashion of that time, and of all 
 time, there were enough virtuous folk to canvass the arrangement in 
 every aspect, except, indeed, a charitable one; and Bessie Grover 
 knew this perfectly well, and had prepared herself to meet it all. In 
 the end, as she foresaw must be the case, she had triumphed. That 
 she had not been tempted to become Lady Darnell would Jia^ve been 
 next to impossible ; for in her, perhaps more than in either of his 
 wives, were the comfortable and useful requisites of a wife combined, 
 and the baronet had offered to share his life with her ; but she had 
 refused him, gently, yet firmly — had told Sir Geoffrey that on any 
 recurrence of such a proposition she would have no resource bvit to 
 leave the house instantly ; and was troubled no more. Nay, it 
 became an additional bond of obligation upon the baronet, that she 
 had resisted the temptation he had set before her, to become Lady 
 of Melcepeth. 
 
 How she loved the dear old place, she could hardly explain her- 
 self. It had grown to be part of her very being. Every stone of 
 the shapeless castle mound, every portion of the old house, the 
 gardens, the woods, the shrubberies, and the beautiful noisy river 
 which held with her perpetual pleasant talk, as it roared, murmured, 
 or babbled in turn — I say, all these were as much part of her life as 
 the children and the baronet were of her daily care. So what marvel 
 
BESSIE GROVERS MISSION. 69 
 
 if she not only lived down all scandal or detraction, but rose im- 
 measurably higber then she had dared to hope in local esteem? The 
 servants — and representatives of generations passed through Mel- 
 cepeth as if they had an hereditary right to be there — loved and 
 respected her far more than they did Sir Ueoffi-ey ; and as to the 
 poor folks about, in every village within a walk or a drive, I can 
 only say that, like myself, they lacked words to tell of her good 
 deeds. At first she was Miss Grover, and for many years she was 
 BO ; but Bessie was now nearly forty years old, and she had assumed 
 the honorary title of Mistress, as was needful by the advanced 
 spinsters of 1755. 
 
 But in reality, Bessie Grover was not so old in appearance. Her 
 figure was yet round and perfect, a little stouter perhaps than strict 
 grace prescribed, but not more so than beauty admitted of. No one 
 could have said that she was handsome ; but the quick hazel eyes, 
 well-cut though rather large mouth, perfect teeth, which she showed 
 a good deal as she spoke or laughed, a bright fresh colour, which had 
 been downy like a peach when she was young, but had now grown 
 into more of a soft, rosy, apple tint, and, above all, a smooth open 
 forehead, over which thick brown curls clustered naturally, assured 
 even the most casual observer that no ordinary character was before 
 him. 
 
 " Eh ! but she's bonny — Bessie Grover is," was the enthusiastic 
 cry of Mistress Darling, the old housekeeper, when any one asked 
 her " what sorrt the mistress wuz." " She's bonnie in her face — 
 and she's bonnie in her ways — an' she's bonnie a'thegither, is Bessie 
 Grover," was the reply — and she was so indeed. 
 
 Bessie Grover was not sorry for the mission she had been des- 
 patched upon so hastily. The baronet was evidently anxious, and 
 might have cause for it. There was a good deal to do at Wark- 
 worth, and at several villages on her route. Jane Tait, late a house- 
 maid at Melcepeth, had lain in of her first child, and had sent a girl 
 to say, "If ye please, ma'am, and if ye'd come and see the wee 
 baimie, Jane 'ud be thankfu'." So with flannel for one, tea for 
 another, a pretty frock with real lace on it for Jane Tait's baby, 
 and above all, some sack wine, such as Smithson could not buy, for 
 the old lady, Bessie Grover's light conveyance was soon laden, and 
 she followed Smithson and Constance as fast as the stately castle 
 horse would condescend to drag so undignified a carriage as " the gig." 
 
 I hope most of my readers, or many of them, know the country 
 through which Bessie Grover passed. If not, I advise them, in all 
 kindness, to go and see what they will remember with pleasure 
 through their lives. The road is, perhaps, little altered in direction, 
 though it is improved in character ; and it will lead them by the 
 river sometimes, over knolls and promontories, through deep woods, 
 
TO RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ■with the stream flashing and foaming below, until it debouches upon 
 a small estuary, on the high right bank of which are the noble 
 Norman ruins of Warkworth Castle, and, looming in the distance, 
 the tops of the old Saxon Castle of Dunstanborough, by the sea. 
 Both so beautiful, so picturesque, that they will linger hours among 
 their precincts. They will be taken to the lovely Hermitage, up 
 Coquet, hidden in woods, the scene of one of the tenderest ballads 
 in our language ; or they will explore the rough cliffs, caves, and 
 silver sands at Dunstanborough ; or bask dreamUy on the green- 
 sward, looking up into the summer sky, in which soft clouds are 
 floating, or away over the ocean, where there are ships sailing as 
 lazUy in the blue element below, as the clouds are in the blue above. 
 
 But Bessie Giover was not going to enjoy any of these pleasant 
 sights. True, she could see the white flecked sky, see the hedges 
 covered with sweet hawthorn bloom, and the fields now bright with 
 young corn, daisies, and buttercups; and she could feel the soft 
 south wind, laden with pleasant searodour, more and more as she 
 drew nearer to the shore — and feel, too, as she always did, how 
 thankful she should be, and was, that she was not indifferent to all 
 these ; but, as I tell you, she was not going on any holiday visits, 
 and what she did see was a sad sight, one she little expected, and 
 remembered for many a day afterwards. 
 
 Robert Smithson would fain have gone first to his house to see his 
 wife, but Miss Constance would hear nothing of that, and a more 
 imperious or pleasanter little tyrant never existed. Mr. Smithson 
 had never attempted to oppose her in his life, and was not going to 
 try now. " A' don't mind the barrinit one strraw," he would say ; 
 " but Miss Constance, she's gey wilfu', ye ken, and would the like 
 o' mey say her no, surr ? " So as he proposed to go home and " pit 
 up the mear," she would not hear of it. " No, no, Mr. Smithson ; 
 ye'U be wanting the gig for a' the fish I'm going to catch, and to 
 carry me back, so just get on at once. Mrs. Smithson won't run 
 away, and Grover's coming to take care of her. Maybe they'll give 
 us some tea by-and-by." And Robert Smithson turned away from 
 his field gate, and went down to the village on the sea with his 
 happy companion. 
 
 " Perhaps I'd better pit the horse up at the Arms, ma'am ? " said 
 William, one of the stable-boys who had driven Mistress Grover 
 down, and who was longing to be at the shore among the fishermen. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Grover, " you had better do so, and see after 
 Miss Constance — she may want you ; and tell her I'll walk down to 
 her by-and-by." 
 
 The lad touched his hat and whipped on the horse, which remem- 
 bered there were good oats and sweet hay at the Darnell Arms, and 
 went on merrily. 
 
BESSIE GROVEKS MISSION. 71 
 
 Bessie Grover tapped gently at the door of the farm-house, looking 
 round her, also, to see if there was any one about, but saw nobody. 
 Every one, she knew, would be at the net-drawing ; and Mrs. Smith- 
 son was not so infirm but that she could help herself very well about 
 the house ; and so, having tapped again and received no answer, she 
 entered without further ceremony. " Yes," she thought, as she saw 
 Mrs. Smithson reclining in her chair, " the old lady's asleep, and it 
 will be almost a pity to wake her. I'd better go down to the nets, 
 and come up with Constance ; " and she was about to turn back to 
 the door, when a sound, as if of a heavy sigh, or groan, arrested her 
 attention, and sent her with rapid steps to the old woman's side. 
 
 Mrs. Smithson was not asleep ; her eyes were wide open, staring 
 indeed, with a vacant, scared expression, so painful to see, that Bessie 
 Grover, with a beating heart, shaded her own for a moment involun- 
 tarily. Was she dying ? Had the spirit even passed in that sound 
 that had stopped her ? Bessie Grover was accustomed to sick-beds, 
 and she put her fingers on Mrs. Smithson's wrist. Yes, there was a 
 pulse, but a very feeble one ; perhaps a word might rouse her. 
 
 " Mrs. Smithson, look up ! Bessie Grover's come to see ye. How 
 do you do ? Won't you speak to me ? " 
 
 The old woman raised her hand feebly, and passed it over her face, 
 ■with a weary action. " It's nicht," she said ; " pit mey till my bed, 
 Rrobbert, and a'U get to sleep. It's a' dark noo." 
 
 " No indeed, Mrs. Smithson, it's a lovely day ; and I don't see 
 why you shouldn't have the curtains drawn and the sweet sunlight 
 let in on you." To say the truth, Bessie Grover's heart was beating 
 faster than ever; for as she drew the heavy curtain, and the sun 
 streamed in on the figure before her, she saw little to assure her that 
 life would long remain. But the sudden flash of light had roused 
 Mrs. Smithson a good deal, and she shaded her eyes with her hand 
 for a moment, though the next it dropped powerless into her lap. It 
 was evident her visitor was not recognised. 
 
 " I'm Mistress Grover, Lucy ! " she said kindly. " Don't you 
 know me ? " 
 
 " Wha ea'd me Lucy?" returned the woman, feebly. "A' don't 
 mind wha it is. Grover ? ay, that's Bessie Grover up at the castle — 
 whar is she ? " 
 
 " I'm here, Lucy — here ; my hand's on your forehead now. What 
 ails ye ? tell me," said Bessie Grover, gently, as she smoothed down 
 the white hair, and passed her soft dimpled hands over the wan 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Whar's Rrobbert ? " 
 
 " He's gone with Miss Constance, Lucy, to the nets — they're draw- 
 ing them to-day. What can I do for you ? " There was no reply, 
 only a low moan occasionally, as if of heaving breath, which came 
 
72 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 with difficulty, " What cau I do ? " thought Bessie. " She is very- 
 ill, dying perhaps. I cannot leave her, and there is no one to send." 
 Stay ! she may be roused ; and she poured out some wine from her 
 bottle into a glass on the table near, and held it to Mrs. Smithson's 
 lips ; but she could not swallow. 
 
 " Tak' it away," she said hastily — " tak' it away ; a'm past that 
 noo. Bessie Grover, is't they ? " 
 
 " Indeed, indeed it is. What ails ye, Lucy ? speak to me," she 
 cried earnestly. 
 
 " I'm jist bad," she replied faintly. ..." Gracie, ma bairn, 
 ma bairn, are ye nigh me, nigh me? nigher . . . nigher, ma 
 sweet hinnie ! O Gracie ! dinna ye gae mair frae mey — nae mair — 
 Harry and you, an' the bit laddie '11 no gae far frae mither ony mair, 
 ye ken. . . . Yer puir auld . . , mither. Gracie ! whar 
 are ye hidin', childie ? " and she moved her hands restlessly before 
 her. 
 
 Bessie Grover's tears were flowing fast, falling hot upon the 
 woman's face and hands, in heavy drops. " I'm here, Lucy," she 
 said in her ear — " Bessie Grover ; don't ye know me ? " 
 
 " Bessie Grover ? ay, she knaa's a' ! I tou'd her the childie wuz 
 married, ye ken, an' the lines was at her heart, lyin' there in a silken 
 bag. ... I tou'd her a' that, Gracie, dear. . . . Come, 
 show me the bag, darlin', an' a'll nivir tell nobody ; a' winna, ma 
 pet. ... no naebody, not even him. . . . The lines, ye 
 ken, darlin', the lines. . . . Wanna ye jist show the flear leddy 
 yer lines, ma wee sweetie . . an' she'll kna' o' them for Rraafe's 
 sake. . . . D'ye no hear me, bairnie? D'ye no listen to yer 
 mither ? . . . Ah, shame on ye for a fause licht ane that ye are, 
 . . . goin' rampagin' ower the sea wi' a Darnell ! . . . Shame 
 on ye, to bring sorrow to ma heart ! . . . Winna ye listen till 
 mey ? Oh, no, no ! " she continued, excitedly, after a distressing 
 pause. " Nay, but she's na fause — Erobbert— dinna greet — dinna 
 be anger't wi' the puir wee lassie — A'm no greetin' mysel' noo. She's 
 married, man — married, a' tell ye — hear that ? . . . An' the 
 lines . . . is at her heart , , , in a sUken bag ... a 
 rede silken bag, man — an' a' seed it . . , mysel', when . . ." 
 
 How awful it is to listen to words slowly dropping with many 
 a gasp and sigh from dying lips, let those tell who have heard them. 
 The weary spirit, seeing sighte and hearing voices unknown to us, is 
 trembling upon the shore of that illimitable ocean of which the vast 
 heaving waves and impenetrable obscurity beat back our thoughts, 
 and may pass its inscrutable barrier in a moment — ^nay, while we 
 listen. The nearer the transition, the more awful are those ex- 
 pressions which hold the listeners' senses in thrall. Bessie Grover 
 could hardly hold up the feeble head, so violently did her hands 
 
BESSIE GRO VERS MISSION. 73 
 
 tremble, and she listened again to the fainter and fainter gasps, in 
 which words were spoken that could not be heard intelligibly. Mrs. 
 Smithson was long past help, but there was hope that her husband 
 might come in to receive her last breath ; and Bessie Grover's prayers 
 were ascending to that merciful throne where none are cast out, more 
 fervently than she herself perhaps knew of. She did not dare 
 to withdraw her hand from Mrs. Smithson's neck, and, kneeling by 
 her chair, felt that her head fell forward gently, and rested quietly on 
 her own bosom. How long she knelt there she hardly knew ; but 
 there were again a few trembling words. 
 
 "Ah, hinnie, it's your ain saft . . breest. A' kna's it week 
 
 . . The Lord be praised . . Gracie, darUn' . . An' its 
 vary sweet, ma pet, . . for yer puir mither's head to go by-by — 
 there. . . . D'ye mind, darlin' — ye'd use to go, by-by — an' it's 
 langsyne — on my ain. Oh ! the lines, bairnie ; . . . Ye'U hae 
 them safe, bairnie, an' Bessie Grover '11 maybe read them — maybe — 
 maybe .... Look !" she cried, starting up, as if with a new 
 force and energy, and stretching out her arm — " Look, she's there ! 
 she's there ! Rrobbert, she's yon' ... an' the flowers, an' the 
 glory . . . an' the glory . . . o' the Lord ! Comin' . . . 
 comin' "... A'm comin' . . . Gracie. Look ! . . . 
 the glory — o' the Lord !" 
 
 It was ended, that strange weird passing of Life into Death. 
 Where would the next words be spoken ? In her child's arms, 
 whom she saw brightly, with the glory of the Lord shining about her 
 among the flowers of heaven, while the earthly eyes were blinded 
 with the films of death ? Who can tell ? The weary head sank 
 down once more upon that loving bosom, and rested there, and the 
 arms fell heavily; but the divine light of life had gone from the 
 eyes, the jaw had dropped, and all that remained of human emotion 
 was the bright smile of triumph — the ineffable expression of yearn- 
 ing maternal love fulfilled, which lingered there. Bessie Grover 
 put back the wasted frame into the chair, and covered the face 
 reverently. She could do no more, and so waited — ^by the Dead. 
 
 From death to life, as from life to death, how startling ! There 
 were merry voices outside for a moment, and ere she could rise to 
 check her, Constance Darnell burst into the room, crying joyously, 
 and clapping her hands. 
 
 " O Grover ! we have had such glorious fun ! Such heaps of 
 salmon were in the net, and they leaped in the sun like silver. 
 Why didn't you come ? Why — " 
 
 There was something ia Bessie Grover's face which checked the 
 girl instantly. " Is she Ul ? " she asked, pointing to the chair, and 
 rushing into Bessie'^ arms. "I ought not to have made such a 
 noise." 
 
^^ RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " She's dead, Oonny," said Bessie Grover, gently j " she died, poor 
 thing, in my arms. Where is Mr. Smithson ?" 
 
 " He went round with the gig," said the terrified girl, he'll " 
 
 As she spoke, he entered the room ; and the expression of the 
 faces that met him — the still figure in the chair — told at a glance 
 what had happened. 
 
 " I sudna ha' leeft her the day," he said ; " an' she's gane noo, ma 
 puir Lucy, an' mey not wi' her. O Lucy, Lucy, but ye're wi' the 
 puir bairn ye greeted sair for." 
 
 And the strong man knelt down by the chair reverently, and, 
 bowing his head, wept bitterly. But the wasted mother, and the 
 child that lay beneath the sea, were once more together. 
 
 " A'll no be lang ahint ye, Lucy dear," he murmured — " A'll no 
 be lang !" 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 RESOLUTIONS AND P K E P A R A TI ONS. 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " (this was a favourite interjectional expletive 
 of Sir Geoffrey's) " you don't mean to say so, Grover ? Dead ! and 
 died in your arms ? Bless my heart ! why, we never even heard she 
 was ill ; and I was so savage with that poor fellow, too, this morn- 
 ing, God forgive me ! And she said nothing about that matter ? " 
 
 "!N'othing, Sir Geoffrey; and what's more, she knew nothing 
 about it either ; she only knew that her child wore a silken bag at 
 her heart, and that ' the lines,' as she called them, were in it, which 
 she was not allowed to show ; and Lucy died, poor thing, with this 
 thought on her lips, and — and — " 
 
 " And what, Bessie ? " 
 
 Bessie's eyes were full of tears, as she remembered the last glori- 
 ous but awful words which had passed the dying woman's lips, and 
 she continued with enthusiasm, " ' the glory of the Lord,' which was 
 said with her last breath, and I believe she saw it too — " 
 
 " I hope she did," returned the baronet reverently, taking off his 
 hat. They were walking in the Pleasance, as it was called, full of 
 wallflower and early stocks, whose fragrance filled the soft evening 
 air, and were alone — " I hope she did ; I hope we shall all see it. 
 And there was no one with you ? " 
 
 " No, Sir Geoffrey, no one ; she had been more than an hour dead 
 when Constance came in — I don't know indeed how long." 
 
 " And you were not frightened, Bessie, to be with her alone ? " 
 
RESOLUTIONS AND PREPARATIONS. 75 
 
 "I, SirGeofeey?" 
 
 The baronet was silent for a -while, and as he walked,, struck the 
 ground heavily with his stick. "Ay," he said, as if to himself, 
 " there's one the less now that knows of that marriage — if it was 
 one. That silken bag — ah ! poor thing, poor thing — and that's at 
 the bottom of the sea. You told Smithson, Bessie, whab she said ? " 
 
 " I did, sir, every word, and he asked me to write them down ; 
 and I shall do so when you let me go." 
 
 " By all means, Bessie — they will be a satisfaction to him ; but 
 I'll tell you- what," and he stopped suddenly, and struck his stick so 
 sharply into the gravel walk that the pebbles flew up on all sides, 
 " I'm d — d if I wait another day about it ; and mind you, none of 
 your plaguy objections now — I'm no match for women, I know, and 
 never was, least of all for you — I won't wait another day, mind 
 that—" 
 
 " You are pleased to be complimentary this evening. Sir Geoffrey," 
 returned Mrs. Grover, curtsying ironically ; but may I ask what it 
 means ? " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you, Bessie ? God bless my heart ! No ? it was 
 after Smithson left, and as I was sitting by the fire — I remember 
 now. It, why it, my dear, means that I'm going to London." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear you are. Sir Geoffrey — very glad," returned 
 Mistress Grover quietly ; " about Ralph, I suppose, and Mr. Soger's 
 letter." 
 
 " Well, yes, that, and — 'faith, Grover, I may as well out -with it 
 — I shall make my will, that's all. I don't think I'm going to die, 
 Bessie, and I hope not ; but I shall make my -will all the same. 
 Ralph's near twenty-one, my dear ; and he must be put in his proper 
 place one way or other before then. It's due to him, it's due to 
 his poor father, and, above all, it's due to Conny. Don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 "I have not a doubt — I never had one — on the subject, Sir 
 Geoffi-ey ; and I am thankful you have come to this determination 
 without any influence of mine or others, and of your own accord." 
 
 " Well, Bessie, I have been thinking for a long time what was 
 best to do," continued the baronet, " and I believe, after all, it was 
 that foolish quarrel with Smithson this morning that brought me to 
 a decision. Now, as you have no objection, we will. go — and as soon 
 after the funeral as possible. I can't see Smithson till after that, 
 and shall tell him exactly what he has to expect. You see I can't 
 take any steps about the matter myself, because that would only 
 raise up the old scandal ; but I shall tell Braithwaite, of Morpeth, 
 what I want him to do. He's good enough for that : but the rest 
 must be done — can be done — by Peed only, and Roger. There is 
 a good deal depending on my -will under these circumstances, and 
 
76 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ,a clever London attorney is the only man to make it — don't you 
 see ? " 
 
 "I am quite of your opinion, Sir Geoffrey," answered Mistress 
 Grover, " and there are many other reasons -why a visit to London 
 would be most agreeable : indeed, you would have had Constauce 
 and myself upon you about it soon, sir, whether or no." 
 
 " Then you too had been plotting, Bessie ? Ah, you women ! 
 Always hankering after balls and routs and fine clothes, no matter 
 how old you get ! No ? then what had you been thinking about ? " 
 
 " Constance, sir. It's time she should see something of city man- 
 ners and form her own. It won't do to coop her up in the country 
 here, speaking with a broader burr every day in spite of me, and 
 hoydening about with the keepers and grooms. It was only yester- 
 day I found her playing a young salmon in the pool yonder ; and if 
 she'd had her way this morning, she'd have taken ' Eraafe's rrod,' as 
 she ca'd it, and ' done fine at Wackworth.' Then my darling has the 
 most delicious voice in the world, and should have lessons in the new 
 Italian style ; and it would be well if she spoke with a French and 
 Italian teacher every day, and learned how to walk a minuet better 
 than I can teach her. And, let me see, Sir Geoffrey — yes," con- 
 tinued the lady, with the utmost gravity, " there are, of course, new 
 dresses, and new styles — new everything, in fact. Would you wish 
 it otherwise for the heiress of Melcepeth as she comes out ? " 
 
 " Quite enough, Mistress Grover : one never asks a woman for 
 one plain reason for anything, but she flings twenty at one's head in 
 return. I want simply to know about my will, and have a masked 
 battery opened upon me, which I must charge and take if I can, as 
 they did the French at Malplaquet, by George ; and if this is not 
 enough to make a man swear, I don't know what is. Don't ycyvb 
 think so, you pert puss you ? " 
 
 " What, daddy ? " said Constance, who walked up demurely — she 
 had hardly yet got over the shock of the morning. " What, daddy ? 
 Poor old Mrs. Smithson needn't make you swear j nor me ! a've 
 been dooin' nothin', daddy." 
 
 " A've been dooin' nothin', daddy, haven't I ? Who caught the 
 salmon there yesterday ? " said her father, mocking her broad dialect 
 good-naturedly — " a seven-pound clean fish, too, by Jupiter ! Well, 
 we must get rid of burr, and sammin, an' a' — and gae away — far 
 away — to — to — Loondin. " 
 
 " Oh, daddy, how can you torment one so ! " cried Constance, 
 flinging her arms round the old man's neck — " to London ? Oh, 
 Grover ! to London ? I shall go wild ! " 
 
 " Yes, darling, to London. Your father and I have been talking 
 over the matter, and find there is no time to .be lost ; and perhaps 
 Miss Constance Darnell may be of the same opinion. But there is 
 
RESOLUTIONS AND PREPARATIONS. 77 
 
 not the least occasion to ' go wild,' as you call it. You are quite 
 wild enough already, and if we can tame you a little, we shall be 
 very glad." 
 
 " Oh, auntie darling ! " cried the girl (auntie, you must know, was 
 her most solemn as well as most loving appellation for Mistress 
 Grover). " I'U be so quiet, so good, you can't think. Dear papa, 
 indeed I will," and she turned from one to the other demurely and 
 pleadingly. " Only trust me — " 
 
 " We don't doubt you, my child," said the baronet, laughingly, 
 " and you needn't be so very earnest. I don't doubt but you'll be 
 as steady as Grover herself by-and-by ; but as that, perhaps, is not 
 saying much for you after all, I'd better get out of the way, and go 
 and tell Harbottle. The coach and chaise may need some looking 
 into. When will the funeral be — Saturday or Friday ? " 
 
 "Friday, I think, Sir Geo&ey. Mr. Smithson said so," replied 
 Mistress Grover. 
 
 " Good : then I can see him on Saturday, and we wUl be off, God 
 willing, on Monday. There, now, who says Geoffrey Darnell can't 
 make up his mind?" and he walked away cheerily, striking his 
 stick into the gravel. 
 
 Shall I tell you of the beautiful Constance Darnell as she stood on 
 those steps of the pleasure-terrace, with the ruddy glow of sunset 
 shining on her fair face and among the bright golden threads of her 
 hair ? I am afraid you would only find what I wrote very common- 
 place. Are there not golden-haired heroines in every novel and 
 romance you take up ? do not threads of gold run about among their 
 glossy hair, and are not their rich tresses bathed in golden light 
 if the sun, or silver light of the moon, be shining ? Now, I don't 
 pretend to be able to write any such florid descriptions, and none 
 are necessary from me ; for if you, reader — gentle or whatever you 
 may chance to be — will only go to Granton Towers, the seat of the 
 Right Honourable the Earl of Whinborough, in Midlandshire, you 
 will see what the great Sir Joshua painted of Constance Darnell, and 
 you can wonder at it as I have done. All the Darnell portraits 
 are there now, and a very noble collection they are. Sir Geoffrey 
 had to sit when he went to London — " it was a thing to do, by Jove, 
 sir,"— and the grand old head is nobly represented ; but for remark- 
 able portraits I commend you to Eoger Darnell's and Constance's, 
 which, once seen, you will never forget. 
 
 I only say, that had you seen her standing there that soft spring 
 evening with Mistress Grover, the gentle wind just stirring the heavy 
 curls hanging about her sweet neck, and a light of fun, of love, 
 of excitement, of anticipation combined, dancing in those great 
 marvellous grey eyes; and had seen also that singularly perfect 
 embodiment of the best Saxon grace and vigour which existed in 
 
78 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 her budding figure, you would have said Constance Darnell was one 
 of the loveliest creatures you had ever beheld, and you would have 
 been quite right. You would have remembered many women with 
 more regular features — more noble, more classical, or what you 
 please ; but none more piquant or more expressive. Now, after 
 this, go, I pray you, to Granton Towers, and look at the portrait 
 which no one ever passed in 1862 without exclaiming involuntarily, 
 " How delicious !" and you will know much more in five seconds 
 than I could write you in five hours, even if you could read all my 
 prosiuess, which would be impossible. And yet Bessie Grover was 
 quite right : the girl was naturally very graceful and very beautiful, 
 but wanted those last touches of art which would perfect all ; and 
 which sAe could not put on, any more than Constance could have 
 taught her to play a salmon or ride after her father's harriers as she 
 did herself. 
 
 We don't want to know about the thousand plans which all seemed 
 to be formed and dismissed in a moment, and which were chasing 
 each other in and out of the girl's busy brain as fast as they could, 
 and a great deal faster than was intelligible to Bessie Grover ; but 
 when Constance said, " And we shall have E/alph again ; dear me ! 
 I wonder what he's like ? " and sighed — Mistress Grover sighed too. 
 If she had known how Constance had wished for the young man 
 to help her when the salmon had well-nigh got the better of her the 
 day before — how she often longed for her old playmate and dear 
 cousin — she might have been even more anxious, for Ralph's future 
 seemed very dark just then. 
 
 " Dear Ralph," said Constance, sighing again, " how much we 
 shall have to tell him — sha'n't we, Grover? Now you're not to 
 sigh, Bessie Grover, when I mention him —you're not, indeed. 
 I won't have it. Ralph and I are very good friends, and I intend — 
 I intend, you know, to quarrel with him just as much as ever. Oh, 
 it will be such fun !" 
 
 Mistress Grover did not perhaps see this exactly; but she said 
 nothing. What could she say, with many a sad thought and anti- 
 cipation lying at her heart ? 
 
 So the preparations went on. In his way, Sir Geofirey Darnell 
 had as much decision of character as his brother Roger ; and had 
 Mrs. Grover even opposed him, he would, in all probability, have 
 become obstinate, as he very often did. But now, as I tell you, 
 there was no occasion to be so ; trunks were packed, servants pre- 
 pared, plate put by, and domestic arrangements made for an absence 
 of at least three months, perhaps more. The old coach was 
 thoroughly inspected, and also a lighter carriage for the luggage. 
 Harbottle, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Darling, would remain in 
 charge ; and the two footmen and two grooms were enough for town 
 
RESOLUTIONS AND PREPARATIONS. 79 
 
 service, -with two maids, one a London girl, a mantua-maker, whose 
 delight at return to town was beyond all control, and Snsan Eobson, 
 the daughter of John Eobson, of Warkworth, who had always a 
 daughter in service at the castle ; and with these necessary prepa- 
 rations, everybody was as busy as they could be. There was, of 
 course, the utmost speculation in the " servants' haale" as to the 
 cause of a sudden movement the like of which only the oldest 
 dependants could faintly remember ; and Mr. Harbottle's confidences 
 to Mistress Darling in the housekeeper's room were to this 
 effect : — 
 
 " 'Deed, mem, a' won't be certin, ye ken ; but it's a' aboot Master 
 Rraafe, ye ken, an' nathin' else, mem. 'Deed, an' the barrinit wuz 
 jist awfu' wi' Rrobbert Smithson that day — jist awfu'. Ma lug was 
 nigh the doore, mem, a' the while ; an' the barrinit roared bastard, 
 mem, bastard ! jist awfu', ye ken, like the auld bull routin' at ane o' 
 the wenches' rede peticotes, mem ; jist that, ye mind, mem." 
 
 " An' is the lad nae better than — than — " 
 
 "A bastard, mem? "Well, I canna sey. Mistress Darling, nor 
 naebody can ; an' that's jist a' aboot it, ye ken. There used to be 
 a story aboot a loup owre Lamberton Pike, but a' dinna ken, ye 
 sey." 
 
 Robert Smithson came, true to his word, on the day after the 
 funeral— to which Bessie Grover had been driven in the best coach, 
 and which all the castle servants had attended in their best liveries 
 — ^to receive his last orders. It was evident that the stout old man 
 had been much bowed by the heavy and unexpected stroke ; but he 
 had borne up bravely, and the respect shown to his Lucy, as well by 
 the baronet as by the whole country-side, had been heartily felt and 
 acknowledged. It was easy, however, for Sir GeoflFrey to see the 
 weight of care which lay at his steward's heart, and to understand 
 why it lay there, and to endeavour to soothe it to the best of his 
 power. 
 
 " It's no use, Robert Smithson," he said, as he held out his hand 
 once more at the justice table, where the previous quarrel had taken 
 place — " it's no use grieving, man. When I was in hot blood — in a 
 d — d passion, by George — I held out this hand to you in good faith 
 about that boy ; and now I'm cool, and can see my way better, I 
 give it you again. I thank the Lord I have no wish but to do right, 
 Robert, though my duty to my child has the first place. See, here's 
 the memorandum I've given to Braithwaite. He's to use it in con- 
 cert with you, and I hope you'll go over to Morpeth to him ; indeed, 
 I told him you would. I've offered a reward of a hundred guineas 
 to any one who wiU give true information about Harry's marriage, 
 or produce registers ; and I'll double that with pleasure. I know 
 you'll not be idle yourself ; and you can act with him, or apart, or 
 
eO RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 both ways, just as you like, and may God speed you ! But listen, 
 there's the other side to look at, and we can't blink it. Bless my 
 heart, no ; for that dear child's sake, no ! I shall put all before Mr. 
 Peed as faithfully and unreservedly as if you were present ; nay, 
 you can come up to town, if you like, and act on his advice. I'm 
 growing old, Robert ; and your poor wife's sudden death is like a 
 warning to us all to put our houses in order before the Xord, that 
 nobody may suffer or be troubled after us with law and lawyers, and 
 be d — d to the whole crew of them ! So I shall go to Peed, and that 
 long-headed brother of mine, and the will '11 be drawn up — " 
 
 " But not executed. Sir Geoffrey," interrupted Smithson, earnestly. 
 " Oh, Sir Geoffrey, ye're vary kind ; mair kind and mair true than 
 the likes o' uz deserves ; but don't execute it till ye sey mey. A'll 
 dee a' I can dee, Sir Geoffrey, for my puir wee bairnie's sake ; and 
 I can dee nae mair, surr. What time will ye gi'e me, surr ? " 
 
 " No, I will not execute it, Robert, till I see you — that is, unless 
 I'm dying ; and we are all in the Lord's hands. No, I will not 
 execute it," said Sir Geoffrey, firmly, " till I see you, and there's my 
 hand on it : you'll have two months from this, and if the marriage 
 records can't be found at Lamberton Pike or anywhere else before 
 then, you had as well give up the matter, and we'll see Ralph wants 
 for nothing all his life, though he may not be master of Melcepeth. 
 Now, go to Mistress Grover ; see if she wishes anything done. De- 
 pend iipon it, you could not have a better advocate than she is — no, 
 not though you paid all the lawyers in Christendom." 
 
 Robert Smithson had heard his doom. He could say nothing. 
 What was there to say? He rose, but he could not speak; he 
 could only see dimly — for his eyes were blurred with a mist of tears 
 — the baronet's tall figure before him, with the sun streaming upon 
 it through the stained-glass window of the room, clothing it ia a 
 radiance of crimson, purple, and gold ; and there was a swelling in 
 his throat which, old as he was, denied utterance of many words. 
 
 " A'll dee it a'. Sir Geoffrey," was all he could say, " an' may the 
 Lord above help mey ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " replied the baronet, sadly, as the gaunt figure turned 
 from him and left the room. 
 
 " He'll only give me tow months, toa'am," said Smithson to Bessie 
 Grover, after he had told her what had passed ; " could ye na get me 
 a while mair ? " 
 
 " He'll be just, Robert," she replied ; " and you know it. The 
 matter must be settled before Ralph comes of age, and there's little 
 time to lose." 
 
 " A' dinna ken, ma'am — a' dinna ken. A'll dee ma best, an' nae 
 man can dee mair ; an' maybe the barrinit '11 let them pit in a bit 
 word for what might — what might, ye ken — turn up true for the 
 
_ RESOLUTIONS AND PREPARATIONS. 81 
 
 laddie. He'd be sorry to know that Eraafe was wrranged by no 
 word at a'. But I dauma say this to Sir Geoffi:ey, Mistress Grover ; 
 he's owre kind and guid as it is — " 
 
 " I know he means to do that, Robert Smithson," replied Mistress 
 Grover ; " and I'll see that it is done." 
 
 " The Lord bless ye, Bessie Grover ! the Lord bless ye for the 
 truest heart that iver beat ! A'll gae hame noo, ma'am, content. 
 A've nae mair to say, nae mair, but to dee the Lord's will ; an' I wish 
 ye a safe journey, ma'am, an' safe back to Melcepeth." 
 
 END OF PART FIEST, 
 
PAET SECOND. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 STEADY, RALPH ! 
 
 Leaving Sir Geoffrey Darnell and his party to pursue their way to 
 London by the slow stages, over the bad roads, and amidst the alarms 
 of highwaymen, and other incidents and diflBculties common to the 
 time I write of — this history requires that I should return to London, 
 and relate what progress Mr. Ralph Darnell was making in fashion- 
 able education, under his accomplished instructors Messieurs Elliot 
 and Forster. Not indeed that I feel myself called upon to enter very 
 much into detail on this subject; for it so happened that just about a 
 year after the period we have reached, one Mr. Henry Warrington 
 arrived from Virginia, with a handsome pocketful of money ; and was 
 taken in hand by my Lords Castlewood and March, and other noble- 
 men and gentlemen who delighted in seeing a young fellow of spirit 
 spend his fortime freely, and indeed in easing him of it themselves in 
 as great a degree as they could contrive. We know, too, from the 
 veracious and inimitably recorded history of that young gentleman — 
 which hath been written by one who, alas ! is gone to his everlasting 
 rest, and the like of whom may never be seen again among us — ^how 
 Mr. Warrington comported himself as a man of spirit and of fashion ; 
 how the great society at White's and Arthur's received him, and what 
 it made of him : what horses and phaetons he possessed ; what flirta^ 
 tions he and his black servant indulged in ; and, in short, what the 
 conclusion of his very pleasant career was. And having all this to 
 instruct and amuse us — writ in imperishable characters which time 
 will only strengthen — I feel that, putting all other considerations aside, 
 it would be absolute temerity and profanation to attempt to detail Mr. 
 Ralph Darnell's progress, even were that needful or possible. 
 
 But indeed it would be impossible, for many obvious reasons. Mr. 
 Ralph was not in the same rank of life or station as that which Mr. 
 Henry Warrington attained at once through his aristocratic family 
 connections ; nor were the means of that attainment by the other 
 
86 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 greatest road, money, at all abundant; nor were his companions 
 acknowledged by my Lord March, or other persons of their station, 
 at White's. It is true that Mr. George Elliot had attained to the 
 dignity of a passing bow, or other acknowledgment, from several 
 noble and fashionable persons of the town ; and that he cherished 
 hopes of reaching that sublime goal — ^the bow-window of White's — 
 in process of time and by a liberal expenditure of his patrimony ; but 
 as yet he was as far from that triumphant and much-coveted consum- 
 mation, as Mr. Ralph PameU from the status at which Mr. ELiot 
 and his friend Mr. Forster had arrived. Ealph, however, was daily 
 receiving as much encouragement as he could hope for, and was as 
 much content perhaps with that, in its degree, as his friends were 
 with theirs ; and he considered, whether with or without substantial 
 grounds, that when that point in his career should be reached which 
 should elevate him to the rank of acknowledged heir to the Darnell 
 properties, though his actual possession of them might, in course of 
 nature, be long delayed, he should, in point of fact, occupy a superior 
 position to either of his friends, and his recognition by leaders of 
 fashion might even be more certain. 
 
 I am bound, however, to state that, whether from pride, want of 
 means, or from a certain cast of character in which good and evil 
 strongly conflicted and combined, Ealph Darnell's progress was not 
 altogether consistent, nor perhaps so hopeful as his friends desired. 
 Mr. Elliot, on many occasions, ofiered him the use of his purse to 
 some extent ; and Mr. Forster, while he professed to appreciate the 
 high sense of honour which restrained Ralph from availing himself of 
 this privilege, bad tendered — in an equally affectionate spirit — the 
 offices of friendly and even benevolent persons who, for certain consi- 
 derations, had no objection to anticipate the events of nature, and 
 supply funds whereby ambitious youths might become possessed of 
 means to compass their ends — those ends being secondary considera- 
 tions altogether. Nevertheless, Ralph Darnell's principles were yet 
 so far true to his family connection, that he would not be persuaded 
 to drag down the proud Darnell name into the mire of post-obit 
 bonds or other securities, which were described by Forster as mere 
 matters of form ; nor could he be persuaded to apply to either of his 
 uncles for money, well knowing as he did, that he should take not 
 only no benefit thereby, but very possibly the contrary. At this 
 period, therefore, of his career, he had become an anomaly to his 
 friends ; and after several consultations in regard to his advancement, 
 they had come to the conclusion that he was a great deal too careful, 
 and had by far too gi-eat control over himself, to be brought under 
 their influence as much as it behoved a follower of theirs should be. 
 And yet it would not answer to pass him by altogether. By-and-by 
 he would be a great man, one with whom acquaintance would be a 
 
STEADY, RALPH I 87 
 
 thing of note ; and thus they were content to let Ealph do very much 
 as he pleased, and come and go as he liked. 
 
 The apparently steady conduct of the young man was subject of 
 great delight to several persons of whom we know a little already. 
 In the first place, to Mr. Sanders, who, having had but little real 
 hope of Ralph's amendment, saw with pleasure his former regular 
 attendance to business renewed ; and had entrusted him, after his 
 successful essay in Mr. Wharton's letter, with other documents of a 
 private and confidential character. Ralph, too, on several occasions 
 had been favoured by invitation to tea with the ladies above stairs ; 
 and while he told them of the country scenes and pastimes of the (to 
 them) rude North, heard from Mr. Sanders, with as strange a fascina- 
 tion as he had listened to Captain Abel Scrafton — ^and I might say 
 even greater — tales of Indian life — of the occupations of Englishmen 
 in that far country j of hunting, such as could not even be imagined ; 
 and how, mounted on the Nabob's elephants, parties of the factors 
 would kill tigers, wild boars, and buffaloes. 
 
 Ah ! for all that he looked so demure and passionless as he sat at 
 his desk day by day, Ralph felt that hot blood had once coursed 
 through Mr. Sanders's veins, and that warfare with men had taken 
 its place with warfare against wild beasts. Who were these men 
 he spoke of? — Moors, (Jentoos, Brahmins, with their hideous idols, 
 glorious old poetry, and quaint sacred legends, of which Mr. Sanders 
 —a studious man — possessed many specimens. Who were these 
 Emperors, Nawabs, Rajahs, who ruled over cities larger and richer 
 than London, and territories larger — ^far larger and more populous — 
 than all Europe? Mr. Sanders delighted in instructing Ralph in 
 these details. They brought old scenes to his memory, and political 
 events which were daily becoming more interesting. Who in Eng- 
 land knew or cared about them in comparison with their impoirtance 1 
 and I suppose — even though Ralph had heard daily since his career 
 in Roger Darnell and Company's oflEice began, more or less about 
 Indian sugar and silk — ^that he never would have cared to know 
 where and by whom they were produced, but for these pleasant even- 
 ings at Mr. Sanders's. 
 
 I am bound to state also, that in a comparatively short period, the 
 good sisters were able to bring Mrs. Morton more from her seclusion 
 than she had ever ventured before since Colonel Morton's death. 
 She had actually, on two occasions, crossed the river in a wherry, 
 and ridden from the stairs in a coach to Lombard Street ; and no 
 harm had come of this. Sybil had become an object of the deepest 
 interest to the Misses Sanders ; and those good ladies had in turn, 
 and almost with more difficulty than Mrs. Morton, ventured to 
 Tooley Stairs, and to the old house. There they had heard those 
 sweet voices sing Italian trios and duets, which they had believed 
 
RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 impossible to English folk. They had heard Miss Sybil play selec- 
 tions from Mr. Handel's oratorios upon her harpsichord ; and had 
 they not eaten of dear Nanny Keene's hot griddle and other North- 
 umberland cakes, and declared they could not be equalled in 
 London ? 
 
 So this kind of society — for Ralph Darnell had ordinarily no other 
 — was for the time pleasanter than that of wild bloods, and the 
 excitement of cards, in which he indulged only occasionally : and 
 he was soothed by it. He was even beginning to persuade himself 
 that he was feeling satisfaction in keeping his word to his Uncle 
 Roger ; and Uncle Roger was almost regretting that he had ever 
 complained of the lad to Sir Geoflfrey. You will think that Mr. 
 Roger Darnell was unkind, inhospitable, neglectful, or what you 
 please, in not inviting Ralph to dinner occasionally, or treating him 
 as an uncle should treat a nephew who might come to be his heir. 
 I am bound to say, that I think Mr. Roger Darnell would, in this 
 respect — and except, indeed, that of the heirship — have done, as you, 
 my good sir or madam, conceive you yourself would have done in 
 this case ; but there was a Mrs. Darnell, who, as I have said before, 
 had been born in Virginia, and whose temper, I lament to state, had 
 neither been improved by early colonial religious exercises, colonial 
 habits of dealing with slaves, or subsequent education in England. 
 I am afraid, also, that she looked upon Ralph as an interloper — as 
 a something existent in the shape of a male heir to all the Darnells, 
 the like of which had not been vouchsafed to her, and of the possible 
 contingency of which she was beginning to have very serious mis- 
 givings. 
 
 To be sure she had heard, and her wise female friends — nay, even 
 
 the celebrated physician. Doctor R , had told her of certain cases, 
 
 when, after many years of interval, sons and heirs had been bom ; 
 and it was quite certain that in her private form of — ^but I have no 
 business, perhaps, to touch upon so very private, delicate, and con- 
 fidential a subject ; nor to transcribe from the diaries upon which the 
 facts of this history are related, what struggles this poor lady had 
 with herself; nor how bitterly and unavaHingly she recorded her 
 disappointments. This, however, I may be allowed to state, that she 
 hated Ralph with an unwarrantably jealous and very unrighteous 
 hatred ; that she rejoiced whenever she heard complaints of him ; 
 and rebelled, and grieved her husband, whenever — as was sometimes 
 the case — ^Ralph came to eat a Sunday dinner at the mansion. On 
 such occasions, not only was Mrs. Darnell severely and rigidly pious, 
 as befitted a regular attendant at Mr. Whitfield's chapel in Totten- 
 ham Court Road ; but painfully strict in regard to the dinner to be 
 provided. I am not, indeed, quite sure that cabbage or potatoes 
 were even boiled ; but I am quite certain that there were no hot 
 
STEADY, RALPH I 89 
 
 dishes of meat on tte table : and Mrs. Darnell hated the periodical 
 apology of Mr. Roger Darnell upon the subject to his nephew, which, 
 as especially addressed to his wife, invariably ended by his emphatic 
 declaration, that "if she prevented his having a good dinner, she 
 could not help his having a good bottle of wine after it, nor his 
 giving a share of it to Ealph." 
 
 I have no hesitation either in declaring, that Ralph's four cousins, 
 Anne, Dorothy, Maria, and Rachel — of ages varying from seven 
 upwards — ^were always taught by their mother, and by Mistress 
 Higgins the housekeeper, and Mistress Lamb the head nurse, to 
 uphold their mother's opicdon that Ralph was no more than a poor 
 heggwr, whom the charity of the Darnells had supported ; and cousins 
 Anne, Maria, and Rachel openly professed this belief, and scorned 
 Ralph accordingly. I do not think, however, that Dorothy — a dear, 
 dimpled, rosy, cosy, merry damsel of fifteen — at all fell into the 
 female faith of the family ; and I fear she had undergone many a 
 snubbing, not to say boxes on the ear, from her mother, and pinches 
 from her sisters, for being defiant on the subject of cousin Ralph — 
 speaking kindly to him, and declaring him the handsomest and 
 dearest cousin in the world. 
 
 So you see Ralph Darnell was not without friends ; and, to say 
 the truth, the friends seemed far more powerful than the enemies ; 
 for, after all, what could one spiteful Mrs. Darnell and three cousins 
 do against him ? And he had another friend too, far more precious 
 than any we have mentioned, had he but known of the fact ; yes, 
 Ralph was growing very dear to Sybil Morton — very dear indeed. 
 I do not think she could have defined how dear he was to her, or 
 how his image was growing to be part of herself — and his mind, so 
 far as she could follow it, of her mind. This was no sudden love or 
 fancy ; it was the growth of years. It had been growing ever since 
 he came to the house, and seemed to be increasing. I have heard 
 of strange love of men by mere girls, not children, though a child's 
 love is very touching in its unselfishness and purity; nor yet 
 woman's, for with woman's love, passion must be developed ; but 
 that pure devotion which becomes absolute over all other feeling, 
 and is undefinable, perhaps, because a new sense, as it were, only 
 known to the possessor, is created, which cannot be shared by 
 another; and were it known to the object, would be changed or 
 altogether destroyed. Such a love is a treasure which the possessor 
 secretes and guards more jealously than his hidden gold by a miser; 
 a rich store of enjoyment — selfish, perhaps, for a time — which dare 
 not be openly acknowledged. 
 
 Was Ralph Darnell worthy of such love? Well, something is 
 known of him even by this time, and you can judge for yourself, O 
 reader; but he is beside the question altogether. Sybil Morton 
 
90 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 knew no one else ; and so Ralph Darnell had grown up with her to 
 be an incarnation of manly power — of gentle protective attachment 
 to her — of perfection in many accomplishments which they shared 
 together ; and thus to take a place which no brother could have sup- 
 plied. Sybil's watch over Ralph was perfect. No matter if he 
 were wrong, or wilful, as we know him to have been, or profligate, 
 as he seemed sometimes to be becoming ; no matter if her mother 
 was grave and anxious, or Nanny Keene prophesied that " the Dar- 
 nell bluid 'ud come cot some time ; " " that it was iU gettin' a tame 
 birrd oot o' a wild birrd's nest," and so on — Sybil Morton could see 
 no fault in Ralph Darnell, and, as we know, had a thousand apologies 
 always ready for any irregularity. 
 
 It would have pained her sorely — shocked her, indeed — ^if she 
 could have fancied Ralph understood anythiug of this. It would 
 have changed their positions utterly, and destroyed the romance of 
 her faith. She was content to watch and believe, and had her 
 reward in his kindness. He was kiad, and true also, though his feel- 
 ings to Sybil were of a very different character from hers to Mm. 
 Something after her fashion to him, was Lis ideal in his cousin Con- 
 stance. To Sybil would he speak of her : of their early days of 
 companionship, of their adventures, mishaps, quarrels, and loves; 
 and be believed that she encouraged him iu persistence in this love. 
 Ah ! could she have told him that Constance was not — could never 
 be — to him what she was — ^never so true, never so devoted — would 
 he have believed this ? I fear not : but she could not tell him, and 
 so she had watched and loved, and loved and watched, through many 
 a day, through many a night, gathering her comfort from kind words, 
 from helpful companionship, and from hope, dim and blurred with a 
 mist of uncertain futurity, but still hope. Could it last ? Would 
 he ever be to her what she was to him ? Ah ! what would she not 
 do to prove this ? More even than she had done when, perhaps, she 
 had saved him that night in the snow. She often longed for some- 
 thing to occur in which she might be put to a higher test even than 
 that ; and the test came, too, sooner than she thought. 
 
 On the day I speak of — ^it was the quarter-day — Mr. Sanders 
 called Ralph to him before the morning's tasks were appointed, and 
 taking from his desk a private ledger, opened it at the letter D, and 
 running his fingers down a column of names begiuning with that 
 letter, stopped at one, took the number of a page, and turned to it. 
 The heading was plain enough : " Ralph Darnell, in accoimt current 
 with Roger Darnell & Co. ; " and after a number of To's and By's, 
 which were carefully gone over, the balance was a pleasant one for 
 a young man to look at, and Mr. Sanders read it with some satisfac- 
 tion. " Three himdred and twenty-four pounds, seven shillings, and 
 twopence ! " he said. " Why, Ralph, you are growing quite a man 
 
STEADY, RALPH! 91 
 
 of fortune. Now, by the last arrangement, you know, one hundred 
 must be invested till you are of age, and a pretty little sum there is 
 too, I can tell you ; but of the balance you are master. What will 
 you do with it ? " 
 
 What would he do with it ? There were many pleasant things in 
 his mind in a moment to do with it. Elliot could be paid for one ; 
 his tailor for another ; then he could take Nanny and Sybil into 
 council, and lay out something upon a new carpet ; perhaps exchange 
 the old harpsichord for a better. Yes ; he would take it all, and he 
 said so, and gave some of the reasons. 
 
 Mr. Sanders sighed. " Well," he said, " I had rather you didn't, 
 all your pleasant intentions to good Mrs. Morton notwithstanding. 
 You had better leave half with me, Ralph, or more. You may want 
 it when Sir Geoffrey comes." 
 
 " You shall keep the balance after you have given me the two 
 hundred, Mr. Sanders ; but indeed, indeed, sir," said the young man, 
 laughing, " I'm sure about the rest. 1 shall have quite enough for 
 my uncle's visit." 
 
 Mr. Sanders said no more, but gave the money. Like Mr. Dar- 
 nell, he had grown to believe that the best way to treat Ralph was 
 in confidence. He made the entry in the ledger, where it stood for 
 many a day as a mark — a record, as it were, of a turning-point in a 
 future eventful life—" 25th May 1755— By cash, J200 "—and hav- 
 ing drawn a line with a ruler, the balance, £24, 7s. 2d., was entered 
 below. 
 
 What should he do with it ? The money seemed to burn in his 
 pocket, worse than Captain Abel Scrafton's, and Ralph's plans were 
 not difficult to make. He should find Elliot at home, no doubt, and 
 would but change his dress and go to him before anything else was 
 done. He could not go in his shabby office suit, and he might stroll 
 down by St. Paul's into Fleet Street and the Strand, or even as far 
 as Pall Mall or Bond Street, and find something — a fairing they 
 called it in the north — ^for Sybil, and one for his dear Constance too 
 — ^why not ? she could not be changed ! In short, he had delight in 
 the possession of money, and the intention of laying it out well ; and 
 was in proportionably high spirits, taking an oar in the ferry-boat 
 from the Tower to Tooley Stairs, and pulling with a hearty good 
 will. Sybil and Nannie heard him open the front door, go up to his 
 room, whence he presently emerged in one of his holiday suits of 
 brown velvet and gold-lace, with a white satin waistcoat worked by 
 Sybil, a handsome rapier by his side ; his best wig, and a small 
 fashionable laced hat on his head. He was undeniably handsome, 
 and the women looked upon him with that foolish kind of pride- 
 worship which women will always evince for those they love, and 
 in which you, sir, or I, take a strange delight. 
 
92 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Yes, Ralph turned himself round as he was told to do; and Sybil 
 brushed off an imaginary speck of dust, or a thread, or something, 
 just, as it appeared, in order to touch him, apparently to satisfy her- 
 self that he was real ; and then he took an ivory-headed cane from 
 the corner, and lifting off his hat, saluted them with a grand bow, 
 and a sweep of it, which had much grace and dignity. 
 
 " "Very well, sir," said Mrs. Morton, who was lying on a sofa, 
 looking out upon the river, by the open casement, for the sweet 
 evening breeze was soft and pleasant—" very well indeed. Your 
 bow reminds me of — " 
 
 " Never mind now, mother," said Sybil hastily, for she had good 
 reason to dread her mother's reminiscences — " never mind. And 
 pray, sir," she added with mock gravity, and curtsying profoundly, 
 " for what fair lady is this display, so unusual ? " 
 
 " Ye're no gaun to that fause loon Elliot the nicht. Master 
 Rvaafe," said old Nanny, interrupting Sybil. " 'Deed yon Forster's a 
 bit quiet, decent young man, a'm thinkin'j but that Elliot — ah, 
 them Elliots wuz a'ways fause." 
 
 " Not the Forsters, Nanny," said the old lady, rebuking her 
 solemnly — " not the Forsters ; they died, but they were true." 
 
 " Indeed, mother," said Sybil peremptorily, " you are to look at 
 Mr. Ralph, and not to talk of anybody else." 
 
 " And I think him a very handsome, gallant young gentleman, 
 who will, I am sure, have many admirers as he walks down the 
 Strand," said the old lady. " Good evening to you, sir ; and we 
 shall expect a relation of your adventures when you come home." 
 
 " And you shall have them, madam. I wish you a good after- 
 noon, ladies ;" and making them another sweeping salute, half in 
 fun, half in earnest, Ralph left them. 
 
 " Tak' gude care, Maister Rraafe, darlin'," said old Nanny Keenei 
 to him as he went out ; a'll be jist waitin' for ye afore ye come'" 
 hame ; but ye'll no be late, hinny ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, Nanny, not late ; I'll be home long before you are 
 in bed. I must go to Elliot's, to pay him what I owe ; an' that's 
 like a true Darnell, jre ken, Nanny. I must be all clear before 
 the baronet arrives." 
 
 " Na, na, he'll tak nae harm, wan't Maister Rraafe, Miss Sybil, 
 an' ye'll ne'er hae nae mair pykin' o' him oot o' the sna' drift. 
 "We'll jist let the mistress gae to bed, hinny, an' we'll sit here, you 
 and I, lookin' oot on the rriver. Eh, but it's sweet the nicht ; — 
 an' he was a brave-lookin' lad, tey — wasn't he jist ? Maybe the 
 liken o' him won't be in a' the haill Strand ; and Sir Geoffrey '11 be 
 JLSt prowd o' him— jist prowd, ye ken." 
 
 Sybil thought so, decidedly. 
 
MR. ELLIOT'S SUPPER AND CONCERT. 93 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MR. Elliot's supper and concert. 
 
 Mr. Elliot's lodgings were in Norfolk Street, in the Strand, and 
 being in. the house nearest the river, there was a very pretty view 
 thereof, as well as great convenience for going to the city, or to 
 Westminster, by boat, then a favourite mode of conveyance. As 
 Kalph issued forth from his house, his friends the watermen at 
 Tooley Stairs crowded about him with offers of service, and he was 
 finally dissuaded from undertaking the long walk by land. The day 
 had been showery, and the streets were very muddy. It did not mat- 
 ter for the evening return : there would be a moon, and he could come 
 home at night on foot or row back agaia as he pleased; but 
 the wherry would take him, clean and fresh as he was, direct to Mr. 
 Elliot's house, and afterwards he could walk on and execute his 
 commissions. There is no doubt that Mr. Ealph, by this course, 
 missed seeing many celebrities of the time — men La whom we even 
 of this generation feel a strange delight and interest, stronger per- 
 haps because we know more of them than we do of any others before 
 or since. Men who lived much in coffee-houses and taverns, said 
 smart things, and arranged to say them beforehand — shrewd, hard- 
 witted, and hard-headed fellows, who knew their own value, and 
 received it in the homage paid to them. But Mr. Kalph had no 
 acquaintance with any of these. He was certainly not literary or 
 critical, and assuredly was not learned in classical lore. I question 
 whether he could have translated the first hundred lines of Virgil, 
 although he had a pretty knowledge of Boccaccio, and even of Dante. 
 This, however, he never paraded; I believe, indeed, in my heart, 
 that the foolish youth would have denied such knowledge altogether, 
 because it had originated with two girls, one of whom he loved, 
 and the other was his daily companion and friend. What would 
 Mr. Elliot or Mr. Forster have said to either ? and how much banter 
 would he, Ralph Darnell, not have had to endure, had it been 
 surmised that he had ever studied with them ! 
 
 No matter ; the afternoon proved bright and warm, and hundreds 
 of wherries were skimming the calm surface of the noble river, laden 
 with many smartly-dressed parties enjoying the balmy air and 
 pleasant companionship of those with them. Mr. Ralph's thoughts 
 were quite sufficient for him. Was not Constance coming — should 
 he not see that dear face again, and be greeted heartily by his old 
 uncle and Mrs. Grover ? Yes, all the world was bright to him that 
 afternoon, and he made the best of it. Altering his destination 
 slightly, he was set down at the stairs by Somerset House, and 
 
94 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 tlience walked into the Strand. His tailor, Mr. Price, lived there, 
 and -would be glad to see him ■with money in his pocket, and all 
 arrears wiped off; little, perhaps, after the fashion of tailors in 
 general, expecting any such good fortune. 
 
 " And you'll have something new, Mr. Darnell ? " said that 
 worthy tradesman, with a profusion of bows — " something in the 
 best style of the fashion ? Here are a few of the last things I have 
 made up ; and that suit for my Lord March is just going home. 
 No ? too rich ? "Well, we can suit you better, perhaps, in a quieter 
 pattern, though, with such a figure, Mr. Darnell, you can take your 
 place among the best ; and I hope you'll not forget me, sir, when 
 you come to your property." 
 
 And Ralph made his choice of two new suits, one for the morning 
 and one for the evening ; and I believe, as he did so, that he had 
 visions of many a walk on the Mall or at Ranelagh with his beau- 
 tiful cousin, and many a happy evening at the theatre, concerts, or 
 other entertainments. He told Mr. Price to dress him as a gentle- 
 man should be dressed, and there was no question of that great 
 artist's taste and judgment. 
 
 The interview with his tailor had occupied more time than Kalph 
 had imagined, there were so many pretty things to choose from. It 
 was already too late to see after the carpet or the harpsichord ; but 
 he could buy something for Constance and Sybil, and, turning up 
 the Strand in the direction of Essex Street, he entered a goldsmith's 
 shop he well knew, and made his selections — a pretty gold chain and 
 locket for Constance, and a brooch for Sybil. He was standing 
 at the shop door, looking carelessly up and down the street, when 
 Elliot and Forster, with three oiier well-dressed men, came up. 
 Ralph would have greeted them as familiarly as usual, but to his 
 surprise both merely raised their hats, and passed on. 
 
 What was the meaning of this? Was he to be thrown off 
 altogether? Had he done anything to offend? The young man 
 was generous, passionate also, it is true ; but, as is most frequently 
 the case with such characters, slow to take offence. One otherwise 
 constituted, would most likely have turned back and resented the 
 seeming coldness ; but Ralph had a duty to fulfil, a payment of 
 honour to make, and, allowing his friends to precede him a little, he 
 followed them. He saw with satisfaction that they turned down 
 Norfolk Street, and, continuing his pace more rapidly, he over- 
 took them before they had entered the house. The three men who 
 were with Elliot and Forster stared at him from head to foot. 
 'J'hey were new to Ralph ; and Elliot, again removing his hat, seemed 
 in doubt as to what he should say or do, when Forster interfered. 
 
 " Gad," he said, " Darnell, you have been near us so little for a 
 month past, that we concluded you had gone for good to Mr. Whit- 
 
MR. ELLIOTS SUPPER AND CONCERT. 95 
 
 field's connection, and that Mrs. Roger had taken you up at last. 
 Indeed you made so very stiff a bow to Geordy, that we could think 
 nothing else — could we Elliot ? " 
 
 " I ? " said Ralph ; « I did not." . . . 
 
 " Never mind him," said Elliot, laughing ; " it was only to tease 
 you, Ralph, We thought your conscience would smite you when 
 you saw old friends. Come in, man ; you won't refuse a quiet 
 supper, and it's all ready, or will be soon. Nay, I insist. Selwyn, 
 let me introduce you to Mr. Ralph Darnell, one day to be Sir Ralph, 
 Baronet. Wilson — Mr. Darnell Come along ; let us see what 
 good things the gods have provided us with." 
 
 " A word with you, Elliot," said Ralph, drawing him back as the 
 others entered the hall door, which was held open by a negro servant 
 in a rich livery and a cauliflower wig. " I cannot stay ; but I want 
 you to take the money I owe you, which I have brought with me. 
 If you'll bring the I O U I gave you, I will wait in the ante-room." 
 
 " Indeed, you shall do no such thing, Ralph DameU. What, 
 man," replied Elliot quickly, " after not showing us the light of your 
 countenance for a week, you are going off unceremoniously ! By 
 Jove, the old woman in Bloomsbury must have done for you. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! — ^a good joke, and thou'rt turned Methody at last, with that 
 solemn face of thine. Damme if I can believe it, however, Ralph. 
 Not stay ! and Peg Woffington and the little Signora Blandini and 
 a lot more coming, and' some of the Italian fiddlers and singers too. 
 Nay, but thou art a singer — a classical singer, by Gad — and wilt 
 delight in them. Not stay ? By George, sir, I'U take no denial ; 
 and, what's more, I know that money is burning thy pocket, and it 
 may burn there and be d — d, for not a stiver of it wUl I ever touch 
 if thou dost not sup with us. Nay, not a word more" — for he saw 
 Ralph about to speak — "we would think thou wert turned into 
 Mister Sanders settling an account, or that Jew Levi taking up a 
 bUl, and waiting in the anteroom with it." 
 
 The good-humour of the young man was contagious, and there was 
 nothing in Ralph's mind to jar with it. Was he not happy % He 
 knew he was well dressed. He had money enough to give away ii 
 needs be ; but the play would be deep, and he dreaded that. 
 
 " I won't play," he said, " George, and there will be a good deal 
 of it among your grand friends." 
 
 " Just as you please, Ralph ; this is Liberty Hall to-night, and it 
 would be uncivil in me to say to my guests. Play, when they didn't 
 please, or, Don't play, when they did please — ^you can do just as you 
 like." 
 
 " Then let's settle the private matter first ; and, that off my mind, 
 I'll try and make myself agreeable to the company," returned 
 Ralph. 
 
96 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " By all means. Come to my bedroom ; you may need to wash 
 your Lands, you know, and I'll go with you." 
 
 " What are you fellows chattering about ? " said Forster, as they 
 passed the drawing-room door. "Are you not going to tay, 
 Darnell ? " 
 
 " Certainly he is," replied Elliot ; " I'll show him where to wash 
 his hands, and we'll be down with you directly. Are any of them 
 come?" 
 
 " Plenty. Be quick, Geordy — I'll do host till we see you." 
 
 It was a great relief to Ralph when the old I O U paper was in 
 his hand, torn into one hundred fragments, and thrown into the fire- 
 place. " The first and the last," he said to Elliot, and he looked as 
 if he were in earnest. 
 
 Elliot sighed. " Ah, Ralph," he said, " I wish I had thy de- 
 termination — I wish such papers were my first and my last ; but I 
 feel there'll be a plentiful crop of them before I've done. Come — 
 Mistress WoflSngton will scold and pout if I delay, and there is a 
 fair friend of hers too, whom I would not provoke." 
 
 Mistress Wofiington, however, was as placable as she was well 
 dressed and agreeable. It was no point of her character to quarrel 
 with a gay gentleman who was going to give her a good supper, and 
 entertain her with the best Italian music then procurable after 
 it. She cast a favourable eye over the stalwart form and handsome 
 face of young Darnell, and introduced him to her companion, with 
 whom Ralph was soon on easy terms. Certainly Mistress WoflSng- 
 ton, as she looked from one to the other, could hardly make up 
 her mind as to which she would award the palm of manly beauty to. 
 George Elliot was richly dressed and looking his best. He had 
 improved in appearance since we saw him first at the Golden Cock. 
 He was rising in the social scale. He would have several noblemen 
 and some men of fashion there that night, men who had no objection 
 in life to descend a step from their lofty pedestals to meet others 
 striving thereto. Certainly George Elliot was rising — Mistress 
 Woffington was perhaps falling ; but still she was holding her own, 
 and he must be a man of mark who could entertain her, or by whom 
 she would submit to be entertained. 
 
 And George Elliot did his part of host to perfection. Calm, 
 courteous, and well-bred, he took his place at the head of a table 
 (Forster was at the bottom) on whiclx gold and silver plate and 
 bright crystal sparkled, and the most perfect French dishes of 
 the period were provided. He looked — as he was — proud of the 
 occasion and of his company. The guests were twelve only ; and to 
 make room for Ralph, Mr. Wilson had given up his place. 
 
 Ralph's companion was an Italian girl, not beautiful, but with 
 one of the softest, richest voices he had ever heard. True, he could 
 
MR. ELLIOT'S SUPPER AND CONCERT. 97 
 
 read Italian, but, except to a dear friend, he had not dared to speak 
 it. What more likely mode, ho-wever, of trying his speech than 
 with one who only spoke a few broken words of English ? and once 
 loosed, his tongue had occupation enough, and pleasant occupation 
 too. The girl had found few with whom she could conyerse in her 
 own language, and her remarks on England, on her receptions, 
 on the people, and on music were racy and piquant. She soon 
 gauged Ralph's musical knowledge, and claimed him as her most 
 attentive listener to be. " I shall sing to the rest of the company ; 
 but for you, signer," she said as the ladies rose, " take care that 
 j'ou listen." 
 
 I daresay I need not record Ralph's gallant speeches on this 
 occasion ; no doubt they were tender, and that he put his hand 
 to his heart exactly at the proper time. I say he was very happy. 
 " What a fool I should have been," he thought, " if I had gone 
 away ! why, this music is worth all the rest, and I would not have 
 missed it on any account ;" so he joined heartily with his com- 
 panions, and drank his Burgundy to the King's health with right 
 good will : bearing the banter of Elliot, Forster, and Mr. Selwyn 
 on his conquest of the Signorina, with great good-humour. 
 
 There were a few toasts only : our great-grandfathers could par- 
 take of no repast without toasts, and as there was much to do, the 
 gentlemen soon broke up and rejoined the ladies in the drawing- 
 room, where the company was assembling fast, and chairs were set 
 for the music, and it was commenced without delay. A concerted 
 piece of Mr. Handel's and one of Pescetti's overtures were played, 
 then the Signorina was led forth gallantly by Elliot, and sang with 
 a bewitching execution and grace the beautiful bravura, " Sventu- 
 rata non ho pace," out of " Ezio" by Perez, with which Signora 
 Mingotti was enchanting the town ; and being heartily encored, 
 followed it by the tender " Tu sai ch'io sono amanti," in which she 
 cast very tender glances at Mr. Ralph, well knowing that he under- 
 stood her — ^which few others there did — and of which he could not very 
 well mistake the meaning ; and the applause was again as rapturous as 
 the rewards were substantial. 
 
 Mistress Woffington was fond of play — what actress, what lady, 
 was not, in 1755 ? and the little Signorina seemed to have no 
 objection either. She had sung several other songs, and there had 
 been some concerted vocal pieces, also well performed ; but the enter- 
 tainments of the evening were by no means ended. Indeed 'twas 
 even then early ; Ralph's little friend would take no denial — who 
 would speak to her if he went away ? she could not pretend to 
 talk that hard " Eenglis." He would not play ? no ? then he must 
 bet on her, and give her all he won — she was sure to win — she 
 never lost. These were easy terms, and Ralph won. He bet Mr. 
 
 o 
 
98 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Selwyn three to two in fives and -won, and handed the stakes to the 
 young lady. 
 
 "Won't you back me, Mr. Darnell?" cries Mistress Woffington 
 from the end of the faro table — " -won't you back me ? " 
 
 Perhaps she \vas a little jealous of her Italian friend. 
 
 " Thank you, I am -with the Signorina, and I am not going to 
 desert her," returns Ralph, gallantly ; " we're very lucky, madam, 
 and I hope you're the same." 
 
 " That boy will make a fool of the girl," said Mistress Woffington, 
 after awhile, with a vexed look, " and that won't do at all. Don't 
 you see her eyes ? they are as full of love of him as they can hold ; 
 can't you call oflF your dog, Mr. George ? he sha'n't worry my pet — I 
 won't have it." 
 
 "Let her alone, Peggy," said Mr. Elliot, calmly; "she knows 
 very well what she's about ; he's betting on her, and giving her all 
 he wins. Capital, by Gad, and he's screwing that fellow Selwyn too, 
 who always has a pocketful of cash, wherever he gets it. Again? 
 there's no play like a woman's, after all." 
 
 " Double or quits, sir ? " cried Selwyn, excitedly ; " I've lost a 
 cool fifty, by Jove, and here's another fifty upon it, and that's the 
 last to-night." 
 
 "Shall I, carina?" whispered Ealph : "all or nothing, what say 
 you?" 
 
 " Mio cara, all or nothing !" sighed the damsel : " with you — 
 all or nothing." 
 
 " Damnation ! " cried the man, " she's won again. Here, Forster, 
 lend me a pony, will ye? I'm done for to-night, Elliot; there's 
 plenty more where the last came from, by — ! " 
 
 "Not a stiver, Albany," returned Elliot; "you might as well play 
 against the fiend himself as that girl ; who ever saw her lo.se ? Away 
 with you to-night ; you'll do better another time. What have you 
 won for her, Darnell ? 
 
 "Only a hundred, George, from Mr. Selwyn, but there's plenty 
 more beside his." 
 
 " By George, but she's got a heap before her, and we'll have to see 
 her home some of us — what do you say ? Will you come, Darnell ? 
 I suspect your company would be very pleasant." 
 
 The girl caught the meaning of the words, and said anxiously to 
 Ralph in her own soft language, " You must see me home — ^you must 
 come — ^you will not refuse ? Come ! I cannot go alone, not even with 
 her." 
 
 Ralph did not — could not — refuse those pleading eyes and that 
 Soft Italian speech ; he pressed her hand tenderly in acknowledgment ; 
 iior had he long to wait. The party was breaking tip ; boys with 
 links, chairmen shoixtmg, bawling, and jostling, were in the narrow 
 
MR. ELLIOT'S SUFFER AND CONCERT. 99 
 
 street. Elliot and Forster, -with Selwyn, had gallantly offered to 
 escort Mistress Woffington to her house not far off, and the Signorina 
 lived hard by, and so the party went on. Ralph took his post of 
 honour, and I am sadly afraid he was thinking neither of Constance 
 nor Sybil just then, but of a pair of soft dark eyes gleaming from the 
 chair window, and a small jewelled hand which lay very temptingly 
 on the open frame. 
 
 Suddenly, as they turned out of the Strand towards Covent 
 Garden, several watchmen came flying down the street, springing 
 their rattles. 
 
 " The Mohocks ! Mohocks are out : turn your chairs, gentlemen — 
 turn or they will be upon you," they cried and so ran on. 
 
 But it was too late to turn. Hard at the heels of the watchmen, 
 followed a confused rabble of men ; some carrying torches, and wav- 
 ing them in the air, some brandishing naked rapiers which flashed 
 in the torchlight as they rushed wildly along, and all shouting dam- 
 nation to Hanoverian rats and Tories, in one of thq obscene Mohock 
 " war-cries," as they were called, with which I refuse to defile these 
 pages. Ralph, and the chair by which he was walking, were at 
 once surrounded by the foremost, shouting, and dancing a mock 
 Indian war-dance in wild and f anastic capers, occasionally too making 
 lunges at him. 
 
 " Pink him ! pink him ! let daylight into him ; d — n him, pink 
 him ! Let's see who's in the chair ! Turn her out ! pull out the 
 strumpet ! " shouted a dozen voices, whUe the girl within was 
 shrieking piteously, and hiding her face with her hands. 
 
 Ralph had drawn his sword, and was trying, in good-humour, to 
 induce the Mohocks to pass on, whUe he cried to the girl not to fear; 
 but as he stood by the chair door, one fellow pricked him sharply in 
 the leg, so that the blood spurted forth, and two others, closing 
 rapidly on his guard, while a third pushed a half-extinguished torch 
 into his face, prevented his defending himself as it behoved one of 
 Mr. Sutton's favourite pupils to do. Ralph managed, however, to 
 parry a few passes ; but missing a return lunge at one, received 
 a deep wound in his breast from another man, and after attempting 
 to steady himself against the chair, fell senseless, £ind bathed in his 
 blood, upon the pavement. 
 
 It was well for Ralph that his friends had held their ground, and 
 saw him. fall. Some watchmen had rallied by them, and the Mohocks 
 were now charged in turn and chased down the Strand. The chair- 
 men had returned, and there was no chance of further molestation. 
 Elliot and Eorster, with Mr. Selwyn, ran forward at once, and found 
 the Italian girl vainly trying to raise Ralph and stanch his blood 
 with her handkerchief as she was crying and sobbing bitterly over 
 him. Perhaps it was well Ralph Darnell was as far past hearing 
 
100 RALPH DAR NELL. 
 
 ■what she said, as the men -were from comprehending it ; for the girl's 
 heart had been touched deeply, and she ■was telling Ralph of this 
 in her passionate Italian. Mistress Woffington too came up, and got 
 out of her chair ; and the group of richly-dressed men, with their 
 drawn rapiers and lace — ^the jewels of the women, and their bright 
 satin dresses — flashing in the torchlight, with what appeared to be 
 Ralph's body only, before them, lying in a pool of his blood — ^formed 
 a strange picture. 
 
 " He'll die, poor fellow," said Elliot, much shocked and sobered. 
 " I fear that lunge went through him. Jack. But we can't leave our 
 poor friend here, ladies, and you are near home ; will you excuse us ? 
 Here are a dozen watchmen to guard you, and here's a guinea among 
 them for beer. Don't think us ungallant, I pray, if we ask you to 
 go with them." 
 
 Mistress "Woffington saw the necessity of doing so at once. This 
 was more than a stage adventure, and she kindly bade Elliot see to 
 the wounded man ; so the ladies' chairs were again taken up, though 
 I believe truly that the little Italian would have rather gone with 
 Ralph. Another chair was called, into which he was carefully put, and 
 propped up, and the three friends, true to their word, saw him home. 
 Nor indeed did they leave him till a surgeon — summoned hastily as 
 they proceeded — had dressed the wound, and till Ralph a little revived, 
 had pressed their hands in token of thanks and recognition — ^for he 
 could not speak. I will indeed do Mr. Forster the justice to say that 
 he offered to sit up with Ralph, and perhaps he had reasons of his 
 own, which were not yet developed ; but Nanny was peremptory. 
 " She was used to see after wownded men," she said, " an' she didna 
 care to have stranger folk in the hoos at siccan a time." 
 
 Would he live or die ? I know not if there were others, but the 
 prayers of one utterly distracted heart, which had been already 
 anxious for many hours, went up all that night to a throne of mercy, 
 incoherently perhaps — what matter ? — as Sybil Morton sate till day- 
 break by the sufferer, wiping the clammy sweat from his brow, and 
 moistening his parched lips with the drink ordered by the doctor ; 
 hearing no comfort from old Nanny, nor heeding the terrified whining 
 of her mother, who sat rocking herself to and fro like one distraught, 
 till Nanny took her away and put her to bed. 
 
 " Ay, Miss Sybil," she said, when she returned to watch, and looked 
 at Ralph's ghastly, pinched face, and heai'd his short gasps for breath 
 — " ay, he's jist bad, but I ha'e seed waur nor that git ower it fine. 
 Dinna greet, dinna greet ma bonnie pet ; that'll no help you or him, 
 ye ken." 
 
 I think if Sybil could have wept, it would have relieved the misery 
 which had overwhelmed her, but her eyes were hot and dry, and her 
 lips as parched as Ralph Darnell's. 
 
CONSTANCE DARNELL'S POLITICS. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS CONSTANCE DARNELL's POLITICAL 
 OPINIONS ARE EVINCED. 
 
 " And wten did this happen, brother Roger ?" said Sir Geoffrey 
 Darnell, a few days after the occurrences recorded in the last chapter, 
 when the baronet, having made his journey in safety, had arrived 
 that morning at his brother's house, and being duly refreshed by a 
 hearty breakfast, the ladies having retired, was enjoying a quiet chat 
 with Roger upon famUy affairs, general and particular. " When did 
 you say this happened ?" 
 
 " Five days ago, GeoQrey. I did not know by which road you 
 would come, and all I could do was to send a messenger to Barn«t to 
 wait for you." 
 
 " Ay, and a pretty to do we had, by George, sir ! I thought 
 Constance and that old goose Grover would have broken their hearts 
 with crying, and I don't know, faith, which was worst of the two. 
 The landlady and all the chambermaids were busy with hartshorn 
 and burnt feathers, and all the waters in the doctor's shop, for a good 
 hour or more before we could get on ; but here we are at last, thank 
 God ! And so it happened five days ago, and he's no better, you 
 say ?" 
 
 " I fear not, brother ; the surgeon finds the fever still high, and 
 cannot lower it, though the lad hath been thrice blooded." 
 
 " God help him, Roger ! why, 'tis enough to take all the blood out 
 of his body : and he can't speak ?" 
 
 " He could not when I saw him yesterday," replied his brother, 
 " but the messenger reports him better to-day ; less fever, he says, 
 and pulse lower." 
 
 "Faith, the boy may be dying, Roger — dying, sir, who knows? 
 and for my own part I won't delay. We can look at the rooms as 
 we come back, and get into them to-night maybe." 
 
 " Nay, Geofirey, not so soon surely. I plead only for a few days, 
 and Mrs. Darnell — " 
 
 " If thou wert alone, Roger, I'd never leave thee, my lad, said the 
 baronet, affectionately throwing his arm round the stout merchant's 
 neck. " I'd stay here, and be thankful to look on that dear old face 
 again. But it won't do, Roger — ^it won't, indeed. I'm d — d if I 
 could bear a perpetual snubbing, or a virtuous frown from thy wife, 
 if ever I rapped oat an oath; and my temper is grown none of the 
 softest with age. No, no, Roger ; we haven't been in the house three 
 hours, by George ! but Tve been taken to task a dozen times for 
 swearing — ^f or profanity — for — Well, never mind, Roger j thou'rt 
 
102 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 used to it, I suppose, and don't care ; but we've got no Methodies 
 yet in Melcepeth, and I don't see we're a bit less further from heaven, 
 God forgive me ! than our fathers were, who swore worse than we do 
 — I do — I mean. No, no ! I don't know how the women get on ; 
 Grover's sharp enough, and as for that saucebox Constance, there'd 
 be fine doings shortly between her and that very prim daughter of 
 yoiirs, Anne, who echoes all her mother says. Don't be angry — 
 Roger, don't be angry ; I've not come to quarrel after a dozen years' 
 absence ; but we'd better be on safe ground." 
 
 Roger Darnell felt his brother was right, though he grudged his 
 absence. He had taken a well-furnished house in Soho Square for 
 him : not a very fashionable quarter perhaps, but more convenient, in 
 many respects, than a location farther west. It would do for awhile, 
 at any rate, and could be changed if needs be. "Well," he said at 
 length, " as you please, and perhaps you're right ; but you'll dine 
 here, Geoffrey, and we'd as well take the chariot down to Mrs. 
 Morton's till then ; I own I'm quite as anxious about the lad as you 
 are yourself " 
 
 " And about Peed, Roger ?" 
 
 " We can call in Chancery Lane as we go, and he can come to the 
 office in the morning to meet you — we shall be undisturbed there. 
 I'll call for you and take you down after breakfast." And then the 
 brothers fell to talking of old times, and people gone to their rest, 
 and in that forgot Mrs, Darnell and her virtuous daughters — for the 
 time. 
 
 The baronet had, however, been quite right in his determination. 
 Miss Constance had already shocked the demure Miss Darnell by 
 telling her of that salmon of which we know, and how " she'd ha' 
 lost it, only Johnny Robson — that's Jenny Robson's brither, ye ken — 
 got a grrip o' me round the waist, an' I held on, and the tackle was 
 good," and so on. And when Anne asked and was told who Johnny 
 Robson was, and heard he acted as a stable-helper, I'm afraid the 
 eyebrows of mother and daughter were considerably more elevated, 
 and their glances more significant, than was quite polite — as they 
 looked, somewhat in wonderment and disdain, at the round beautiful 
 waist about which Johnny Robson's arm had been thrown, and no 
 doubt with envy at the glorious roses which the soft dimpled cheeks 
 of the fresh country maiden displayed, in contrast with the faded 
 looks of the town girl. 
 
 I think, too, that Mistress Grover and Constance were both of the 
 same opinion when they compared notes above stairs in Grover's 
 room, as they were unpacking some finery for dinner, for tliere was 
 to be a party, they heard, in their honour. When Mistress Grover 
 said, " No, Conny, it would never do ; and your papa is quite right 
 to go Oit once ; we shall do mwc/t better by ourselves. I have not 
 
CONSTANCE DARNELL'S POLITICS. 103 
 
 forgotten tlie town, and we can get about famously with the town 
 coachman. Why, my dear, we should never see that dear Eanelagh, 
 nor the Mall, nor the theatre. Bless me ! what's the use of coming 
 all this way if we're not to enjoy ourselves ? And did you see what 
 a verjuice look my lady put on when I asked her who were singing 
 and playing? Ha! ha! ha! I'm like to split at the bare remem- 
 brance of it ; but I vAll see that dear Woffington, and you shall see 
 her too, in spite of Mrs. Darnell." 
 
 " And then about poor Ealph,'' whimpered Constance, wiping her 
 eyes, which were as full, for the moment, of grief for him as of fun 
 at Grover's descriptions. " She hadn't a good word for the poor 
 fellow, and cousin Anne was worse. She told me that he was 
 with — " but here, I think, a whisper began, which, being of a 
 private and confidential nature, I have no right to record. " How I 
 hated the chit," continued Constance, pouting. " I did hate her, and 
 I do hate her, and I will hate her, for what she said ; and I love 
 Dorothy, who told me Ralph was the dearest, best, handsomest 
 cousin she ever saw ; and oh, Grover ! I wish I could go and nurse 
 him instead of that Sybil Morton, whom I shall hate, I know, if I 
 think more of her. But daddy's gone to see him, dear old daddy ! 
 and he'll not preach like these Methodies, with their sour faces, when 
 he comes back." 
 
 The brothers had gone to Mrs. Morton's, and both were shocked, 
 sadly shocked, by what they saw. Poor Ralph was by no means out 
 of danger ; and repeated depletion had drawn every vestige of colour 
 from his handsome face, except the red spot of fever which was 
 burning his cheek. He was thin and gaunt, and moved restlessly 
 about, throwing his hands here and there, and muttering in a low 
 delirium. By his side, smoothing his pillow, giving him spoonfuls of 
 barley-water, wiping his face with a soft cambric handkerchief, and 
 doing the thousand careful offices which love suggests to a stricken 
 sufferer, moved Sybil Morton, her sweet face full of misery, but 
 bearing up to do her duty. Bravely ? Well, as best she could in 
 this sore trial. She was the only one Ralph knew, or would allow to 
 touch him ; and as the brothers came into the room, she held up her 
 finger in warning that they were not to disturb him. Ralph ap- 
 peared to have fallen asleep, and she was watching him with many a 
 prayer, dear soul ! that rest might come to that poor wasted body. 
 
 Presently he opened his eyes, and stared wildly at the baronet and 
 Mr. Roger, but he did not appear to know either. Sybil, however, 
 said gently to him, "They're your uncles, Mr. Ralph; won't you 
 speak to them '! " 
 
 ^ But the great weary eyes closed again dreamily. "No, no," he 
 murmured ; " they'll let me die, Sybil — ^who cares for me ? " and then 
 thought wandered away to Constance, and to Elliot and Forster, and 
 
104 RALPH DARNELL. _ 
 
 Mr. Sanders ; and they could distinguist nothing dearly but broken 
 words, and so stood watching. 
 
 " I think it's the crisis the doctor spoke of, Mr. Darnell," said 
 Sybil gently. " He does not know you; and if he did, he might be 
 excited more than is good for him." 
 
 " We had better leave him, Geoffrey," said the merchant ; " he is 
 in the kindest hands ; and may the Lord be merciful to him, poor 
 lad ! " and he drew his brother away gently. 
 
 Rough as the baronet was, the sad sight touched him deeply, and 
 he wiped his eyes and blew his nose very audibly as he descended the 
 stairs softly, and entered the drawing-room, where Mrs. Morton was 
 reclining, as usual, on her sofa, propped up with pillows, looking out 
 on the river. 
 
 " How do you find Ralph, Mr. Darnell ? " she said, as he greeted 
 her kindly. 
 
 Mr. Darnell shook his head. " You do not know my brother, Mrs. 
 Morton ; let me introduce Sir Geoffrey Darnell." 
 
 " I remember the name long ago — ^Ln the old times. Ah ! they 
 were different to these, Sir Geoffrey ; but I bid you welcome to a 
 lone widow's house, sir, if you'll accept a sad greeting — . If — " 
 but the old lady could say no more ; there was a flood of memories 
 rushing into her heart, faster than she could bear them — of wild 
 times full of hopes and excitement — of rumours of victory and 
 defeat — and then of the last homble scene. What marvel if a weak 
 woman — physically and morally weak — broke down ? Sir Geoffrey 
 Darnell, far away in her own dear country, was endurable in 
 thought ; but present — he who had served with her husband and 
 escaped — was to her a terrible reality. Yet she rallied. 
 
 " I'm very weak," she said feebly, "and you must forgive me, sirs. 
 I'm not accustomed to see my friends now, as I used to be once, and 
 I'm sorely troubled, too. Won't ye sit down, sirs ? " 
 
 " Very much with my nephew Ralph, I'm afraid, madam," inter- 
 rupted Sir Geoffrey, in the hope of changing the direction of her 
 thoughts. " I'm afraid he's been an anxious care to you these many 
 years : and I am sure we — that is, my brother and myself — have 
 good reason to be grateful to you for your motherly care of him." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I've done my best," returned Mrs. Morton, wiping 
 her eyes. " I've had a great trial with him ; and since he's fallen 
 into bad company I've not known how to guide him. It's the Lord 
 only, sir, that can do that, for I'm very helpless. But indeed, sir, 
 I've always had prayers morning and night, and he often read them, 
 and he's taken Sybil to church, too, eveiy Sabbath ; and Nanny has 
 always given him his hot posset, or gruel, at nights, and his hot 
 water to wash with when he needs it, and clean sheets twice a month ; 
 and he's had, gentlemen, whatever we've had — ^bite of our bite, and 
 
CONSTANCE DARNELL'S POLLTLCS. 105 
 
 sup of our sup, like my own bairn. Indeed, sirs, if there was any- 
 thing else I could have done — and he's well in French and Italian, 
 Mr. Darnell, I venture to tell Sir Geoffrey ; and he reads a play of 
 Mr. Shakespeare's to "us whiles of a night, and maybe a story out of 
 Boccaccio. But oh, sirs ! it's been all thrown away, and he's well- 
 nigh graceless now ; — to think, gentlemen, of his being drunk, and 
 going with player-queens, the hussies ! who're nae better — " 
 
 And here the poor lady broke down again. The recollection of 
 all cares for the young man seemed as oppressive and affecting as 
 her own sad history. 
 
 " And now he's come to blood," she continued ; " blood, always 
 blood, sirs, follows Hester Morton ! And where will it end ? " 
 
 " We will relieve you of Ralph if it pleases God to restore him, Mrs. 
 Morton," said the baronet, kindly. " He'll want change of air in 
 the north, and we can't spare him yet. We'll ever be grateful for 
 what you have done, I'm sure." 
 
 ' No, no. Sir Geoffi-ey ! " cried the widow, excitedly ; " no, no, it 
 wasn't that. What should, we do without Ralph, that's like a son to 
 me ? What would Sybil do, or Nanny ? Who would read to me ? 
 who would sing to me ? who would — " 
 
 " Well, well, Mrs. Morton, we will see by-and-by," said the baronet, 
 cheerily ; " there's no hurry in life about him. Damme ! I like to 
 hear a good word of the lad, too, and thank ye for it, ma'am — ^by 
 George, I do ! " and he held out his rough hand, which, shall I say 
 it ? the widow kissed reverently. " And now we'll leave you, 
 madam, and I'll send the best doctor in London to Ralph to night ; 
 yes, as soon as I can get speech of him— the very best doctor, 
 ma'am, if I have to pay him a hundred guineas — a himdred guineas, 
 ma'am — he shall have it, and double too, if he'll put that lad on his 
 legs again ! " 
 
 " It'll be the Lorrd's doin', surrs," said Nanny Keene, who had 
 been standing reverently with her arms folded across her bosom ; 
 " the Lorrd's doin', an' no' man's, for he's jist bad the day ye ken, 
 surrs, jist bad, an' luiks worrse. But Miss Sybil says he's gane to 
 by-by, mem ; a' jist ax'd at the dure, an' she's sittin' by him ; an' a' 
 thowt it 'id be jist like her, ye ken, surrs, if a'm richt — a' thowt 
 maybe — she'd jist been askin' the Lorrd for him, an' maybe He'll gi'e 
 him to herr, surrs. Whiles a' think sae mysel', an whiles no — " 
 
 " Amen," said the baronet, reverently. " It will be very hard for 
 us,^ see, to repay what you're all doing. But we may do something. 
 Good day t'ye, ma'am, and I'll send the doctor — the best doctor, by 
 Jove ! to be had in London." 
 
 I am quite sure, when the baronet got home, and was questioned 
 on the subject by Mistress Grover and Constance, that although he 
 gave a doleful account of Ralph, he was not without hope ; and it 
 
106 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 is also equally certain that he told them of Sybil's care and Mrs. 
 Morton's love for him. How she had cried out, as if in pain, when 
 he had alluded to Ralph's removal, and how she had "told him she had 
 brought him up ; and I think, before the beautiful girl laid her head 
 on her pillow that night, Constance too had asked God for her cousin's 
 life ; and that Bessie Grover, more coherently perhaps, and solemnly, 
 had done the same. Gladly, too, would each or both iiave shared the 
 watch of Sybil Morton, helped only by Nanny, but which both 
 envied, for it was a happier one than any since the wound. Dr. 
 
 had called, and had sent his chariot at once for Dr. , and 
 
 the surgeon who had attended from the first was summoned, and 
 there was a learned consultation in the parlour, which ended, I con- 
 sider, satisfactorily ; inasmuch as all agreed that while there was no 
 discoverable mortal injury, nature was doing more for their patient 
 than they could. 
 
 For Ralph slept, slept as if never to wake again, while the girl 
 and the old servant watched, and listened to the now soft, regular 
 breathing, and welcomed the easy postures. 
 
 " Eh, hinny, but we'll mak' him the rare caaves'-foot jelly that a' 
 ken of, by-and-by ; an' he'll be just Strang and weel, and nae the 
 worrse o't. Didnae a' tell ye at furrst that a' seyd far waur nor 
 hey ? " And for the first time since she had watched, Sybil Morton 
 felt that Nanny was right. 
 
 I cannot say, while the afternoon passed, as we know, thankfully, 
 if still anxiously, at Ralph's sick-bed, that it was spent pleasantly at 
 the great dinner provided by Mrs. Darnell. That very good woman 
 — ^for she felt herself good, was told she was good, and believed it 
 religiously — that good woman, I say, though her goodness prevented 
 hot meals on Sabbath-days, had not the least objection to them on week- 
 — quite the contrary. She had as great pride in the wealth of her 
 kitchen as she had in that of her priceless damask — always washed 
 in the country ; in her splendid plate, whereof, as behoved a 
 Darnell, the dessert-service was of gold ; in her glass and china ; in 
 the mahogany, which like a mirror, reflected the guests' after dinner, 
 in a sort of 
 
 " Double, Bwan and shadow '' 
 
 fashion ; in her splendid footmen, of whom Peter Grimes was upwards 
 of six feet high, and would have been made a sergeant in his gracious 
 Majesty's foot guards at once, had he ever been so rash as to enlist ; 
 and their gorgeous liveries of light-blue and gold lace, with crimson 
 plush breeches, and crimson satin waistcoats to match ; in her 
 Turkey carpet, her rich curtains made of some rare Indian silk, the 
 like of which no one had in London ; and much more secret wealth 
 in the house which I need not detail. I say she had as great prido 
 in all these worldly vanities as she had in herself; and in saying 
 
CONSTANCE DARNELLS POLITICS. 107 
 
 that, I say all I can say, for she believed in herself and in them 
 religiously. Religiously, because when she heard twice every 
 Sunday, at-Mr. Whitfield's chapel, in Tottenham Court Eoad, of the 
 vanity of worldly possessions and of the world in general, she was 
 also told of her own election to grace ; and as all the good things she 
 possessed had accompanied these, and she had never been without 
 them, had she not a right to believe that because she was good she 
 possessed them ? I say, therefore, she believed religiously in this 
 comfortable doctrine, and her worldly possessions were part of it. 
 But to Mistress Grover and Constance, and even the baronet, these 
 glories were oppressive: they had none such at Melcepeth. The 
 gossip of the friends who came to dinner was not about vanities of 
 fashionable life, or passing follies of the great city ; but of chapel and 
 parson doings, and, I am sorry to say, neighbours' affairs, and the 
 characters of many " worldly " people. I regret also to state, that 
 Mrs. Darnell confided confidently to one Lady Warrington, who was 
 there, that Sir Geofirey was a "worldly" mau, "decidedly so, my 
 dear ; " and she feared for her dear niece, and that Mrs. Grover was 
 
 . As to poor Ralph, " it would be a great mercy if he were 
 
 taken before his sins were scarlet — indeed it would ! " and much to 
 the same effect, which was respectfully listened to by Miss Anne. 
 But Grover, Constance, and Dorothy had got into a snug quiet 
 corner ; and the town cousin opened out her heart to the country one, 
 and found sympathy therein. Finally, when Constance was asked 
 by her aunt to sing, that saucy young lady, after pouting for a while, 
 went to the harpsichord, and, after a lively prelude, sang with 
 infinite spirit and piquancy a lilting border ballad, of rank Jacobite 
 tendency, in which, I fear, the house of H-n-v-r did not shine 
 brightly, though one Johnnie Forster and his P — e did, and this was 
 the end of it — 
 
 " The Earl's died bravely in London toun, 
 
 An' his head glow'rs grim upon Temple Ba'a ; 
 But mony a heart, as his blude ran doun, 
 
 Swore death to the Whigs ; an he'll ding them a'a ! — 
 WiU the gallant Johnnie Forster ! " 
 
 " Eh, hinnie ! ye mauna sing them-Uke tunes in London city," said 
 Roger Darnell, good-humouredly, in the old broad Northumbrian, 
 which he had not forgotten, as he listened with a glow to which he 
 had long been a stranger, and snapped his fingers in time to the lilt — 
 "else ye'll ha'eKing George an' a' his grrannadeers after ye, mabairnie." 
 
 " 'Deed then, uncle Roger, an' a'll jist dee as a' like, ye ken, an' 
 daddy '11 no hinder mey. Wad ye care to heer anither, surr ? I'se 
 plenty mair," said the saucy young lady, replying in the same spirit 
 and dialect, and putting up her rosy mouth to be kissed. 
 
 " How shocking ! how forward ! Indeed I cannot allow this to go 
 
108 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 on, Lady Warrington. I am so sorry that anything of the kind 
 should have occurred in my house. Quite shocking, I declare, and I 
 shall speak about it," said Mrs. Darnell, bridling. 
 
 " Indeed, mamma," began Miss Anne ; but what she was going to 
 say was lost in the somewhat unsteady approach of the baronet, in 
 anticipation of which Lady Warrington put aside her hoop, while she 
 cast some furious matrimonial glances at her husband, who followed 
 in a like condition. 
 
 " So you've got Conny to sing, Mrs. Darnell, have you ? " said Sir 
 Geoffrey — "I hope, one of the old songs. Damme! madam, there 
 was a spirit about them which we don't hear nowadays. What d'ye 
 think. Lady Warrington ? Here's your husband and I have had a 
 glorious crack over old times ; it makes one young again to thiuk 
 over them. Doesn't it. Miles ? " 
 
 I don't think Sir Miles could speak very well; at any rate Le did 
 not try to do so before his wife ; but he took Sir Geoffrey's hand and 
 continued to shake it, while the baronet called lustily to his daughter. 
 
 " Give us that song about Johnnie Forster. Here's Mrs. Darnell 
 and Lady Warrington dying to hear it, Conny." The baronet did 
 not see Mistress Grover's admonitory nods and gestures, and it is 
 well perhaps he did not hear Mrs. Darnell's interjections of scorn at 
 his profanity. "Now then, get on, lassie." 
 
 " I ha'e just singit it, daddy," replied Constance, rising and coming 
 forward, " an' uncle Roger told me I'd ha'e King George an' a' his 
 grannadeers after me, daddy. An' what'll ye say to that, surr ? " and 
 the girl dropped a profound curtsy as her flashing eyes swept round 
 the circle before her, wherein Lady Warrington and some other prim 
 elderly ladies were holding their fans to their faces. "Te're no' 
 shamed o' me, daddy, are ye? " 
 
 "Wo, by G— d," cried the baronet, laughing; " I hope they liked 
 it But come. Sir MUes, shall we have a rubber at piquet ? I'm for 
 what you like to-night ; " and he moved towards the card-table, which 
 was set out with wax-lights in massive silver candlesticks. 
 
 " Wc only play for love. Sir Geoffrey Darnell, in this house," said 
 the hostess, with much emphasis and a stately sweep past him. 
 
 "Love! Ha! ha !" cried the baronet. "Love! Ah! I've played 
 too deeply, madam, for that in my life to risk any of what remains 
 to me ; but you may find others with a longer purse than I have, aijd 
 I wish you luck, ma'am." 
 
 I suppose that others were in a like strait, or that love was too 
 valuable a commodity to be risked in such pastimes ; and I do not 
 wonder that when the great Peter Grimes made a solemn announce- 
 ment at the door that the chairs were ready, our country friends were 
 right glad to hear it, and to get home to comfortable beds in Soho 
 Square. 
 
"INSTRUCTIONS FOR A WILL:' 109 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "instructions foe a will." 
 
 "I THINK I understand tTie position perfectly, Sir Geoffrey," said Mr. 
 Peed, wlio had attended the professional summons he had received 
 from his eminent clients with a punctuality befitting the great legal 
 firm of which he was the head. " Perfectly," he continued, brushing 
 away some grains of rappee from his shirt ruffles, while he offered 
 the gold snuff-box, which had a long inscription on the lid, to the 
 baronet. " This young man may be, as 'we lawyers call it, ' nullius 
 filius,' that is, nobody's son — ahem ! in law only, of course — or he 
 may be in the position possibly of prospective heir to the baronetcy 
 and estates of Melcepeth Castle ; all depends upon the production of 
 certain ' marriage lines,' or certificates more properly, which, as you 
 have reason to believe, were in the possession of Mrs. Henry Darnell, 
 otherwise Grace Smithson, deceased, but which were lost with her." 
 
 " Exactly," said the baronet, " that's just it, and now I want you, 
 Mr. Peed—" 
 
 " Your pardon. Sir Geoffrey ; we must not be in a hurry. We 
 must have counsel's opinion upon it. To my mind, sir, this is a most 
 momentous case — truly a momentous case indeed ; and we cannot be 
 too careful. What would be said, Sir Geoffrey, in the profession — in 
 the profession, sir — if through any overlookment the firm of Peed, 
 Peed, & Brisbane made a mistake — a mistake which might involve 
 future interests, and produce im — men — se litigation ? It is dreadful 
 to think of — to contemplate, my dear sir ! " 
 
 " That's just it, Mr. Peed. I want to have no trouble after I'm 
 gone, you know, and — " 
 
 " Of course, baronet," interrupted Mr. Peed — " of course. I see 
 it all at a glance ; and I think you will believe that I am equally 
 anxious with yourself. Now in these cases I find the best, the only 
 plan is, to take your written instructions for this will ; which, if you 
 will sign, will not be the will, sir, but a document which I can lay 
 before counsel with confidence, and which will be considered far 
 superior to any memoranda of my own." 
 
 " Write my own will, sir ! " cried the baronet, aghast ; all I ever 
 wrote in my life were a few foolish love-letters, and an occasional line 
 to my brother there. Bless my soul ! write my own will ! " 
 
 " Kot at all. Sir Geoffrey," remarked Mr Peed, blandly — " not at 
 all. All we shall require is your signature. The purport will be 
 written for you." 
 
 "He is right, Geoffrey," said Mr. Darnell, "and lie did precisely 
 
110 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 tte same for me. True, I put in a sentence here and there, but then 
 I'm used to -writing, and you are not." 
 
 " Very good," said the baronet, resignedly, and with a sigh. " I 
 daresay you're both right ; and as I came to get the thing off my mind, 
 it shall be done. Who's to write, Mr. Peed ? " 
 
 " I thought he might be needed. Sir Geoffrey, so I've brought my 
 clerk with me — my private and confidential clei'k, Mr. Wilson." 
 
 " Why, it will be all over the town to-morrow," cried Sir Geoffrey, 
 angrily. "No, no. Peed; if, if — " 
 
 " I assure you, Sir Geoffrey — if possible — if possible, Mr. Wilson 
 is more to be depended upon than I am," cried Mr. Peed, waving his 
 white hands eagerly. " It is his peculiar office to attend bedsides — 
 deathbeds — very often, sir, I am sorry to say, to take down last 
 wishes, when dying men, and women too, sir, can only perhaps speak 
 a few words at a time, and he has them down at once. Never knew 
 him make a mistake in my life, sir, by George ! " cried the little 
 lawyer, quite energetically ; " and as for secrecy, Gog himself could 
 no more speak to Magog about what he has heard, sir, than Wilson 
 to his dearest friend, if he has one. Quite a rare talent has he, Sir 
 Geoffrey, I assure you." 
 
 "I fully agree with Mr. Peed, brother," said Mr. Darnell ; " Mr. 
 Wilson has no doubt so many secrets to keep, that they are no more 
 to him than — " 
 
 Mr. Darnell seemed at a loss for a simile, but his voice in council 
 determined the baronet. 
 
 " Very well, gentlemen," he said, " have in Mr. Wilson, by all 
 means ; " and that functionary entered, carrying a green bag, carefully, 
 as it behoved a solicitor's clerk to do, and bowed generally to the 
 party. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Wilson," said Mr. Darnell j " we have a little work 
 for you to do." 
 
 Mr. Wilson looked to his principal, but did not speak. " Instruc- 
 tions for a will," said Mr. Peed, and Mr. Wilson fumbled in his bag, 
 took out a leather portfolio, which he unlocked, spread his paper, put 
 a pen on it, drew an inkstand to him, and having written " Instruc- 
 tions for a wUl," as a heading, looked up. 
 
 "Now, Sir Geofirey, please to say to my clerk just what you have 
 said to me," said Mr. Peed; " Mr. Wilson is at your service." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey took a long breath, like a sigh, ami drummed nervously 
 on the table with his right hand ; but at last his brother saw the 
 strong fingers clench, the nostril quiver, and the upper lip close 
 firmly, as he smote the table slightly, and began — 
 
 " I wish," Sir Geoffrey said, " in case of no direct male heir, after 
 my brother, being in existence, that, on his death, the whole of my 
 estate, lands, money, and whatever it may be, except Melcepeth 
 
"■ INSTRUCTIONS FOR A WILL." Ill 
 
 itself, and the few acres about it, stould pass to my daughter Con- 
 stance, without reservation of any kind. My brother is rich enough, 
 sir, not to want any of my money or m/y property ; and if I die before 
 him, and he inherits the baronetcy I hold, I mean that that succession 
 should not affect the other Melcepeth estates, which are not entailed. 
 He and I, Mr. Peed, have come to this conclusion long ago — have we 
 not, Roger ? " 
 
 Roger Darnell put out his hand and pressed his brother's. 
 " Quite," he said ; " go on." 
 
 "If it had pleased God to spare — " continued the baronet, 
 with tremor in his voice ; " never mind — I mean, if I had had an 
 heir of my own, there would have been no trouble ; but as it is, I 
 have to mention that, after my brother Roger's death, supposing he 
 should have no son, my brother Henry's son, Ralph Darnell, is to be 
 considered. 
 
 "Now if this young man be legitimate — if the marriage of his 
 father, Henry Darnell, with Grace Smithson, of Warkworth, can be 
 proved legally now, or at any time henceforth, and after the manner 
 required by the law — I will that he be considered heir to the baronetcy 
 of Melcepeth after my brother, or his male heirs, and that with it he 
 receive one half of the property belonging to the estate — lands, money, 
 or whatever it may be. There's no saying," continued Sir Geoffrey, 
 after another pause, " how long this may remain unproved ; and all 
 I wish recorded is, that whenever he is proved legitimate, no matter 
 after how many years, and whether my daughter be married or not, 
 that then he shall receive what I will to him, and have no claim to 
 anything more." 
 
 " That precludes claim for mesne profits, of course, Sir Geoffrey ?" 
 observed Mr. Peed. 
 
 " I don't know what that may be j and I hope I'm clear in what I 
 say, sir. I don't want the lawyers, sir, to have a finger in this pie, 
 Mr. Peed ; and you must keep them out of it, if you please." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir Geoffrey, you are quite clear. Go on, sir." 
 
 " Meanwhile, and until his legitimacy is proved," continued the 
 baronet, " Ralph Darnell will receive from my estate what was 
 settled upon his father by my father, which is four hundred pounds 
 per annum. After he comes of age, I wish to add a similar sum ; 
 and I will that the sum of eight hundred pounds per year, to continue 
 for his life, be paid out of the Melcepeth property, in quarterly pay- 
 ments of two hundred pounds. It is distinctly to be understood that 
 this additional payment is to continue for his life only. My father's 
 bequest will not be interfered with ; it is a charge on the property 
 for ever. 
 
 " I don't think there is anything more ; and you've got all that 
 down, young man, I hope?" — Mr. Wilson bowed. "Stay, there's 
 
112 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Grover. Mistress Grover, sir, is to get from the estate one tundred 
 and fifty pounds per year till she dies. I don't suppose she 'will ever 
 marry ; and if she does, by George ! her husband will be the better of 
 it, and Constance won't miss it. Now, Mr. Peed, will that do ? I 
 can settle about Smithson and the servants hereafter. That's what 
 I've had on my mind for many a year ; and, by Gad ! sir, when it's 
 all done, we'll have a jolly dinner at Arthur's. Can you think of 
 anything else, Koger ?" 
 
 " Nothing. If any point is not clear to the lawyers, you'll have 
 to explain it, or they will — But I daresay Mr. Peed will do all 
 that is necessary." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Peed. " Our Will will be a longer docu- 
 ment than that, perhaps ; but I don't know that it will be more 
 explicit. The paper is ready, Mr. "Wilson ?" 
 
 Mr. Wilson's reply was by rising, putting his pen behind his ear, 
 and taking the sheet to Mr. Peed, who, after an adjustment of specta- 
 cles, read out the writing. Nothing had been added, or taken away, 
 or modified ; as Sir GeoflBrey had spoken, so Mr. Wilson had written. 
 " Sign, it, sir, if you please," said Mr. Peed, handing the sheet to the 
 baronet. 
 
 " Ay, I may sign it safely indeed !" said Sir Geoffrey. " I could 
 hardly have believed in such exactness ; " and, taking the pen from 
 Mr, Wilson, he wrote in a strong bold hand, 
 
 " GEOf FREY Daenell, Baronet, 
 
 " of Melcepeth. 
 
 " My signature in good health, and perfectly understanding all that 
 has been written here." 
 
 " Now you may go, Wilson. Go straight to the office and get a 
 copy ready for Sergeants Green and Brown, who are retained 
 specially." 
 
 " And when will the will be ready, Mr. Peed ? Make haste with 
 it, if you please." 
 
 " Ah, Sir Geoffrey ! don't hurry us. You're not going to leave 
 town to-morrow ; and really the sergeants are so busy now that — 
 that—" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Peed, I won't hurry you ; but it must be executed 
 before I leave London, for I intend to keep it at Melcepeth." 
 
 " Just as you wish, Sir GeoflTrey ; only all the old wills are safe in 
 my office. But you say there is no trace of this marriage-paper — none? 
 None at all ?" 
 
 " None, Mr. Peed. I have just again offered two hundred pounds 
 for the original registry ; and Braithwaite, of Morpeth, will do his 
 best, I doubt not, in the matter." 
 
"INSTRUCTIONS FOR A WILL." 113 
 
 " A most respectable country attorney, Sir Geoffrey. And I have 
 no more to say but to take my leave ; " and Mr. Peed took his hat 
 and cane, brushed the snuff from his ruffles, made a formal bow, and 
 departed. 
 
 " Enough for to-day, Eoger," said the baronet ; " and may God 
 grant I have done my duty by them all, as I hope to nswer for it — 
 I trust I have. And Ralph's better to-day, you said ?" 
 
 " He is much better, Geoffrey ; the fever is gone, and there is only 
 weakness. The messenger saw him, and spoke with him." 
 
 " Ay, when he's strong he shall know all about this, Eoger." 
 But the more Sir Geoffrey thought over the matter, the less he liked 
 the idea of breaking to Ralph that he feared he was illegitimate. 
 " Well, it's good news about the lad ; and now let me have the 
 coach home, unless you'll come too — it's early, and we're going for a 
 walk on the Mall — won't you come, Eoger ?" 
 
 " I can't, Geoffrey. There are letters from India ; and I've to 
 attend the Council at one. I wish you a pleasant day. Is the coach 
 ready, William ? " he asked of a porter. 
 
 " It's at the door, sir, since you came," replied the man. 
 " Then I'm off ! " said the baronet. " Good-bye for the present." 
 " Mr. Peed had some other city engagements, and did not im- 
 mediately follow his clerk, who returned direct to the office in 
 Chancery Lane. We have met Mr. Wilson before at Mr. George 
 Elliot's ; but he was not a prominent character there. Mr. Wilson 
 was not a prominent character anywhere ; but he was a peculiar one 
 in many respects. I am not going to describe him further than that 
 he had sharp, piercing black eyes, deep set in his head ; thin eye- 
 brows ; a sallow, parchment-coloured face ; thin pale lips, and a long 
 hooked nose. You remembered the eyes and nose, but nothing more. 
 His figure was lean and wiry, rather tall than otherwise, and he 
 walked with a peculiar fast shuffle, acquired probably in the London 
 streets. Mr. Wilson had a comer of the office to himself — a sort of 
 bay window, or, in fact, a former turret, of which his den, as he 
 called it, had been made. Of this he drew the heavy curtain— there 
 was no door — and was quite private. He then proceeded to make 
 two careful copies of the draft, one of which he put into a portfolio 
 on which was Mr. Peed in gilt letters. The other he again read 
 over, and placed carefully into a soft black leather book, which he 
 deposited in a mysterious deep pocket in the breast of his coat. 
 Having accomplished this he leaned back in his chair, and began to 
 think what was to be done ; and his thoughts took the form which I 
 shall now briefly follow. 
 
 " So that Ealph Darnell is not legitimate— ^/ifos nullius, as the 
 governor would say. Of course he is. They've been twenty years 
 trying to find out a certificate of marriage, and it can't be had — no, 
 
 H 
 
114 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 not even for the baronetcy and eight thousand a year. Forster and 
 Elliot think he is legitimate — that is, they know nothing about it, 
 and suppose he's all right. Elliot lent him some coin, I think, but it 
 may not be much. Can anything be made out of the affair ? Would 
 the lad like certificates made up ? John Wilson, I think, could make 
 good ones that would defy all the proctors in Doctors' Commons. 
 Perhaps — ^he, he ! the boy may have scruples ! Stay, Forster's a 
 north-country man, and may know of this marriage. Henry Darnell 
 and he may have done something together in the '45 affair, and I can 
 trust him. Selwyn — d — n the fellow ! why does he take so grand a 
 name % would not his own plain Dicky Smith serve him ? No, no, 
 he is right, perhaps. Well, Selwyn, then, does many a job in his 
 own line on the bordei', and he may be useful. But does the lad 
 know anything of this will to be ? Nothing more, I think, to be got 
 out of him, therefore, than any one else. Let me see, a hundred or 
 two for the facts would be little enough, and as many thousands if 
 all came right in the end. Sir Ralph Darnell to be under a bond for 
 two, nay, five thousand pounds — ^faith, it would be cheap — and his 
 gratitude to John Wilson for ever secured, and a good connection, by 
 George ! " 
 
 " Mr. Wilson, have you the paper ready ? " said Mr. Peed, putting 
 his head into the den ; " Sergeant Brown is here." 
 
 " Quite ready, sir ; perhaps you'd just compare them before you 
 take the documents ? " 
 
 Yes, it was quite correct ; when was Mr. Wilson ever careless ? 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RALPH DARNEL l's VISITORS. 
 
 It would not have been in accordance with Mr. Wilson's character if 
 he had suffered any consideration to delay him from the execution of 
 his new project ; but some days elapsed before he was able to carry 
 it into effect. Mr. Elliot was, perhaps, more intimate with Ralph 
 Darnell than Forster was ; but Elliot was not in Mr. Wilson's con- 
 fidence, nor he in Mr. Elliot's, to the same extent as the other gentle- 
 men with -whom, to say the least of it, Mr. Wilson's relations were 
 peculiar, and of high mutual interest and occasional profit. Mr. 
 Elliot was not, in fact, in Mr. Wilson's power at all ; and the others 
 were so in many essential respects, though in different degrees. 
 I think it would lead me into a considerable digression from the 
 subject of this history, to which it is necessary to adhere very closely, 
 
RALPH DARNELL'S VISITORS. 115 
 
 if I -were to enter upon Mr. Forster's antecedents and his curious 
 relations with parties who, for divers cogent reasons, political and 
 otherwise, found it safest to remain out of England and communicate 
 with their friends and adherents in it. Vitality is not necessarily 
 extinct in any national party because of one failure or many failures ; 
 and it becomes the interest, as it suits the love, or the prejudice, or 
 devotion, or fanaticism of those concerned, to raise hopes and main- 
 tain them — to convey information and disseminate it ; m. short, to 
 be active and pertinacious agents and intriguers. Now, we know 
 that Mr. Forster's opinions were decidedly of a Jacobite tendency ; 
 and he, as well as some others, were still retainers of the house of 
 Stuart. If the Prince himself, now poor, were fast sinking iato 
 contempt, there were adherents of his party who were rich — rich 
 enough to make what disbursements were needful for information 
 from secret agents, spies, or whatever they might be called — and of 
 these John Forster was one. 
 
 By this connection he was enabled to keep up a respectable, not to 
 say wealthy, appearance, and to enter into society in London which, 
 under any other circumstances, would have been denied him. What 
 he could glean there in regard to political events, changes of party, 
 party politics, and the like, was duly written in cipher and trans- 
 mitted through sure channels to the fountain-head ; and it was 
 astonishing how little" real nourishment satisfied those concerned 
 in such matters. Do we not see such parties even in present 
 existence about ourselves % Fenians and Nationalists in Ireland ; 
 Orleanists, Bourbons, and Ked-Republicans in France ; Mazzinista 
 in Italy ; Wahabees in India ; and I know not how many others, of 
 all sorts, in every kingdom and nationality of the world ? AU these 
 do not exist free of cost — by no means. There are heavy expenses 
 attendant upon them, and collections are made which go into very 
 unintelligible somebodies' pockets. It need not, therefore, be con- 
 sidered marvellous if, at a tavern then well known as the Cock in. 
 Comhill, Jacobite gentlemen had their private meetings and councils, 
 subscriptions and collections ; and that Mr. Forster, of whose ability 
 high opinion was entertained, held confidential and profitable occupa- 
 tion among them. 
 
 I am quite aware that Mr. Forster would have preferred exceed- 
 ingly to write his own despatches in cipher, or even in plain English ; 
 but, unfortunately, he was unable to do so. His education had been 
 none of the best in that lonely bord^ Peel where his father had 
 lived ; and had it not been for the excellent assistant whom chance 
 had thrown in his way in the person of Mr. John Wilson, I am of 
 opinion that Mr. Forster's services would have been held of mean 
 account. As it was, however, these men maintained their position 
 after an ingenious and able manner, and shared the profits. What- 
 
116 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ever news Forster picked up at coffee-houses, over card-tables, at the 
 public promenades, or clubs, or wherever he went in society, he com- 
 municated to Wilson, who wrote it down ; or if there were nothing 
 to be had, they taxed their invention to prepare the best dishes they 
 could for every hungry anticipant. But, as I have already observed, 
 our histoiy has nothing to do with these transactions. They might 
 have been called treason : and would, if discovered, have rendered 
 these confederates liable to those ingenious horrible pains and pen- 
 alties devised in the statute-book ; but they were pursued notwith- 
 standing with a most pertinacious diligence. 
 
 In several awkward cases too, Mr. Wilson's legal experience had 
 proved of the greatest use to Mr. Albany Selwyn, as he was known 
 at his lodgings in Bury Court, St. Mary's Axe, where, at that time, 
 there were many comfortable houses of some pretension. It was, in 
 fact, a most respectable court, and quite above ordinary suspicion. 
 Mr. Albany Selwyn professed to be a horse-merchant, and had a set 
 of mews in a by-street at the back of the court, in which a number 
 of stout horses, and some thorough-breds too, were always kept for 
 sale, or for any service required of them. If Mr. Selwyn were absent 
 occasionally for days together, it seemed the concern of no one. He 
 was gone to buy horses, or to attend Doncaster, or Carlisle, or 
 Chester races, or country markets ; and when he returned, and kept 
 a good deal of fine company, no one doubted his means or his hos- 
 pitality ; and, in fact, he was envied as doing a remarkably good 
 business, as, indeed, was the truth. If it were a business which 
 involved some risk, personal or otherwise, and an occasional hint 
 from a Bow Street runner to " look out," why, it only made the 
 profession more exciting and interesting, and involved the expendi- 
 ture of some capital in properly-timed douceurs. But if I were to 
 follow Mr. Richard Smith, alias Albany Selwyn, into any of his 
 enterprises, I might have as much, or even more, to write, than I 
 should have had of Mr. Forster's; and, as a consequence, I shall 
 omit all such episodes which have no direct concern with Mr. Ralph 
 Darnell or his affairs. 
 
 Now whether Mr. Forster were a partner with Mr. Selwyn in his 
 professional dealings in horse-flesh, or only accompanied him occasion- 
 ally in his country expeditions, or used Mr. Selwyn's horses in secret 
 journeys which the cause demanded, I do not pretend to say ) but 
 Mr. Wilson knew that both, having been temporarily absent, would 
 be at Selwyn's in the morning to breakfast j and, indeed, as Mr. 
 Forster's apartments were in the same court, nigh to Mr. Selwyn's, 
 there was always a certainty of that mutual communication which 
 was necessary, and insured Mr. Forster's presence at all times. To 
 Bury Court, then, Mr. Wilson proceeded from his own lodgings, 
 which were not very distant, and we may look in upon these 
 
RALPH DARNELLS VISITORS. 117 
 
 gentlemen after they had finished a substantial and pleasant repast ; 
 and the lady who officiated as Mrs. Selwyn having retired, Mr. 
 Wilson's announcement that he had something curious and amusing 
 to communicate, was received with much satisfaction. 
 
 I think we need hardly go over the old ground j there was no 
 question as to the instructions for the will, or Ralph Darnell's posi- 
 tion, present and future, which to these far-sighted gentlemen seemed 
 exceedingly clear. Forster was of opinion, from his northern experi- 
 ences, that there had been no marriage at all. He had often heard, 
 now that he remembered it, at Belford and Berwick, that Harry 
 Darnell and Grace Smithson had "jist louped ower Lamberton Pike 
 ane day," and sailed off in his lugger which lay off the coast ; and 
 Mr. Selwyii, in his cracks with buxom chambermaids in northern 
 inns, had had Grace Smithson's example and sad fate often thrown 
 in his teeth. The only question was, what was to be made out of it 
 all ? — whether the baronet should not be plied and threatened with 
 anonymous letters, and so brought to terms, which would be well 
 paid for ? or whether Ralph were not the most proper engine to be 
 put in motion ? and after some discussion, and chiefly upon Mr. 
 Wilson's legal view of the case, Ralph, though he had no money 
 presently, except four hundred a year, and four hundred more to 
 begin in three months or so, was evidently the most promising. Four 
 hundred a year ! how much might not be raised upon it ! what funds 
 there appeared for a grand suit ! Mr. Wilson was not to be for evei* 
 bound to Peed, Peed, & Brisbane ; and with a cause like Ralph's to 
 begin with, his fortune was made. Mr. Wilson, I am sure, much 
 coveted independent action ; and Mr. Peed's house in Queen Square, 
 where he had the honour of dining sometimes on Sundays, was just 
 like what he hoped eventually to eai-n for himself. 
 
 Ralph Darnell having been selected as the fittest person to be 
 approached, the three gentlemen agreed to meet at the Golden Cock 
 at four o'clock that day, and a proviso was made, that if Mr. Selwyn 
 did not arrive (he had some horses to show to gentlemen at the west 
 end of town), the other two were not to wait for him. They knew 
 that Ralph was convalescent, for Mr. Peed had mentioned what he 
 had heard from the baronet the day before, that the wound was 
 almost healed, and that only some weakness remained ; in short, 
 that in a few days more Ralph Darnell would be " about again " as 
 usual. 
 
 It happened too, on this beautiful summer morning, that Sir 
 Geofi'rey had promised Mistress Grover and Constance a row on the 
 river. The chariot was to take them from an early walk in the Mall 
 to Chelsea, and thence they were to row down to the Tower, where 
 it would meet them to take them home. Mrs. Morton's house lay 
 in the way, and for the first time the ladies were to see Ralph. The 
 
118 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ■baronet, I am glad to say, had paid the young man several kindly 
 visits, and had become quite intimate with Mrs. Morton and Sybil ; 
 and especially so with old Nanny, who had already received several 
 crowns from him, and was deeply impressed with his generosity, and 
 the splendour of his majestic appearance. 
 
 " Ay ! he's a trrue barrinit yon Surr Geoffrey," she would say to 
 Sybil ; " jist a gran' man, hinny. Ye'll no sey siccan like, except 
 they're o' the Norrth blude, ye ken. Oh but he's the richt sort ! An' 
 he's gi'en mey anither crroon the day, tey." 
 
 I am glad also to be able to record, that one of the first acts of 
 Mr. Ralph Darnell, when he was allowed to come down stairs, and 
 lie in the sunshine at the window of the drawing-room, was to per- 
 form his promise (to himself) of renewing several articles of furniture 
 therein ; and if there were anything to be regretted in this act, it was 
 the surreptitious manner in which the refit was made. For Nanny 
 had been taken into Ralph's confidence ; the money in Ralph's 
 pockets had not been disturbed ; and an upholsterer's man had been 
 introduced into the house clandestinely by Nanny, who had taken 
 the measure of the room for a new carpet, of a pretty pattern, from 
 Kidderminster; a new sofa, of peculiarly comfoiiable construction, 
 was to fit a certain place ; and new curtains were to be hung round 
 the windows, and a new arm-chair and footstool for Mrs. Morton. 
 And one evening Nanny, after advising Mr. Ralph that all was ready, 
 had said, in the most unconcerned manner, as she brought in the tea- 
 tray — 
 
 " 'Deed, Mrs. Morton, mem, an' ye'll not get up quite sae soon in 
 the momin,' nor you, Mister Ralph, if ye please. A'm goin' to shake 
 the carpet an' the curtines, mem, an' if ye hear a bit knockin' an' 
 hammerin', mem, ye'll know why is it, an' sae jist keep quite, mem, 
 and you tey. Miss Sybil." 
 
 It was wonderful with what calmness Nanny told this deceptive 
 tale : but it succeeded perfectly, and, indeed, the upholsterers worked 
 so well, that by the usual breakfast-time they had completed every- 
 thing, and the dear old room had a very smart look and pretty ap- 
 pearance. Perhaps the reader will imagine how Mrs. Morton was 
 rejoiced by Ralph's kind contrivance, how Nanny enjoyed her share 
 in the deception, and how Sybil, in her heart's joy to see Ralph, still 
 pale and weak, but looking handsomer than ever — her own dear, 
 kind, thoughtful Ralph — could have thrown her arms about him, and 
 sobbed out her thankfulness to God and to him, on his shoulder. 
 And when Mrs. Morton asked whether he was sure he could afford 
 all this, he said he had enough still for a better harpsichord, and they 
 should have that, too, when he could get out to choose it. I say, 
 when all this was done, there might have been many to envy their 
 quiet happiness. 
 
RALPH DARNELL'S VISITORS. 119 
 
 Mrs. Morton was essentially a lady, and it gave her no apprehension 
 to receive Sir Geofirey and his daughter on a visit ; but it would be 
 idle in me to say that two others were not much disturbed. Ralph, 
 lying at the window, for Mrs. Morton would have him lie there, had 
 grown almost hectic again in anticipation of seeing Constance — his 
 own. Constance — ^to see whom once more ere he died had been his 
 earnest prayer in his great weakness — and Grover, too ! Ah ! what 
 springs of pleasant old memories were opening and flowing again as he 
 lay there thinking. And Sybil, to see his dear cousin Constance, of 
 whom she heard daily and hourly ; for whom messages of such love, such 
 devotion — ^messages from the very border of that dark inscrutable, 
 illimitable sea of which Ealph had had a glance — to be delivered, by 
 her, and her only, the hearing which had been like so many cruel, 
 fierce, deliberate stabs with a sharp weapon into her very heart's core, 
 that she could never deliver them — to see Constance, and meet after 
 those many years, and to know then that she was only a mere 
 spectator — she who had tended him so devotedly — who — But no 
 matter, she would be only a spectator. She had no claim on him or 
 on her — only on his gratitude, which she did not doubt, but none on 
 his love. Poor Sybil ! how often had she retired, in an agony she 
 could ill conceal, to her own chamber that day ! how often had tears 
 rushed to her eyes, and blinded them ! The boats were darting to 
 and fro ; the city lay beyond, all clad in the glorious splendour of 
 that glowing summer sun, as she shared Ralph's watch for his cousin ; 
 and when Ralph suddenly cried out, as a large four-oared wherry 
 shot the bridge gallantly, and swept round, with beautiful even strokes 
 of the flashing oars, to Tooley Stairs, " Look, there they are, Sybil ! 
 O my Constance ! my Constance ! " Sybil could not contain herself, 
 but laid down her head on the sofa-baCk, hid her face, and sobbed as 
 if her heart would break. And when Ralph put up his hand, and 
 stroked her soft brown hair, and told her pleasantly not to be a goose, 
 she looked up and tried to smile, And I am afraid made but a poor 
 hand of it ; but when Ralph told her to stand by him, and let him 
 lean on her shoulder as they entered, she did not go away. 
 
 Yes, they were a meriy, happy party ; no more of a cloud upon any 
 one of the three who were coming than there was on the sun then 
 blazing in the clear blue sky. And yet how often do we see the 
 bluest, brightest skies overcast, or a cloud rise out of the horizon, 
 which, no bigger than a man's hand, spreads over the heavens like a 
 pall, and out of which comes crashing thunder and fierce red lightning 
 almost ere they can be accounted for ! Ralph was trembling much 
 as he rose with Sybil's and Mrs. Morton's assistance, and steadied 
 himself as well as he could on Sybil's shoulder ; but his lips seemed 
 dry and clammy, the fever spot again burned on his cheek, and he 
 asked for the ptisan, which he sipped hastily. He heard the hall 
 
120 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 door open, a brief colloquy with Nanny, and a light step on the 
 stair ; and as Mrs. Morton opened the door, a beautiful apparition, as 
 it seemed to him, to which he stretched out his arms, bounded in, 
 crying, " Ralph, dear cousin Ralph ! " and then stopped suddenly, as 
 it were spell-bound, and hesitated. Ah ! Ralph would fain have held 
 her in his arms and pressed her again to his heart, where she had 
 lain many a time ; but it was not so. Constance only held out her 
 hands before her, turned away her head, and burst into a passionate 
 fit of weeping, throwing herself upon Mistress Grover's shoulder, and 
 hiding her face in her handkerchief. 
 
 He did not seem to her to be Ralph at all. What she remembered 
 was something quite different. A laughing, glorious cousin Ralph ; 
 a little fellow, though much bigger than she was herself, with fun 
 dancing in the brightest of blue eyes ; a face that she could take 
 between her tiny hands, look at all over, and kiss in nice places where 
 she pleased. "What she saw was a tall gaunt figure ; as tall as her 
 father and nearly as square, with great dilated eyes, a quivering 
 mouth and nostril, and utterly colourless except two bright spots on 
 the cheeks, strebching out long arms, and crying in a broken voice, 
 with tears rolling down the wan cheeks, " Constance ! Constance ! 
 I'm Ralph," and then choking and putting its hand to its throat with 
 an impatient gesture, as if to tear away the hysterical lump which 
 gathered there. 
 
 " No, no, no,'' cried the sobbing girl ; " it's not Ralph — not my 
 Ralph ! O Grover, not my Ralph ! " 
 
 No ; no more it was any longer. 
 
 " Don't be a goose, Conny," cried her father, patting her on the 
 back — " don't be a little goose ; and this, too, after all your fine 
 speeches ! Go to him, there's a darling ; the poor fellow has been 
 dying to see you. Confound it, don't be shy, now ! " 
 
 I am afraid there was another goose present, and that was himself, 
 for tears had started to the baronet's old eyes ; and another, too, in 
 the person of Mistress Grover, who was trying to console Constance. 
 But poor Ralph could ill wait for her ; trembling before he felt 
 ■utterly helpless, and sank down on the sofa, burying his face in his 
 hands. This action, utterly unpremeditated as it was, did more for 
 him, perhaps, than the baronet's intervention ; for seeing him fall, 
 as it seemed, Constance darted to his side, and cried — it was only the 
 truth — " JForgive me, Ralph ; but you were so altered — so altered. 
 Now look up, and I'll be Constance again." 
 
 Ah, never, I fear \ never again as she was before, by sweet Coquet 
 side, in the green woods of Melcepeth ! 
 
 Nor did Mrs. Grover hesitate. She kissed Ralph fondly, and 
 helped to lay him back on his cushions ; then smoothed away the hair 
 from his forehead, held her scent-bottle to his nose, and poured out 
 
RALPH DARNELL'S VISLTORS. 121 
 
 her thanks that she had seen him again — that "he was her own dear 
 boy ; that they were all the same as ever, and he would soon be well 
 again and among them." When Ralph dared to lift his eyes, he saw 
 Constance's beautiful glowing face, all wet with tears, looking up to 
 him as she knelt by him, and pleading to be forgiven. But she did 
 not kiss him — she could not. He only took the hand she held out, 
 and, pressing it between his own wasted fingers, laid it upon his 
 heart ; but he could not speak. I don't think that he drew any real 
 comfort from this ; but one who had tremblingly watched the scene, 
 hanging back behind the curtain and the sofa, felt a throb of exulta- 
 tion, perhaps, at what she had witnessed, and thought, if the old cord 
 were loosened, that — But I fear I could not tell what she thought, 
 or what she hoped ; all was too wild, too indefinite, to describe. 
 
 Sybil and Constance. They were together now, talking in the 
 window, for Mistress Grover had much more to say to Ralph than 
 Constance, and Constance held the girl's hand in hers, and after her 
 fashion was pouring out grateful thanks for all her kindness. Sybil 
 and Constance — a contrast indeed ! The one dressed plainly, even 
 sadly; and her sweet, calm face bearing those traces of watching 
 which are so unmistakable. Her soft brown hair falling in long curls 
 upon a neck as white as ivory, and her generally almost colourless 
 face with a faint blush now, like that of a pink shell, upon the cheeks. 
 The other richly dressed in the extreme of the prevailing fashion, her 
 hair tied up and slightly powdered, with a dainty hat gay with feathers 
 and lace upon it, her slip of French brocade over a bright quilted satin 
 petticoat, her beautiful face radiant with smiles, and her bright eyes 
 now flashing with excitement. Ah, it was a contrast indeed ! but I 
 think, of the two, that Mrs. Morton thought her own sweet Sybil 
 the more beautiful. 
 
 " Please, mem," said liTanny Keene, who entered shortly afterwards, 
 and when the first embarrassment was past, " there's Mr. EUiot just 
 ca'd to ask after Mr. Raafe ; an' he says p'raps you'd have nae 
 objections if he'd be allood to pay his respects to the barrinit, an' see 
 Mr. Raafe tey." 
 
 " Elliot ? Elliot ? " cried the baronet, hastily ; " not young 
 Elliot of Wooler Hall, surely ? " 
 
 " 'Deed, Surr Geofirey," said Nanny, " an' I dinna ken, suit ; but 
 he's frae the north, a' knaas. Deil mend him for a graceless — " 
 she added to herself j " only for him the laddie 'd a' been vary differt 
 the day, a'm thinkin'." 
 
 " Mrs. Morton, by your leave I should like to see him ; and 
 maybe he woiild help to cheer this poor lad a bit. I have often 
 wished to meet him." 
 
 " Any friend of Sir Geoffrey Darnell's is always welcome to my 
 poor house," said Mrs. Morton, with dignity. " Show him up, Nanny." 
 
t3i2 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 And in a few moments Elliot entered — a striking figure, certainly, 
 and now looking Ms very best. What clothes in town richer or in 
 better taste than George Elliot's at all times ? and to-day, in deep 
 brown velvet and silver, with ample ruifies of lace, his naturally fine 
 figure was set oif to the greatest advantage. He made a courteous 
 though stately salute to the baronet, a more graceful one to the ladies, 
 each of its kind perfect, and then advancing took Ralph's hand 
 kindly, indeed afiectionately, for he felt deeply for him. It was 
 evident that his visit helped Ralph, for he sat up, and the conversa- 
 tion became cheerful and general. 
 
 " I assure you, Sir Geoffrey," he said, speaking at last of the afiair 
 of the woimd, " and you especially, ladies, that Mr. Ralph Darnell's 
 conduct on that occasion was beyond all praise. But for him, those 
 rufiiauly Mohocks would have pulled that poor little singer out of 
 her chair and robbed her ; and we could have done nothing, for we 
 had Mistress Wofiington on our hands. It was all the work of a 
 moment, ma'am," he continued to Mistress Grover, " and our poor 
 friend was down before we could get to him. We would not have 
 left thee, Ralph." 
 
 " Indeed it was to you, George,' I owe my life ; indeed, uncle, to 
 him and Mr. Forster," said Ralph ; " for if they had not bound up 
 my wound as well as they could, I should have bled to death, I fancy, 
 on the stones, to say nothing of getting home." 
 
 " I hear, too. Sir Geoffrey, that there is a j^port Ralph was not 
 sober. This I deny upon my honour as a gentleman. He had 
 drunk nothing, he would not play, and he was altogether as steady as 
 I am now," said Elliot. 
 
 " I thank you heartily, Mr. EUiot, for your defence of Ralph," 
 returned Sir Geoffrey. " I feel sure you are a good friend of his, 
 and I shall be rejoiced to make your better acquaintance. Am I 
 right in supposing you are the son of my old friend Edward Elliot of 
 WoolerHall?" 
 
 " I am indeed, sir — his only son. I have not been in the north to 
 reside for several years, but I have often heard while I was a minor 
 of Sir Geoffrey Darnell of Melcepeth." 
 
 " Let us shake hands on it, then," said the baronet, " and let me 
 introduce you to Mistress Grover and to my daughter there. 
 Constance — Mr. Elliot of Wooler Hall. And as we are going to the 
 play to-night, shall be glad to see you there, Mr. Elliot, and to a 
 quiet supper afterwards. And now let's be off, ladies ; we have a 
 good deal to do yet. Don't fret, Ralph, my boy; in a few days 
 more you'll come with us to the play too — I'll be d — d if you sha'n't." 
 
 " I accept your invitation with gratitude, Sir Geoffrey, and will 
 attend you down — " 
 
 "No, no! stay with Ralph," cried the baronet, as Elliot was 
 
A DINNER IN BLOOMSBURY SQUARE. 123 
 
 preparing to accompany them to the boat. " Cheer him up, sir, and 
 bring us a good report of him ; we can find our way very well." 
 
 Elliot had seen many beautiful women ; he was in the habit of 
 seeing every day all the town beauties on the Mall, at Ranelagh, at 
 the play, and in private dramas ; but he had never, he thought, seen 
 anything like Constance — a flash of loveliness, indeed, unexpected, 
 and therefore the more destructive. And Constance ! she too had 
 seen several noble gentlemen, and had been stared out of countenance 
 by a great many since her arrival in London ; but, in her eyes, this 
 gay spark was the brightest of all. Well, they would meet again in 
 the evening. 
 
 I don't think Ralph was a very cheerful companion, and Elliot, 
 having some arrangements to make, left him shortly. I do not think 
 either that Ralph liked the sudden acquaintance which had been 
 struck up ; but what could he do ? So Elliot left, and he remained 
 looking out of the window at the spot where he had seen the wherry 
 and its gay freight disappear behind a ship lying off the Tower. 
 
 " Constance has grown very beautiful, Sybil," he said at length 
 with a sigh to the girl who was sitting behind him looking out too — 
 " did you think she would be so beautiful ? " 
 
 " She is dazzling ; I could hardly look at her, Ralph," replied 
 Sybil, " and she appears so kind too — ^yes, she is very beautiful." 
 
 " She is very beautiful," he echoed. I doubt whether he thought 
 she had been kind. 
 
 " There's Mr. Forster, and a Mr. Wilson I think he caad him, 
 been asking after you, sur, when the barrinit wuz here ; but when I 
 tou'd 'em the ladies wuz wi' you, they said they'd maybe caale agin 
 in the evening, or maybe to-morrow." 
 
 " What can they waut ? " thought Ralph. " I'm glad you sent 
 them away, Nanny. All this is more than I can bear." 
 
 " A' think, Mr. Rraafe, you'd be better i' yer bed, surr." 
 
 " Let me aJone, Nanny," he replied peevishly, and so sat, watching. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ■~ A DINNER IN BLOOMSBUEY SQUARE. 
 
 " My dear, it's all nonsense ; we must ask my brother to a proper 
 dinner — we've been quite uncivil to them, I declare," said Roger 
 Darnell to his wife Anne one morning late in the month of June. 
 You will remember when the baronet arrived that he partook for 
 
124 JRALPH DARNELL. 
 
 the day only of his brother's hospitality ; but since then, although 
 Roger was constantly in Soho Square, and dined with his brother 
 whenever he had a mind to do so, and Mrs. Darnell had paid a 
 stately visit of ceremony to the Melcepeth ladies, no further inter- 
 course had taken place ; and if Mrs. Darnell had had her own way, 
 I am of opinion that any further interchange of courtesies would 
 have been out of the question. On the occasion above referred to, 
 however, Mrs. Darnell observed certain hard lines growing about her 
 husband's mouth, and her experience of these lines was, that he 
 would have his own way. Perhaps there was a momentary struggle 
 in Mrs. Darnell's mind as to whether she would submit before a 
 battle or after one ; but as a defeated army is ever in a worse plight 
 than one which makes a judicious retreat and takes up a new 
 position, so the army of Mrs. Darnell's thoughts decided on retire- 
 ment, and the position taken up by them was this — " Well, if they 
 are to come, they are to come ; but if I do not make this dinner the 
 last ... I will do it upon 'principle, and for the sake of exa/mple," 
 thought the lady ; and I'm quite sure that she acted conscientiously, 
 and according to the brightest lights she possessed. 
 
 " You know, Roger," she replied therefore, that I should be the 
 last person in the world to grudge the hospitalities of this house to 
 Sir Geoffrey ; but — but — in short, my dear, he has raa.nj peculia/rities 
 which do not suit with my principiles, and I cannot consent to violate 
 those which I have adopted, and to which I believe I have had a 
 special and merciful call." 
 
 " Well, well, Anne," said Mr. Darnell, we can't help my brother, 
 you know. He msans no harm, and hath the tenderest heart — " 
 
 " May the Lord turn it to good ! " said the lady, piously casting 
 up her eyes. " It was but yesterday that excellent man Mr. Fletcher 
 said he was about to wait upon Sir Geofirey, and in regard to the pro- 
 fane habit of swearing, to — " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Egad, Anne," cried Mr. Darnell laughing, " I'm 
 afraid he would get more than he bargained for, and the reverend 
 gentleman come out of the house faster than he went in. We have 
 a north-country proverb, too, ' Keepin' ane's breath to cule ane's 
 parridge.' But about the dinner. My guests are, my brother's 
 party, and Ralph and Mr. Sanders ; and you may fill up the rest as 
 you please. Perhaps you had better leave out the Warrington s ; I 
 don't grudge Sir Miles the wine, but he and Geofirey take more than 
 you would like to see." 
 
 " I am quite prepared to endure any amount of ofience, or indeed 
 insult, from your relations, Mr. Darnell, if it is your wish," said the 
 lady, bridling, " even to the singing of profane Jacobite songs by Miss 
 Constance Darnell ; but I cannot submit to allow a • governess,' a 
 mere companion or housekeeper, who appears to me to occupy a very 
 
A DINNER IN B LOO MSB UR V SQ UARE. 125 
 
 equivocal position after all, to come here on an equality witli Lady 
 Warrington and other persons of distinction who may do me the 
 honour of accepting my invitation ; and as to Mr. Ralph Darnell — " 
 
 The hard lines about Mr. Roger's mouth grew together again, and 
 he exclaimed, I am afraid, with a round oath which caused Mrs. 
 Darnell to put her handkerchief to her eyes, that Ralph was his 
 nephew, and he should come. 
 
 "He! a reprobate who had but just recovered from a wound re- 
 ceived in defence of an actress ! " cried the lady, virtuously — " he 
 a fit associate for your poor daughters ! I knew you would go very 
 far, Mr. Darnell ; I was prepared for it — but this — " 
 
 "Anne, I desire it shall be as I have said," interrupted Mr. 
 Darnell ; " when this lad is Sir Ralph Darnell of Melcepeth, 
 Anne Darnell, and Anne Darnell's children, will not deny him, and 
 need not do so now. If you don't like Mistress Grover, you need not 
 ask her ; but, please remember this — if Ralph is not properly asked 
 — I mean properly by you, as mistress of my house, and his aunt — 
 you and I shall quarrel about it ; and I think, Anne, you know what 
 that means." 
 
 So Mistress Darnell had again retreated to her former position, 
 and the invitations were issued accordingly. None was sent to 
 Mistress Grover, and Constance was up in arms on the subject ; but 
 Grover was a woman of the world, and quite understood why she 
 was left out ; and, from Constance's account of the affair, did not 
 regret her absence at all. 
 
 Perhaps the solemnity of the whole transaction — the sour looks of 
 all the prim ladies that could be collected, the several nonconformist 
 divines that were specially invited, who drank their Oporto and 
 Burgundy heavily, and conversed apart on spiritual subjects after 
 dinner, while the ladies above stairs were occupied chiefly with 
 accounts of their own and their children's "experiences," terrible 
 stories of flirting maid-servants, and the latest chapel sermons — I 
 say the studied lugubrity of the whole affair had attained the special 
 point desired by Mrs. Darnell. It was a complete success. Her 
 position had become impregnable, and some small assaults upon it, 
 made by her husband and by Sir Geoffrey during dinner, fell flat to 
 the ground, and a jolly oath was even impossible. No, there were no 
 worldly people to assist them — not one. If even mention of town 
 gaiety was made, or fashionable doings, the godly company fell silent 
 at once, and looked at Mr. Darnell, or Sir Geoffrey, or Constance, 
 as it might be, with hard stony eyes, and contumelious comport- 
 ments, which I am bound to say routed the worldly enemy at 
 once, and imparted a vast amount of highly refreshing spiritual 
 triumph. As to Constance, the only refuge she had was with Doro- 
 thy when they went up-stairs ; and when asked to sing, she gave 
 
126 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 the company the most doleful ditty she could remember, which 
 commenced-^ 
 
 " Hark ; now the solemn peal begins ; " 
 
 that is, the tolling for a funeral ; and ended by a moral — 
 
 " Virtue alone this peace bestows, 
 And thus rewards the blest ; " 
 
 and as all present knew themselves to be essentially virtuous and 
 blest to boot, this virtuous elegy was particularly acceptable. Nay, 
 one Mistress Bennett then present, a comfortable motherly-looking 
 woman, observed to Mrs. Darnell that she had formed quite a differ- 
 ent opinion upon Miss Constance Darnell's behaviour since she heard 
 it, and straightway went to the harpsichord and complimented that 
 young lady upon her sweet voice. 
 
 And when the gentlemen came up-stairs, and Constance saw her 
 father's rueful face, she was wellnigh laughing outright, and many a 
 laugh indeed they had afterwards over all that had happened. As 
 Constance was speaking to Dorothy in their own corner, and her 
 father came up to ask her whether she was ready to go, Constance 
 begged hard for him to ask Mrs. Darnell's permission for Dorothy to 
 come to Soho Square for a day or two. I believe the baronet con- 
 sidered this a service of danger ; but he stormed the enemy's en- 
 trenchment very gallantly, and I am inclined to think, from the 
 little resistance made, had surprised it. I am even of opinion that 
 this service quite raised the baronet's spirits ; and the victory he 
 gained, so easy that it had not needed a single expletive asseveration, 
 made amends for the terrible ordeal he had undergone dui-ing the 
 previous part of the evening. 
 
 " We want that dear little Dorothy of yours, madam, for a few 
 days in Soho Square. I love the child, ma'am," he said, in a stout, 
 cheery voice, " and Constance and she are fast friends ; poor Conny 
 has no friends of her own age, ma'am, and here is her own cousin, 
 whom you will not deny us, I hope — eh, Eoger ? " 
 
 What could Mrs. Darnell say, when her husband, before all the 
 company, actually took Dorothy's hand, put it into the baronet's, 
 and said he might carry her off there and then ? I consider Sir 
 Geoffrey on that occasion to have evinced the highest valour and 
 generalship, and to have turned the enemy's flank. What could she 
 say or do ? Snatch away Dorothy's hand from the polluted touch of 
 a worldly uncle ? It was impossible. I know that for that hesita- 
 tion — ^which was the actual cause of Dorothy's seeing Eanelagh and 
 the Mall, and, oh horror ! the play, which events went far to pro- 
 duce utter eventual disruption between the families — Mrs. Darnell 
 had to undergo some very sharp remonstrative disciplme from her 
 
A DINNER IN BLOOMSBURY SQUARE. 127 
 
 spiritual confessor the Reverend William Fletcher. But Eorothy 
 nevertheless went, was carried off triumphautly to Soho Square that 
 night in a chair, a bandbox being sent with her. And I am quite 
 sure if you and I, O reader, could have heard the florid descriptiors 
 of the " DarneUian banquet," as Miss Constance irreverently ca'l d 
 it — of the parsons snuffling through their noses, clad in their black 
 Geneva gowns and bands, and with the solemnest faces — of the prim 
 ladies' scandal over their tea — of herself singing the doleful elegy, 
 and the hypocritical manner in which she had drawled it to suit the 
 company — and finally of aunt Anne being routed by the baronet, I 
 think we should have laughed as heartily as Mistress Grover, who 
 listened to the wild creature, and to Dorothy, whose tongue seemed 
 to be wonderfully loosed. 
 
 " Eh, that I should ha' sung the elegy that gate, and keepit my 
 face, Grover," cried Constance; "just listen — 
 
 ' Hark ! now the solemn peal begins ; ' 
 
 that's how I sung it ; " and then she made a face, " and that's how I 
 looked ; and I made * blest,' that's the end, ye ken, into four bars, 
 and all breves too, my darling. Oh, it was beautiful — bee-you-tifuJ, 
 and I'm sure that helped me to get Dorothy. And we'll have such 
 fun, won't we, you darling cousin ? and we'll see the Mall, and go to 
 my milliner's and get ye a new hat, Dolly ; and E,anelagh ; and 
 maybe Mr. Elliot '11 be there, and he'll tell us such dear wicked 
 stories about the singers, and fiddlers, and the opera, and the play, 
 and that bee-you-tiful Woffington that was nearly killed by the 
 Mohocks, when Ralph got his wound, ye ken.'' 
 
 " And Ralph ? " said Mistress Grover, who got in a word as best 
 she could. 
 
 " Oh, he's vary weel, mem ; he's jist mendin'," continued Con- 
 stance, curtsying and imitating old Nanny Keene. " He's vary 
 weel, ye ken, mem, the day. Only Listen, Grover, he's not my 
 Ralph now. He's a great solemn, stiff, stupid fellow, that I push 
 about anywhere, and he'll go anywhere, like the old poodle Muff at 
 home. Nay, I do think he'd sit on his hind legs for a bone if I told 
 him, and never move a muscle of his grave face. I don't like it, 
 Grover \ I don't indeed. Sometimes I see him looking at me as if 
 he wanted to eat me up, and I won't be ate up. What did he do at 
 dinner ? Why, ma'am, if you please, he ate his dinner off his poor 
 little cousin's face, arms, body — all he could see, and he ato nothing 
 else ; and when the cloth was taken away, and there were two 
 cousins, one before me on the table, he ate them both, and I do 
 believe he grudged the decanters what they took of me on the table. 
 No, I don't like it, and I won't have it, that's more ; there isn't a 
 bit of fun in him, and Dolly and I'll torment him to-moiTow as sure 
 
128 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 as lie comes. Why can't he be my old cousin Ralph who was at 
 Melcepeth ? I'm sure I'm Conny — I'm not changed like him." 
 
 Mistress Grover sighed ; I do not think she knew why ; it was 
 better as it was. For Constance she had feared more than for Ealph, 
 and now she feared more for Ralph than for Constance. I am afraid 
 that dinner had been a very doleful one for the young man. He 
 had been infected with the general lugubriousness. He could not 
 talk with either of the persons between whom he sat — a parson on 
 the right and a prim old lady on the left — upon any subject they 
 broached. The opera, Mingotti's bravuras, or Mr. Handel's sacred 
 music ; Italian, French, pleasant books, or even Mister Shakespeare, 
 one or two attempts he had made he had given up, as they were met 
 by frowns. He had no appetite. If he looked at Constance, she 
 turned away her head disdainfully, and the more he looked the more 
 she turned away. After dinner he could not get near her, and all he 
 could do was to shut her chair door as she left, kiss her hand, which 
 she snatched away impatiently, and he saw her no more. His uncle 
 would not have a chair, and they walked down to Soho Square 
 together, and he was asked in, and Sir Geoffrey smoked a pipe, abused 
 Mrs. Darnell, and swore all the oaths he had been balked of at 
 dinner together, that he would never go again, about the same time 
 that Mrs. Darnell was saying to her husband, 
 
 " I can't help if it were stupid, Roger : I'm sure the table was 
 beautiful ; and if — " 
 
 " Why did you ask such a set, Anne ? All the old frumps you 
 could collect, and all the parsons too, by George ! " 
 
 " It is quite impossible, Mr. Darnell, to reconcile the world and 
 our connection. If Sir Geofirey had understood 'grace,' he would 
 have spent a delightful and comforting evening ; but as we had no 
 profane people he was duU. I cannot — no I can-not— Mr. Darnell, 
 ask profane persons to this house, and deliberately violate the prin- 
 ciples in which my children — " 
 
 " Well, well, go to sleep, Anne ; I'm glad it' s over. Geofirey '11 
 quite understand why you don't want him, and won't cry, I dare- 
 say." 
 
 Just then, too, his pipe was finished, and Sir GeoflS-ey was tired 
 and yawning, so Ralph bade him good night, and left Soho Square. 
 He forgot to tip the footman who let him out, which was a mistake. 
 A few shillings, crowns, and what not, judiciously disbursed, espe- 
 cially among one's own relations' servants, are true economy. Ralph 
 had plenty of money in his pocket, and loose silver besides, but he 
 thought the servant, a north-country lad, looked at him with a sneer, 
 and he gave nothing, in which course he was wi'ong and mean. 
 
 Why did not his uncle speak to him about the birthday he had 
 been promised to spend at Melcepeth ? Why did Constance never 
 
A DINNER IN BLOOMSBURY SQUARE. 129 
 
 talk of old times, or put him off "when lie began them ? Why did 
 Grover so look at him, and often sigh when she spoke to him % No, 
 his uncle's visit as yet had been no pleasure. He had no heart to 
 attend the young beauty to the Mall, to Ranelagh, to the opera, to 
 concerts, though he went to all, whither she pleased ; carried her fan 
 or her scent-bottle or her prayer-book to church. Why should he 
 have to listen to the undisguised admiration she excited ? Twenty 
 times a day his hand was on his sword at remarks he heard. He 
 ground his teeth, and would have been pleased to tight it out to the 
 death with all the impudent fops who noticed her. Why did she not 
 object to all this, and take him away alone to some shady alley of 
 Kensington Gardens, and dream away time as they used to do at 
 Melcepeth, lying under great trees, or on the river bank, watching' 
 the trout rise when it was too hot to catch them, or the white clouds 
 sailing lazily on the sky ? 
 
 I fear all these thoughts were, to say the least, unsatisfactory, and 
 produced a restlessness which might be attributed to recent illness 
 by those who knew no other cause. But no, Ralph's recovery was 
 rapid ; he was nearly as strong as ever again, quite able to do his office 
 work again, and he had been better there than where he was ; but 
 Mr. Darnell insisted he should have a holiday as long as the baronet 
 remained, and go to Soho Square every day, and he had gone ; yet 
 he was beginning to doubt whether he has quite welcome or not. 
 In short, though Ralph's body was ia the main well, his mind was ill ; 
 and his sullen moody manner disquieted his friends at Tooley Stairs, 
 if possible, more than his wounded body had done, and they had no 
 remedy to offer. I don't think Ralph's walk home was at all a 
 pleasant one that night ; but he resisted every temptation by the 
 way, and when he was admitted by Nanny she said, — 
 
 " There's been that Mr. Forster and Mr. Wilson speerin' after you 
 again, Mr. Ralph, and they're but jist gane ower the watter ; ye'll 
 hae come by the bridge, a' reckin ? They waited half-an-hour or 
 mair for ye, surr, an' waz vara agreeable to the Mistress an' Miss 
 Sybil ; and Forster's just a canny man, sir, and played on the harp- 
 sichord, and singit bew-tiful, surr, amaist like yersel', surr." 
 
 " I wonder what they want, Nanny ? I must go and see to- 
 moiTOW." 
 
 " 'Deed, surr, Mr. Wilson said it war vara particular, that's a' ; 
 canna ye gae till him to-morrow, an' ha' dune wi' him ? " 
 
 I think if Ralph had done so it might have quickened the action 
 of this story ; but he had more Mall, more Ranelagh to do — and 
 could he leave Constance to Elliot ? 
 
130 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PROMENADE. 
 
 So it ■went on — Mall, Ranelagh, play, concert — play, Eanelagh, ball, 
 dinner, opera, or -whatever it might be — ^by day or by night. Ralph 
 lived all day in Soho Square; he ■would have slept there had 
 there been a bed to give him. Nanny let him out in the morn- 
 ing before breakfast, and in again late at night. He had suits of 
 clothes ia his uncle's dressing-room, and only returned home when 
 an occaidonal afternoon change was needful. He never went to the 
 office ; never saw his uncle Roger or Mr. Sanders. He had plenty of 
 money still remaining ; for though his uncle Geoffrey played a quiet 
 game at cribbage or piquet sometimes for sixpences — and he had even 
 been with him several times to Arthur's, and had lost and won a few 
 guineas to and from the noblemen and gentlemen there, to whom Sir 
 Geofirey introduced him as his nephew, and by whom he was treated 
 with high consideration, and was even offered a nomination for the 
 ballot — I think Ralph was too careful to play deeply before his uncle, 
 or even at all. He had much and very commendable command over 
 himself in this particular, as much as he had over his wine ; and that, 
 I believe, is saying a good deal for a young man of fashion of those 
 days. 
 
 I am not sure, indeed, when he thought over them in after times, that 
 Ralph did not think these visits to Arthur's and White's in company 
 with his noble-looking old uncle — one of the stateliest men to be seen 
 at either resort — as the very pleasantest of that period. He could 
 remember with pride the distinction allotted to the baronet ; the 
 cordiality with which old friends met him ; the offers to take him to 
 the KiDg's daily levee, and the hopes that all former matters would 
 be forgotten and forgiven. But though the baronet said he had for- 
 given all, I fear he had not forgotten that horrible march through 
 London pinioned like a felon, with a hideous crowd shouting after 
 him and his companions, for he never could be persuaded to go. " I 
 have no son to introduce," he would say with a sigh, " and an old 
 Jacobite like me will soon be in his grave, at rest from all politics. 
 Not that I wish the Hanover family ill ; no, they've been true to our 
 country, and may God bless 'em ; but they don't want me, my Lord 
 Chesterfield, and I'm better away." 
 
 "But your nephew. Sir Geoffrey — he ought to take his place 
 among us," some noble lord would say. 
 
 " Ay, ay ; well, by-and-by perhaps, my lord, but not now. There's 
 quite time enough to think of that." 
 
 So it one day happened that, as usual, after breakfast, the baronet 
 
_ PROMENADE. 131 
 
 called Ralph, from the drawing-room, and bid him come with him to 
 Arthur's, to hear the news from America, which interested the town 
 much more than that from the far-distant and obscure East Indies j 
 and when Constance, who was in high spirits and good humour, had 
 told him they would meet in the Mall by-and-by, and kissed the rosy 
 tips of her fingers to him, with, as Ealph, poor fellow ! thought, a 
 more loving gesture than usual (for I must say that imperious young 
 lady was often more capricious than I care to record), that he went 
 with great cheerfulness with his uncle, entertaining him in their 
 walk westwards with sprightly anecdotes and pleasant talk ; and, 
 well dressed as he was, causing the baronet to feel proud of him, 
 both by the way and in the club, where many new acquaintances 
 greeted him kindly, and noticed him, as it gratified his uncle to see 
 him noticed. And when all this was over (there was no play so 
 early, except among some old stagers), and they strolled past St. 
 James's Palace, and into the Birdcage Walk, enjoying the bright 
 sun, and the sight of so many parties of well-dressed people, and they 
 had sauntered to and fro several times without meeting the ladies, at 
 length they saw them advancing. 
 
 If there had been Mistress Grover and Constance only, as Ralph 
 had expected, there would have been no cross in his lot that day. 
 To have walked there, as he had hoped to do, with his beautiful 
 cousin, and afterwards in the sweet cool gardens of Kensington, as 
 had been arranged, would have been to him a deep, deep draught of 
 joy, only to be equalled by Melcepeth ; but it was not so to be. By 
 Constance's side, dressed in a new and gorgeous suit of black velvet, 
 walked George Elliot ; and it was easy to be seen by all beholders 
 that the young lady was quite content with her gay and handsome 
 companion. She was looking her best, was Constance, in that beau- 
 tiful dress of pink satin brocade, looped over a light violet-coloured 
 quilted petticoat. The ribbons from her tiny hat were fluttering 
 in the gentle summer breeze ; and she carried her fan in the most 
 coquettish and triumphant manner she could assume. 
 
 Fie on you. Miss Constance Darnell ! You knew as well as I 
 know who write it, that you were flirting outrageously with Mr. 
 Elliot. You had begun to do so when he called in Soho Square, just 
 as the coach had driven up. You had agreed to his ofier of escort, 
 as if two footmen behind, and the coachman on the box, were not 
 enough ; and you would not attend to Mistress Grover's sage counsel 
 as to letting him find his way on foot ; and after handing you and 
 Grover into the vehicle, moreover, you had allowed him to enter it 
 and seat himself before you, and devour all your inexpressibly en- 
 chanting charms, after a much more hungry fashion than poor Ralph 
 had, during his lugubrious dinner at Mr. Roger Darnell's. You 
 knew all this, and you knew, when Ralph and your father met you, 
 
132 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 that you gave only a little scornful toss of your beautiful head to your 
 poor cousin, while you cried to your father, " Oh daddy ! daddy ! 
 isn't this sweet % We have had such a de-li-ci-ous drive all round by 
 the Bedford Gardens, and so here ; and that's why we're late, daddy. 
 And oh, sir ! I hope you'll forgive me." And she dropped a solemn 
 curtsy, which made her still more enchanting. 
 
 The baronet only saw his lovely child, only thought that, of all 
 God's creatures, gay and noble as they were about him on every side, 
 this was the gayest and loveliest. He did not thiak of Ealph — why 
 should he ? 
 
 " Ah, you sly puss ! " he said ; " so you have had your drive, and 
 in honourable company too, by George ! Glad to see ye, Mr. Elliot ; 
 hope you're well, and have had a pleasant jaunt." And the baronet 
 turned round with his daughter. 
 
 " I have had the happiness of Miss Darnell's company, sir ; and 
 that is the most delightful in the world. Can I say more ? " said 
 Mr. EUiot, gallantly. And as he spoke he drew himself up proudly, 
 and lifted his laced hat with an air and a look of such unmistakable 
 triumph towards Ralph, that had the poor fellow dared, he would 
 have drawn on him on the spot, and fought for his life. 
 
 I know that Mr. Elliot felt what Ealph was thinking of; he 
 meant him to think it. He was no coward. There was not a cooler 
 head or a steadier hand if needs be in London than George Elliot's ; 
 and neither had ever failed him. He knew that there was a beautiful 
 gii'l and a large heiress to be won ; and he had determined to go in 
 and win. Why should he not ? She appeared to notice no one 
 else. He had seen a score of gay beaux fluttering about her in 
 public places, and her acceptance of that general homage due to her 
 beauty and her rank ; but she had singled out nobody. He had the 
 privilege of visiting at the house ; he was of her own county, where 
 his position was a high one. His father, Sir Geoffrey had said, was 
 an old and dear friend ; and he had a general invitation to Melcepeth 
 if ever he came to the North. I am afraid Mr. Elliot did not think, 
 in that moment of triumph, of the many bonds he had to redeem, or 
 of the deep, very deep, inroad he had made upon his hereditary pro- 
 perty ; or of what he had paid as the price of the social distinction 
 he had attained. Let him but win Constance Darnell and all this 
 would disappear. It was the means, above all others, to a final end 
 of present triumph ; and, not yielding his place to Ralph, while her 
 father took Mistress Grover, who fell back with Ralph behind, 
 George Elliot walked on, majestically it might be said, dispensing 
 many gracious bows and salutes to ladies of fashion and to com- 
 panions, being, as he very well knew, the envied of all beholders. 
 
 And yet, even in that moment of triumph, there were certain 
 memories rising up in Mr. Elliot's mind which he vainly tried to 
 
PROMENADE. 133 
 
 shut out, of another fair girl of whom we may come to know some- 
 thing after a time ; with whom certain solemn vows had been already 
 exchanged, which she, to her sad cost, poor soul ! had once believed 
 binding enough, and who was now far away in a strange distant land 
 with no possibility of return to scare him from his purpose. Yes, 
 that at least was secure ! I trust that none of us, my friends, may 
 have skeletons like this to hide away in our mental cupboards, out of 
 sight of men perhaps, but, like evil familiars, terrifying us when we 
 are alone, or rising up in hideous mockery in our moments of triumph 
 or anticipation when we least expect them. Possibly, had Miss 
 Constance been observing her gay companion more narrowly, she 
 might have detected a sudden spasm as if of pain, a shudder such as 
 we sometimes feel involuntarily and cannot account for ; but it passed 
 without notice. That was no time for Mr. Elliot to admit of doubt 
 or hesitation in his pursuit ; and the presence of his skeleton only 
 perhaps urged him to be more reckless and defiant. 
 
 Mistress Grover saw Ralph's agony. How the strong young man 
 trembled ! how the drops of sweat stood out on his broad forehead ! 
 bow firmly his white lips were compressed ! " Ralph," she said, " she 
 is very young, and all this is new to her. She wUl be wiser when we 
 get back to Melcepeth." 
 
 Ralph could only take her kind hand, which she had placed on his 
 arm, and wring it passionately. " I will be patient, dear auntie," he 
 said ; " but oh ! this is hard to bear. It has been so from the first 
 day. She is not what she was to me ! " 
 
 " She loves you like a dear cousin that you are, Ralph," was tJie 
 evasive reply. " But, indeed, you must be patient — very patient, 
 and not tease her — " 
 
 " Patient ! — not tease her ! When did I ever tease her, auntie ? 
 Oh, do not say I am to be patient ! Patient ! and see that— look ! " 
 
 Ah, yes ! Miss Constance was enjoying homage. She felt every 
 bow to her from gay gentlemen, every sweep of a laced hat, every 
 inclination of Elliot's handsome head towards her, was real true 
 homage, and she revelled in it. The world, the gay world of London, 
 was at her feet, as was fitting for Constance Darnell, the heiress of 
 Melcepeth ; and her fond old father felt the same. On she paced, 
 or rather seemed to glide. Even her carriage and height had 
 increased in these few minutes ! 
 
 " Look ! " said Ralph, in a hoarse husky voice. " I can't bear it, 
 auntie — I can't indeed ! " 
 
 Constance had just tapped Mr. Elliot's arm with her fan, and was 
 looking up to him with a saucy smUe as she asked some question 
 they could not hear. Her glorious eyes were full of soft expression 
 — was it love? Even Grover thought it might be; and Ralph 
 was sure. 
 
134 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " I will go home," he said, faintly ; " this hot sun is too much foi; 
 me." If Grover had not caught him, he would have fallen ; and she 
 called to the baronet, who, with Elliot, supported him. 
 
 I must say that Mr. George Elliot showed much kindly feeling on 
 this occasion, and even offered to see Ralph home in a hackney coach, 
 at which Mistress Grover marvelled. Yet Elliot was sincere. He 
 would have gone to show his devotion to the baronet's nephew and 
 to Constance's cousin. It was not, however, needed. 
 
 " The sun is too much for Ealph," said the baronet, kindly. 
 " Here, James ! " and he called to the coachman, " take Mr. Ealph 
 at once to Soho Square, and come for us to Kensington Gardens. 
 'Tis nothing of a walk, Oonny, through the park." 
 
 " Oh, nothing, daddy ! " She would have walked miles and miles 
 that day in her present humour, and in that company. " Mind you 
 get well, Ralph, before we return. I've plenty of new music for you 
 to try to-night," she continued, shaking her fan at him cheerily. 
 
 Ralph put out his hand. I think he had a wretched, ghastly face. 
 " God bless you, Conny," he said, " for thinking of me ; " and so got 
 into the coach, fell back very faint, and was driven away. The 
 place where he had been wounded hurt him ; but his heart was 
 hurting him even worse. " I will have it out with her," he said ; 
 "he or I, he or I— it must come to that, and the sooner the better ; " 
 and before the gay party arrived to dinner, he had time to make up 
 his mind. 
 
 In this respect, like a true Darnell, he did not hesitate. As the 
 carriage drove to the door, and the ladies were handed out, he saw 
 with infinite satisfaction that Mr. Elliot raised his hat, made a 
 graceful bow, and took the direction of Greek Street So he should 
 have Constance all to himself : and had she not promised to try some 
 of Dr. Ame's duets with him ? Those he had learned to sing with 
 SybU, he was to teach her ; it would be a delicious evening, and he 
 would have the field all to himself. The ladies went up to their 
 rooms at once to dress for dinner, for it was close on the time, and 
 did not come down till the baronet had told Ralph of their glorious 
 walk, and the distinguished company he had seen. "Even his 
 Majesty was at the promenade, and asked kindly after me. 'Gad, 
 Ealph, after that we must go to see him, though 'tis against the 
 grain, my boy." 
 
 Half-ardozen times Ralph had begun " Uncle," but could not get 
 in a word. The baronet was full of the promenade, and anecdotes 
 of old people and old days, which meetiogs with his friends brought 
 about.. Constance was pleasant. She seemed very well satisfied with 
 her day's performances ; and evinced a pretty interest in Ralph's 
 health, and joy to see him again " looking himself," after the faint- 
 ness caused by the sun. " It must have been that hot sun, Ralph," 
 
PROMENADE. 135 
 
 she uaid — " not like Melcepeth, you know, wiere we could lie under 
 the trees and listen to the river." 
 
 Ah, these cruel words, which brought a rush of blood to the poor 
 fellow's cheeks, as he handed her down stairs to dinner ! She had 
 better not have said them, for they did but set his brain in a whirl ; 
 and he said and did such foolish, pleasant, happy things at dinner- 
 time, that he not only set the baronet heartily laughing, but Miss Con- 
 stance confided to Mistress Grover, when they retired to the drawing- 
 room, that " Ralph, after all, was a dear fellow, and so handsome." 
 
 When the ladies had retired, and the butler had opened a bottle of 
 rich Burgundy, in which the baronet delighted, and left the two 
 together, and they had taken a couple of bumpers, one to the ladies 
 and one to the baronet's favourite toast of "All absent friends," 
 Ralph said hesitatingly again, " Uncle — " 
 
 " Well," said the baronet, " I mind me thou hast said ' Uncle ' 
 several times. What is it ? Money short ? Eh ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ralph as steadily as he could ; " not that ; I've 
 plenty of money, sir. It's — it's — it's about Conny, sir — about Con- 
 stance. Oh, sir ! oh, uncle GfeoflOrey, I love her — I do love her 
 dearly." 
 
 " Well, I don't see why you shouldn't, Ralph ; I'm sure she's very 
 fond of you. She's always been fond of you since you were children 
 together." 
 
 " But, sir," continued Ralph, blushing all over, " it's more than 
 that, it's — " 
 
 " Phe-ew ! " -whistled the baronet. "God bless my heart and soul ! 
 Don't be a goose, Ralph ! " 
 
 " Please sir, if you'd only let me ask her. I'd be quite content ; 
 I'd be very grateful to you, dear uncle." 
 
 "You? No, I'll be d— d if— Stay! Off with you; go up 
 stairs at once, and I promise you I'll not interfere. I think I know 
 what she'll say," he muttered to himself. " She's quite safe, and it's 
 better done with. I'll keep to my bottle, Ralph ; and there'll be a 
 glass for you when you come back — wiser, too, I hope," he added, as 
 Ralph closed the door. 
 
 It was impossible for Constance to look more charming than she 
 did that evening. The windows were open, and the soft cool breeze 
 rustled gently in the trees of the square. Constance was standing 
 by the harpsichord. She had put on a sUk dress of very light blue, 
 over a white satin petticoat. The dress was cut low and square, and 
 edged with pure white Mechlin lace ; but it was difi&cult to say at a 
 distance where the lace began, the skin on which it rested was so 
 fair. Grover was not there : could anything be more fortunate ? 
 Ralph advanced to her with eager, rapid steps, holding out his hands, 
 and his face all a-glow. She was not looking at bim, but at the new ^ 
 
136 RALPH DARNELL 
 
 music which she was turning over. " Oh, I am glad you've come," 
 she said ; " we shall have time to go over one or two of these 
 before — " and then she started back. 
 
 Ralph had flung himself at her feet. " Uncle said I might speak 
 to you," he cried, holding up his clasped hands ; " and oh, Conny ! 
 Oh, dear, dearest Constance, I love you ! — I love you more than I 
 have words to tell ! 1 have loved you all these long years, my own 
 darling, and no one knew it ; now I tell you, and oh, Constance, pity 
 me, my darling ; I cannot bear it." 
 
 It would be difl5.cult for me to describe the scorn — the pitiless scorn 
 with which Constance looked down upon her helpless, foolish cousin. 
 " Get up, sir ! " she cried — " get up this moment, and don't insult me ! 
 Who are you, sir, to ask me to love you that way ? Get up, sir, this 
 instant, or I shall be tempted to box your ears. Look, Grover ! " 
 she cried, her eyes flashing as that good lady entered — " look what 
 my gentleman's sulks have come to ! Take him away, or I shall faint 
 — I really shall. Oh, Ralph, that you should have vexed me so ! I 
 thought you were changed, but not thus — not thus," and she burst 
 into passionate tears. 
 
 " Constance, Constance, my own darling ! " was all he could plead, 
 as he caught at the skirt of her petticoat, " I'm not changed." 
 
 " Take him away, Grover ! " she cried again, stamping her little 
 foot impatiently—" can't he let me alone ! I declare to you, sir," 
 she continued, rallying, and wiping her eyes hastily, but with a sob 
 in her throat, " if ever you dream of talking such nonsense to me 
 again, I'll never speak to you — ^no, never — nor see yo«. You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself. Get up, I say, this moment, and sing 
 these things if you like, but remember — " 
 
 '< I will remember, cousin Constance," said Ralph, bitterly, getting 
 up with a white scared face. Good-bye; I'd better go." And he 
 turned away. 
 
 " Wbat possessed you to do this foolishness ? O Ralph, what 
 have you done?" said Mistress Grover anxiously, with the tears 
 starting from her eyes. She had followed him out of the room. 
 
 " I've done it now, auntie, and I'd better go away," he said sadly. 
 " I could not bear delay, that's all \ " and so he tore away from her, 
 ran down stairs, snatched his hat from the peg in the hall, opened 
 the door, and rushed out. 
 
 His uncle heard the hurried step in the hall, and the door open. 
 He got to the window, threw up the sash, and bawled after Ralph, 
 who was hurrying towards Greek Street, and I am afraid that the 
 baronet's loud laugh (whom the Burgundy had much comforted) fell 
 on the youth's ears very painfully ; and more, that when Mr. Elliot 
 came to escort the party to the play. Miss Constance received him 
 more graciously than ever. 
 
TEMPTATIONS. 137 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TEMPTATIONS. 
 
 I FEAR I cannot expect any sympathy for Ralph Darnell in this 
 misadventure, and I certainly cannot claim any for him. "Why will 
 people do things at times -which ensure their failure, rather than wait 
 till there is good ground for expecting success ? I am afraid most of 
 us have acted, at some crisis of our lives, very much as Ralph, poor 
 foolish fellow, did, of which we have unpleasant reminiscences. If 
 I had only waited till — or if — but these ifs are interciinable, and 
 will ever be found haunting us, more particularly in early morning, 
 when we have had enough sleep, or, being restless, cannot get more j 
 and, as the clock on the stair-head strikes four of a winter's morning, 
 in they march, a ghostly company — skeletons of broken hopes, broken 
 speculations, and often, I fear, broken loves too, and ties which 
 seemed strong, but alas ! — each of which is heralded by the same 
 ghostly IP that no bedclothes will shut out, or sleep put away, and 
 from which there is no present retreat — irs that only the cheerful 
 sun, and daily work or care, or loving hearts and merry voices still 
 left to us, drive back into their secret hiding-places till — the next 
 time. 
 
 Why, then, will people do stupid things at wrong times — things 
 good in themselves, but which become stupid, as they see afterwards, 
 by wrong judgment ? Mr. Elliot would no more have risked his 
 rising position with Constance Darnell when he came home with 
 her from the play that night, and had a quiet supper in Soho Square, 
 than he would have chopped off his own left ^and with his own 
 sword. But I cannot compare the tact of this gay gentleman of the 
 world with the foolish fondness of his friend — for whose absurd pro- 
 posal, however, I am making no extenuation. 
 
 It was still early, the sun was shining bright, and the streets were 
 full of people ; but I fancy that all this looked dark to that young 
 man, who had thus run away — ^yes, run away. It is the truth, and 
 no more or less. If he had returned to his uncle, and told him 
 Conny was cruel, I think the jolly old baronet would have ordered 
 in a fresh bottle of Burgundy, and sworn a dozen of round oaths, 
 and told him to " never mind, he would do better another day," or 
 that " there was as good fish still in the sea as ever came out of it." 
 But here another if comes to my mind, and I put it aside sadly ; 
 I have only to do with stem realities. What was Ralph to do ? Go 
 home and have Sybil guessing at the truth,' or be sickened by good 
 old Mrs. Morton's platitudes, or be put to bed by Nanny Keene ? 
 
 It was too late to go to the ofiice ; Mr. Sanders and his sisters 
 
138 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 would be out on the river this glorious evening, perhaps on board 
 the Valiant with Captain Scrafton, perhaps taking tea at Blackwall 
 or Greenwich. Ralph looked in at the Cock, hoping Elliot might be 
 there, that he might quarrel with him ; or Forster, that he might 
 send a challenge by him ; or Captain Scrafton, that they might play 
 — and Ralph would have played deep then in his reckless humour. 
 But there was no one there he cared for, and his fair friend in the 
 bar tossed her head scornfully enough as he wished her a stately 
 good evening, and would not stay to flirt with her. I think, too, 
 that old Diokiwig and Mistress Sarah Baker, as they spoke together 
 of the young man's changed appearance, attributed it to the effect 
 of disappointed love, " wich," as Mrs. Baker observed, " is the 
 terriblest think for hany^ young man, and worse than poxes, and 
 measles, and them things, which comes natural Uke." 
 
 "What was Ralph to do ? He was, in truth, sorely tormented by 
 his thoughts, and sauntered up and down the bridge very Kstlessly 
 and idly, now making one resolve, now another, and cursing his 
 own folly and Constance's cruelty in a breath. As he did all this, 
 he saw Mr. Wilson posting up the incline with his habitual shuffle, 
 and his green bag hanging from his arm in a professional manner. 
 He would rather not have been seen by Mr. Wilson, but there 
 was no avoiding him, that ferret-eyed person having indeed observed 
 the tall figure of the young man from some distance, and was hasting 
 to it. 
 
 " Your servant, Mr. Darnell," he said, respectfully, taking off his 
 hat ; " very fortilnate to meet you, sir. Forster and I have called 
 frequently, but you were always out." 
 
 " I have been with — " 
 
 " Of course, sir, with Sir Geoffrey Darnell and his sweet daughter. 
 The town speaks much of her as the beauty of the season, and I 
 hear her health is already drunk at White's and Arthur's. She's a 
 a toast, Mr. Darnell — a toast." 
 
 Ralph could have knocked Mr. Wilson down and stamped upon 
 him for his profanation of Constance's name. He, a vile pettifog- 
 ging lawyer's clerk, to presume even to mention her ! But Wilson 
 had no such reticence : she was to him what a thousand other 
 beauties of the day were — to be seen, however unapproachable ; and 
 he continued, — 
 
 " So glad I've met you, sir, for Mr. Forster has sent me to you to 
 say he leaves town to-night or early in the morning on particular busi- 
 ness, and will not return for many days ; and he would gladly speak 
 with you on an important matter concerning yourself — very im- 
 portant, sir, I assure you. He and Mr. Selwyn will be at a late 
 dinner, and would be glad to see you, Mr, Darnell, if you are dis- 
 engaged." 
 
TEMPTATIONS. 1S9 
 
 Ralph had been asking himself, as we know, what he should do, 
 and he caught at this otfer eagerly. " I fear," he said, " Mr. For- 
 ster ■will have thought me very rude that I did not call upon him 
 after he has been so good as come here; and on you, too, Mr. 
 WUson, but I have been so engaged." 
 
 " I can quite understand it, sir. Not that I mean anything dis- 
 respectful of Sir Geoffrey, heaven forbid ! but, sir, I always pray 
 deliverance from country cousins. Why, sir, when mine come, I 
 can't call a moment my own, nor even my life, Mr. Darnell." 
 
 " And you called, Mr. Wilson ? " 
 
 " We had one delightful evening, sir ; I shall never forget it. Miss 
 Sybil Morton sang de-liciously ; and, indeed, Mr. Forster hath a pretty 
 musical taste also, and their voices blended, Mr. Darnell^ — ^blended." 
 
 " I shall be happy to attend you, Mr. Wilson, and will follow you." 
 I think even then Ralph, dressed in. velvet and lace, revolted against 
 walking with a lawyer's clerk, with a green bag on his arm, dressed 
 in snuff-coloured cloth. 
 
 " By all means," said Wilson, and preceded him. 
 
 " Will you take a glass of wine, Mr. Darnell ? " said Mr. Selwyn 
 shortly afterwards. " We can have some dinner up for you directly, 
 if you like, but we have dined." 
 
 " Nothing, thank you," said Ralph, " I too have dined; but I will 
 take some wine with pleasure." 
 
 "7 don't think there's any after-dinner drink like Burgundy, 
 Ralph," said Forster, " and Selwyn's is of the finest ; but if you woiild 
 prefer Bordeaux, there is some Haut Brion there, which is exquisite, 
 and these hothouse peaches are delicious." 
 
 Ralph's mouth was parched, and the goblet — a richly chased silver 
 goblet of Haut Brion, which a smart maid-servant had set before 
 him — ^which he drained after eating a cool peach, was indeed deli- 
 cious. He had drunk his host's health, and had been thanked for 
 it ; and his own was given in return, and for a time the conversa- 
 tion was pleasant enough ; but it flagged at last. " We had better 
 go up-stairs if you fellows have had enough wine," said Mr. Selwyn, 
 who had had as much as he needed, and perhaps a little more. " It's 
 all quiet yonder, and you can talk as you please." 
 
 " We have no secrets from you, Albany," said Forster, putting his 
 arm round the other's neck, " so you need not be particular. After 
 you, Mr. Darnell." 
 
 " If Mr. Elliot's rooms were handsomely furnished, these seemed 
 more gaudily decorated, and more expensively. It was evident that 
 neither paias nor money had been spared. " Pretty, ain't they, 
 Ralph ? " said Forster ; " by George ! when they're full of well-dressed 
 men, and the handsomest women in London— the handsomest, you 
 
140 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 understand — I don't know anything like them. But there's nobody 
 coming now, and he and I must start at midnight." 
 
 " What had you and Wilson to say to me, Forster ? " asked Ralph. 
 " I have many apologies for not coming to you, but, as I told Mr, 
 Wilson, I have not been my own master lately." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, that's just what I wanted to tell you about ; " but in 
 truth, now that he had Ralph before him, Forster's courage (moral I 
 mean, not physical) fell considerably. Mr. Wilson's, however, rose; 
 and it is often a cuiious study in psychology to note how one man 
 possesses the one and not the other, and how perhaps rarely both are 
 equally combined. I say, then, the spider came out of his hole, and 
 began to spin his web after this fashion, for Mr. Wilson came to the 
 point at once. 
 
 "We have come to certain knowledge of Sir Geoffrey Darnell's 
 will," said Mr. Wilson, seeing Forster's hesitation, " and as it is of a 
 peculiar character, and knowing Mr. Forster to be much interested 
 in you, Mr. Darnell, as well indeed as our mutual friend, Mr. Selwyn, 
 and I may add my poor self, we, I say — " 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey Darnell's, my uncle's will ! " cried Ralph, starting. 
 " What will ? I never heard he had made one." 
 
 " You were not likely to hear, Mr. Darnell," continued Wilson, 
 "considering its purport." 
 
 " What d'ye mean, sir, ?" exclaimed Ralph, fiercely — he was now 
 dangerous to meddle with. 
 
 " Now, Ralph, if you're going to get into a passion about it, I'll be 
 shot if we tell yoii a word ; only keep quiet, and we'll conceal nothing," 
 said Mr. Forster. 
 
 " The best thing I can do, gentlemen," said Wilson, looking round, 
 " the best thing — far better than speaking — is to give Mr. Darnell 
 the ' Instructions,' and the signature to the paper will be more con- 
 vincing than — I remember in the case Clibborn v. Clibborn — " 
 
 " Damnation, sir ! give me the paper " roared Ralph, huskily. 
 
 " Here it is, Mr. Darnell, and with it Sergeant Green's opinion, 
 which I have taken to-day for Mr. Peed, and about which I was 
 delayed. But for this indeed I could only have shown you the copy. 
 You recognise and admit the signature ? He continued, smoothing 
 out the paper upon a table and drawing a wax candle towards it. 
 
 There was no mistaking it — the bold 
 
 " Geoffrey Darnell, Baronet, of Melcepeth," 
 and what followed it was clear as noonday. 
 
 " May I read it ?" said Ralph, in whose grasp the paper was 
 rustling from the tremor of his hands. 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Dairnell," said Wilson ; " you will consider this 
 communication, however, as strictly confidential. 
 
 " On your honour, Ralph, the honour of a Darnell," added Forster, 
 
TEMPTATIONS. Ul 
 
 eagerly. " I'm sure you would not betray us, wlio do this for your 
 good only !" 
 
 " On my honour as a gentleman," he said firmly, and read on to 
 the end, then began again, and read all through once more ; and to 
 their wonder, those who looked on saw the band steady gradually as 
 the brow knit, the lips closed hard, and only the hereditary mark of 
 his race dilating. Here was danger to be met, and his strong courage 
 rallied to the necessity. But I am afraid in those few minutes 
 Ralph's heart hardened — ^hardened against his uncle, -against the 
 world, and even against life ! If he could but die — die there as he 
 stood in his strength ! If the Mohock's thrust had but been through 
 his heart! 1 think he shut his eyes, and passed his hand drearily 
 over them, perhaps expecting the death he thought of. ' If Forster or 
 Selwyn had then put a sword through him, he would not have winced. 
 Pshaw ! he was there to live, to fight his fight with life, to fight on to 
 eternity. " Drink this, sir," said Selwyn, ofiering him a small glass 
 of cordial ; " you will need it. Ay, sir, that's a nasty paper, and 
 many a man would have fainted at it ; but you're among friends, Mr. 
 Darnell, who are sorry for you, and you need fear nothing." 
 
 The rough sympathy of the man touched Ralph, and roused him 
 from his dream. What a hideous thing he had to contemplate ! 
 What a terrible story to listen to ! And why had they not told him 
 of this long ago, when he was a child, and it would have entered 
 softly into his mind, and grown up with him ? Why had not Grover 
 told him ? — why not the baronet ? — why not ? — Yes, he saw it all 
 now. Constance knew of it — even the footman who had grinned at 
 him overnight knew of it — all London knew of it • and he, a shame 
 and a deceit upon the earth, had been walking with his uncle as 
 though he were his heir ! Ai me ! what a crowd of thoughts were 
 now wildly rushing to and fro ! 
 
 " It may not be, after all, so bad, sir, as it seems. You see the 
 baronet is perfectly just," said Mr. Wilson, blandly. " I wrote that 
 from his own dictation, word for word, and I never — never, sir, in all 
 my experience, saw justice and truth more strongly stamped on a 
 man's face. He has decided nothing, sir : the law, the law only can 
 decide by-and-by ; and he has left a door open. You, Mr. Darnell, 
 are no less presumptive heir to Melcepeth now, if that marriage can 
 be proved, than you were before ; and I, sir, though it is a difficult 
 case, would, were I you, bestir myself to prove my rights, and that 
 without loss of time." 
 
 " You can't be indifierent, Ralph," said Mr. Forster, kindly ; " this 
 must needs upset you at first, but you'll acknowledge by-and-by that 
 we should have done no friendly part by you if we had let this will 
 hang over you ; and if you will act on our advice — " 
 
 "What do you advise?" said Ralph, drearily and anxiously. 
 
U2 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Tell him, Wilson," said Forster. " You have all that lawyer 
 gabble at your tongue's end better than either of us." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Darnell," said Wilson, "don't take my advice — but 
 look here ; " and he took from his pocket-book two slips of curious 
 character, from which he read easily. " I just put a hypothetical 
 case to Mr. Green, and his opinion I took down under the table as he 
 spoke it. It was this, sir, ' That you can't stay the will ; let it be 
 executed — it can do no harm. There is no occasion to prove your 
 birth till Roger Darnell's death, or until it is your tui'n to be baronet, 
 and there is ample provision made for the son of a younger son. 
 You have eight hundred a year secured on the estate.' My own 
 opinion, however, is, Mr. Darnell, that after the will is executed it 
 should be lost — yes, lost, sir — should become irrecoverable. I think 
 your uncle made it under some misapprehension, and my experience 
 of men leads me to say he would not renew it ; and now do as you 
 please, sir." 
 
 " And when we can help you in this matter, as I know we can," 
 added Mr. Selwyn, looking to Forster, " we will. If I were you, 
 nobody should keep that will but myself." 
 
 " I do not profess to understand you," said Ralph, drearily ; " and 
 perhaps you will excuse my staying longer." 
 
 " I have — ahem — a copy of Sir Geoffrey's instructions at Mr, 
 Darnell's service, if he pleases to be secret," observed Mr. Wilson. 
 
 " I have already passed my honour," replied Ralph. 
 
 " Give him twenty guineas for it, Ralph," said Forster, " it's cheap ; 
 and if you haven't the money, I'll give it now — ^here it is," and he 
 handed a note to Wilson. 
 
 " Come home with me, Forster, and I'll give it you. I'm not fit to 
 be by myself," said the poor fellow, almost breaking down — and 
 indeed he was not ; and they left the place together. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE BAEONET IS EXPLICIT. 
 
 Perhaps my readers, the ladies especially, would like to hear how 
 Miss Constance Darnell, being filled with the satisfaction of having 
 summarily disposed of one presumptuous lover that memorable after- 
 noon, comported herself to the other at the play; but that would 
 involve an episode which it is needless to relate. All I can say is, 
 that Mr. George Elliot's tailor, who was a spectator with Mr. Elliot 
 at Drury Lane of Mr. Garrick's celebrated representation of Hamlet, 
 Prince of Denmark, beheld that terrible tragedy, varied by some very 
 
THE BARONET IS EXPL ICIT. 143 
 
 genteel comedy between the beautiful heiress and one of his most 
 distinguished customers ; and thereupon next day wished him, with, 
 respectful homage, joy of his conquest, for conquest it seemed to be. 
 And when Mr. Elliot, having handed the Melcepeth party to their 
 coach, summoned two linkmen, and offered personal escort from the 
 playhouse to Soho Square, which was graciously declined, became 
 aware that a beautiful little hand lay upon the coach-door, which 
 could not help being noticed on account of its brilliant diamond 
 hoop — an ancient Darnell heirloom — sparkling in the torchlight ; and 
 when, somehow or other (one never can account for these things 
 properly), the linkboys were called to lead the way, and there was 
 temporary darkness— he was permitted to press his lips to that 
 beautiful hand — he dreamed of it all night, as, indeed, 'did somebody 
 else, who, as Grover came into her room to kiss her darling the last 
 thing, put her arms round that dear good lady's neck and sighed out 
 of her rosy lips, " O auntie, I've been so happy ! and I hope that silfy 
 Ralph '11 come to-morrow, won't he ? " 
 
 I fear not, nor for many days either. That silly Ralph had become 
 much worse than foolish, I believe. He did not forgive his cousin — 
 he did not forgive his uncle — he brooded over his misery, and was 
 truly more wj-etched that I can contrive words to tell of. His love, 
 his deep affections, were pulling his thoughts one way, and his sense 
 of shame and his wrongs another, and the combat was hard and grim. 
 He had poured out all his woe to Sybil, and she had listened with a 
 trembling vivid interest which, I fear, had no misery in it except for 
 Ralph's suffering. " The farther from them — from Constance," she 
 thought, O foolish child, " the nearer to me — to me, O gracious 
 Father," she cried, on her knees and in her solitude. " If it may be 
 in Thy mercy, what are they to him now ? His shame — Oh it is no 
 shame ! and if any, may not I share it ? " Alas, poor SybU ! I do 
 not care to open out the secret pleadings of that precious loving 
 heart, wherein was no thought of worldly vanities — ^no plays or 
 dinners or promenades — nothing but pure holy thoughts and prayers, 
 to which guardian angels listened. Enough that we know them to 
 be there, far more surely than the sullen gloomy young man, who 
 might, we think, have seen them had his heart and eyes not been 
 blinded by his terrible passion, and that ever-present sense of his 
 wrongs. 
 
 Nor would it help us much either were I to tell of how poor old 
 Mr. Smithson, much broken in spirit and in body, came at the 
 appointed time to London in a collier from Newcastle ; sought the 
 baronet in Soho Square ; was long closeted with him and Mistress 
 Grover in anxious despairing council, and; sobbing bitterly, bemoaned 
 the dead and his fruitless search after those " lines " in the sUken 
 bag ! How Mistress Grover read to him the baronet's last instruc- 
 
144 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 tions for tlie will, and caused the dazed old man to comprehend that 
 the door was not shut on Ralph, nor would be shut till Roger 
 Darnell was no more ; and how Ralph Darnell had been provided for 
 meanwhile. I find all this too sad a story to write, for grief has had 
 enough to do with us all not to provide images and thoughts in plenty 
 to save me the record of these. 
 
 None of them knew that Ralph had been told of this will, but 
 Mistress Grover suspected it, and told the baronet frankly what she 
 thought of his delays and evasions. She spoke out stoutly on this 
 subject before Mr. Smithson, who, when they asked him to stay, said 
 he had taken his passage by another vessel that was to sail that 
 night. " London was no place for him. What could he do with the 
 lad ? But he would see him then, and why didna the baronet speak 
 wi' him himsel' ? " 
 
 " Tell him from me, in all kindness," said Sir Geoffrey, " that if 
 he'll come up to dinner this afternoon, and bear it like a good stout 
 fellow, as he is, I'll see him clear of it all, and we'll be as good friends 
 as ever ; mind that, Smithson." 
 
 " Ay, Sir Geoffrey, a'll tell him a'. He's mair active nor mey, an' 
 he'll dee the best for his puir mither's sake. Ma puir Grade ! 
 O bairnie, baimie ! but yer mither's wi' ye noo, an' a'Jl be wi' ye 
 baith soon. A'm gettin' vara helpless noo, mem." 
 
 And so he left them and went to Mrs. Morton's, where he resolved 
 to wait if Ralph were not there. Nor was he. Ralph had gone to 
 the office with as heavy a heart as usual. I am bound to say, how- 
 ever, he had not entirely neglected Soho Square in this interval ; but 
 he got very little comfort there. He was changed himself, and he 
 fancied all of them changed too. It is not pleasant, to say the least 
 of it, for a man to speak again to a woman who has refused his love ; 
 but Constance, in this case, was not wilful nor coquettish. She saw 
 the poor fellow's wound was deep, and, I believe, in her heart woidd 
 have given much to take him to Melcepeth, and to cure him after her 
 own fashion, not with her love, as he wanted it, but with here, as 
 she wished to maintain it for a brother, and a very dear one too. 
 When the old steward went out of the parlour. Mistress Grover 
 waylaid him in the hall, and gave him a note to Ralph, begging him 
 to come that day, telling him that Smithson would break something 
 of importance to him, about which his vincle desired to speak with 
 him; and Constance, who knew nothing about the secret, took 
 Mistress Grover's pen and added " Come. — C. D.," and that, she 
 thought, would surely bring the poor fellow. Mr. Elliot was not to 
 be there, and they had no engagement : she would try and be as 
 kind as she could to Ral25h. " Indeed I will, auntie," she said, with 
 the tears rising to her lovely soft eyes. There was no anger there 
 now — only j)ity, much pity, for the distress she had caused. 
 
THE B ARONET IS EXPLICIT. 145 
 
 Ealph -well remembered the old stalwart form of Mr. Smith son, 
 and was shocked at seeing him bowed and gaunt, and the silvery hair 
 hanging loosely about the rough weather-beaten face. Mr. Smithson 
 was in the parlour when he reached home, where he had been sitting 
 very sadly. It was a hard task for him to break all that had to be 
 told — to tell again a tale of mystery, perhaps of deceit and shame ; 
 but he had a duty to do, to his master, to his grandson, to those who 
 he felt were looking down on him, and after a rough and incoherent 
 fashion he prayed for help. He knelt down at the table when he 
 was alone, and prayed, I say, for help, and was calmed by it — as who 
 is not in his extremity ? Nanny came to him now and then ; and 
 Sybil, too, asked if he would have any refreshment — her mother 
 hoped he would take some ; but he said he needed none, and it was 
 the truth. 
 
 When Ralph arrived, sooner than was expected, and the grand- 
 father and grandson knew each other for the first time as such ; and 
 Ralph fell on his neck and wept — ^wept bitter, passionate tears — I 
 fear he did not pray, for his heart was then veiy hard. What have 
 I now to teU of this old, old story, which had begun at Warkworth 
 with Ralph's father, Henry Darnell, and Grace Smithson, and now 
 for the present ended ? I could only say the same things again and 
 again, and they are not worth repeating. Mr. Smithson said he was 
 sure there had been a marriage, and a. true one. His darling Gracie, 
 " yer ain dear mither, lad, was no Ijoht o' love — nae graceless, but pure 
 as the snaw, though a wee wilfu' because of her beauty, like Miss 
 Constance yonder, an' there's nae gude fitettin' an' haverin' aboot it, 
 sur. Yer uncle's a just man, an' he'll see justice done, an' a'm con- 
 tent to watch the Lord's will in it. An' when ye come up to Melce- 
 peth we'll ha'e anither search : an', till then, keep a brave heart, my 
 bairnie. It's yer mither's eyes that's lookin' at me as I say it ; an' 
 here's a bit letter from Mistress Grover, ye ken, an' ya'll go and 
 dine there, Ralphie, like a dear laddie." 
 
 I think there would have been a passionate refusal if Ralph had 
 not seen the " Come. — C. D.," which disarmed evil thought for the 
 present, and softened his pride. Yes, he would go. He could not 
 persuade his grandfather to stay : his vessel would be loosed with the 
 tide. And when Ralph and he walked down to Tooley Stairs, the 
 old man took a boat, directed the waterman where to go, and so was 
 rowed into the stream. Ralph took another and was rowed to 
 Hungerford Stairs, whence he walked to Soho Square, and arrived 
 in time for the afternoon dinner. 
 
 I am quite sure that Constance was as good as her word. She 
 could not divine why Grover had teai's in her eyes, or why her 
 father, with evident constraint at his heart, had put on an affected 
 and forced hilarity. " They will settle it all after dimier over their 
 
146 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 vine," thought Constance : and so they did, after a fashion which 
 will be recorded — " and then Ralph '11 come up, and we'll try those 
 duets." 
 
 I don't think, either, that they were much better at dinner. Con- 
 stance did her best, and was ready to cry at her ill success. Her 
 father, she saw, drank more wine than usual, and perhaps Ralph did 
 the same ; still he was respectful and courteous, and promised to sing 
 with her by-and-by. Could he refuse ? Ah, no ! of all there, to her 
 he was most softened then ; and she felt it, and rejoiced thankfully 
 that it was so, and they would soon be better friends than ever. 
 
 Perhaps Mistress Grover was afraid to leave the gentlemen to 
 themselves. She had a dread, almost presentiment, of mischief; but 
 she could not delay, and with an injunction not to sit long over their 
 wine. Sir Geoffrey and Ralph were left alone. 
 
 Why, of all topics, the baronet should almost immediately have 
 selected Mr. Elliot, I do not know. In vino Veritas, perhaps ; and 
 the baronet was drinking bumper after bumper of Burgundy and 
 a toast with each. 
 
 " I'll give you another toast, Ralph, my boy," quoth he ; " let's 
 stand to it, for it's of as good a fellow as ever walked London, and 
 
 as handsome and gallant, by !" and he filled his glass and stood 
 
 up. " Here's to George Elliot of Wooler Hall, the noble son of a 
 noble father, and success to him." 
 
 Ralph, who had risen, put down his glass, and folded his arms 
 stiffly. 
 
 " You won't drink it, Ralph ? What d'ye mean, sir ?" It was 
 an insult then not to drink to a toast proposed. " Is your uncle's 
 toast not good enough for you ? Drink it What ! are you jeal- 
 ous ? Ha, ha, ha ! jealous ! Bles? my heart, what a joke !" 
 
 "It's no joke, uncle," said Ralph, who was quivering with 
 suppressed rage — " it's no joke, sir. I consider George EUiot, 
 though I have the honour to know him, to be a spendthrift, a rake, 
 and a common gambler, and, though he passes fair with you, to 
 have one of the worst reputations in town ; and I warn you of him ; 
 and I won't drink his health. I grieve to see him here, sir." 
 
 "On Conny's account, I suppose Ralph," the baronet returned, 
 ironically. " Curse it, man, don't be a fool. If she won't have you, 
 she may take anybody else, I suppose, without your saying nay to 
 it. If George is wild, he's no worse than I have been, and a hun- 
 dred others — gentlemen, sir ! Here's another bumper to his health ; " 
 and he refilled his glass and drank it off at a gulp. 
 
 " I have said what I mean, uncle, and we'd better go iip-stairs," 
 returned Ralph. " I'll not drink George Elliot's health." 
 
 " No, I'll be d — d if you go yet ! I've promised Grover to tell 
 you all there is to tell about my will ; and now it's in my mouth. 
 
THE BARONET IS EXPLICIT. 147 
 
 You kno-w your mother's marriage has never been proved; and though 
 you may not be a bastard" (the baronet had had too much wine to be 
 particular as to what he said, or the words he used), " yet if you are 
 one, why, you'll be provided for. Grovev knows all about it, sir; 
 and she'll show you the paper, which is with Peed & Peed. And 
 now it's out, will you shake hands over the matter, and drink George 
 Elliot's health ? " 
 
 " What ! — what did you say, uncle ? — a — what ? " cried Ralph, 
 rising, and holding by the table, he shook so — " a what ? " 
 
 " Don't threaten me, sir ! " roared the baronet furiously — " don't 
 threaten me, looking as you do, and clenching your fist ! What did 
 I say ? Bastard ! — yes, sir. Harry's bastard ! and I'll say it to 
 your teeth ! Can you prove you're not one ? " 
 
 " Uncle," said Ralph, calmly but determinedly ; " uncle, take care 
 what you're saying. Bastard ! " 
 
 " I don't care ! — I don't care a d — ^n, sir ! I'm only saying the 
 
 truth ; and if you don't like it, by ! you'd better go — I say 
 
 be off, sir ! I'm not to be bullied and insulted at my own table. 
 Are you a gentleman, sir, as to what you say about George Elliot ? 
 It's a lie, sir ! — a damned lie ! and you know it ! " 
 
 " Uncle ! " cried Ralph ; it was all he could say, as he moved 
 towards him. I believe the poor fellow would even then have 
 thrown himself at the old man's feet; but the action was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 " Damme, sir, keep your distance ! " thundered the baronet, 
 drawing his sword. Leavfe the room, sir, this instant, or, by 
 
 I may not repeat the old man's torrent of oaths and curses, as, 
 holding by the table with one hand, he held his naked sword be- 
 fore him with the other. It was a piteous sight, and I would rather 
 not have writ what has been needful to tell ; but Mistress Grover, 
 who, anticipating mischief, had kept the drawing-room door ajar, 
 now rushed down stairs, followed by Constance, and several of the 
 men-servants, who also heard the oaths and shouts of the baronet — 
 for they were little else — entered the door at the same moment. 
 Her first care was for Ralph, whom she dragged away to the door ; 
 while Constance in vain tried to soothe her father. 
 
 " Go, go, Ralph ! " cried Mistress Grover in her misery. " You 
 don't know what he is when he is in this condition. Go ! " 
 
 " But, dear auutie — " implored Ralph. 
 
 " No, no ; not now ! he will be sorry for it afterwards. Go, I be- 
 seech you, now ! I'll see to him." 
 
 She had dragged him to the hall door ; and the Northumberland 
 footman held it open, with Ralph's hat in his hand, which he ofiered. 
 He took it. He could not speak a word. As he went out, the door 
 
148 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 closed sharply ; but the window opened, and the baronet, who had 
 thrown up the sash violently, was standing there with his naked 
 sword and a flushed face, foaming at the mouth — bawling "bastard," 
 and " coward," and '• damned cur," with terrible oaths and execra- 
 tions : and Constance pulling him back, and the butler trying to put 
 down the sash — were the last things Ralph saw and heard, as, with 
 a dizzy brain and reeling steps, he dashed into the fast-darkening 
 streets. 
 
 " A' tolled ye sae," said the Melcepeth footman when he returned 
 to the kitchen — "a' telled ye sae. They a'ways sed bis mither 
 loup'd ower the Pike o' Lamberton and gaed away ower the sey wi' 
 Henry Darnell. An' it's come trow, ye ken ; an' he's iio't but a bas- 
 tard after a', surrs ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN WHICH SEVERAL IMPORTANT MATTERS ARE DETAILED. 
 
 There is little interesting to be related of any of the persons with 
 whom we have lately been in company for several weeks, except 
 indeed, perhaps, of Miss Constance Darnell, who not only permitted, 
 but encouraged Mr. George Elliot's attentions ; and perhaps this 
 young lady's general progress had been considerably accelerated by 
 her visit to London. The recent outbreak of Sir Geoffrey against 
 Ralph was not followed, as in the case of that with Mr. Smithson, 
 by placability. In many respects the baronet, like others of his 
 period who lived for the greater part of their lives in the country, 
 was narrow-minded, and, though generous and liberal in the main, 
 obstinate to a fault ; and we have seen several sad specimens of his 
 passion. In regard to Ralph, Mistress Grover pleaded very hard 
 with him, as did also Constance, who, as the cause of this terrible 
 war, was much grieved thereby ; but they could not move the old 
 man. And on one occasion when they had combined and thought 
 they were gaining an advantage, he burst out again into such furious 
 oaths and execrations that the women were frightened, and believed 
 him when he declared, if Ralph went down on his knees before him 
 he would only kick him off. " A lad," he said, " whom I, believing 
 him to be a bastard, brought up in all love and affection, as you 
 know, Grover, to turn on me at my own table, insult me by not 
 drinking my own toast, and clench his fist at me afterwards ! No, 
 no. And, if you please, Mistress Grover, I beg you will not mention 
 
SEVERAL IM PORTANT MATTERS. 149 
 
 him again to me, or I may forget myself to you, -which would grieve 
 me ; and all because he was fool enough to look up to Conny. 
 Jealous, by Jove ! and of Elliot too." 
 
 It is as equally certain that Ralph would no more have gone down 
 on his knees to his uncle, than he woiild have done or said any other 
 apologetic action or word. I can find no other phrase to express his 
 state of mind than that it was sullen and revengeful, and perhaps 
 vindictive also. He went moodily to his work, did it with more 
 assiduity than he had ever done before ; and neither Mr. Sanders 
 nor his uncle Roger, in pity to the young man, alluded to the quarrel 
 in Soho Square. Of this transaction Sir Geoffrey had given his own 
 account to his brother, and had been believed ; but Sir Geoffrey had 
 not told alL "What Roger Darnell most regretted was, that the 
 doubtful position the young man occupied had not been sooner ex- 
 plained to him ; but that could not be helped now : and over their 
 wine, while Sir Geoffrey was for the time perfectly calm in speaking 
 of Ralph, he told Roger that he could never see him again, and hoped 
 the lad had enough Darnell spirit in him to take his own course in 
 life. " "We had better try and get him a pair of colours, I think, 
 Roger,'' he said, " and we have interest enough for that." But 
 Roger had no desire to see Ralph abandon Lombard Street ; and, 
 legitimate or the contrary, he might make a good merchant in time. 
 
 " / will take care of him, Geoffrey," he said ; " and if he won't 
 take your new allowance, he has what belonged to his father, and 
 some thousands saved out of the yearly payments, of which he does 
 not know : and he will do verj' well. I will see that he does so, and 
 you may be reconciled to him by-and-by ; " and hearing this. Sir 
 Geoffrey had only shrugged his shoulders. Roger Darnell had seen 
 his brother through many quarrels and misapprehensions, but never 
 knew him to be in a humour like this. 
 
 There were two persons, however, to whom Ralph's disgrace was 
 acceptable, though in different degrees. Mr. Elliot had no dislike to 
 him, or cause of dislike — perhaps, indeed, quite the contrary ; but he 
 heard from the servants in Soho Square, to whom his largesses were 
 liberal and manifold, that there had been a terrible quarrel about 
 Miss Constance, and the baronet had called Ralph a bastard, loud 
 enough " for the whole square to hear ; " and after a few days, Mr. 
 Elliot saw that Ralph came no more. I have before praised Mr. 
 Elliot's tact and judgment. He did not press matters at all. He 
 saw the famUy had been disturbed, and that they would not go out ; 
 but he was sure that calm must ensue, when his boat could glide 
 gently into those pleasant waters. In this respect Mr. Elliot dis- 
 played a knowledge of human nature beyond his years, for which he 
 was to be honoured. He bided his time, and when he felt there 
 could be no risk, he went one day to Sir Geoflrey, told him openly 
 
ISO RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Low he adored Constance ; was bid to go in and win if he could, and 
 he did win. 
 
 Mistress Grover, dear soul, saw that Constance was beginning to 
 fret about the matter; she had taken the fever kindly, but no crisis 
 having occurred, she had become restless and ill at ease. So one 
 delightful evening, as they all three sat at the open window looking 
 out on the trees in the square, when Mistress Grover suddenly 
 remembered she had not left out tea and chocolate (Mr. Koger 
 Darnell was below with the baronet), she left them ; and Mr. Elliot 
 instinctively considered his time was come, and was not safely to be 
 deferred, and so, dropping quietly on one knee, he — 
 
 "Well, he asked Constance Darnell to marry him, and vowed he 
 would be faithful to death to her ; that is the plain English of the 
 matter. I read constantly the most eloquent proposals, written in 
 the most plaintive, elegant, flowing, romantic periods that it is pos- 
 sible to compose ; and — I daresay I am very hard-hearted — I don't 
 believe a word of them. I don't believe that any man ever proposed 
 to any woman he loved in such set phrases ; and I hope, if any one 
 ever did such a thing, that he was refused outright. As a conse- 
 quence, I do not see why any such pathetic proposals should be com- 
 posed and printed ; and that is the reason I do not write George 
 Elliot's here. I believe he now sincerely loved Constance Darnell, 
 and I am quite sure she loved him too, and acknowledged she did. 
 So there were two very happy people sittiag in the balcony when 
 Grover came back, who told her — only what she expected — all about 
 it ; and when the baronet came up stairs (he had not had too much 
 wine) and was told also, he cried out, I think from his heart, — 
 
 " God bless my heart and soul ! I am glad of it, George, my boy. 
 But for all that, I sha'n't let you marry her tiU she has completed her 
 eighteenth year, so don't expect it." 
 
 While this efiect of Ralph's disgrace had ensued to those I have 
 mentioned — to Mrs. Koger Darnell that event was positively cheer- 
 ing and refreshing. She gloried in her prescience. She had pro- 
 phesied a hundred times that she hnew that "unfortunate" young 
 man would become an affliction to his guardians ; and I am afraid 
 she quoted, as I should consider profanely, a part of the Second Com- 
 mandment, which need not be repeated here, and rejoiced over it. 
 In telling all she had heard to Lady Warrington, who professed her- 
 self seriously shocked at the bare idea of Ealph's condition, Mrs. Dar- 
 nell said decidedly, — 
 
 " And, my dear, / believe him, after that treatment of his uncle, 
 capable of anything ; I believe he would not hesitate at — at — murder. 
 My husband scoffs at me when I declare Ralph Darnell should be 
 discharged from his counting-house ; but he is obstinate. As to this 
 young man's coming here any more — he never came with my consent." 
 
S£ VERAL IMPOR TANT MA TTERS. 1 5 1 
 
 But we may well spare continuance of these remarks, wHch were 
 not pleasant ones ; and at which poor dear Dorothy, who had much 
 regard, perhaps something more, in her heart for cousin Ralph, went 
 up to her room and cried ever so bitterly — cried till her mother boxed 
 her ears, and set her a whole collect, epistle and gospel, as well as 
 two psalms of a penitential nature, to learn by heart. But we must 
 pursue the thread of this history, as more important than the doings 
 of Mrs. Roger. 
 
 The day the baronet was to execute the will, which Peed, Peed, & 
 Brisbane had prepared, after necessary consultation with eminent 
 counsel learned in such affairs, and in the draft of which every chance 
 of a flaw had been avoided, he was to come to the oflSce for the pur- 
 pose; and Mr. Roger Darnell having informed Ralph of the fact, 
 sounded him as to any possibility of reconciliation with his brother. 
 
 " It's very unfortunate, Ralph," he said, kindly, " that there was 
 concealment about this ; but it was not my affair. Your uncle has 
 not been to London since your father died, which is twenty years, 
 and we had grown far apart till he sent you down to me ; but as we 
 can't recall the past, we must only make the best we can of the future. 
 I should like you both to be on the old terms, and I consider both of 
 you wrong — both : and you, as the youngest, ought to give way." 
 
 " And beg his pardon dutifully," said Ralph, with a sneer ill con- 
 cealed, " for being insulted, blackguarded, and turned out of the 
 house, because I — No, uncle," he continued, after a gulp and a 
 pause ; " if I am not legitimate it is no fault of mine, and I can 
 follow my own road in life, and fear no one. I can love whom I 
 please, and honour whom I please — and you, sir, ever first. I do not 
 consider that I am under any obligation to my uncle Geoffrey ; and I 
 protest, sir, openly with all my heart, before you and Mr. Sanders, as 
 I would before all the world, against the execution of this will, be- 
 cause it contains a record of what I am not proved to be. Why was 
 there any mention of me at all ? Why — " 
 
 " It is too late, Ralph," said Mr. Roger, kindly. " I am no lawyer, 
 and Peed has taken the first advice in London, on which this will is 
 drawn up. Peed will be here before your uncle, and, if you like, you 
 can read it." 
 
 " Read the record, before witnesses too, of my own shame, uncle ! " 
 cried Ralph, passionately. " Do you forget that I am a Darnell — 
 your brother's son — and that you have taught me to be a gentleman ? 
 No, sir, I had better go home ; I would rather not see my uncle." 
 
 " I do not know, Ralph," replied Mr. Darnell, looking round upon 
 all the Darnells about him. " Nothing of this kind ever occurred 
 before among us, and I believe — that is, I think — I hope — that your 
 uncle, if he saw you, might even now be deterred from his purpose." 
 
 " I am afraid not, sir," said Ralph, firmly ; " no Darnell that you 
 
152 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 have ever told me of was vacillating. I am not afraid of my uncle — 
 I have no reason to be so ; and I will wait, as you request me, till he 
 comes. If then — " 
 
 "Say no more, Ralph; I'm sick of it all," replied Mr. Darnell. 
 " I'll stand by you whatever happens, and I can say no more. How 
 do you do, Mr. Peed ? " he continued, as that prim gentleman entered 
 the parlour. " Sit down. I suppose you are all ready." 
 
 " Thank you, we are quite ready. Mr. Wilson has the documents 
 in his bag, and I suppose Sir Geofirey will not be long absent now," 
 said Mr. Peed, as he pulled out his watch ; " it's nearly two o'clock." 
 
 Ralph had no further business in the parlour, and, taking some 
 papers his uncle handed to him, he left the room. Wilson was sitting 
 in the office with a heavy green bag between his legs, which he slapped 
 significantly. " It'll be done," he said, in a whisper, " and they'll 
 expect you to-night at the old place." 
 
 Ralph made no reply, but went to his desk. I do not think he 
 was conscious of what he looked over. More letters from Mr. 
 Wharton, more iuvoices, more accounts of sales and purchases in 
 Calcutta. He seemed to be in a dream, a hideous dream, which it is 
 idle to follow. A seal was to be set on his shame, and witnessed too, 
 perhaps by some of the clerks in the office ; even Mr. Sanders, who 
 as yet knew only of Constance's refusal of him, might know this 
 family secret ; and who at Feed's did not already ? " 
 
 Ralph heard his uncle's coach drive up shortly afterwards, and saw 
 him come in at the door, cross the office, and enter the parlour. 
 His uncle saw him too, and made no sign — -nay, he turned away his 
 head, and the expression of his face was obstinate and defiant. Mr. 
 Wilson was summoned and went in, so also did Mr. Sanders, and 
 Ralph supposed the business had begun. The door had not closed 
 entirely after Mr. Sanders. Ralph's desk was not far from it, and 
 he listened, with his heart beating against the wood so violently that 
 he could scarcely breathe. Mr. Peed spread out the parchments upon 
 the table, and Ralph heard the rustling distinctly. " Would Sir 
 Geoffrey Darnell wish to hear the paper again ? " Mr. Peed asked ; 
 " Mr. Wilson would read it, and the witnesses should know the con- 
 tents of what they signed." And it was read. What the party 
 severally thought of those documents it is immaterial to conjecture. 
 It is probable the opinions were of a varied diaracter ; but the read- 
 ing was soon finished. Ralph could only hear a word here and there, 
 for Mr. Wilson read in a lawyer's-clerk kind of professional gabble, 
 without stops or pauses, which was inaudible except as a general 
 murmur ; and when that had ceased. Sir Geoffrey had to sign. 
 
 " Before you write'your name to that paper, think again, Geoffre)', 
 what you are doing," said Roger Darnell firmly. " I myself don't 
 see the least need for it, nor for any mention of Ralph." 
 
SEVERAL IMPORTANT AIATTERS. 153 
 
 " I difi'er from you entirely ; I think there is need," replied the 
 baronet, doggedly ; " and I quite, know what I am doing. I came to 
 London specially to do this, and, by George, I will do it ! I'll finish 
 it. If I had been wrong, aU the lawyers in London, and Peed here 
 would have told me so ; but they think I'm right, and I think I'm 
 right myself. And what's more, considering what Ralph Darnell is, 
 and what he's done to me, I'm sure I've behaved very handsomely 
 to him — much more so than he'd any right to expect." 
 
 " I think the terms used, brother," returned Mr. Darnell, " are 
 particularly and needlessly offensive, and I would not, for poor 
 Harry's sake, have had his son's name mentioned in the way it is." 
 
 " My dear sir," cried Mr. Peed — " in law, my dear sir, we are 
 obliged to use the plainest and most distinct — the most, in fact, un- 
 equivocal terms — '' 
 
 " I'U tell you what, and once for all, Eoger," exclaimed the 
 baronet, raising his voice, and interrupting Mr. Peed, " if you don't 
 like to witness it, somebody else will ; there are plenty of clerks in 
 the office. But I'll have the will as it is, and in nowise altered. If 
 that fellow is a bastard, as I told him to his teeth already he is, and 
 believe him to be, it's no business of mine, and / can't make him any- 
 thing else, nor you either ! And I can't and won't have any interest 
 of Conny's risked by delay. When I am gone, and Constance is Mrs. 
 Elliot, as she will be, please God, the value of this will and that 
 bastard's pretensions wUl be set at rest. Now I've come to do, and 
 not to talk — it's too late for that ; and I hope these gentlemen will 
 bear me witness that I sign these papers in perfect knowledge of 
 their contents, and consenting thereto with a calm mind." 
 
 Then Ralph heard only the scratching of his uncle's pen as he 
 wrote the words we have before seen, in bold steady characters, 
 where he was directed. Whether his uncle Roger signed as a wit- 
 ness he did not know ; then, perhaps, it would have been of no 
 comfort to him to understand that he did so. Mr. Wilson and Mr. 
 Sanders were sufficient for all legal purposes, and Mr. Darnell 
 objected to Ralph's secret being known to other clerks in the office. 
 
 Two expressions only of all those his uncle spoke, appeared to 
 ring in Ralph's ears : " bastai'd,." and " Constance is Mrs. Elliot" 
 Eor a while he stood irresolute where he was; his uncle might 
 perhaps say something kind as he passed out, and to this last hope 
 the poor fellow clung in spite of his misery. Sir Geoffrey did not 
 delay. He had come to do an act — a great act of his life — and he 
 had done it. There was little more said by anyone. The brothers - 
 shook hands, as Ralph saw when the door opened. 
 
 " We shall leave town after an early breakfast to-morrow ; every- 
 thing's packed up, Roger, and Elliot's to follow us as soon as he can," 
 said the baronet. " "The ladies have gone to see Mrs. Darnell, but 
 
154: RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 I'm going there to pick them up. I only wish we were safe home 
 again," and so he came out. 
 
 It must have been Ralph's white scared face and staring eyes that 
 then attracted the baronet's special notice ; and Ralph could not help 
 looking at him, for there was a kind of fascination in the fearless 
 dogged bearing of the old man, of which you may see the foundation 
 in. Sir Joshua's striking picture. 
 
 " Don't stare at me so, sir ! " he cried, stopping and striking his 
 stick upon the floor ; " don't stare at me, — d'ye hear? Go in there 
 and see what I have done for you," and he pointed with his cane to 
 the parlour door; "and remember it's the last I wish to know of 
 you, whatever you may be. If ever you cross my path again I'll kick 
 you out of it — I will, by G — ! — d'ye hear ? " 
 
 " GeoflFrey, Geoflfrey ! Here, in my office and before all my clerks ; 
 for shame, sir ! " exclaimed Mr. Darnell. 
 
 "I don't care if it were before the King," replied the baronet, 
 fiercely turning round on his brother; " I'll be stared at by ne'er an 
 impudent bastard in England. Insulted ! and here too ; this might 
 at least have been prevented, Roger. I wish you a good morning, 
 brother ; " and he took off his hat, and made a stately sweep with it, 
 departing into the hall by the door which the porter was holding open. 
 
 " Ralph, Ralph, what have you done or said ? " asked Mr. Darnell, 
 anxiously ; " I would not have had this happen here for a thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " He said nothing, Mr. Darnell, I assure you," replied Mr. Sanders. 
 " Let me explain ; " and they returned into the parlour and shut the 
 door. 
 
 When they came out again to seek Ralph, for Mr. Darnell had 
 been satisfied that no offence had been given or intended, the young 
 man was gone ; a clerk said he had taken his hat and hastily walked 
 out after Sir Geoffrey's coach drove away. 
 
 "It has been a trying scene for the poor lad to-day," said Mr. 
 Darnell, kindly, "and he will be the better of a quiet evening at 
 home. And I will make amends to him for this, Mr Sanders ; if 
 one uncle has thrown him off, another will take his place, for he is 
 the last male Darnell that remains to us, my friend : alas ! the last." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 BUEY COURT, AND OTHER MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY. 
 
 We have not to go back very far, when I remind the reader of a 
 visit Ralph Darnell paid to Messrs. Forster and Selwyn in Bury 
 
BURY COURT. 155 
 
 Court, St. Mary Axe, when he became acquainted with the family 
 secret now divulged. Mr. Forster, as they walked home together to 
 Mrs. Morton's that night, professed a more kindly interest in Ralph 
 than he had ever done before ; and he related all that Mr. Wilson 
 had explained to him in regard to the legal nature of the will, and 
 Ralph's position : and their collective opinion that that document 
 ought not to be permitted to exist. Mr. Forster did not state clearly 
 by what process the will could be obtained or destroyed. If it were 
 to be left at Peed's, it might be lost, as papers could be occasiotially ; 
 but if Sir Geoffrey took it with him, some other course would have 
 to be adopted. Ralph was in no condition to argue the matter that 
 night, but he was grateful to Mr. Forster for his interest. And 
 when they arrived at Mrs. Morton's, and, as it happened, were let 
 in by Sybil, Mr. Forster asked kindly after her mother, and, his 
 voice being heard, was invited to the parlour, where Mrs. Morton 
 was sitting. 
 
 It may be in the reader's memory that on one occasion Mr. Forster, 
 with Mr. Wilson, had spent an evening with Mrs. Morton — and very 
 agreeably, too. Mr. Forster knew poor Mrs. Morton's antecedents 
 perfectly ; and though allusions to old times distressed her at first 
 very much, yet Forster found that her interest in them, and in the 
 present position and circumstances of the Prince, and others connected 
 with him, were still very great. On this point, therefore, Mr. Forster 
 had been, to a certain extent, communicative, and had risen to a high 
 rank in the old lady's estimation. She well knew the family of 
 which he was the last representative. She had often been at the old 
 border peel, and had seen his mother, and even remembered Mr. 
 Forster's sisters — ^who were both now in the Benedictine convent at 
 Paris — ^when they were children. The Forsters were never rich, but 
 they were of an old family in Northumberland; and when Mr. 
 Forster told her that the peel still remained, with some farm folk in 
 it — that reduced fortunes and his business compelled him to live in 
 London — she was by no means surprised. Old Nanny, too, had much 
 respect for Mr. Forster ; and had received graciously a crown or two, 
 which had been judiciously disbursed while Ralph lay so ill. 
 
 Sybil, however, had been disturbed by Mr. Forster. She had sung 
 with him a duet of Dr. Arne's, which she ha,d learned with Ralph, 
 and Forster sang well. He had been in Italy, and told her of music 
 which would suit her, and had even sent her some ; but though she 
 could make no positive objection to him, she shrank intuitively from 
 contact with him. His looks were bold and licentious, and his 
 manner was neither courtly like Elliot's, nor frank like Ralph's, but 
 more that of a hard man of the world — and John Forster was a hard 
 man indeed. On this night, therefore, when her mother had called 
 graciously to Mr. Forster, Sybil could not shut the door in his face, 
 
156 RALP H DAR NELL. 
 
 as she would like to liave done; and tliough he did not stay, the 
 delight of looking, even for a short time, upon her sweet face was an 
 intense gratification, a craving for which was growing upon him very 
 rapidly. If he had had suspicions that Sybil cared for Ralph Darnell 
 more than she even dared to think, that short visit would have proved 
 it beyond a doubt. He saw how the sweet girl's countenance changed ; 
 how her eyes followed him restlessly; how she was conscious that 
 some evil had befallen him : but he rejoiced to observe that from 
 Ralph there was no return. He answered her questions indifferently ; 
 sat silently in a dark corner of the room ; and as Forster took Ms 
 leave, he saw that Ralph wished Mrs. Morton good-night, and went 
 up-stairs. So far, then, the field was open, and he had hope ; and 
 were Ralph out of the way (for he dreaded his fearless character), 
 there was good ground to think he might succeed, although much 
 might have to be done. I am afraid that Mr. Forster had '.discovered 
 the utter weakness of that little garrison, and assured himself that if 
 the one defender could be withdrawn, there was no one else who 
 could fill his place. 
 
 Although Mr. Wilson and Mr. Selwyn had experience of human 
 nature after their several capacities — the one as an attorney's clerk, 
 and the other as, we will say as before, a horse-dealer — yet their 
 knowledge was not such as could be brought to bear upon Ralph 
 Darnell. Any deliberate roguery which Mr. Wilson could have pro- 
 posed, or any coarse suggestion of Mr. Selwyn's, would have opened 
 Ralph's eyes to the true character of these confederates, and he would 
 have escaped out of their'hands. Mr. Forster's talents lay, however, 
 mainly in his ability to read men's thoughts, and to act upon their 
 passions ; and to this end he had kept down his companions, and had 
 opposed repeated invitations to Ralph. Ralph had come several times 
 of his own accord to Bury Court, in the interval, to ask news of 
 Wilson, who had prohibited his calling at the " Feed's " office ; and 
 whatever there was to tell, Ralph heard from Wilson himself, or from 
 Forster. Thus the progress of the draft, of counsel's opinion, of the 
 engrossing, and the day of signature and execution, were duly made 
 known to him ; and without pressing their advice, all Ralph heard 
 was but a reiteration of what had been told him at first. These men 
 professed indifference to whatever Ralph might decide, but they were 
 not the less sure of their gam^e. And when Ralph, with the same 
 wild face which had attracted his uncle Geoffrey's notice at the office, 
 made his appearance presently at Buiy Court, they knew for certain 
 that he had, at last, voluntarily thrown himself into their power. 
 
 Ralph meanwhile had done a good deal. He had gone to Mrs. 
 Morton's ; he had told them he was to accompany his grandfather, 
 and packed up a small valise, containing a change of clothes. He 
 then took a boat and went down among the colliers. There was no 
 
BURY COURT. 157 
 
 vessel to sail for three days ; but lie paid for a berth in one to sail on 
 Thursday, and this was Monday. Then he returned home, leaving 
 his valise on board the vessel, and spoke kindly to them all ; and 
 though he purposed never to return, said he should soon be back, and 
 they -were not to fret about him. It was very hard to see their 
 tearful faces, and the look of misery upon Sybil's. He had never 
 seen the like of it before, and thought upon it many a sad day after. 
 When he was going, he bade Nanny put away his dress clothes in his 
 trunk, for they would have to follow by sea, and his uncle would 
 forward them to him. And when he had made over his little stock 
 of trinkets to Sybil to keep, kissed Mrs. Morton, and -held Sybil in 
 his arms, trembling and sobbing, full of terrible fears which gave her 
 deadly pain to conceal, and so left them ; and Sybil threw herself on 
 Nanny's breast, and moaned there, " that he would never come back — 
 never, never ! — that she was sure there was evil hanging over him, 
 which he would not tell them of " — I say, while Nanny and she sat 
 at the window nearly all thab night, shiveriag in their horrible 
 apprehension, and could get no rest — the misery of that fond heart 
 of Sybil's is quite beyond my power to describe ; and even prayer — 
 her habitual refuge — seemed denied her. 
 
 Afterwards, and when the wherry in which Ralph crossed the 
 river turned among the shipping, and he saw the old window no 
 more, he began to know what he had to do. Whether he received 
 the will or not, he could at least get to Newcastle, and to his gi-and- 
 father. There, one more long search for the certificate of his mother's 
 marriage, and if unsuccessful, the world was before him. East or 
 west, what signified ; or those foreign armies in which men wen 
 distinction or died. And was there not Colonel Clive ? Even in 
 Holland, his grandfather, he remembered, had connections ; and one 
 used to India merchant's work in London, would be sure of employ- 
 ment in Amsterdam. 
 
 So, as I have said, when Ralph came to Bury Court that summer 
 evening, those there knew he was in their hands, and that the reck- 
 lessness writ on his face had a source very deep in his worst pas- 
 sions. 
 
 Perhaps, now that he was come to them, one of the men, Forster, 
 would rather have avoided a hurried ending to the affair ; but Mr. 
 Selwyn was not to be balked of a profitable professional undertaking, 
 and his plans were already complete. 
 
 " A sharp ride, this fine summer night, would be delightful," he 
 said. " A pleasant day in the country to-morrow, and a pleasant 
 fright to the ladies in the evening. Why, a journey anywhere was 
 worth nothing without an alarm of highwaymen ; and this would be 
 such fun. He and Forster would perform the r61e of highwaymen 
 to perfection ; and I, Albany Selwyn, like Claude Duval, shall be 
 
158 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 proud to dance a measure with the beautiful Constance Darnell, the 
 toast of London ! And then consider, Mr. Ralph, the happiness of 
 making a gallant, beautiful speech, and dismissing the party on their 
 way — nay, escorting them, if they so wished — in their own proper 
 character." And when Ralph observed gravely that his uncle was 
 the last man to try a joke upon, and would shoot one of them to a 
 certainty, and if they had nothing more feasible to propose than this, 
 they had better let him go, Mr. Selwyn laughed, and declared " he 
 for one should run away if the baronet looked wicked ; and if Ralph 
 did not like the engagement, he could stay there and wait their return. 
 They had promised to get him the papers, and — he should have them ! " 
 
 They had been at supper all this time, and Ralph's mood of mind, 
 desperate and reckless from the first, had become vindictive under 
 the wine he drank. "He would take the paper from his uncle, 
 which he had no right to keep — tear it into a thousand pieces before 
 his eyes and his faithless cousin's — tell Mistress Grover why he had 
 done this, and return to London. They might follow him if they 
 chose, do whatever they pleased, he should not care ; whatever they 
 did could not afl'ect his future life." There was very little sophistry 
 in Ralph's thoughs when the wine began its mischief. He only saw 
 certain means to an end, in which two intimate friends would help 
 him as in a frolic. These were lawless times, too, when desperate 
 men did desperate deeds, and " A 29 " was unknown ; when people 
 who suffered, very often took the law into their own hands, and did 
 as they pleased with it ; and when might, to a certain, and very 
 great degree, was right. As to Selwyn's ideas of making Constance 
 — Pshaw ! he was a wild rake certainly, but he was a gentleman, 
 and Forster eminently one. 
 
 While these thoughts ran through Ralph's heart, I think, had he 
 known that a certain company of gentlemen who habitually fre- 
 quented his Majesty's high-road to York by night — ^marked down 
 likely prey in London — at the extremities — or whatever they might 
 be ; who had been balked of Sir Geoffrey Darnell as he came up from 
 the north, but were determined that family plate, and jewels of 
 Darnell fame, should not be spared as they went back — ^had already 
 made preparations for the baronet's reception after he should pass 
 Barnet, I think, nay, I am sure, that Ralph would have shuddered 
 at the precipice he so nearly approached j and would have ridden 
 after his uncle, thrown himself in his way, and earned his gratitude 
 and his own pardon by declaring his danger. This was not, how- 
 ever, to be. A grim, furious fate was on his track, driving him 
 on under the horrible memories of insults and wrongs. Bastard ! 
 bastard ! rang in his ears. Selwyn knew him to be one, so did 
 Forster ; so did that horrible Wilson, at whom his blood crept in 
 his veins. Coward ? No ! he was at least no coward. They should 
 
THE JO URNE Y AT NIGHT. 159 
 
 not do for Mm what lie could do for himself. If his uncle drew a 
 pistol and shot him, what matter ? there would be enough life left 
 to explain, and he could die peacefully and happily with Constance 
 and Grover by his side, and his uncle's once kind voice ringing in 
 his ears ! 
 
 I daresay it was some such reverie as this into which Ralph had 
 fallen, when Forster cried cheerily to him, 
 
 " What a brown study thou art fallen into, Don Ralpho ! Awake, 
 most illustrious cabalero ! and to horse, if thou'rt coming at all. If 
 not, there's Wilson, and wine as much as needs be, for we'll have 
 enough to do, and must away — away- — away ! " 
 
 Ralph rose, and held out his hand. " I was only thinking," he 
 
 " Pshaw ! " cried his friend, " a fico for thoughts. Come, there is 
 riding gear in the stables, and the gallant steeds are ready. No 
 pistols ? Well, nor need of them ; but take a good whip. There 
 are those on the road might take advantage of thee." 
 
 Mr. WUson sat for awhile over the good claret and a plate of 
 nectarines, which were delicious ; and was ho not a privileged guest ? 
 His thoughts were of a varied nature, and this was the cast of tliem, 
 as he rose with a satisfied countenance. 
 
 " No harm will come of this — no natural harm ; and more will be 
 paid for what John Wilson can tell, after it is over, than before ; 
 and, besides, there is no time now to prevent anything. Selwyn has 
 a good job in hand, and Satan is helping them all on kindly. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha !— kindly— kindly ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE JOURNEY AT NIGHT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 When Sir Geoffrey Darnell and the ladies arrived at Barnet, late in 
 the evening of the following day, the footman had been sent on to 
 order rooms for the party at the Red Lion Inn, met the coach at the 
 entrance of the little town, and communicated the Unpleasant, but 
 in those days perhaps not veiy uncommon intelligence, that every 
 room was full, and that he had been equally unsuccessful at other 
 hostelries in the place. " The landlord of the Red Lion," he said, 
 " had sent a servant with him a' rroond the toon, but there was na' 
 a place to be had for love or money." The consequence of this com- 
 munication was, that the baronet arrived at the posting-house in very 
 bad humour indeed. 
 
160 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Beginning any long journey, even in these days of perfection of 
 locomotion, involves, very often, trials of temper. There is the last 
 hurried packing to do, when clothes will not fit into the trunk, and 
 the trunk lid will not shut down, nor the key turn. There is the 
 dread of being late for the train, and after all there is something for- 
 gotten perhaps ; and yet, once the last shriek of the engine is heard, 
 the certainty of progression is so entire and consoling, that most 
 minor miseries are altogether forgotten. The trials of our great- 
 grandfathers, however, must have been much more hard to endure, 
 and Sir Geoffrey had had enough of them. The servants, I am afraid, 
 were not quite sober, for there had been a good many very moist 
 leave-takings, and the trunks were ill-packed. The light spring-cart 
 which had accompanied them from the north was found to be unsafe ; 
 and the heavy baggage was to be forwarded by a collier brig to New- 
 castle, in charge of one of the men. The ostler and the maid-servant 
 were to sit on the box ; and a new mantua-maker — a smart young 
 London damsel, highly recommended by the milliner — was to sit 
 inside with the ladies. Fortunately, the coach was very large and 
 roomy, and held six without hoops ; so that there was a comfortable 
 corner for each, and this ought to have satisfied the baronet ; but he 
 was not in good humour. 
 
 The last settling of accounts had been one heavy trial. Not that 
 the baronet troubled himself about details — Mistress Grover managed 
 all these ; but when she added up the list in her private memor- 
 andum-book, and told Sir Geoffrey that she should require a thousand 
 pounds to see them clear and to pay them home, I shouljl not like to 
 write the expletives by which he signified his astonishment of this 
 reckless extravagance, and swore against the vanity of women and 
 their milliners' extortions. " Had he not already twice paid the 
 woman, by George, and here was the new account worse than any 
 previous one ! " Perhaps Mr.s. Grover had been foolish in allowing 
 her beautiful pet to order what she liked ; and Madame Chevri, in 
 her admiration for Miss Darnell, had almost daily brought the 
 sweetest brocades of Lyons, the richest velvets of Genoa, and lace of 
 Mechlin and Brussels, for her inspection, which was irresistible. 
 Then jewellers' bills for resetting diamonds, and Sir Geoffrey's own 
 tailor's bill for dress suits, and one for Ralph, with liveries for the 
 servants, were no trifle. In short, Sir Geoffrey had had to pay for 
 this visit to London very much more than he anticipated, and the 
 last straw had nearly broken the camel's back. 
 
 Therefore, when the bowing landlord met the coach at the door of 
 the inn at Bamet, and made a thousand apologies for being full — so 
 full that he had only his own parlour behind the bar to offer to his 
 guests, if they would please to take some refreshment, and had 
 begged of my Lady Beaumanoir to allow the ladies the use of her 
 
THE JOURNE Y AT NIGHT. 161 
 
 room while they stayed — so full that he had never remembered a day 
 like it. There was the Duke and Duchess of Beaumanoir going 
 hack to Eastshire, and Sir John Ribston and his family from York- 
 shire, and — ." There was no use swearing, or being violent, and 
 Sir Geoffrey gave in. 
 
 The four horses that had brought Sir John Ribston's carriage were 
 to return ; and the landlord recommended two fresh ones, as the 
 road was heavy, and there was a good deal of luggage. At the next 
 stage, the landlord said, there was an excellent, quiet country inn ; 
 and he had taken the liberty of sending a message by the guard of 
 the stage-coach, that he should send on Sir Geoffrey Darnell's party, 
 for whom rooms were to be kept ready. And with the prospect of a 
 quiet night's I'est in a quiet place, instead of the disturbance which 
 would ensue from travellers arriving and departing at all hours of the 
 night, Sir Geoffrey and the ladies were glad to escape from the com- 
 bined odours of fried bacon, roast mutton, stale ale, and tobacco- 
 smoke, which pervaded the landlord's own parlour behind the bar, 
 and to breathe the sweet evening air. 
 
 Not, however, that it was cool. The heat all day had been 
 exceedingly great, and as they entered Baruet there was a huge pile 
 of cloud stationary, and with white round tops like a cauliflower, to 
 the westward, about which, in the twilight, they could see some 
 faint lightning playing. There was not a breath of wind ; and the 
 scent from the woodbine and white lUies, stocks and gilliflowers in 
 the inn garden, loaded the air heavily. As he bade them good-night, 
 and wished them a safe journey, the landlord looked up and " thought 
 there would be a shower, but it would be pleasant, and lay the dust. 
 As to the roads^-why, a girl might travel them alone at midnight, 
 and Sir Geoffrey might save himself the trouble of opening his 
 
 pistol-case. Why, they would be at by eleven o'clock, or even 
 
 sooner, and the boys would drive fast," as, indeed, they promised to do. 
 
 So the party passed on, and Sir Geofirey, soothed by his dinner and 
 the excellent pint of wine the landlord had given him, fell asleep and 
 snored audibly ; the mantua-maker did the same, and Constance and 
 Mistress G rover alone remained awake. I do not think they were 
 very communicative either. Mistress Grover had bad thoughts at 
 her heart about poor Ralph ; and, indeed, she was very sore about 
 him. Perhaps in that quiet corner she found a relief when her tears 
 fell hot and fast on her hands, as she thought of old times and the 
 boy's early days, and put up a prayer that all might come right 
 again. 
 
 I have no doubt, on the contrary, that Mistress Constance's 
 thoughts were as pleasant as Grover's were melancholy. There were 
 many bright spots upon her memory. That first evening on the 
 balcony, and many such afterwards. Many delightful rambles in the 
 
162 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 quietest nooks of Kensington Gardens ; many plays, much Eanelagh, 
 and — she was not ashamed of them — many sweet kisses too from her 
 handsome lover. Was she not only seventeen ? — and I question 
 much whether those delicious tokens of love are ever enjoyed more 
 rapturously than at that romantic and credulous age. Ah, when he 
 came up to Melcepeth — 
 
 Suddenly there was a bright flash which woke the milliner, and 
 caused her to scream, and revealed the inside of the vehicle and its 
 crimson damask lining perfectly ; then a clap of thunder, and then a 
 deluge of rain, a flood which made the road to seethe, as it were, with 
 large bubbles, and for the time to cover it with water. Through all 
 this the baronet slept and snored peacefully, and Constance and 
 Mistress Grover kept the mantua-maker quiet. Neither of them was 
 afraid of thunder or lightning; and, indeed, after the first clap, 
 there was no more but some muttering growls far distant. As long 
 as it was dry, the coach had got on very well with its six horses : 
 but as the road became wet, the progress was not rapid, and as the 
 rain fell faster, was little better than a walk. Mistress Grover 
 heard Richard, the footman on the box, calling to the driver to get 
 on ; and being assured that " t'skoy war breekin yon', and they'd git 
 on preasantly ; t' 'orses wasn't freesh — they wasn't — ^but they'd do 
 the stage." 
 
 Presently there was a terrible jolt, which flung the baronet forward 
 into Mistress Grover's lap, with an exclamation of — " God bless my 
 heart ! what's happened ?" 
 
 What, indeed, had happened ? The fore wheel of the carriage had 
 sunk into a hole up to the axle, and the hind wheel was little better. 
 The horses refused draught, and the carriage leaned over so much 
 that an upset appeared imminent. Mr. Macadam had not been 
 bom in those days, and His Majesty's high-roads were in a very 
 different condition then to what they are now. The footman Eichard 
 had scrambled down from the box, and opened the door ; the post- 
 boys were employed in mutual recriminations, attended by hideous 
 oaths, at having fallen into a hole, which had jbeen visible while the 
 road was dry, but which was now a puddle like any other ; but it 
 was too late to help what had happened, and the baronet was consoled 
 with assurances that when the "'osses 'ad rested a bit, they'd pull out 
 the coach sure-ly." 
 
 The rain had cleared ofi', and the stars shone out brightly. There 
 was quite light enough to see all round the puddle, and even the road 
 beyond ; and the baronet was iirging another good pull together, and 
 promising a guinea to drink his health, when he heard the plash oi 
 horse's feet among the water in the road, and a smothered sound as 
 if others were advancing on the turf by the wayside ; and as he looked 
 through the mist which was rapidly rising after the rain, his vie>^ 
 
THE JO URNE Y AT NIGHT. 1 63 
 
 being limited by tbe glare of the lamps, he was hardly aware that the 
 party was close at hand, before he saw the boy on the leaders dragged 
 from his saddle, a man with a pistol threatening the second postilion, 
 and himself and the carriage siarrounded by others. 
 
 True to his professions, Mr. Selwyn had dismounted while a con- 
 federate opened the farther carriage door ; and was in the act of making 
 the politest speech he could invent to the ladies, begging them to 
 dismotxnt, that the carriage might be righted, when Consto.nce, who 
 did not know at first the nature of Mr. Selwyn's address, and could 
 not see her father, heard distinctly the clash of swords, a few deep 
 curses from the baronet, and confused cries from the footman, the 
 maid, and the drivers — and she leaped out past Mr. Selwyn, followed 
 by Mistress Grover j while the mantua-maker, dragged into the 
 puddle from the other door of the coach, was screaming wildly. 
 
 Now, while Mr. Selwyn held his brief parley with the ladies, Mr. 
 Forster and another man had an equally brief one with Sir Geoffrey. 
 The baronet had drawn his sword, which (why he could never account 
 for, except that, being in the coach, it got between his legs as he 
 stepped out) he had in his hand, and swore lustily " that he wasn't 
 afraid of e'er a highwayman in England, and that he'd pink one of 
 them if they did not clear off; " and forthwith attacked Mr. Forster, 
 whose companion, having knocked down the footman, had joined Mr. 
 Selwyn. Just at this moment then, and as Mr. Forster, hampered 
 by his horse, which shied at the clash of the swords, was defending 
 himself very feebly against Sir Geoffrey's impetuous attack, his foot 
 slipped ; and, unable to parry a thrust of the baronet's, found himself 
 sharply wounded in the sword-arm. It is probable Mr. Forster did not 
 intend mischief, but when he saw by the light of one of the coach-lamps 
 that Sir Geofirey was drawing back his arm for another thrust which 
 could not be avoided, he drew a pocket-pistol from the breast of his 
 coat, and fired it at his antagonist ; and the baronet, staggering back, 
 threw up his hands with a loud cry and fell into the arms of his 
 daughter, now close behind him, with Mistress Grover following her. 
 
 All this happened in much less time, I believe, than I have needed 
 to write it ; and Mr. Selwyn and his companions were ransacking the 
 pockets of the coach as fast as they could, when the sound of the shot 
 and the cry sorely disturbed their proceedings. The shout or groan 
 of a wounded man is unmistakable ; and Mr. Selwyn, though no 
 soldier, had heard many such. Who had fallen ? Whoever it might 
 be, the event was very serious and embarrassing, and he turned 
 directly to see after it. Mr. Forster was standing by his horse hold- 
 ing his arm, and crying out for help. He had perhaps narrowly 
 escaped with his life, for the baronet's rapier, grazing his breast, had 
 passed through the fleshy part of his arm, which was bleeding pro- 
 fusely. It was, however, promptly tied up with a handkerchief ; and, 
 
164 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 mouuting their horses, the party galloped off by the -way they had 
 come. To say the truth, Mr. Selwyn believed the baronet to be 
 dead ; for, as he rode away, he saw him lying against the bank, and 
 the poor ladies sobbing and wringing their hands over him, and the 
 servant shrieking on the box. 
 
 There was no time, however, to wait, and Mr. Selwyn's curses 
 against Forster's precipitancy were neither few nor mild ; nor, indeed, 
 were they much modified even by that gentleman's declaration, that 
 he should have been a dead man in another moment if he had not 
 used his pistol in self-defence. There was, however, no time to bandy 
 words : Mr. Forster was already somewhat faint with loss of blood, 
 and they must regain the hamlet whence they had started, and where 
 a small tavern had been the rendezvous, in order to get some cordial 
 and bind up the wound safely ; so the party rode on at a rapid pace. 
 
 It will have been seen that, after all, Ralph Darnell had had no 
 personal coniiection with this misadventm-e, and it is necessary to 
 explain why he had none. Mr. Selwyn was, like other great com- 
 manders, very strict in what he termed the discipline of his pro- 
 fession. In any actual affair of this kind, none but the boldest 
 and most skilful of his associates ever took a share in the work 
 itself. Any blunder by a new hand, any hot-headed violence, 
 would, he knew, ruin the best enterprise ever planned. Robbery 
 on the highway was not very much thought about by the magis- 
 trates, -but murder was quite another thing, and brought out Bow 
 Street runners and other very inconvenient myrmidons of the law. 
 Now, Ralph Darnell was in a state of progressive excitement, which 
 his friends saw was nearly at its culminating point. Were he allowed 
 to approach the baronet, not only Mr. Selwyn, but Forster was certain 
 he could not be restrained ; and he would assuredly do or say some- 
 thing by which he would be recognised and success prevented. 
 
 The confederates had ridden up a shady road which led from the 
 hamlet to the highway, and joined it where some large oak-trees, 
 meeting above, cast the mouth of the lane into perfect darkness. It 
 was here that the party had agreed to wait for the coach, and dash 
 out upon it as it passed. Perhaps Mr. Selwyn's ears were keener 
 than the others', and he had heard the rumbling of the carriage stop ; 
 for he suddenly turned to Ralph and said, in a tone of command which 
 was impleasant — 
 
 " You will remain here, Mr. Darnell, till we return ; we must re- 
 connoitre the road ; " and as Ralph resented what appeared to him a 
 rough speech, Mr. Selwyn said a few words in the flash language of 
 the time, and pressed on, while two of the men remained, and, each 
 seizing a rein, drew their pistols, and advised Ralph to be quiet. 
 
 I do not mean this to be any excuse for Ralph Darnell Had the 
 coach come up to the end of the lane, he would, had he been per- 
 
THE JO URNE Y AT NIGHT. 165 
 
 mitted, have demanded what he had come for, and attempted to take 
 it by force ; but this would have been impossible under any circum- 
 stances, and Mr. Selwyn's rules of procedure, which have been par- 
 tially explained, had already provided, in the two men who became 
 Ralph's surly companions, an effectual preventive of any such course 
 of action. As they stood there, however, listening eagerly, the dull 
 sound of a distant clamour, and afterwards of the pistol-shot, broke 
 the stillness of the summer night, and were followed by piercing 
 shrieks : then Ralph suddenly drove the spurs into his horse, struck 
 down the arm of one of the men who raised his pistol as if to fire, 
 and dashed into the high-road. 
 
 It was not a quarter of a mile from the lane to the scene of the 
 encounter ; and about half-way Ralph met the party, and piiUed up. 
 How had he escaped from the men ? that was Mr. Selwyn's first 
 thought ; a second, to turn Ralph. 
 
 " Come," he cried — " come with us, for your life — for your life, 
 Mr. Darnell, or you'll be taken. Here's Forstor badly wounded, 
 Come ; your uncle's past help, I fear, and it's no use going there ; " 
 and Mr. Selwyn tried to catch the reins of Ralph's horse, but this 
 the young man avoided, and, dashing past the party, rode on at speed. 
 All he heard was " London, the old place," and in a few moments 
 more he was near the coach. It had been set up by the postboys, 
 and was standing in the middle of the road, in a dim mist from tlie 
 horses and the ground combiaed, through which one of the lamps 
 shone feebly, while the other revealed a group on the bank by the 
 hedge, which, horror-stricken, he instantly recognised. 
 
 It was his uncle, lying pale and death-like, supported against the 
 bank, with Constance's arm under his head, his silvery beard, and 
 white satin waistcoat and rufiies, dabbled with blood. Over him 
 stooped Mistress Grover, tearing away the shirt, and striving to 
 stanch the blood with her handkerchief, the London girl and the ser- 
 vants standing apart, wringing their hands, and sobbing. 
 
 The misery of those dear faces, so white, so absorbed in their terror 
 — the figure lying there, which, as he then thought, would never 
 move more — ^it had every appearance of death — all this Ralph's eye 
 took in at a glance ; and perhaps he would have obeyed the sugges- 
 tion of his instinct to go to them — never to leave them, whatever 
 might happen — ^but for the footman Richard, who, having a loaded 
 pistol in his hand, was standing by, and seeing a masked horseman 
 appear suddenly before him, cried out, — 
 
 " Eh, leddies, bit they're come agin ! " and fired the pistol at Ralph 
 without further parley. 
 
 Ralph heard the ball whizz by his head, turned, and rode away at 
 his utmost speed. He had not the courage to look on him in death, 
 of whose murder he believed himself to be the cause. 
 
166 RALPH DARNELL. _ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 Instead of following Ralph Darnell over fields and hedges in his wild 
 ride that night, till he had struck another road to London, and 
 reached the stables behind Bury Court by early morning ; or instead 
 of detailing, or attempting to do so, his frantic accusations of murder 
 against Forster and Selwyn, or his fruitless and almost insane ravings, 
 which the latter could not pacify — and Mr. Forster was too weak and 
 peevish to attempt justification of his conduct; instead, also, of re- 
 lating how Ralph received that fatal will from Mr. Selwyn, which 
 had been the cause of all this misfortune, tore it in pieces fiercely, 
 and watched them shrivel and blacken in the fire, crushing them 
 down with his boot till they were consumed to a cinder : or of repeat- 
 ing Mr. Selwyn's injunctions to get out of the way, as he himself 
 intended to do, till all this was blown over ;■= — we had, I think, in 
 preference, better see after Sir Gebfirey Darnell, whom we left lying 
 under the hedge on the wet grass, and the horror-stricken ladies sob- 
 bing over him. 
 
 It was some time before the baronet could speak at all ; and his 
 first faint cry was for water, which he drank greedily. Then Mistress 
 Grover found a bottle of his drops in the carriage-pocket, a dose of 
 which revived him so much that, to his daughter's and her own great 
 joy and thankfulness, he was able to sit up, and, though very weak 
 and confused, to bid them be comforted, for " he did not feel dying, 
 or anything like it ; and though the fellow's ball was in him some- 
 whore, he was pretty sure he had done for him at any rate," and 
 wanted to know what had become of his body. But this excited talk 
 was, as may be supposed, attended with reaction ; and presently he 
 fainted again, and was revived with difficulty. And when the coach 
 had been turned round — for it was a much less distance back to 
 Barnet than to the stage where they had intended to rest — and Sir 
 Geoffrey had been carried to it by Richard, the maid-servant, and one 
 of the postilions, assisted by the ladies, and placed in as easy a posi- 
 tion as possible, and the coach was set in motion — ^it was clear to 
 Mrs. Grover that he could not bear the jolting ; and accordingly it 
 went at a foot-pace, while Richard, taking one of the leaders, rode off 
 at a gallop to Barnet, as well to give the alarm as to procure a chair 
 or a litter, or some easier conveyance. 
 
 I daresay the consternation at the Red Lion, on Richard's arrival 
 in the dead of night, can also better be imagined than described ; but 
 the worthy landlord was not slack in his duty. A chair which be- 
 longed to the establishment, with four stout men, was despatched at' 
 
SUSPENSE. 167 
 
 a run. Mr. Burgess, the surgeon of the town, was called up, and 
 also departed on horseback forthwith. One of the guests in the inn 
 at once gave up his bed for the sufferer ; and I am bound to record 
 that her Grace the Duchess, and various other ladies of distinction, 
 who were staying in the house that night, dressed themselves in 
 wrappers, and were prepared to render such assistance as they could 
 to Mistress Grover and Constance on their arrival, and displayed the 
 utmost interest in, and sympathy for, the baronet's misfortune. 
 
 And oh the joy, the unspeakable thankfulness which followed Mr. 
 Burgess's first operation after the baronet had been laid gently in his 
 bed, in the speedy extraction of the ball ! That eminent country 
 practitioner had galloped on to meet the coach, and had stopped it till 
 the chair came up. His presence was at once an assurance and com- 
 fort to the poor ladies ; and he was assisted by them in placing Sir 
 Geoffrey in an easy position upon the seat. Sir Geoffrey was quite 
 conscious, and would have thanked him, but was not permitted to 
 speak ; while Mr. Burgess examined the wound there and then, and 
 saw it was not mortal, though severe. He found also, to his inex- 
 pressible comfort, that he had not to do with foolish hysterical women, 
 but with two persons who, though suffering extreme anguish, were 
 helpful and collected. Perhaps the young mantua-maker was the most 
 difficult to manage. She had fainted at the sight of Sir Geoffrey's 
 blood, which indeed had run out over his clothes in a great stream. 
 Mrs. Grover, who had brought her to, had almost lost patience with 
 her ; and perhaps a downright good scolding from the doctor, who 
 declared he would put her out of the coach there and then to be 
 carried of by the highwaymen, if she were not quiet, induced that 
 young lady to keep to her own corner, and snivel into her pocket- 
 handkerchief. Altogether, Mr. Burgess, by comporting himself in a 
 cheerful, hopeful manner, instilled a good deal of courage into the 
 ladies' minds ; and had the opportunity, which he did not neglect, of 
 paying them some pretty professional compliments. When he had 
 seen the baronet undressed and laid at ease on a bed, and begged to 
 be excused for a few moments, the doctor huiried home, summoned 
 his assistant, who brought the necessary instruments ; and when in 
 another marvellously short space of time he took to Constance and 
 Mrs. Grover, upon a silver salver, a very small pistol-biiUet, which, 
 as he assured them, had not penetrated very deeply, having been 
 deadened by the stiff buckram padding of the baronet's coat — it is 
 impossible to conceive two more thankful hearts than those which, 
 kneeling by the old man's bedside, poured out their gratitude for 
 his safety, and sat watching by turns till the day broke. 
 
 There were offers in profusion of service. His Grace of Beaumanoir 
 "would leave servants it need be." He had had the honour of 
 meeting Sir Geoffrey Darnell only a few days ago at Arthur's. How 
 
168 R ALPH DARNELL. 
 
 shocking this was : What -were the magistrates about that the roads 
 were not better looked to at night ! If he had only been going to 
 London, indeed, he would have taken any message, and " 'pon his 
 soul" would ride back, if — . This, however was unnecessary — a 
 stout, active young man, who was, he said, a commercial traveller, and 
 who was about to depart on horseback when the party arrived, told 
 the landlord he knew Mr. Roger Darnell, and would be soonest with 
 him ; and this being communicated to Mrs. Grover, she gave a short 
 note to be delivered to him, and requested the young man to assure 
 Mr. Darnell that, for the present, there was no danger. The con- 
 sequence of this was, that Mr. Roger, with the same eminent surgeon 
 who had attended Ralph, arrived that afternoon in a post-chaise and 
 four, and found everything progressing satisfactorily. Mr. Burgess's 
 speedy and skilful operation was the theme of much professional con- 
 gratulation by Mr. , which I may spare my readers ; and his assur- 
 ances that, if Sir Geoffrey were kept perfectly quiet and all excite- 
 ment were avoided, the baronet might even be able to travel again in 
 a few days, removed all apprehension from the ladies' hearts. There 
 was no need, he thought, for him to come again ! He had — as they 
 might have — perfect confidence in Mr. Burgess's skill and care. 
 
 While Constance, with tearful eyes and a grateful heart, was 
 
 accepting Dr. 's comfort, and her dear old father was looking at 
 
 her, not being allowed to utter a word, with a soft, placid, thankful 
 smile, which bespoke his comparative freedom from pain, and pressing 
 her hand now and then lovingly — Mr. Roger Darnell and Mrs. 
 Grover were holding a very anxious conversation in that lady's bed- 
 room, where she had taken him to be secure from interruption, and 
 of which she had bolted the door. 
 
 Who could have done this ? That was the point under discussion ; 
 and Mr. Roger being a city magistrate, and accustomed to investiga- 
 tions of all kinds, was taking down memoranda in his notebook of 
 points which he intended to submit to a celebrated Bow Street runner 
 of the time. As soon, indeed, as he had seen his brother was safe, 
 Mr. Darnell had taken a horse, and, with the landlord, had driven to 
 the scene of the night's adventure. Magistrates of the neighbourhood 
 had been there before them, and the fresh traces of horses' feet were 
 visible enough in the half-dried mud, and on the turf by. the road- 
 side, from the place of the attack — where there was blood still on the 
 grass and on the bank — to the mouth of the lane. It was evident 
 the gang had come up and gone back by the lane ; but no one at the 
 hamlet, about a mile off, had heard of any mounted party. 
 
 Mr. Darnell had made memoranda of all this. Now, what had 
 been stolen ? But little indeed. Mrs. Grover's own purse and her 
 watch had been given up ; but she had notes in an inner pocket. 
 Constance had no money, and had not been molested. The girl had 
 
SUSPENSE. 169 
 
 given her ear-rings, a brooch, and her purse. What parcels there 
 were in the coach were gone ; her writing-case and the baronet's 
 great leather pocket-book, with a bundle of all the papers that had 
 come from Feed's ; and when Mr. Darnell heard this, I am afraid he 
 declared that, " 'pen his soul, he was glad to hear of it, and wished 
 the thieves joy of them." " There were some bank-bills in Sir GeoJSrey's 
 book for some hundreds, perhaps, but nothing more," Mrs. Grover 
 said, and her catalogue was ended. No, she could not swear to any- 
 body. The man who opened the door was tall, and well dressed in 
 a dark suit, with lace, and had a very pleasant, gentlemanly address ; 
 but crape was pulled over his face. The other was a common ruffian, 
 who swore fearful oaths, and frightened Rose, that was the mantua- 
 maker, out of her wits when he dragged her from the coach into the 
 puddle. 
 
 Mr. Roger sat for a good while biting his pen, and jotting down 
 what he remembered, and said nothing ; and Mrs. Grover was about 
 to get up and return to Constance, when he continued, — " Do you 
 know, Bessie, that Ralph has been unaccountably absent since yester- 
 day ; I cannot trace him. Geofirey was very hard on him again in 
 my office, and he left it suddenly. I went to Mrs. Morton's after- 
 wards, ostensibly to see her, as she is ill, poor soul ! and was told by 
 Sybil, whose face was as full of misery as I ever saw anybody's, that 
 Ralph had come, packed up a valise of clothes, and said he had told 
 them I should send for the rest. And, indeed, I cannot get that sad, 
 sad face, and the despairing cry of ' Oh, Mr. Darnell, shall we ever 
 see him again ? ' out of my mind. I'll tell you what, Bessie, my 
 heart misgives me about the boy ; and especially as that will's gone. 
 You are sui-e he was not there disguised ? Don't blink the matter 
 now, for it will remain for ever between you and me." 
 
 At first the scarlet flush which rushed over Mrs. Grover's face and 
 neck looked like consciousness, and Mr. Darnell leaned forward 
 anxiously to hear confirmation of what he expected ; but it was 
 caused by the suddenness and nature of the supposition, and she 
 denied the imputation earnestly. " Ralph ? No ! no Rali)h was 
 there ; she should have known him at once. The man whom the 
 baronet had wounded was as much shorter than Ralph, as he who 
 had opened the door was taller, and there were only two others, 
 perhaps three ; and I will never believe," continued the lady, stoutly 
 — " never, Mr. Darnell, that, foolish as that lad may be, he had any- 
 thing to do with this. But oh, Mr. Roger ! " she continued, after a 
 pause, and with another great flush of crimson over her handsome 
 face — " suppose if it were he ! what a blow to the family. My poor 
 Conny — my darling — how would you bear it ? " 
 
 " She's not fond of him, Bessie ? " asked Mr. Darnell, anxiously. 
 
 " No, no — not as a lover," she replied ; " but the old sisterly lovo 
 
170 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 is stronger than ever, since that sad day in Soho Square. Mr. Elliot 
 is much attached to him — sincerely so I believe ; and I am quite 
 certain Conny -will allow her father no rest till they are all together 
 again at Meloepeth, or wherever it may be." 
 
 " Amen to that, I say with all my heart," said Mr. Darnell, 
 gravely ; " and if those fellows have pitched my brother's will into 
 a pond, I'm sure I wouldn't fish it out. I wish I were as easy about 
 Ralph as I am about that infernal paper. I could have kicked Peed, 
 and that snivelling clerk of his, out of my office, as they brought it. 
 But it's no use talking — we must be doing, Bessie ; and the first 
 thing I do in the morning will be to trace this lad — ay, if I have 
 even to pay a runner fifty guineas for it. Can he have gone to 
 "Warkworth ? " 
 
 " My opinion, Mr. Darnell, is that he has gone there, and will be 
 found with Mr. Smithson, whom he saw in London ; and if I were 
 you, I should look among the Newcastle ships." 
 
 " Has Geoflfrey — has my brother spoken of him at all ? " asked 
 the merchant. 
 
 " Not yet," replied Mistress Grover ; " but I think there is a 
 good deal on his mind ; and I heard him muttering in his sleep, 
 before the coach was stopped last night." 
 
 " Come to him, then, Bessie. I should be glad if he did say some- 
 thing kind, that I could repeat to Ealph." And they went to the 
 baronet's room. 
 
 They found Constance alone with her father, and as Mistress 
 Grover opened the door gently, the girl held up her hand wamingly. 
 The baronet appeared to be asleep, and they waited a while in silence. 
 Presently he opened his eyes, and seeing Mr. Darnell sitting on a 
 stool by his bedside, put out his hand. 
 
 " I'm weak, Roger," he said, feebly ; " and the getting out of that 
 bullet was painful enough ; but I thank God it was got out. I can't 
 speak much, but I'll be better soon, and I know I'm in good hands — 
 in the Lord's good hands," he continued, piously looking up. " And 
 I've been doing some hard things lately, Roger — ^may He forgive me ; 
 and if Ralph were here now, I'd beg his pardon — I would, by George, 
 as I do yours, brother ; " and the old man pressed Roger Darnell's 
 hand afiectionately. " Tell him so — will ye ? " 
 
 " You must not agitate yourself, brother," replied Mr. Darnell ; 
 " and you must not talk. Keep him quiet between ye, and I will 
 do all I can," he continued to the ladies. " I shall be out again in 
 a day or so, and hope to find you much better, Geoffrey. No, you 
 could not be in better hands, and I'm quite easy about you." 
 
 Very soon after that, Mr. Dai'nell and the doctor were again on 
 their way to London, and aiTived there before any one was stirring 
 in the merchant's mansion. 
 
SUSFENSE. 171 
 
 " Please, sir," said the sleepy footman, Grimes, -who let him in, and 
 attended him to his room, " this 'ere note was left for you last night 
 by a boy, who said there was no answer. Mrs. Darnell and the young 
 ladies were gone to bed, and I was jist a-lockin' hup when the lad 
 came to the door." 
 
 " That will do. Grimes. Get me a cup of chocolate as soon as you 
 can. I shall lie down here on the sofa till you're all up." 
 
 Mr. Darnell opened the note, which was writteii evidently in a 
 disguised hand, and looked over the page for the signature ; but 
 there was none, exeept " A Friend of Eoger Darnell & Company ; " 
 and he read as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Darnell : Sir, — The person who takes the liberty to pen 
 these few lines to you, knows a good deal about the Gentlemen who 
 does little jobs on the road for themselves and their Friends. He 
 could tell you who attacked your Brother the night before last, and 
 all about it ; and if it's worth your while to know, you'll have to pay 
 five hundred Pounds for it, sir, and it's worth your while to pay 
 more. 
 
 " Now, sir, if you'll come to the Temple Gardens at half-past seven 
 to-morrow everdng, without anybody with you, and walk on the 
 Terrace, you'll be met by one who'll be true to you, and give you 
 every Information. There are people who will watch you ; and if 
 anybody else is seen with you, you'll not be spoken to, and you'll 
 never know more than you do now ; and I remain your Obedient 
 Servant to command, 
 
 " A Friend op Eoger Daknell & Company. 
 
 " London, the l^ih August 1755." 
 
 " Yes, I will go, whoever you are, my friend, and in good faith 
 too," said the merchant to himself, as he lay down on the sofa, and 
 shut his eyes. "After all, the Bow Street people would run up 
 nearly as long a bill, what with journeys and so forth, and this will 
 take me direct to the point, 1 think, though it loses more time than 
 I can well spare. 
 
 " Thank you, Grimes," he continued, as the footman entered with 
 a tray. " This is very nice ; you may go to bed again, if you Hke. 
 I wish to be quiet for a while." Whether Grimes did so or not is 
 perhaps immaterial ; but when Mr. Darnell had taken his hot choco- 
 late and eaten several pieces of crisp thin toast, he felt refreshed, lay 
 down, and slept soundly till the bells in the house and a general 
 bestirring of servants awoke him, when he went up to his dressing- 
 room and to his wife. 
 
172 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 IN WHICH EVERYBODY IS VERY BUST. 
 
 If Sir Geoffrey Darnell and his brother could have formed the least 
 idea that when the little colloquy about Ralph, which I have recorded, 
 was going on, their nephew was at that moment in the stable-yard, 
 listening to a group of ostlers and idlers of all kinds, who, on occa^ 
 sions like this, thronged that public place of resort, and were discu^^- 
 
 sing the attack and the probability of Mr. or Mr. , who did 
 
 things on the road, being concerned in it — I am quite sure that all 
 that hath to be recorded in this history would never have happened. 
 In his mood of penitence, the good old baronet's heart was full of 
 forgiveness. He would have taken the boy to bis arms and bid him 
 be comforted — ^nay, he had inwardly determined, when Ralph did 
 aiTive, and he supposed he would come, to give him " that d — d 
 will," which he still supposed safe, and see him put it into the fire 
 with his own hands ; but they did not know it then, nor indeed for 
 many a day afterwards. Ralph had not delayed in London. As 
 Mr. Selwyn observed, that was no place for him ; and when Ralph's 
 anguish had fairly overcome him, he not only generously offered 
 another horse, but told him of a small inn in a back street at Barnet 
 which he frequented himself, and where, if he told the ostler that it 
 was Mr. Richard Smith's property, the animal would be well cared 
 for. More than this, he insisted that Ralph should eat a broiled 
 steak, for he was fasting ; and, above all, do nothing in a hurry. 
 He comforted Ralph, moreover, by supposing, perhaps without much 
 ground for it, that " that footy little tool of Forster's wouldn't kill a 
 sparrow, and he needn't fret about his uncle." Mr. Selwyn also 
 evinced some practical knowledge of human nature when he observed 
 that Ralph might have an opportunity of " making it up." " He 
 was not known nor suspected. He could account for his absence 
 from town if he were asked about it ; and neither he, Mr. Selwyn, 
 nor his men, nor Forster, would peach on him about the will." 
 
 Perhaps Ralph was comforted in some degree ; but if not to any 
 very great extent, it was certain that no vindictive or passionate 
 feeling remained. All he could see or remember was his dear old 
 uncle lying under the hedge, the lamp shining dimly over him, and 
 Constance and Bessie Grover beside him. Oh ! if that shot had not 
 been fired by Richard, a moment more would have seen him at their 
 side, at their feet, and he would — No matter now. 
 
 When I say that no excitement such as had lately beset the young 
 man remained, and that his only thought was with and for his uncle, 
 it is not to be wondered at if all fatigue was forgotten, and that he 
 was on his road to Barnet once more, as fast as a good horse could 
 
IN WHICH E VER YBOD Y IS BUSY. 173 
 
 cany him. By the way, and when, to relieve his horse, Ealph was 
 walking on foot up a hill, Mr. Roger Darnell's chaise had overtaken 
 him j the postboys were urging on their horses, and his uncle and 
 
 Dr. were leaning back in the corners of the carriage. They 
 
 did not notice him, for he was on the further side of his horse, and 
 the chaise passed him with the horses at a gallop ; but he felt, under 
 the sight of the doctor's anxious face, that there must be danger, and 
 he mounted again, and kept them in sight to the end. The small 
 inn he sought was easily found, and Mr. Richard Smith's horse duly 
 put up. 
 
 " There'll be no danger, sir," said the ostler, quietly ; " and if so 
 be as you's come out to see arter what's a-goin' on, go to the Red 
 Lion at once ; but they do say there, sir, as how the barrinit's not 
 much hurt arter all, and Dr. Burgess 'as got the bullet out of him all 
 right." 
 
 What blessed news was this ! what a load of apprehension was 
 taken off that poor, sad heart by the homely speech of the ostler at 
 the Bull ! And when Ralph went to the tap of the Red Lion, which 
 was at the back of that extensive hostelry, and asked for bread and 
 cheese and a glass of ale, how heartily he ate it in comparison with 
 Mr. Selwyn's juicy steak and chocolate in the morning, which had 
 nearly choked him ! It is on this account that 1 ventured to wiite, 
 in the opening of this chapter, that, had the company on the quality 
 side of the house known who was then at the other, there would 
 have been a joyful meeting indeed, and everything would have been 
 , forgiven, if not forgotten. Ralph, as he lingered over his lunch in a 
 quiet parlour off the taproom, heard vai-ious chambermaids who came 
 to the bar declare, that the great London doctor had said there was 
 no danger ; that their Dr. Burgess had done quite right — bless him ! 
 that there was no need for him, to stay, and he was going back to 
 town as soon as they'd had some dinner. Moreover, that the dear, 
 sweet, lovely young lady — who was all over her father's blood when 
 she came in, and sludge and dirt — was dressed up and looking " so 
 bee-yue-ty-ful as never was," and had been seen " a laughin' with her 
 aunt," as Mistress Grover was supposed to be, perhaps because 
 Constance had addressed her as auntie. When, therefore, Ralph 
 heard all this, he felt, as it were, new life and new resolution. If liis 
 uncle had been dying, he would have entreated to be admitted — he 
 would have given himself up there and then. If he had been dead — 
 and he shuddered at the bare thought of such a catastrophe- — he 
 would have gone to the nearest magistrate and confessed himself 
 guilty. But now he was free — free once more to go away, to be 
 never again seen by any one till he could establish himself as a 
 member of the Darnell family in his proper place. 
 
 He would not, he could not, r-eet them now ; his pride had risen 
 
174 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 again as his passion Lad calmed down, and overcame him. He 
 thought of the indignity of appearing in the light of a bastaid before 
 Constance and Mistress Grover, and of the almost certainty that 
 ■with his freedom from danger the baronet's aversion to him remained. 
 The assurance, too, that Mr. Elliot's suit was accepted and acceptable, 
 returned on him in full force. What had he to do there — ^what was 
 he to them ? They had not even bid him good-bye ! And so, with 
 the fear of danger removed from Mr. Ealph's heart, I find that pride 
 went in and dwelt there ; and all the kind thoughts of his old uncle 
 above stairs — of his dear cousin, who would most likely have thrown 
 herself on his neck, and cried out all her wilfulness there — and of his 
 almost mother, Bessie Grover, were in vain. Ralph had heard more 
 good news than he had ever hoped to hear ; and when his horse was 
 fit to travel, and the landlady of the Bull gave him a comfortable 
 dinner, and he had sent the ostler again, who returned with the same 
 good accounts— he paid his reckoning, and rode quietly back to town. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn was glad to see Ralph after his journey — glad to see 
 him in good spirits — glad, and indeed inexpressibly relieved, to hear 
 that the baronet's wound was not dangerous ; and so also we may 
 believe was Mr. Forster, whose anticipations of the result of his 
 pistol-shot had been very much the contrary. The prospect of hav- 
 ing a search made for them on a charge of murder by an energetic 
 man like Roger Darnell, was extremely disagreeable, to say the least 
 of it, to these gentlemen ; and the day had been passed in contriv- 
 ances for escape, or at least for a temporary seclusion from active hfe. 
 Such seclusion was part of the professional tactics of Mr. Selwyn, and 
 he was seldom at a loss to effect them ; but this time, it promised to 
 be more complete and lasting than usual, and the relief from any such 
 urgent necessity was most acceptable. They warned Ralph, however, 
 of the need of some caution ; and when he unfolded his plans of 
 going to the north by a collier, and of not returning to London at 
 all, they were cordially approved of. 
 
 When, therefore, Mr. Wilson arrived (he was in the habit of look- 
 ing in now and then) at Bury Court, he informed Ralph and his friends 
 that he had persuaded the landlord of the Cock to take Mr. Darnell 
 in for a few days, and a quiet room had been provided for him. Mr. 
 Wilson said indeed quite cheerfully, that old Dickiwig had confided 
 to him that he felt " quite like a father for the young man, and 
 that no bailiff in London would ever think of looking for him at 
 the Cock ; " and so it seemed that the worthy old waiter and the 
 landlord, Mr. Wilkins, had been led to believe that Ralph's troubles 
 were of a pecuniary nature which, from sundry experiences, was 
 likely to be the case. Whereupon Mr. WUkins had also declared 
 " he might live there free, and welcome, as long as he had need ; he 
 had seen jjlenty of Mr. Darnell's money, and knew the colour of it." 
 
IN WHICH E VER YBOD Y IS BUSY. ] 75 
 
 To prevent any chance of being recognised, therefore, Mr. Wilson 
 proposed going there in a hackney-coach ; and as soon as it was come, 
 he was kind enough to accompany Ralph in his drive, and to see 
 him safely put up in a very comfortable bed-chamber, to which he 
 was taken by the private door of the house, and carefully attended 
 to, not only by Dickiwig himself, but by Mistress Sarah Baker, who, 
 though much concerned at Ralph's position, bid him be of good cheer, 
 " as she know'd of a many young gentlemen who'd been in trouble 
 for a time, and had come all right at iast." 
 
 We may presume, therefore, that Mr. Ralph was altogether better 
 off than he had expected to be ; and that though he cast many a wistful 
 look to the old house across the river, and could even see Sybil sitting 
 at the open window as the evening closed in, yet he did not attempt 
 to go there. He was indeed very weary : body and mind had been 
 kept on a stretch of excitement and exertion for the past two days, 
 to which he was an utter stranger ; and when, after a delicious 
 supper of sweetbreads done by Mistress Sarah Baker with her own 
 skilful hands, and served by the old waiter, he went to bed — Ralph 
 slept most soundly. 
 
 It was not so comfortable a day, perhaps, with Mr. Roger Darnell. 
 In the first place, his wife, when he went up-stairs to dress, heard 
 with an undisguisable look of vexation and dismay that Sir Geoffrey 
 Darnell was in no danger, and would be quite recovered in a few 
 days. Since the arrival of the news of the attack upon the baronet, 
 and the kindly commercial traveller's fears that, from all he could 
 hear, he for one did not believe in a chance of Sir Geoffrey's life, 
 Mrs. Darnell had been in a fever of excitement. She could do 
 nothing in the house ; she had gone round to several of her acquaint- 
 ances in her coach ; and one and all, more particularly perhaps my 
 Lady Warrington, had congratulated her upon being speedily — and 
 very speedily — Lady Darnell. We need not trouble ourselves about 
 the details of those visits. Be mort/wis, etc., is an old adage, but it 
 was not followed in this instance. To be sure. Sir Geoffrey was not 
 dead yet ; and though the old proverb applies to the dead, I cannot 
 remember one of similar import to the living. If, therefore, Mrs. 
 Darnell transgressed in one way, she was safe as to the other ; and it 
 is on this account that I forbear to record her own opinions and 
 those of her dea/rest friends, " as to what an im-mense relief Sir 
 Geoffrey's death would be to all concerned. He was a brute; he 
 swore profane oaths ; he was a rank Jacobin, and taught his daugh- 
 ter, who was going to marry one of the greatest rakes and profligates 
 in London, to be as bad as himself — a little pert, stuck-up minx, who 
 would come to no good. Not like darling Anne, who, my dear, was 
 quite shocked by her cousin's levity, who took Dorothy to the play, 
 and quite corrupted her morals." 
 
17(5 RAL PH DARNELL. 
 
 I should not advance this history one step if I recorded a ■whole 
 chapter of these visits ; and my readers, who are entirely in my 
 confidence, know very well already Mrs. Darnell's opinion of the' 
 baronet, and the baronet's of her, and that there was not WMch love 
 lost between them. It will be the easier, therefore, for them to 
 comprehend why Mrs. Darnell felt the pangs of disappointment 
 come thickly upon her, as Mr. Darnell, with his face covered with 
 lather, cried from his dressing-room — 
 
 " Oh, he's much better, Anne, thank God ! and Burgess, the 
 
 doctor there, says he'll soon be on his legs again. As to , he told 
 
 me, as we came home, that he needn't have gone up at all." 
 
 I am afraid, though Mrs. Darnell was in the habit of thanking 
 God frequently, especially for her own state of " grace," that she did 
 not join in her husband's thanksgiving ; and indeed Mr. Darnell, when 
 he had dressed himself, went down humbly on his knees before his 
 Maker, and strove to say all he felt, and^ But I have no business 
 to follow him in these sacred moments. I may however mention, 
 that when he had told his wife what I have written, he heard several 
 sobs, and lovingly shut the door. He did not wish to be a spy upon 
 a weak woman's infirmity ; but he guessed the reason of it perfectly ; 
 and when Dorothy hung about him after breakfast, and he told her 
 and the younger children of what he had seen at Barnet (Anne had 
 gone away with her mother), the whole of them had a good cry over 
 the relation, and were thankful, the darlings, that dear cousin Conny 
 had not been harmed. 
 
 Mr. Darnell was restless in his office that day. He had sent for 
 Captain Abel Scrafton, who was to sail to-morrow, and told him he 
 might have a particular service for him to do before he left, and he 
 was at any rate to bring up a large cutter, with a strong crew, to the 
 Tower Stairs. He should like, perhaps, just to see the good ship 
 before she sailed — she was then lying ofi' Greenwich — and bid good- 
 bye to the people, and wish them a pleasant voyage ; to which order 
 the gallant captain promised strict obedience. He had owned his 
 rise in the world entirely to Mr. Darnell ; and as he said, sailor 
 fashion, "would go to the devil for him any day if he needed." 
 
 Then Mr. Darnell went down in the afternoon to the waterside, 
 and took a boat to Tooley Stairs, and sat a good while with Mrs. 
 Morton. Sybil was gone out with Nanny on a message, as the old 
 lady said, which was no less than taking some embroidery to the 
 tailor's, and getting paid for it. They talked of Ralph, of course ; 
 and the widow was comforted by being assured that the allowance 
 for him would not cease during his temporary absence. Mrs. Morton 
 guessed he had gone to the North with the baronet ; and with, I 
 must acknowledge, a very shameless hypocrisy, Mr. Darnell pre- 
 tended to agree with her. When would Mr. Ralph's clothes be 
 
IN WHICH E VER YJBOD Y IS BUSY. 1 77 
 
 ■wanted ? Nanny and Sybil had packed them all up, and the trunks 
 were corded. Well — Mr. Darnell didn't know ; perhaps to-morrow. 
 They -were to be delivered to his special order ; and then he took 
 his leave. 
 
 Thence (how idle and curious he ■was, to be sure, that day) he told 
 the -waterman, -who knew him perfectly, to row do^wn to the colliers. 
 His nephew had, he thought, taken his passage on board a brig to 
 sail soon. No^w, as it happened, this very man, Frank Joliffe, was a 
 great ally of Ralph's, and had taken him to the collier, where, as we 
 know, he went with his valise ; find as the wherry shot down the 
 stream, the man pulled to the gangway of the Ma/ry of Shields, on the 
 shrouds of which was a board, with a chalk -writing, that all " pasengers 
 is to be on bord at seven o'clock to-morrow afternoon." Mr. Darnell 
 went on board, looked at the berth and the valise, and took it away, 
 as more things had to be put into it, and he would tell his nephew to 
 be in time to-morrow. He even partook of a glass of rum and a 
 biscuit, which the skipper offered him, refusing wine. Perhaps Mr. 
 Darnell required a little stimulus for what he had farther to do. 
 
 When this was over, Mr. Darnell was rowed up to the Temple 
 Stairs, where he left the vaUge in the boat, and ordered the waterman 
 to wait. He then went into the Temple Gardens, and sat down on a 
 bench there, looking at the stirring scene before him, and trying to 
 shut out the thought of what was, in any case, a very disagreeable 
 duty. I think he was hesitating whether he should prosecute or not ; 
 whether he should run do-wn, as he could run down, the clever gang 
 ■who had done this deed ; but, indeed, it does not very much signify, 
 for a man like Roger Darnell does not a«t so much upon pre-vious 
 plans, as upon conviction of necessity. 
 
 Mr. Darnell had arranged his visit to the gardens, so as to be in 
 advance of the hour fixed by his anonymous correspondent ; but the 
 time passed very slowly. He walked down to the stairs again, and 
 Joliffe touched his hat. " Not yet," he said ; " I expect a friend, and 
 am waiting for him." Then he came back, sat down, got up and 
 walked about. Yes, Roger Darnell was more anxious than ever, 
 more fidgety perhaps. The clocks chimed the half-hour, but stUl 
 there was no one he could see likely to be the person who sought him. 
 A nursery-maid -with some children taking an evening walk, some 
 quiet people reading on the benches — ^the usual saunterers, in fact, of 
 the locality ; and an old man who might be a Jew, who wore a long 
 tunic, had a white beard, and limped, with a square-headed ebony 
 stick to support him. This person, after several turns on the terrace, 
 came and sat down on the bench, and, taking out a book, began to 
 read, very unconcernedly. But Mr. Darnell had not long to wait. 
 " I think," said the man in a strong Jewish accent, " dat I 'as de 
 pleashure to shpeak -wid Mr. Darnell ? " 
 
178 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " I am Mr. Darnell — Eoger Darnell, at your service," said the 
 merchant decidedly. 
 
 " Glad to 'ear it, sir, wery glad, becaush I is friend, yes, goot friend, 
 to Roger Darnell k Company. You are de mosh honourable man in 
 London city, and aVe troosted you to come here." 
 
 " What the devil have you to say to me ? be brief," said Mr. 
 Darnell, quickly. " Do you know what you risk in speaking to me 
 at all r' 
 
 " I kno's, I kno's, very veil," was the reply — " I kno's vho did dot 
 biznis. The old Jew kno's many a ting like dat, an' no fear for 
 nobody. If you give me de monish, de faive hoondert pound, Mr. 
 Darnell, I tell you troot, an' no more." 
 
 " I hal'e the money here," said Mr. Darnell, showing his pocket- 
 book ; " but what security have I that you will tell me everything \ " 
 
 " Holy Mosesh ! " cried the man, tink of dat ! I poor, lame, old 
 Jew, here alone vit you, Mr. Darnell. I am best securitiss mysel — 
 I cannot rone away, sir ! You can call de porters, sir, and de vach- 
 men. Oh, Mr. Darnell, you do not see dat ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 The absurdity of the lame old Jew being able to escape from him, 
 seemed to assure Mr. Darnell. 
 
 " Good," he said ; " take the money," and he counted the money 
 upon the seat. " No fear," he added, " of them passing, with Roger 
 Darnell & Company on the back." 
 
 " Dhey's quite good, sir, and mosh obleege," said the man, folding 
 them up, and putting them into a greasy pocket-book. " And now, 
 sir, to proove I'm honest Jew, here's four bills for fifty each, vhich vas 
 in your brother's book j they's no use to my people, so they've sent 
 them back." 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, a very honest business ! You steal two hundred 
 and get five ; I wish I could do such profitable trade, Abraham," 
 cried Mr. Darnell, who began to think he had only one of the 
 common receivers of stolen goods to deal with. " But stay ; what of 
 your promise to tell who did this ? " 
 
 " If Roger Darnell vill give his vord of honour to me, Reuben Levi 
 — ^his vord of honour, as Darnell, an' gentilman, and vill promise to do 
 no prosecute, I vill tell him every ting — who did it, and who didn't." 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Darnell blushed as he gave it — ^the honour of a 
 Darnell on such a bargain ! but there was a craving at his heart to 
 know the truth about Ralph, a truth which alone could determine 
 their future positions. He gave his hand therefore, though he shrank 
 almost at the cold clammy touch that met it. 
 
 " I tink Mr. Darnell kno's wery veil," said the man, with a sly 
 wink, " but I vill tell the troot. Mr. Ralph Darnell had it done, 
 but he did not do it himself ; " and the man gave a succinct rela- 
 tion of all that had happened. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 179 
 
 "Damnation!" cried Mr. Darnell, "this is worse and worse. 
 "Was he a coward ? " 
 
 " No, no ! no coward, sir. He vould have gone and taken de will 
 from his oncle, yon kno's ; but dey did not let him, sir, as I tell you. 
 Mr. Ralph — they not trust, sir." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Oh, I need not maind tell you, sir ; on honour, you know. Vy, 
 dat Dicky Smeet, an' — an' — an' their men, you know, sir. They 
 didn't let him do nothin', sir — only do themselves and sends you two 
 hundert pound, sir, vit compliments too, and von't do so no more ! " 
 
 " Then they know you make this comniunication, you rascal ! " 
 cried Mr. Darnell. 
 
 " Quiet, Mr. Darnell — quiet, sir. On honour, sir, you remember ? 
 Ha, ha ! No, sir, they don't kno' at all. They only give old Reuben 
 these bills to sell, an' he can't sell 'em except to Roger Darnell & 
 Company, coot merchants, sir," he continued, getting up, and limping 
 oflF. " Coot merchants, and do wery coot business. They get true 
 information — dat's tree hundert, and deir own bills two hundert, and 
 dey give me five hundert ; now I give two hundert to Dicky Smeet 
 for bills, and keep tree hundert for commission. How mosh per 
 shent, Mr. Darnell ? How mosh per shent ? Coot evenin', sir. I 
 mosh respect Mr. Roger Darnell." 
 
 Mr. Darnell looked after the man savagely. If he had only not 
 pledged his honour ! But it was too late, and what remained to be 
 done must be done. There could be no vacillation now— least of all 
 with Roger Darnell. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 It was not extraordinary that Ralph Darnell saw from his chamber 
 window the figure of Sybil Morton sitting at the open casement 
 across the river as the evening closed in. Of course he could dis- 
 tinguish no features ; even the figure was indistinct at that distance ; 
 but there it was without doubt. If Ralph could have seen that dear 
 face, he would have been shocked at the misery expressed in it, and 
 perhaps have understood more of what was lying at Sybil's heart than 
 he had ever done before, even in the worst period of his wound. So 
 long as Ralph was present, Sybil's love found vent in a thousand 
 little iinobtrusive services for him — in anticipating his wishes, in 
 watching him, in speaking or in listening to him. He was there, her 
 own glorious incarnation of manhood. A foolish, passionate, and 
 
180 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 sometimes not very well-beliaved young gentleman, as we know him ; 
 but ia Sybil's sight, brave, handsome, accomplished, and manly, with 
 a quick, but sweet and generous disposition. Had he ever said an 
 unwind word to her ? Had he ever been impatient with her errands 
 or messages or escorts, or their quiet studies, in which he learned 
 latterly much faster than she ? Ah no 1 And when in that terrible 
 fever after the wound, and weakness almost to death, he had been 
 peevish with old Nanny, and impatient with Mrs. Morton, who was 
 ever too talkative and fussy — ^who to him was like SybU ? She felt 
 that there was no one. She knew he would take neither food nor 
 medicine from other hands, and night and day, with but short inter- 
 vals, she was at her post by his bedside, working at her embroidery 
 frame, reading to him when he was able to listen, or, playing an occa- 
 sional game of chess or piquet. 
 
 After his fashion, Ralph was very grateful for all this ; and had 
 his heart been free, only one result could have followed; but the 
 reader knows already how Ralph was enamoured of his lovely cousin 
 — ^how that dazzling beauty, which already had subdued the hearts of 
 half the beaux of London, had so absorbed his that he had no thought 
 for anything else. There is no need to repeat this, for it has already 
 indeed combined with other affairs to lead to a serious catastrophe. 
 
 Rut since Ralph knew, and knew for certain, from Mistress 
 Grover, that Constance never had, and never could have, anything 
 but a sisterly love for him — ^his thoughts had turned a great deal 
 more than before to Sybil Morton. He wanted sympathy, and he 
 had found none except his dear old " auntie's," and that only par- 
 tially. In her rough way old Nanny had, to be sure, told him " he'd 
 better ha'e luiked afore he'd leep'd ; and, puir dear laddie, he'd had a 
 sair faa'." And he had also been petted after her fashion, and told 
 that the " onely body beside hersel' that pitied him or cared for him, 
 was darlin' Miss Sybil, bless her ! and she'd been greetin' sair about 
 the quarel wi' the barrinit. Ay," she said, " an' Mrs. Morton didna 
 wonder that the barrinit had been angert, for she know'd mair than 
 she'd like to tell ; an' it was jist like the mad boy, first comin' hame 
 tipsy, then gettin' wownded, and noo quarrellin' wi' his kkid uncle." 
 But this homely talk did not satisfy him ; Ralph Darnell did not 
 expect sympathy from Mrs. Morton, and looking all round his very 
 narrow world of acquaintance, he saw none to be had from any 
 one except those two, Bessie Grover and his dear Sybil, and most from 
 Sybil. 
 
 To go to Bessie was impossible — to write to her equally so for the 
 present. There was a great deal of stern duty to be done, of diligent 
 search to be made, before he could approach her or his uncle Geoffrey 
 with any hope of success. When one's heart is sore with grief or 
 ■misfortune that has passed over, sympathy is perhaps most longed 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 181 
 
 for and most needed. If danger or misery be impending, there is 
 no room in the mind for sympathy ; there is impatience of it ; the 
 mind is knit to bear ■whatever trial is to come ; and that resolution 
 does not brook disturbance. When there is reaction, however, the 
 case is very different. We then cling to whatever is offered, and are 
 calmed and soothed by it. This operation was not, however, alto- 
 gether of a healthy character in Ralph Darnell's mind ; and as he 
 lay awake next morning early, with the bright summer sun streaming 
 through the chinks in his shutters, watching idly the streams of motes 
 which whirled, tossed, sparkled, and glistened in fantastic play, his 
 thoughts went back over the last few months, and reviewed its 
 incidents ; and as is the case with most of us perhaps, he saw among 
 them much of his own doing that he did not approve of, and could 
 not justify. It was a dreamy state perhaps — the consciousness of 
 rest after physical weariness, combined with active mental employ- 
 ment, leading only to unpleasant results. If he had but a friend, 
 one friend near him to whom he could tell everything, and hear a 
 few soothing words in reply — one friend ! 
 
 There was indeed one near, very near to him, had he known then 
 where to turn ; but I am compelled to record that, in all his troubles, 
 Ralph had never yet thought of Him save in a very casual way. 
 
 While he was ill of his wound, the family prayers, when he could 
 hear them, had been read at his bedside ; and perhaps he had heard 
 Mrs. Morton's dreary, monotonous whining perusal of them, as well 
 as some of Sybil's " chapters," with impatience. He had grown to 
 dread Sundays, which denied him even a game of chess or back- 
 gammon or piquet with Sybil ; and after his recovery, and thanks 
 were offered in the parish church by Mrs. Morton's desire, I regret 
 to state that he heard them with a kind of thankfulness that it was 
 " all over at last." But if his heart was hard, or, more correctly 
 perhaps, indifferent, in this respect, it was soft enough in others. It 
 was as sensible of very much foolishness enacted, as it had been on 
 other occasions already related in this history, and needed sympathy. 
 Yes, he would go to SybU ; she at least would understand him. He 
 must see them all again before he left that night, and the sooner he 
 went the better. 
 
 It was difficult, however, for Ralph to escape the strict, though 
 kindly meant espionage, that had been set over him. Mr. Wilkins 
 had ordered him to keep in-doors. He would not have him "arrested " 
 there on any consideration, and Ralph had yielded to Mr. Wilson's 
 suggestion of maintaining an innocent deception. His egress was 
 therefore opposed ; and it was only by the application of a smart 
 douceur to Dickiwig, who protested he thought a little fresh air 
 would do the young man good, that he was allowed to bail a boat 
 and row across to the old house. As the boat approached the stairs, 
 
182 RALP H DARNELL. 
 
 he sa-w Sybil at her accustomed place. He had watched her as he 
 Beared his destination, and had seen her looking over the river 
 vacantly, then bending down to her work, then raising her head 
 again, and again looking out. His old signal was a wave of his 
 hat ; and when he was near enough to be seen, he gave it, and saw 
 the girl start up, put her hand suddenly to her side as if a sharp 
 pain had struck her, and then sit down again. Was she ill ? Poor 
 Sybil ! Mrs. Morton was not there. Was she ill ? He was not 
 long in suspense : and Nanny's cheery welcome rang in his ears for 
 many a day afterwards. 
 
 " Eh, laddie, but ye're welcome back. Whar ha'e ye gane thae 
 days, an' ne'er sed a word to nane o' us ? Eh, but puir Miss SybU 
 yen's been greetin' her eyes oot, jest haven't she ? and speirin' at a' 
 the wherries in the river, ye ken, an' nowt I could sey till her wad 
 she mind. Ye maun ha'e ane o' yer auld cracks wi' her, an' comfort 
 her, and set her richt agen, puir lassie ! Eh, Mr. Rraafe, when you're 
 gane, she's no hersel' at aalle." 
 
 Nanny had poured out her heart, or what was lying closest at it, 
 as Ralph entered the door. 
 
 " And Mrs. Morton, Nanny ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Eraaf e, she's no that weel that aa'd be glad to tell ye 
 of. She's weak, surr, the day, an' she's no up — dozin' maybe, for 
 she didna sleep weel a' the nicht, an' she's had some brroth. They're 
 vara gude, Mr. Rraafe ; wadna ye like a sup o' some yersel' ? Aa'll bring 
 them up presently, an' ye'U like yer bit crack wi' Miss Sybil furrst." 
 
 Ralph went up the old stairs. I think he hesitated as he knocked 
 gently at the door, and heard the low musical "Come in" from 
 SybU. Ralph noticed she did not open it herself, as she had used 
 to do once, and drag him in, with a pleasant chiding if he were late. 
 Ah me ! was she changing too ? Not so to him ; but the figure at 
 the window, which looked taller and more womanly than he had 
 over thought it before, seemed to hesitate, to totter a little, and, as 
 he stepped forward briskly and held out his arms, to fall very help- 
 lessly into them, then recovering, to withdraw itself suddenly and 
 hang back, while the pale face ajid neck flushed with a bright colour, 
 which faded instantly. 
 
 " You are ill, dear Sybil," said Ralph, kindly, veiy kindly, for he 
 could not mistake the happiness, the relief, he saw expressed in 
 Sybil's face ; " you have been ill ? " 
 
 " I am quite well again," she said — "quite well ; only your sudden 
 departure and absence made us all very anxious, and I watched for 
 you, Ralph, oh so wearily ! My mother, too, is weak ; and this, 
 with you away, made me very very foolish and miserable, I believe. 
 But now I am quite well, Ralph — am I not ? " 
 
 That dear face ! how beautiful it was as it looked up, with tears 
 
AND WHAT SAME OB IT. 183 
 
 glistening on the cheeks, hastily wiped off, and lingering in the eyes, 
 through which a bright gleam of joy was beaming ! No need to 
 answer Sybil's question ; her glowing face was the reply — glowing 
 as she looked into the great earnest eyes that met hers, and — ^was 
 she wrong ? — answered them. I do not think Ralph Darnell had 
 ever thought of her beauty before, though he was proud of her ; but 
 he felt prouder than ever now, and " his own dear Sybil was so glad 
 to see him." 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " you are my own dear Sybil, and I tell you 
 everything. What a fool I've been, and how badly they've used me ! 
 I've no one now, Sybil, dear," he continued, with a tremulous, fal- 
 tering voice, " to tell it all to, but you ; and I don't care if you — if 
 you — scold, only don't hate me for being— for being — Oh, don't bo 
 ashamed of me, Sybil, as everybody is, else I shall leave you too with 
 them all, and run away. I'd better be dead, Sybbie — better be dead. 
 !No one would miss me but you." 
 
 Kalph was sobbing now, and holding out his hands to her. All 
 that reaction which had been going on since his first relief at Barnet, 
 had come to a crisis. Perhaps he mistook Sybil when she turned 
 away her head and was not able to look at the young man's flushed 
 quivering features, and the hot tears streaming out of his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, every one's ashamed of me, Sybil," he continued, as she did 
 not speak. " I'm — I'm — I'm — only a poor devil of a — a — bastard," 
 he cried, with a great gulp. " I haven't a right to speak even to 
 you — even to you. Oh my darling — O Sybbie, Sybbie, don't hate 
 me ! It's — not — ^it's not my fault, indeed — indeed it is not ; " and 
 he threw himself on his knees at her side, buried his face in her 
 dress, and cried piteously, and as if his heart would break, " It's not 
 my fault — it's not my fault." 
 
 No sympathy ? If tears falling as fast as his own were proof of 
 it ; if her hand, now resting on his strong curly hair, now roving 
 absently among it with loving touch ; if the gentle cries of " No, no, 
 Ralph, I'll never leave you — never, never, till I die. Don't fret ; 
 they will be kind — even your dear cousin — ^by-and-by," — he need 
 have been well assured. 
 
 I think perhaps it was this allusion to Constance that roused him, 
 for he looked up with a scared, changed face. " Why did you men- 
 tion her, Sybbie ? " he said — it was his pet name for her. " Don't 
 you know — " 
 
 " I know all," she replied, hastily ; " she told me herself, when I 
 went to see her in Soho Square before they left — she was your own 
 dear dear sister; and she took me up to her room, and we talked 
 about our old days, and she said you were to keep all she had given 
 you, even the last ring as well, and she'd soon have you up to Mel- 
 cepeth — and I do love her so, Ralph ! " 
 
184 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 I say I think this roused and relieved him ; because, after Sybil 
 had done speaking, he got up, sat down on the sofa by her, put his 
 arm round her after his old loving brotherly fashion, with a great 
 sigh, and told her what had happened at the office about the will, 
 and what he intended to do ; first, to go to the north, and then to 
 act as circumstances might require. Thank God, he was at least 
 independent, and, once of age, was his own master ! 
 
 All this required a long time, how long he cared and knew not. 
 It was perfect confidence, not love, between them, and that knew no 
 restraint. E>alph only concealed from her the attack on his uncle ; 
 he dare not tell that ; and SybU believed the baronet was far on his 
 way to Melcepeth. How she cautioned him to be careful in future 
 to cease persecuting Constance, who thought it hard he should do so ; 
 and how many promises were made by him of speedy return, and at 
 least of communication with her — need not be told. 
 
 Even Nanny was satisfied, and said he might go, and ought to go, 
 "for his ain sake, and his mither's sake," and Ealph took the "het 
 brose " she bad brought, and found tlwm, as good as ever. No, he 
 would not stay longer. He was afraid to meet his uncle, who might 
 come unawares. They had told him of Mr. Darnell's visit the day 
 before, and he must leave by the collier that afternoon. He had 
 slept at the Cock, and should wait there. Mrs. Morton he only saw 
 for a few minutes ; she was weak and peevish that day, and could 
 not be brought to understand why it was necessary he should go at 
 all. He might do as he chose, it was no use her speaking to him. 
 
 It was hard for Sybil to let him go, hard for Ralph to leave her — 
 very hard ; but the confidence between them had given both courage 
 and comfort. Sybil could see nothing dark in the future, and Ralph 
 at least felt he had the will to do and sufier ; that boyhood, and per- 
 haps dependence, were gone, and life with independent action, was 
 about to begin. 
 
 " One kiss," he said, " SybU — one only ; nay, the last, for how 
 long, perhaps ? " 
 
 Ay, for how long? She yielded shyly to him, but very confi- 
 dently. She kissed him as she would have kissed a brother \ but 
 she had to put down rebellious thoughts before she did so. On her 
 fair brow, on her eyes, on her lips, she felt him kiss her tenderly and 
 lovingly. 
 
 " May God keep you, my darling ! " he said j " the only true friend 
 I have on earth will not forget me." 
 
 And so they parted, and she watched Jolifie row him across the 
 river ; and the man came back and said he had sent his dear love to 
 them all. 
 
 For the rest of the day Ralph kept quiet. He was well cared for, 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 185 
 
 we have eaten in strange places, •with strange relish, all our lives. I 
 have myself a vivid recollection of a certain roasted fowl, eaten on 
 the bank of the broad Godavery river, opposite to Nandair, and of a 
 breakfast of fried pancakes and eggs at Ghenneh, on the Nile, 
 cooked by an itinerant breakfast monger, a stout Egyptian woman 
 clad in a blue shift, with a pleasant tattooed face, who fed my child 
 with dainty bits with her own greasy fingers. So Ralph Darnell 
 remembered his dinner of soles and veal cutlets — which Dickiwig 
 told him Mistress Baker had cooked with her own hands — and about 
 half-past six, he had paid his reckoning, which Mr. Wilkios was very 
 loath to accept ; had a pleasant flirtation with the smart young ladies 
 in the bar, had interchanged a good deal of good-humoured " chaff," 
 as it would now be called, with Mistress Sarah Baker in the kitchen, 
 chucked the pretty chambermaid under the chin, and said he'd bring 
 a sweetheart for her, only she'd got so many already that he'd be in 
 the way — ia short, feeling pleasant, Ealph had comported himself in 
 as pleasant and affable a manner as could be, and so came out from 
 the wooden terrace to call a boat to take him to the Ma/ry of Shields, 
 which lay ready to sail with the turn of the tide, whUe the soft 
 summer wind was blowing down the river, ready to fill her topsails 
 when they should be sheeted home. 
 
 As Ralph stepped out of a side door, he saw Captain Abel Scrafton 
 of the Valiant standing near the bay window ; and his handsome boat, 
 with its eight oars, ready to fall, rocking at the stairs. Mr. Ealph 
 saluted the captain in the same pleasant style he had bidden good-bye 
 within. " When was he going to sail ? This evening ? Indeed ! 
 Well, he would have, he hoped, a safe and pleasant voyage." 
 
 The gallant captain returned Mr. Ralph's good wishes. " He had 
 just come to clear off scores," he said, " and was going now to the ship 
 direct. Would Mr. Darnell like a row down this fine evening ? Mr. 
 Roger Darnell had" been over the ship that day, and he had just 
 landed him at the Tower Stairs ; and a noble gentleman, indeed, he 
 was. Should they not drink his health ? No ? Well, then, when 
 they returned from the voyage they would have a jolly carouse once 
 more at the old place ; " and so chatting pleasantly, they descended 
 the stairs together. Ralph had hailed a wherry, and it drew up 
 within an oar's length of the Valiant's boat. 
 
 " You can step across my cutter," said Captain Scrafton, politely. 
 " Come, sir, and we'll get out of your way." ^ 
 
 Ralph did not hesitate. He followed the captain, who stood in 
 the stem-sheets to shake hands with him as he passed ; and, as he 
 grasped the hand held out to him, felt himself tripped up, heard the 
 captain's sharp cry of " Oars ! " and in an instaut was held down, 
 and a strong tarpaulin fastened over him. " Give way, men, for your 
 lives ! " called out Captain Scrafton ; and before Ralph could recover 
 
186 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 from his amazement, the cutter had dashed into the stream, and was 
 sped past boats, and ships, and city, with a swiftness which only the 
 Valiant's picked boat's crew could have accomplished. 
 
 Ralph struggled hard, and tried to cry out, but it was of no avail 
 — Captain Scrafton was inexorable ; and a rough noisy chorus, sung 
 heartily by the men, efifectually prevented any of his cries being 
 heard. When they reached the ship, a chair was lowered, into which 
 Ralph, despite his resistance, was easily fastened, with a ship's flag 
 and a boat-cloak tied over him. A shrill whistle, and the chair was 
 hoisted over the ship's side ; whence the captain and several others 
 took it up, carried it into a cabin on the poop, locked the door, and 
 Ralph was left to unfasten himself as best he could. When he had 
 done so, be heard the jolly chorus which accompanied the heaving of 
 the anchor, the orders of Captain Scrafton to " sheet home the top- 
 sails," and the ripple of the waves against the gallant ship, as she 
 bounded onwai-ds under all sail towards the sea. Nor for many 
 hours, nor until he was weary with fruitless endeavours to force the 
 door, or the port in the cabin, did Captain Scrafton visit him, and 
 then they were far out at sea, and the good ship Valiant was rolling 
 deeply in the Channel waves. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 OUTWAED BOUND. 
 
 My readers will most probably have accounted for this event already. 
 Mr. Darnell had no doubt whatever of the mysterious communica- 
 tion made to him in the Temple, for which, indeed, by Ralph's 
 absence and other concurring testimony, he had been prepared. 
 Ralph had not been at the office, nor at Mrs. Morton's ; and why 
 should he be at the Cock except for concealment 1 That he was 
 there, Mr. Darnell had confirmed by Jenkins, the porter in his 
 oflSce, who had been sent to find out. One of the chambermaids 
 there was a sweetheart of Mr. Jenkins's, and confided to him that 
 " them bailiffs was a'ter Mister Ralph, and missis 'ad 'id 'im away 
 quiet, for a day or two." No doubt Mary thought the secret quite 
 safe with Mr. Jenkins, who only told it to Mr. Darnell, as he 
 entered the office punctually at his usual hour of ten o'clock. 
 
 That was to be a busy day with the merchant. When- Captain 
 Scrafton made his appearance in Lombard Street at noon exactly, as 
 he had been desired to do, and was sent into the parlour for instruc- 
 tions, Mr. Darnell at once opened his purpose to the commander, 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 187 
 
 ■who, without scruple, entered cordially into his patron's views ; nor 
 ■was he squeamish on the project, or at all in dread of the law. I do 
 not believe it possible for any one to make such a proposal to any 
 captain in these days ; and I look upon abductions of young gentle- 
 men or young ladies in smuggling luggers, in yachts, or steam vessels, 
 as stated sometimes in modern romances, to be sheer impossibilities ; 
 and therefore, that the kingdom of romance has lost one of its very 
 valuable adjuncts of action in this respect. But in the days I write 
 of, the sudden transmission of an obnoxious relative to his Majesty's 
 plantations in Virginia, or to a friend in Calcutta, Madras, or Bombay, 
 was by no means uncommon; attracted no particular attention if 
 known; and indeed, in most cases, ■was considered a meritorious 
 action ; giving a young scapegrace nephe^w or cousin, or "films 
 nvllius" a chance in life, which could not be had in England. 
 
 Mr. Darnell's project, which was a very simple one, ■was readily 
 understood and carried out. Captain Abel Scrafton perfectly agreed 
 ■with him that Ralph could not remain in England after ■what had 
 happened. " Not i'faith, that I think him so much to blame ; but I 
 had rather he had gone up to his uncle and demanded those papers, 
 even if he'd had to stand a shot for it," said Mr. Darnell ; "but as 
 it is, he can't remain here. Bless my heart ! ■what ■would be said 
 ' on 'Change ' if it were ever known ? " 
 
 So the matter was all settled in a few minutes ; and as they passed 
 out of the office, Mr. Darnell said to Mr. Sanders, in a sadly hypo- 
 critical manner, I fear, that he was just going to see all right on board, 
 and if Ralph came in, that he was to wait, as there was something 
 particular for him to do ; and Mr. Sanders, and some others, wished 
 Captain Scrafton a pleasant voyage, and he and Mr. Darnell ■went 
 out towards the captain's boat at the Tower Stairs. Mr. Darnell 
 kne^w of Ralph's clothes at Mrs. Morton's ; but these ■would not last 
 the voyage, and Captain Scrafton knew exactly ■where to get others. 
 Close to the Minories ■was his own provider of such necessaries ; and 
 in a marvellous short space of time, two large chests were packed, 
 directed, and despatched to the Valiant by a two-oared ■wherry. Free 
 of this necessary work, Mr. Darnell went to Mrs. Morton's, and 
 Ralph's trunks there •were carried off by t-wo of the Valiant's men. 
 The simple ■women had no suspicion, and Mr. Darnell said no more 
 than the truth, ■when he said they would be sent at once on board 
 ship. Sybil asked timidly, when Ralph would return; and Mr. 
 Darnell replied, he "could not tell her; it might be a good while — 
 it depended on so many things," &c. 
 
 Ralph had not left the house half-an-hour, indeed, when this 
 happened ; and if he had beeu looking out sharply, he might perhaps 
 have seen the Valiant's boat dash in among the ■wherries at Tooley 
 Stairs ; but if he had, I think he would only have hidden himself 
 
1 88 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 the closer. The last thing Mr. Darnell did before he bade the cap- 
 tain good-bye and a safe voyage, was to deliver to him a packet of 
 letters, tied up as a parcel, and addressed to Mr. Kalph Darnell, per 
 Yalicmt ; and as he did so, he could hardly tell him, in a choking 
 voice, to take care of the lad, for he was the only Darnell left, and 
 that he was as fond of him as if he were his own son. " But after 
 that^ Captain Scrafton — after that, I could not have kept him here 
 even were he my own son. By-and-by it may be different ; but at 
 present, he is safest and best out of the way;" and the captain 
 thought so too. 
 
 It was this packet of papers which Captain Scrafton took to Ralph 
 when he heard all quiet in the cabin. Landsmen who go to sea 
 immediately upon a good dinner, such as Ealph had partaken of, 
 very frequently find it disagree with them : and our hero was no 
 exception in this respect. As the Valiant got further out of the 
 river, she began to display the lively character of her nature ; and, 
 under a heavy press of sail, was, to the captain's great delight, pass- 
 ing ship after ship, "overhauling them," as he remarked to his chief 
 mate, to whom he was telling, in confidence, what had happened. 
 Perhaps the worthy captain was enjoying too deeply the pleasant 
 rolling of his gallant ship, and the setting of stunsel after stunsel in 
 that glorious summer night, to attend to his passenger ; but it was 
 time he should do so, and, saying he would go and have " a jaw with 
 him before he turned in," Captain Scrafton went to the cabin, which 
 he unlocked, and entered with a hearty greeting and question to 
 Ralph, of " how he was getting on ? " 
 
 Perhaps, if Ralph had been at that moment possessed of his usual 
 vigour and strength, he might, as he had sworn he would, as long as 
 he could stand, have fallen foul of the captain, and assaulted him ; 
 but Ralph was very miserable, very wretched indeed. He was in 
 the agonies of sea-sickness, which were severe ; and if Captaia Scraf- 
 ton had ordered him there and then to be thrown overboard as a 
 nuisance to all concerned in him, I do not know that the poor fellow 
 would have objected in the least, but on the contrary would have 
 felt positively thankful. 
 
 The captain's cheery question was, therefore, only answered by a 
 groan. Ralph could not lift his head from the berth where he had 
 laid it, except to see the cabin turned upside down. Captain Scrafton 
 swaying about on his sea legs, and everything in a state of distor- 
 tion, which aggravated his malady. The captain was a kind host, 
 however ; the steward was summoned, and a boy introduced, who 
 was ordered to see after Ralph, and to stay in the cabin. By all 
 these combined, too, he was undressed, and made as comfortable as 
 could be ; and the captain, having administered a glass of " stiff hot 
 grog," left the sufferer, telling him " he hoped he'd be all right pre- 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 189 
 
 sently. There was a jumble of a sea, to be sure, but tbe ship would 
 be easier next morning, when they would be on the long waves of 
 the ocean ; and whenever he could, he'd better open his uncle's 
 packet, and read what was written there. As for himself, he'd 
 only obeyed orders ; and after all, they'd have a pleasant voyage, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 So Ralph lay there, not daring to lift his head or to speak a word, 
 but grasping the packet of letters. His thoughts were not very clear 
 certainly ; but it was evident his uncle knew what he had done, or 
 this step would not have been taken. The extreme wretchedness 
 brought on by his malady, combined with his mental condition, was 
 not enviable ; and if he wept a good deal that night, it was no more 
 than what might be expected. It is probable, indeed, that he sobbed 
 himself to sleep ; for, when he awoke at a late hour the next day, he 
 was considerably better and calmer; and could speak to Captain 
 Scrafton, who came constantly to see "how he was getting on," and 
 who informed him, with great satisfaction, " that the ship had beaten 
 everything, and had a glorious breeze on her quarter. Would he 
 like to get up ? Perhaps he had better not tUl to-morrow. He must 
 take something to eat, however ; and it would be as well, as soon 
 as he could, to look at the papers, which would be a relief to his 
 mind." 
 
 It hardly needed the captain's opinion to induce Ralph to do so. 
 As he opened the packet, he found several letters to Mr. Wharton ; 
 one to Mr. Drake, the chief of the Calcutta Factory ; one to Mr. J. 
 Z. Holwell ; one to Robert Clive, Esq., colonel, etc., "to be delivered 
 in case of necessity ; " and one to himself. This he opened without 
 further delay, and it ran as follows : — 
 
 "London, the \1th August 1755. 
 " Nephew Ralph, — If your own heart does not tell you why you 
 are now on the way to Calcutta, it would be little need in my writing 
 this. I know what you have done ; but no one else does, and for the 
 honour of our family, I shall keep your secret inviolate. When 
 opportunity offers, I shall acquaint your uncle Geoffrey with the step 
 I have taken ; and whether he approves of it or not, will be a matter 
 of perfect indifference to me. I have acted solely upon my own 
 judgment, as the uncle to whom you are confided ; and I consider 
 that I have in this measure set you forward in life in a position in 
 which you may rise to honour, and return to England with wealth. 
 If you will look upon my act in this light, you will agree with me, 
 and respect my motives. I have, indeed, had your going to the East 
 Indies for a long time in my thoughts, and but for the uncertainty 
 in which you have lived, should have put my design in execution : 
 but I wished you to gain experience in my ofiice, and to understand 
 
Hf^ RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 what you will have eventually to do there. Large interests will be 
 entrusted to you; and I am quite assured that the honour and 
 integrity of a Darnell will be proved in your conduct. I do not 
 consider, however, that your bearing your family name would be 
 safe or expedient ; and I have introduced you to Mr. Wharton, and 
 other gentlemen, as Mr. Smithson, a young man in whom I have an 
 interest ; and you will please to adopt this name — your mother's — 
 on your arrival in India. 
 
 " During your minority, a considerable sum has accumulated in 
 my hands, of which, as you will be of age on the 25th of September 
 proximo, you are entitled to the use. Enclosed is the account-current ; 
 and you will observe that the total to your credit is now .£5286, 13s. 
 ,4d. This I advise you to employ in the Company's investments ; 
 and your interests here will be carefully attended to by myself and 
 Mr. Sanders. I do not doubt you, nephew Ealph ; but when I say 
 that your bills on me for only two thousand pounds sterling wUl be 
 honoured, you will understand that I wish to put you to the proof, 
 rather than that I mistrust you, and I expect you will employ your 
 funds carefully. 
 
 " Your interest in your father's property amounts to about four 
 hundred pounds per annum, which will suffice for a respectable main- 
 tenance in Calcutta. In the letter which I forward by you, Mr. 
 Wharton hath directions to pay you one hundred pounds on your 
 arrival ; and to arrange with you such monthly or quarterly pay- 
 ments as you may need there. 
 
 "You will find all your clothes on board, and an outfit for the 
 voyage provided. If you have no money with you, Captain Scrafton 
 will supply you with what you may wish as far as twenty pounds. 
 All expenses of your voyage will be defrayed from your own funds, 
 except that of your passage-money, which I, as 'twas against your 
 will, have paid myself. And now, nephew Ralph, I make no pro- 
 fessions, as you know. I believe you to have courage and ability, 
 and 'twas time you began life. I am not over sanguine either, for I 
 know how weak you are ; but I can see, under common care and 
 honesty, a fine career open to you, and I wish you heartily success. 
 I think you will remember that here, as you are supposed to he, you 
 could have taken no position. There, even were it known, such a 
 matter would not afiect you. I shall write to you frequently, arid 
 you may believe your interests quite safe in my hands. Should the 
 papers we all desire to see be discovered, your return home would be 
 requisite, and no one would welcome you with more sincere joy than 
 your uncle, Roger Darnell. 
 
 " P.S. — I have just heard that your uncle Geoffrey continues to 
 improve. He hath no fever, and is pronounced out of danger, which 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 191 
 
 it will be a comfort to you to know. I may also mention, that when 
 I last saw him, he had desired to be forgiven by you in the matter 
 of what passed at the office, and I trust that the feeling cannot fail 
 to be mutual." 
 
 A new life ! That life, which he understood daily from Mr. 
 Sanders's descriptions and Mr. Wharton's letters, he was to become 
 a part of. That life which Mr. Robert Olive, as he scanned him 
 from head to foot in the office parlour, asked him to adopt ; that 
 which had begun so strangely, and so abruptly. Ealph could not 
 doubt his uncle Roger. The letter was precise, but not upbraiding. 
 His uncle knew the miserable error he had committed, and left the 
 redemption of it to his own exertions in life, and his own honour. 
 He had placed him in an independent position, and expected him to 
 maintain it. I think if this letter had been other than it was, Ralph 
 Darnell would have sunk in the turmoil in which he had become 
 engulfed. As it was, he kissed it tenderly, put it to his heart, and 
 vowed, even in his present weakness and prostration, to strike out 
 manfully, and, as became a Darnell, to strive in life as became a 
 gentleman. And when Captain Scrafton came next time into the 
 cabin to ask Ralph "how he got on," the expression on the face he 
 saw was not moody and morose, but bright, and full of hope. 
 
 And it was a pleasant voyage, and for those times a very speedy 
 one. " We shall get in by Christmas Day, and have a jolly dinner in 
 the old Factory hall," Captain Scrafton would say ; and he was 
 correct. They had rough and smooth weather by turns ; but the 
 captain was an able navigator, and on the 18th December, just four 
 months after they saw the English coast disappear beneath the horizon, 
 a few tall palm-trees, a low-lying shore fringed with jungle and man- 
 groves, appeared above it, and from a strange craft a native pilot 
 came on board, who spoke an almost unintelligible jabber of English 
 combined with his own tongue, which Captain Scrafton appeared to 
 understand perfectly. Then, aided by the tide, the good ship swept 
 up the broad river, past towns, villages, temples, and mosques, rice- 
 fields and jungles, till the masts of English ships, the walls of a low 
 fort, and a confused mass of white houses beyond, at the head of a 
 noble reach of the Hoogly, showed Ralph Darnell the end of his 
 voyage. A new life indeed had opened upon him, with a hearty 
 welcome from Mr. Wharton, and all who came to hear the last news 
 from Home by the good ship Valiant. As the fort guns saluted her, 
 she replied to them, the anchor dropped, and the vessel swung roiand 
 to the tide which had brought her up. 
 
 I have had nothing to tell of incidents on the voyage. I do not 
 indeed find there was anything particular to mention — nothing cer- 
 tainly that is worth record in this history ; but in Ralph's own mind 
 
192 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 there arose gradully a change, and for the better in all respects. At 
 first, despite the kind tone of his uncle's letter, he was often disposed 
 to be rebellious, and to resent what had been done. He mourned 
 after Sybil too, more perhaps than any previous intercourse with her 
 seemed to warrant ; and thoughts of the last scene with her, what he 
 might have told her but refrained, were often too vivid to be denied. 
 Images also of old scenes also at Melcepeth, and of his beautiful 
 cousin, Constance, and her last message by Sybil, were not unfre- 
 quent ; in short, there was a mingling of sweet and bitter memories 
 which induced reflection, and tended in the main to healthy reaction 
 despite his natural weakness and vacillation. 
 
 Perhaps it would serve no purpose were I to describe these, or quote 
 passages from Ralph's diary. We have already record of some resolu- 
 tions broken and of others maintained ; but his experiences of life 
 were limited as yet by a very narrow bound, and before that could 
 be enlarged, his strife in the world's fight must begin and be carried 
 on. It would be too much, therefore, to expect that one thus inex- 
 perienced should make any definite resolves in respect to a future so 
 dim and so indefinite as that which awaited him, or that if he made 
 any they should be worth recording. 
 
 END OF PART SECONQi 
 
PAET THIRD. 
 
PART THIRD, 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 RETROSPECT. 
 
 Let us go back a hundred years. In "Tara," where I recorded of 
 1657 those fierce struggles between the Hindus and the Mahomedans 
 in the Dekhan, when Sivaji Kajah destroyed the army of Beejapoor 
 at his fortress capital of Pertabghur, when Tara was led forth to burn 
 by the beautiful river-bank at Waee, the Mahomedan empire was 
 nearly at the zenith of i-ts power ; and except the Dekhan and south 
 of India, all else of the vast continent owned its sway. After that, 
 subverting in succession, and annihilating as independent kingdoms, 
 Ahmednugger, Golconda, and Beejapoor in the Dekhan, the Mogul 
 Emperor Aurungzeeb became supreme ; and the imperial Mahomedan 
 standard floated from west to east, from north to south, of India, 
 unchallenged. 
 
 I am not writing history ; and my readers will not care for instruc- 
 tion here which they can obtain better and in every completeness 
 from those records of vivid romance — ^the histories of ihe period ; but 
 some connection with the past is, I have thought; necessary, and 
 therefore I may hope to be forgiven if I briefly, very briefly, attempt 
 to supply it. This short chapter wUl, therefore, have nothing to do 
 with my tale, and may be passed over if my readers please ; but there 
 may be some of them, perhaps, who desire to remember how this 
 interval from 1657 to 1757 was filled up; and who, bearing a few 
 prominent details in their minds, will be able to understand the 
 position of political parties in India at the period of Ralph Darnell's 
 arrival in it, and the Nawab Suraj-oo-Doulah's accession to his 
 father's power, better than without them. 
 
 It was a magnificent empire truly, that of the Mogul ; but it was 
 superficial. Looking into the core of it when at its brightest, we 
 find a rottenness which was fast infecting the whole mass. The vast 
 intellect, and extraordinary centralising administrative ability of 
 Aurungzeeb, held the various portions together so long as his mind 
 
196 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 had power, and his body physical energy, for the vast task ; bub as 
 these gradually failed, as he himself gradually descended into his 
 quiet grave at Roza, and when the nine shillings (four and a half 
 rupees) which he had earned by making caps had been expended 
 upon his funeral, and the eighty pounds ten shillings (eight hundred 
 and five rupees) he had also earned by writing copies of the Koran, 
 had been given away in charity, men began to estimate how loosely 
 the reins of the Imperial Government had been held — how speedily 
 all those who had assisted to carry it on would strike out for them- 
 selves — and how easily they would attain their objects. 
 
 India had been parcelled out into vice-royalties ; and when the 
 sovereign who controlled them died, he left no one, with a pretence 
 of power, to fill his place. His sons disputed the succession ; and 
 each striving for mastery, disappeared in the course of a few years, 
 leaving a dismembered empire and independent princes, where there 
 had been unity and able and zealous servants. There was still 
 a nominal court at Delhi ; but in 1756 only a few mean provinces 
 around the capital remained to the Royal family, and the rest, 
 Bengal, Oude, Central India, Goozerat, the Punjab, the Dekhan, and 
 the Camatic, had passed away to servants of the State, or to 
 Mahrattas ; and Nadir Shah, in 1739, whUe he dealt the death-blow 
 to the Imperial Government, amiexed all the provinces which lay 
 west of the Indus to his own kingdom. 
 
 In 1657 the destruction of the army of Afzool Khan, as I recorded 
 in "Tara," had laid the foundation of the Mahratta kingdom, which, 
 even more than the treachery of dependents, was the deepest and 
 most virulent canker at the heart of the Mahomedan empire. 
 Gradually, in the Rajah Sivaji's reign, the predatory power evoked 
 by him had attained a mighty consistence which could not be 
 repelled, and yet was so intangible that it could not be grasped. 
 If the Mahomedans were anywhere weak, Sivaji was defiant and 
 insulting, and destroyed them ; if they were strong, he crouched for 
 his spring till they were ofi' their guard ; or by fomenting jealousies 
 between the Mogul and the Mahomedan kingdoms of the Dekhan 
 so long as the latter lasted, appeared now as the ally of one, now of 
 the other — professing allegiance to all, but giving none to any. 
 
 He died ; and there were men found among these rude Hindu 
 landholders, farmers, shepherds, and mountaineers who, with their 
 astute Brahmin advisers, were able to direct national councils and 
 lead armies. With the English at Bombay they negotiated and 
 traded ; while the fierce Mahratta legions, vast hordes of horse and 
 foot, poured forth over all India in numbers which it is now sur- 
 piising to contemplate, and with a celerity, alacrity, and vigour, 
 before which the already efiete Mahomedans made but a feeble 
 resistance, and in many localities altogether disappeared. Far away 
 
RETROSPECT. 197 
 
 from their native Dekhan, into the Punjab, into the Carnatic, into 
 Bengal and beyond Delhi, these armies went their annual rounds of 
 devastation and plunder. The Mahomedans, distracted and divided, 
 alike by situation as by local interest, saw province after province 
 wrested from them, or burdens alike extortionate and exhaustive laid 
 upon, their independent principalities, and levied with a terrible 
 exactitude ; and their last humiliation by the Mahratta victory at 
 Kurdlah in the Dokhan, over the Nizam, was only prevented from 
 being converted into that universal Hiadu sovereignity of India, 
 which had been the object and aim of Sivaji Rajah, by the rise of a 
 power which, no bigger than a man's hand, had risen out of the sea, 
 and in the course of another century has subverted both, and over- 
 shadowed all. That power was our own, and it is with its first rise 
 to political existence and territorial possession that I have now to do, 
 as I had with that first struggle of the Mahrattas a hundred years 
 before, which I tried to describe in " Tara." 
 
 The history of Bengal is no more than a chapter in the history 
 of the dismemberment of the Mogul empire, or in the decay of all 
 Mahomedan empires which have hitherto existed — of able generals 
 or astute administrators, appointed as viceroys of provinces, taking 
 advantage of weakness, assuming independence, and maintaining it 
 hereditarily. 
 
 In the year 1702, the son of a poor Dekhan Brahmin, who had 
 been forcibly converted to Mahomedanism, and had risen to distinc- 
 tion by his abilities, was sent to govern Bengal ; and by a singular 
 display of energy and talent, not only consolidated his position, but 
 maintained it against all intrigues at the capital. We read how 
 pertinaciously he opposed the settlement of Europeans in Bengal, 
 especially the English ; and, but for a fortuitous circumstance, would 
 have succeeded. The Emperor, from whom the English had sought 
 protection against this viceroy of Bengal, fell ill of a disease which 
 baffled the royal physicians ; the surgeon of the embassy then at 
 Delhi, Mr. Hamilton, was called in, and under his care the royal 
 patient recovered. He might have made his own terms for personal 
 reward ; but, following the example of Mr. Boughton nearly a hun- 
 dred years before, and with true patriotism, he merged them into 
 the interests of his country, and new deeds were executed under the 
 Imperial seal, which the Bengal viceroy dare not disobey, and under 
 which the factories in Bengal were established on a surer basis than 
 ever. This viceroy's family did not maintain the power of its founder, 
 though there were two successions in it; and in 1740 Ali Verdy 
 Khan, the viceroy of Behar, a neighbouring province, who had earned 
 distinction by his repulse of the Mahrattas, became ruler of Bengal, 
 and continued to be so, as I have recorded, till the 9th April 1756, 
 when he died, virtually if not actually, independent ; and the pro- 
 
198 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 spect of any revival of imperial power at Delhi was a remote, and, 
 indeed, impossible contingency. 
 
 What a romance is the early history of the merchant English in 
 Bengal ! — ^their struggles with imperial power, with local viceroys 
 and delegates ; their missions, their bribes, their intrigues, their 
 defiance, and — their pei-severance. Other European colonists were 
 there — Dutch, Danish, Netherland, and Erench ; but none established 
 confidence among the people like the English, and with none was 
 there so rapid and so lucrative a trade carried on. When we read 
 that in the Mahratta invasion, driven back by Ali Verdy Khan, a 
 sum of two and a half millions sterling (two and a half crores of 
 rupees) had been extorted from the banking-house of Juggut-Seit at 
 Moorshedabad alone by the Mahratta general, what ideas does this 
 one act of spoliation convey to us of the local wealth of the native 
 Bengal traders ! I have, however, no concern with these old histories, 
 in which all who read them will find sober truth far more wonderful 
 than any fiction. I have only to do with the period I have already 
 denoted — the rise of the English out of their heretofore capacity of 
 merchants and the foundation of their political power. 
 
 To imagine, however, that up to this period the English had 
 established no political status in India, would be wrong. In Bom- 
 bay and Surat their influence had long been felt ; and they had 
 made treaties with Sivaji. In Madras they had begun wars, because 
 the French, desiring to establish their own commercial power through- 
 out the south of India, had fought against them, and at first over- 
 come them. Afterwards, and even while the parent nations were at 
 peace. Frenchmen and Englishmen were arrayed against each other, 
 with varying results, in the cause of local native princes. In the 
 Dekhan, at the court of the Nizam, Monsieur Bussy had established 
 an authority, and possessed armies which, ostensibly belonging to 
 the prince, were intended to be the instruments of a far wider 
 national influence. Except in the Dekhan, the EngKsh had not 
 only maintained their position, but had established a reputation as 
 gallant soldiers which rivalled, if it did not surpass, that of the 
 French, in the estimation of the people of India. It was that in- 
 creasing French influence in regard to which the English Govern- 
 ments of 1755, and subsequently, were so jealous; that which Mr. 
 Clive was burning to overthrow when he was in England in that year, 
 and when, as we already know, he had prayed to be entrusted with a 
 force with which he could meet Monsieur Bussy in the Dekhan, and 
 prove who should be master there. All this was to come afterwards, 
 as we know ; but of the two, the French then were the popular 
 favourites, and in Bengal were, perhaps, superior in power to the 
 English. 
 
 Such, then, is a mere sketch of the political position of India in 
 
_^__ SOZUN. 199 
 
 1756. TteMahomedans without an imperial government except in 
 name, and its viceroys become independent, employing their local 
 revenues for their own aggrandisement, without any common purpose 
 or national interest. The Mahrattas, still extending their conquests, 
 but respecting the English, and perhaps the French, with neither of 
 whom they had come into collision — being, in all respects, the greatest 
 native power in India. The English and French, struggling slowly 
 into political existence; but neither, except the ground ou which 
 their forts stood, or little beyond them, possessing any territorial 
 authority. In Bengal, Ali Verdy Khan was dead ; his son, Suraj- 
 oo-Doulah, had succeeded to his wealth and power ; and the Council 
 of Calcutta, having given the protection of the English flag to a 
 wealthy fugitive, were, with an army of less than two hundred 
 Englishmen, deliberately defying a vindictive, passionate prince, 
 who could bring against them fifty thousand good soldiers. Since 
 a handful of French infantry under Labourdonnais had defeated in 
 the open field the whole native army of the Carnatic, the fame of 
 Europeans as soldiers had spread rapidly through India ; and it has 
 often resulted since, that mere odds have had very little to do with 
 Indian victories. For all this, it is not difficult to understand why 
 the young Nawab of Bengal, in the first flush of his power, should 
 have despised the English at Calcutta : or why their many native 
 friends, marvelling at their unaccountable temerity, should have 
 deplored an issue with the Nawab which, to their perception, could 
 only end in ignominious discomflture and ruin. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 SOZUN. 
 
 On the evening of a day in March 1747, the sun, which had been 
 blazing all the afternoon upon an arid plain in the north-west of 
 India, was now a blood-red orb slowly descending below the horizon, 
 where a dim grey and a dull red haze were struggling for mastery. 
 Above, was a gloiy of crimson and orange clouds floating in a sea of. 
 soft purple, which faded away by pink and greenish tints into the 
 fast deepening blue of the heavens. Here and there were a few 
 stunted bushes and thin scraggy trees almost leafless, and there was 
 no sign of human habitation for many miles around. Upon some 
 open spots, where the hard earth seemed to have denied the possi- 
 bility of vegetation, as well as among the thorny bushes, lay many 
 inanimate forms of men and horses, gashed with horrible sabre-outs, 
 
200 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 or pierced -with spear or shot wounds, in all possible distortions of 
 agony, or quiet sleep in death. Great vultures were already staliing 
 to and fro with noiseless steps and hungry glistening eyes, while 
 others were wheeling in the air, or alighting with a loud mstle of 
 their heavy wings. From among the low brush-wood, now and then 
 the sharp muzzles, keen eyes, and fox-like heads of jackals peered 
 cautiously ; and, as if impatient of delay, one or two would occasion- 
 ally sally out, look around, and retire again with a sharp bark or 
 howl, as if to advise further caution — or a snarling hyena, with his 
 striped coat, would chase one of them for a short distance, and then 
 stopped to sniflf at a carcass lyrQg before him. For an instant, the 
 sun's rays flashed out of a rent in the haze upon this scene with a 
 glare as red as the blood shed there that day, which, in broad, black- 
 ening patches, had sunk into the thirsty earth. There would be a 
 horrible banquet that night upon men and horses, and presently the 
 moon would rise, and shine softly and peacefully, over all. 
 
 There had been a battle there that day. Ahmed Shah Abdalli of 
 Candahar had invaded India at the head of a horde of his Affghan 
 subjects, and had carried fire and sword through the Punjab ; but 
 had been met at Sirhind by an army of the old Mogul chivalry from 
 Delhi, and overthrown, and, with his people, had fled westwards. 
 
 But there were two human beings alive near the spot I mention. 
 One was a broad-chested, strong featured, stalwart Affghan, with a 
 curly brown beard and blue eyes, who that morning, ruddy with the 
 glow of health and excitement, had ridden with his troop of comrades 
 in the confident hope of victory, which should lead him with the rest 
 to the imperial city, the goal of many an Affghan freebooter's desires. 
 He was now lying there with a gurgling in his throat, and his dim 
 eyes already glazing in death that would soon come. He had done 
 his work in that day's fight manfully, and had slain several of his 
 assailants, whose bodies lay not far off; but a chance shot had killed 
 his gallant horse, and as they fell together, a broken limb rendered 
 him powerless to rise, and in the end, an arrow, shot by a Rajpoot 
 bowman, had wounded him mortally. It had seemed a cowardly shot ; 
 for as the gallant fellow, little caring for himself, lay by his dead 
 horse, he had protected with his broad shield a slight girlish form 
 which crouched beneath it, and defended her and himself with his 
 broad heavy sabre. Many comrades passed him by unheeded in the 
 last charge as the victorious Mogul cavalry careered onwards, and the 
 Affghans fled, till the last fatal shot came and left him as he was, 
 helpless and dying. 
 
 By his side now knelt a girl of singular appearance, and even 
 beauty, who strove to raise the drooping head and lay it on her 
 shoulder — strove to moisten the parched white lips from the gourd 
 which was slung at the horse's saddle-bow, and to rouse the dying 
 
SOZUN. 201 
 
 man ; but in vain. His mouth refused the water which he had 
 drunk greedily at first, his lips uttered inarticulate sounds, and his 
 breath came only by feeble gasps. He was bleediag inwardly, and 
 to death ; and th%fatal barb, of which he had broken the shaft in his 
 first agony, lay rankling near his heart. Suddenly, as the sun's red 
 glare shone out into his dim eyes, and they gleamed with a last look 
 of intelligence upon the girl's face, a faint smile trembled upon his 
 features, and passed away into the majesty of death. 
 
 " Father ! father ! " she had said in her rough guttural Pushtoo 
 tongue. " Father, look up ! one word, but one ! Ai Alia kureem ! 
 but one ! " Alas ! that faint dim flicker of life had been but as tran- 
 sient as the sun's rays which then passed from the earth, and left her 
 — with the ravening creatures around her — alone ! 
 
 Alone indeed 1 and it was a sad story, but a very simple one, soon 
 told. When the Afighan forces were collected by Ahmed Shah, men 
 had flocked to his standard from all parts of his dominions. A foray 
 into India, with Delhi to be gained, was a national honour which 
 every warrior burned to share. Sikunder Khan had little to keep 
 him in his mountain home of Istaliff". Two sons had died, like 
 others, in local quarrels, fierce and bloody, and his wife too, had 
 died after them. There remained only Sozun, his daughter ; and 
 when the arms were being cleaned and sharpened, and the good 
 horse shod for the long marches, the girl had looked wistfully at 
 these preparations, bowed herself before her rough father, and said, 
 "Thou wilt not leave me alone, father? I will ride with thee!" 
 So, up to that day, the hardy girl had ridden beside him through 
 many a weary march, through many a grim fight : doing her simple 
 offices of cooking, and laying out the saddle-cloths when they were 
 to rest, spreading garments over spears tied together to keep off the 
 dew, and sleeping beside him as peacefully as she ever did in their 
 mountain home. There was many a brave clansman in that flying 
 rout who, if he had known her desolation, would have turned to 
 bring her awayj but in the clamour and confusion of the Mogul 
 charge, Sikunder Khan's fate had been unnoticed, and the wild con- 
 flict had whirled fiercely along over many a mile, and would not cease 
 till night fell upon it. 
 
 Alone indeed ! With death in the battle-field, or among their own 
 glorious mountains, the girl had long been familiar. Of the ghastly 
 forms lying around her she was in no terror, nor at first had she any 
 clear perception of her position. But the night was falling fast ; a 
 chUl wind began to sweep over the desolate plain, and to sigh among 
 the brakes, mingling with the horrid cries about her. Several times 
 creatures she could dimly see, came about her with flapping wings, 
 or stealthy steps and savage snarls ; and she had then snatched up 
 her father's sword, unfastened his shield, and held it over him as he 
 
202 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 had held it over her. Often and often, so long as there was any- 
 light, she had peered into his eyes and spoken to him — perhaps he 
 was asleep ! The misery that he was dead had hardly come into her 
 heart yet, but it could not long be repelled. Aa»she listened with 
 her ear to his breast, there was at last no breathing ; and as the 
 moon rose and shed its first pallid gleam over the scene, it lit upon 
 a pale ghastly face, the expression of which could not be mistaken, 
 and the girl cast herself upon the body with a piercing scream of 
 agony which could not be repressed. 
 
 How long she remained there she knew not ; but was roused by a 
 rough pull at her arms, and a feeling as if she were rudely flung 
 aside, and she started to her feet in terror. Four men and two 
 women were before her, and one of the men seized her arms, while 
 another bound a part of a turban about her, pinioning them close to 
 her body. The women were rifling her father, and two men were 
 loosening the saddle upon the dead horse. 
 
 " Rip open the lining," cried one of the women ; " those plundering 
 rascals carryall their gold there. Who is that you've got there, MuUik ? 
 a boy ? Give him the knife. What use is he to you ? Be quick ? " 
 
 The girl heard one of the men mutter a savage oath as he drew a 
 knife from his girdle, which flashed in the moonlight, and saw it 
 raised to strike her. She shut her eyes, and did not shrink from the 
 blow ; death would be welcome, and she did not fear it. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed the man, coarsely. " Come hither, 
 Jumna ; 'tis a girl I should have slain but for good mother moon 
 yonder. Come and see." 
 
 "A girl?" cried both the women, leaving their hideous work; 
 " what in the name of the fiend hath brought her here ? Who art 
 thou ? Speak ! " exclaimed one of them in her own Pushtoo tongue ; 
 " and where hast thou come from ? " 
 
 The familiar language, perhaps, more than the question, roused 
 the girl; but all she could answer was, " My father ! — oh father!" 
 and sti-ove again to cast herself upon his body. 
 
 " He's dead, my lily," said one of the women, in a somewhat kinder 
 voice — " he's dead, and with the blessed Lord and the Prophet now. 
 He'll never help thee more, nor thou him ; and only for us, the 
 wolves and the jackals and the vultures would have had a tender 
 meal to-night off thee. Thank the Prophet, who hath sent thee 
 friends. We will take care of thee, child. Thou shalt be a daughter 
 to me, and I will teach thee all the chai-ms and the tricks." 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked the girl, trembling. " I am Sozun." 
 
 " We ? Well, men call us by many names — what signifies ? and 
 we dance, and sing, and sell charms. I'm too old for that now ; but 
 I have three daughters who do all they're taught, and thou shalt be 
 one too, Sozun." 
 
SOZUN. 203 
 
 " She's not twelve years old," said the other woman, holding the 
 girl's face up to the moonlight. " Allah ! what eyes ! what a colour ! 
 She's worth thousands." 
 
 " And here's a stout pony, sister," said one of the men, coming up, 
 leading a strong, active "yaboo." "He wouldn't leave the bush 
 yonder where he had been tied, though he broke the rein. Perhaps 
 it's hers, and it will do to carry her." 
 
 Her dear old M6tee knew his mistress as he was led up, and with 
 a low whinny put his nose to her breast and rubbed it against her. 
 When her father fell, Sozun had thrown herself from his back and 
 run to his side ; but the pony had never stirred. Afterwards she 
 had tied him to a bush ; and except that he had kicked viciously at 
 eveiy beast that came and sniffed at him, he had not stirred. The 
 turmoil of the fight had swept by him, but he was unnoticed. 
 
 There was short parley about Sozun. They would not trust her 
 arms at liberty, though they loosened their bonds. " Remove them, 
 my child ? Aha ! as if I had not been at Candahar and Ghuzni, 
 and knew how women ride there ! No, no ; be quiet, and we will 
 take care of thee." 
 
 Helpless, confused, moaning in her bitter misery, little caring what 
 became of her, Sozun, the Affghan soldier's child, was led away on 
 her pony to a new life, which was destined to be an eventful one. 
 
 I do not think it would answer our purpose to follow it. She was 
 then little more than eleven years old, but her figure was tall, strong, 
 and well formed, and her face gave promise of beauty. Her eyes 
 were glorious — great brown flashing eyes, with long sweeping eye- 
 lashes, which seemed almost coarse. Her teeth were white and very 
 even, and sparkled in her dewy ruddy mouth as she spoke, literally 
 like rows of pearls. To those Indian gypsies she appeared very fair ; 
 and indeed, though her neck and arms were embrowned by constant 
 exposure, her skin, where it had remained covered, was white and 
 soft. 
 
 In the whirl of a camp life, in the excitement of change of place, 
 with new and gay associates, Sozun at last forgot the misery of that 
 night, though the ghastly dead face of her father, the beasts of prey 
 howling around her, and their screams and shrieks as they fought 
 over the dead carcasses — ^long, very long, haunted her in many a 
 frightful dream. When she was a year older, she was taken to Delhi, 
 and sold to the proprietress of a company of dancing-girls, to be 
 taught her profession, begun rudely by the gypsy women in their 
 camp. One of the crones who had found her, Jumna, had adopted 
 Sozun as a daughter ; and, though capricious in her disposition, was 
 in the main kind. Other girls, slaves like herself, Sozun saw beaten 
 frequently, and made to do the most menial offices in the rude tent 
 camps of the gypsy tribes ; but she was always protected, and cared 
 
204 RALPH DAR NELL. 
 
 for tenderly enough. She was taught to believe in her destiny ; and 
 her horoscope, cast after the fashion of gypsies in all parts of the 
 earth, indicated such an elevation in life that she was in a manner 
 venerated. The old woman had travelled to Bokhara, to Samarcand, 
 and to every part of India, and knew her captive's value, the greater 
 if the girl could be taught to know it herself ; but Sozun could not 
 be adopted into the tribe — she could only remain a slave like others, 
 and be used for the worst of purposes. 
 
 " I love thee, my lily," the old woman would say — " I love thee 
 as my life ; but thou'rt too good for us, Sozun, and I will sell thee to 
 the Padishah's dancers when we go to Delhi for a thousand rupees. 
 Thou wilt become very beautiful, and thy star already shineth out of 
 thy fair forehead like a queen's, as thou wilt be." 
 
 " Like a queen's, as thou wilt be," seemed to find an echo presently 
 in the girl's heart ; and when the dead was forgotten, and the old 
 mountain home and her playfellows at Istalifi" had faded dimly away 
 into the past — love of fine clothes, of jewels with which she was 
 decked, of desire to excel in the accomplishments of her profession, 
 soon followed, and then Jumna, as I have saidj sold her at Delhi, 
 and parted from her sadly. 
 
 " I have got a good price for thee, my lily," she said one day, " and 
 thou must go. Ohunda Kour has promised to be good to thee, and 
 make thee a queen. She is in love with thee ; and many a one will 
 love thee as thou growest older. Come, my child, dress thyself in 
 thy best clothes, for they are bought with thee, and I will come 
 often to see thee ! " 
 
 A new life again, a gi-and house to live in, in the Chandnee Chowk 
 of Delhi, and an imperial establishment of palankeens, elephants, and 
 luxuries. The mountain home, the white dead face, the rough camp- 
 life of the gypsies, went further and further away. All her young 
 companions laid plots for future distinction — what they would do, 
 what lovers they would have, whom they would win, what jewels, 
 what silks, what shawls they would possess ; and she did the same. 
 With this, Sozun learned all the art of her trade quickly and grace- 
 fully, for she enjoyed it. No positions, no graces of dancing were too 
 difficult. Her teachers were proud of her ; and, as her voice grew 
 strong and sweet, she loved to sing. She had not forgotten some of 
 the plaintive ballads of her own country, and, as a child, had played 
 on the lute like other girls ; and these old songs, though they some- 
 times made her heart ache, had a strange charm for her hearers. No 
 music was too difficult to be overcome, and the singers of the 
 Emperor's own chamber had pleasiire in teaching the Afighan girl 
 what they would have denied to others. 
 
 She made her d6but, as we should call it, at a public durbar in the 
 palace at Selim Ghur, and was enveloped in costly shawls, her lap 
 
THE NA WAB AND HIS SLA VE. 205 
 
 filled with gold pieces, and a title, which she bore ever afterwards, 
 bestowed upon her, with a daily allowance from the imperial trea- 
 sury. As she grew up, she became beautiful — certainly very beau- 
 tiful — especially her figure, which was superb. Her Affghan origin 
 gave her height and carriage beyond any of her associates. Her 
 fresh colour, and healthy ruddy complexion, made her everywhere 
 remarkable, and she felt a corresponding ambition growing upon her. 
 
 Love ! ah no ! — ^love could find no place in such a heart ; and, 
 when it did come, it was not akin to what we know of. 
 
 Chunda Koiir knew her slave's value. From Delhi to Lucknow, 
 at festivals, marriages, the durbars of princes, the merrymakings of 
 rich bankers, even the sacred festivals of Hindu gods, and the anni- 
 versaries of Mahomedan saints, the Affghan girl danced and sang, 
 and the gold of enraptured thousands was poured at her feet. Even 
 the aged Ali Verdy Khan, the Nawab of Bengal, when Sozun arrived 
 at Moorshedabad, thought no durbar complete without her ; and 
 when his favourite son, Suraj-oo-DouJah, besought him, besought his 
 mother, to plead that Sozun might be presented to him, the girl felt 
 her destiny was accomplished, and consented. The price demanded 
 for her was paid, and she passed into the harem of the young prince, 
 to be — as the gipsy astrologer had foretold — a queen ? no ; except in 
 wealth and power, she could not be that, for a lawful wife was there 
 before her; but when, on the 9th day of April 1756, the brave old 
 Tartar viceroy breathed his last, and Sozun was among the ladies of 
 his family who wailed loudly for him, while the priests were chant- 
 ing the last services over his body, she seemed to be on the threshold 
 of the fulfilment of her desire. 
 
 ; CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 THK NAWAB AND HIS SLAVE. 
 
 " He loved her with all love, except the love 
 Of men and women when they love the best." 
 
 Tenutson. 
 
 "Art thou content now, my soul ? or is there any desire at thy heart 
 which I can fulfil ? If there be, tell me. If it be on the world's 
 face, it shall be got for thee. I would not see one frown on thy 
 brow, or hear a sigh from thy heart, Sozun, and that thou well 
 knowest. But I am weary now, and thou must sing to me — weary 
 of all my court, of never-ending advice and counsel, of my mother's 
 vaui grief, of my friends and of my enemies, of all but thee, my life 
 
206 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 — my soul — for thou art ever fresh, ever beautiful ! Sing to me, 
 sweet one, one of those old mountain songs of thine, soft and low, 
 for my brain is dizzy." It was the Nawab who was speaking to his 
 slave, Sozun. 
 
 " So soon weary, my lord," said the girl, " and thy power but just 
 begun ? Were I like thee I would not be weary : Hast thou not a 
 kingdom, a brave army, wealth, and all newly come to thee ? Where- 
 fore, then, art thou weary ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sozun, no sage advice from thee," he replied, " Thou 
 art my refuge from all this, which hath made my head throb and my 
 heart sick. Sing to me, then, my soul, while I listen and forget." 
 
 The girl took up a small battered lute, tuned it, and began one 
 of those old mountain airs in her own mother tongue, which still 
 lingered in her memory. Years ago she had sung this to her 
 mother, to her father in the camp by night, and to rough men who 
 gathered round their little tent of spears and horsecloths. The lute 
 was her own, which, part of the gypsy's plunder of her dead father, 
 she had begged for, and kept ever since. She was changed now, but 
 the song was not changed, nor the old memories which came thick 
 upon her as she looked upon her master, whom the soft low song had 
 lulled to slumber. Was she happy? All she had dreamed of as 
 belonging to wealth and power was in her grasp already, for the last 
 obstacle to the complete possession of them had departed with the old 
 Nawab. Was she happy with it all ? I think not then, with those 
 old memories, dim and faded as they were, but sweeter and more 
 precious nevertheless, lying at her heart. 
 
 Suraj-oo-Doulah was asleep. " For this," said the girl, scornfully, 
 as she cast her eyes over the recumbent figure — " for this I am what 
 I am, and but a slave after all. Better free, even at the old trade, 
 and the praise of thousands ringing in my ears and swelling my 
 heart ; and, better than all, dead — and yet not so. Can I not rule 
 that thing, and make him serve my will ? " 
 
 She put down the instrument with a heavy sigh, opened the carved 
 window-screen gently, and looked out of the balcony. It was high 
 above the ground, and from it she saw the broad river, with a few 
 boats sailing lazily with the stream, which glittered in the heat. 
 Beyond, a fair level country, dotted with villages and corn-fields, 
 and groves of trees with heavy foliage, out of which white tops of 
 Hindu temples with gilded spires sjoarkled in the sun ; while all the 
 scene trembled, as it were, under the vivid heat, fading away into a 
 dim blue distance. No sounds broke the stillness, except the distant 
 low of cattle bathing in the stream — the shrill whistling cry of kites 
 which sailed and wheeled in the air, and the hum of flies as they 
 whirled in a dizzy round about the window. Below, a company of 
 gay horsemen and some foot-soldiers were leaving the outer court of 
 
THE NA WAB AND HIS SLA VE. 207 
 
 the palace, and the towa seemed asleep in the blaze of light which 
 fell upon it, for about the streets no one was stirring. 
 
 On this day, the first great durbar assembly of the young prince 
 had been held. It had been the first public declaration of his 
 accession ; and after the reception of all his courtiers, the leaders of 
 his troops, his ministers of state, and the leading bankers and mer- 
 chants of his own city, and the English factory at Cossim Bazar, it 
 was perhaps not strange that the young Nawab was weary. 
 
 She to whom he had spoken, however, was not so, and her 
 thoughts were very busy. Gradually she had come to understand 
 the nature of the man to whom her destiny had linked her ; and the 
 more she knew of it the more deeply she resolved that it should not 
 overcome her. It would be strange, perhaps, were anything of love 
 combined with this. Of all the cautions she had received from her 
 instructress, the most constant was, that she must shut her heart to 
 love. She had to gain honour in her art, to gain wealth and power, 
 but must harden her heart against all else ; and hitherto these 
 mercenary teachings had been followed with a hardness in execution 
 which had excited Chunda Kour's perfect admiration. She had no 
 rule of life but her own, and its precepts were hereditary. Other 
 women might marry, might have children to love them, might love 
 themselves ; but one like her, a Tuwaif, never ! To do so would be 
 to sacrifice all, present and to come. 
 
 I say the more Sozun thought upon the figure before her, the 
 more rapidly all the old life memories faded out of her heart, and 
 the rules, the hard rules of the new, entered it and abode grimly 
 there ; while the tears which had fallen fast from her eyes as she 
 sang, dried on her flushed cheek as the hot air played upon it, and 
 did not refresh her. The lute was still in her hand, and for a 
 moment she was tempted to fling it away. " Thou wouldst be 
 dashed to pieces, poor thing," she said to it, " but I could not forget 
 thee. With thee I am as I am, and tUl I die thou shalt not leave 
 me." The only bond of tenderness which linked her to the past, 
 and to the good feelings of her nature, seemed to be that poor 
 battered instrument ; all else was hard and defiant now, as she had 
 striven to make it. 
 
 Still he slept. That weary youth, with whom her destinies were 
 linked, lay calmly before her. She knew him to be in her power. 
 She believed, and believed truly, that of all about him — ^kindred, 
 slaves, ministers, and creatures of his power — she alone was beloved. 
 If in such a mind any love could exist, she had awakened and pos- 
 sessed it. She knew his heart to be cruel, rapacious, vindictive, 
 insolent, and tyrannical. A coward, a profligate, and a traitor, she 
 could not conceal from herself that he might some day turn on her 
 unexpectedly, and destroy her as he had destroyed others. The 
 
i08 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 girl even shuddered at the idea for an instant ; but the next, had 
 closed her teeth fiercely under the influence of the passionate 
 thoughts which flashed through her brain. No ; whatever he was — 
 hated, despised, dreaded — ^the Nawab Suraj-oo-Doulah was at least 
 hers ; and with this assurance, a feeling of tenderness she had never 
 before experienced — a fascination, as it were, she could not resist — 
 had arisen slowly but surely, and was growing on her in spite of her 
 precautions. It would be strange and unnatural, indeed, if any 
 human mind could exist without the germ of such feeling, which 
 time and opportunity might call into action. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, when he awoke at length, and stretched him- 
 self, holding out his arms as if to caress her — " tell me, my lord, 
 what happened to-day in the durbar ? Thou art my debtor for that 
 sweet sleep, and to this old lute for playing thee to rest, and I ask 
 payment." 
 
 " I will tell thee, Sozun," he said, as she seated herseK by him, 
 and his hand passed fondly over her fair cheek, " though thou wilt 
 hardly care for our state doings and quarrels. Dost thou care, 
 my soul ? " 
 
 " My lord's friends are my friends, and his enemies are my 
 enemies," she replied, as her bosom heaved. " If his slave's counsel 
 is but that of a woman, it is at least sincere and true, and may be 
 useful, my — " 
 
 " Nay, enough, Sozun," he replied, putting his hand on her mouth. 
 " Who doubts thee, my pearl ? Not I, by the Prophet. Thou shalt 
 know all, and welcome. Listen. There was a servant of my father's 
 who held a high place, and collected and embezzled much of the 
 revenue. He died. His son has left his post with all his wealth, 
 and has taken refuge in the Peringi fort at Calcutta, and defies me. 
 What wouldst thou do ? " 
 
 " Do ? " cried the girl, her eyes flashing — " do ? Thou, the Nawab 
 of Bengal, wliose bread they eat, under the shadow of whose 
 splendour these Feringis live! and thou askesfc me? Do? I will 
 tell thee. Give me thy army. I, Sozun, thy slave and a woman, 
 will lead it to Calcutta — raze every stone of this Kaffir fort to the 
 ground — and bring away that vile thief in defiance of them. Who 
 are they that have eaten this abomination ? " 
 
 " They are rich merchants, who bring hither stores of English 
 goods — Kaffirs, and utter abominations to the faith of Islam ; and I 
 hate them, Sozun — I hate them because they do not fear me. One 
 came to-day to the durbar from the Bazaar. It was he, I know 
 well, who sent on that thief and traitor ; and he behaved insolently 
 before every one present. He looked round with an air of defiance, 
 as though he were the Nawab, and I the Kaffir merchant, crouchmg 
 at his feet." 
 
THE NA WAB AND HIS SLA VE. 209 
 
 " I ■would have had him seized and put in irons," cried the girl. 
 
 " I wotdd rather have hanged him in the market-place, or tied him 
 to the foot of an elephant, to have his Kaffir soul trampled out of 
 him," he replied, savagely ; " but their time is not come yet. 
 
 " Why not, my lord ? " she asked ; " are men afraid of these 
 Feringis ? " 
 
 He laughed bitterly. " My father was, but I am not, Sozun ; I 
 do not fear them," he said. " Men say they have received more 
 guns from their ships, and have strengthened their fort. No, I fear 
 them not ; but, strange to say, my mother loves them ! She sent for 
 me to-day, and besought me not to quarrel with them. They were 
 under the Emperor's protection, she said, and my father's, and she 
 would not have the old agreements broken. I was angry with her, 
 and I swore on the Koran which lay by her, that I would have 
 revenge for their insulting defiance, and left her. I have written 
 once more to Drake, who is in Calcutta, and if he gives up this thief 
 Kissun-das, he is safe for the present ; if not — Allah ! he will rue it." 
 
 " Thou wilt take me with thee to see the English Kaffirs and their 
 ships, and the English shops ! Ha, ha ! " she cried, clapping her 
 hands ; " and thou shalt have thy revenge on all." 
 
 "Yes, I will have it, Sozun," he muttered through his teeth, "if 
 I hang those ciirsed Feringis, every one of them, upon their own 
 walls ; and thou shalt see it, too. I swear to thee." 
 
 " And what of her, my lord ? " said the girl, almost with hesita- 
 tion, after a silence which he did not care to interrupt. 
 
 " Curse her ! " said the Nawab, rising, and striking the cushion on 
 which he was lying ; " why did they ever marry me to ber — a poor 
 puling thing, who hates me, and whom I hate as I hate the Feringis. 
 What of her ? She "is safe from thee, my rose — safe for many a day 
 to come, I hope, and she may rot where she is, in the vault below. 
 Thou mayest go, if thou dost not believe me, and look at her. If she 
 die soon, there will be one the less for thee to fret about." 
 
 " I do not fret about her, my lord," she replied, scornfully ; " I 
 hate her as thou dost, as I would hate anything that came between 
 thee and me. Ah, thou lovedst her once, they tell me." 
 
 "Till I saw thee, Sozun? Never! But let that pass. What 
 more have I to tell thee? A thousand things that vex me — of 
 treachery, of plots, of intrigues. I know not yet whom to trust or 
 whom to fear ; but time will show all. There are French Feringis 
 and English Feringis, who thirst for each other's blood, and if the 
 French will join me, they might have the English Fort ; but they 
 dare not, for there is peace between their nations. I dread Meer 
 Jaffier, with his smooth tongue and hollow heart, and he is too 
 powerful for me to lay hands upon. I di-ead the bankers and their 
 intrigues. I dread — " 
 
210 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 "Thou shalt fear nothing," cried the girl, warmly — "no, not the 
 fiend himself — while I am with thee, my lord. Strike boldly down 
 all that oppose thee. If these English Feringis are strong, stiike 
 them down first, that men may tremble and obey. My lord is yoimg 
 in power yet, and needs to prove it. You said she was in the vault 
 below : let me but see her there, and I am content till I see Calcutta 
 blazing, and my loi-d victorious." 
 
 " Go, then," he replied. " Nasir will take thee ; " and he clapped 
 his hands. 
 
 One of the eunuchs without entered, and put up his hands, listening. 
 
 " Take him with thee," said the Nawab ; " he will show thee the 
 place. The way is private." 
 
 Sozun followed the man, and they descended by a private stair, 
 which, long as she had been in the palace, she had never remarked 
 before. When they reached the foundation vaults, the man stopped 
 before a door on which was a heavy padlock, unlocked it, and pushed 
 it open. Except by a narrow loophole, above which some green 
 leaves were waving, there was no other light. The place had a damp, 
 dank smell ; but it was swept, and on a pallet in a corner lay a slight 
 figure, which rose as Sozun entered, and, drawing her white muslin 
 scarf over her face more closely, asked in a gentle, girlish voice, 
 " Who art thou ? and why art thou come here ? " 
 
 " Look at me," said Sozun, advancing close to her. " Thou hast 
 heard of me, lady, enough I daresay. Thou art Suraj-oo-Doulah's 
 wife; and I — No matter, I am Sozun, his slave. Ah, he did 
 not tell me how beautiful thou art ! Dost thou know that I hate 
 thee, O Begum ! " 
 
 " I am very helpless,'' was the reply, " and wish to die. Why 
 does he not kill me ? O Allah ! just and merciful, wilt thou behold 
 such tyranny ! Even as thou wilt, as thou wilt, O Lord ! " and she 
 sat down sobbing. 
 
 " He is mine, lady," resumed Sozun, in a hard voice — " mine, and 
 cannot be thine. There is no peace between us, and if thou wert 
 dead it would be well, or if I were dead it would be well." 
 
 " Hast thou no pity in thy heart ? Why does he not let me go ? " 
 she returned. 
 
 " Pity, lady ? None for thee, as thou hast none for me. No, 
 thou canst not go hence ; it would not be seemly." 
 
 " I would not harm thee — I never harmed thee," she replied, 
 gently. " Let me go. What have I done to thee ? " 
 
 " You would, you would ! " cried Sozun, passionately. " You 
 would drive me forth, you would trample on me if you dared, you 
 would iirge him to destroy me, as you have done before, and you 
 know it, lady ! It is my time now — why should I have pity ? Have 
 Afighans ever pity ? I have none." 
 
THE NA WAB AND HIS SLA VE. 211 
 
 " If I could only die,'' said the lady, sighing dreamily, " there 
 ■would be peace and rest. I have no friend but thee, O Lord ! — none 
 but thee ! " 
 
 " Ameen," returned Sozun, bitterly — " ameen ! May the good God 
 and the Prophet hear thee ! " 
 
 They were both silent. The lady was sitting upon the edge of her 
 pallet, covering her face with her muslin scarf, and sobbing piteously. 
 The other, standing over her triumphant; a gorgeous shawl of 
 Benares tissue, crimson and gold, floating around her head and per- 
 son, beneath which a petticoat of cloth-of-gold swept to the floor. 
 Had the lady looked up, she would have seen her own jewels dis- 
 played upon the dancer's arms and hands, and one priceless diamond 
 which, in the light which fell on them from the loop-hole, flashed as 
 the girl's bosom heaved under her excitement. 
 
 " Dost thou see these ? " she cried, waving her hands and arms, on 
 which the jewels sparkled. " Dost thou know Jtheni ? They were 
 thine lady, and are now mine. Enough ; I have seen thee, and will 
 remember and dread thy beauty ; and thou wilt not forget Sozun, the 
 Affghan slave." 
 
 With these cruel words she turned, and when the door closed, and 
 the clash of her anklets grew fainter and fainter, the lady bowed 
 herself to the ground, and thanked God for the departure of her 
 cruel enemy. 
 
 " I have seen her, my lord," said Soznn to the Nawab, when she 
 returned to him, " and I have seen enough. Though didst not tell 
 me she was so lovely. By Allah ! thou wert a fool to take me 
 instead of her." 
 
 " And thou a fool to say so, Sozun," he replied, sharply ; " but we 
 need not quarrel. Is she safe, and art thou content ? " 
 
 " Is she fed, my lord ? " 
 
 "Surely," was the reply. "Thou wouldst not have me do 
 murder, Sozun ? and for thee ? " 
 
 The girl laughed scornfully. "No," she replied, "not on her, 
 It will be my care to feed her daintily, that she may live, and that I. 
 Sozun, may look on her as I wish. Yes, she is safe, and I will keep 
 her so, even from thee, my lord — even from thee. I have taken the 
 key. I am more to be trusted with it than Nasir perhaps." 
 
 " Thou art a devil ! " cried the young man, starting to his feet, 
 " but so beautiful that I dare not harm thee." 
 
 " Ah, my lord," she replied, caressing him, " if I am as precious 
 to thee as thou sayest I am, I need to protect myself for my lord's 
 sake. Thy wife is a royal lady, and I am only a poor Afighan 
 soldier's child. She hath friends, but I have none save myself— and 
 thee." 
 
212 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE DUEBAR AND THE DERWESH. 
 
 Some weeks had elasped, but the young Nawab had as yet shown no 
 sign of offensive operations against the English. A trustworthy 
 envoy had been despatched to Calcutta in disguise, bearing a letter 
 to the chief of the English Factory, expressing anger at the increase 
 of fortifications, and demanding in very peremptory terms the sur- 
 render of the vassal and servant who had taken refuge there. This 
 emissary had not been fortunate. He had found the Factory officials 
 alarmed and cautious, and he was not only denied admittance to the 
 fort, but, being dismissed beyond its boundaries as a spy, in an 
 ignominious manner, had returned to his master, not only full of 
 revengeful determination in regard to his own injuries, but as a very 
 firebrand to the train already prepared to explode ; for his tale fell 
 upon willing ears. The Nawab had listened to it with a triumph he 
 could ill conceal, and there were few present in that evening council 
 in the palace who ventured to cross the young man's vindictive 
 temper, or to point out the ultimate danger of the now meditated 
 enterprise. 
 
 Perhaps indeed few, if any, could see its existence. The force of 
 the English in Calcutta was accurately known, and seemed utterly 
 insignificant. Each selfish in regard to individual ends and interests, 
 it was not probable that any coalition of the European Factories 
 ■*-ould take place ; and the Nawab knew for certain that, although 
 the French would not openly break with him and espouse the cause 
 of the English, they would greatly rejoice at their discomfiture. The 
 French congratulations upon his accession had been peculiarly accept- 
 able and submissive ; and though he had received like courtesies from 
 the English, the tone bf independence which was perceptible in their 
 letters had appeared to him, and to his councillors, little less than 
 offensive arrogance. His own mind had been made up long ago ; but 
 to Sozun, the action she longed to see him engaged in had been 
 delayed almost past endurance. 
 
 At home there were no enemies who showed themselves. Those 
 who had supported other pretensions, or were supposed to do so, had 
 been dealt with summarily and vindictively ; but I need not detail 
 any of these events. What the native historians of his own period as 
 well as ours have depicted, Suraj-oo-Doulah had proved himself to be ; 
 and for recent, as well as former acts, many among his own people 
 were already weary of him, though where relief could come from was 
 not perceptible. Time was, when the outciy of the people of a Mogul 
 province found hearing in the imperial court at Delhi ; but that was 
 past listening now : or when commanders of imperial armies, serving 
 
THE DURBAR AND THE DERWESH 213 
 
 in provinces, preserved the honour of the empire untarnished ; but 
 the armies of the Nawab held no allegiance to Delhi ; they were in 
 his own pay, and he believed them devoted to his interests. He had 
 bestowed large largesses upon them out of his father's treasures, and 
 every officer supposed to be unsound had been dismissed or removed. 
 Upon those who were about him, then, the young man had strong 
 reliance ; and it was with a company of them, and of his ordinary 
 courtiers and officials, that he had heard that afternoon the story of 
 his agent's disgrace, and of the implied insult to himself. 
 
 " We are fallen somewhat low, my friends," said the Nawab, look- 
 ing round the apartment as the relation was concluded, " when we 
 hear that a few Kaffir Feringis have defied our power, and have sent 
 back our messenger with a blackened face ! It seems to them, 
 perhaps, that the glory and valour of the men of Islam has departed ; 
 and the swords which were red one day, that^ome here remember, in 
 the blood of those infidel Mahrattas, are now washed in rose-water, 
 sheathed, and laid by. What think ye, my friends ? Is our cup full 
 enough, or are we to have more abomination poured into it ? Speak, 
 Moulvee Sahib ! you are the elder here, and have the experience of 
 two generations. Nay, friends, be silent," he continued, as many 
 cried out passionately ; " let the holy man speak, that we may hear 
 words of wisdom and inspiration." 
 
 Moulvee WuUee-oo-Deen was the chief priest of the great mosque 
 at Moorshedabad ; and, as his office requii-ed of him, was not only 
 learned in all ceremonials and observances, but an intense and furious 
 bigot, especially famous for sermons against Christians. Hindus, 
 truly, were abominable infidels ; but Christians were worse. Had 
 they not impiously and defiantly broken the covenant which the Lord 
 made with Abraham ? They were uncircumcised dogs : and in his 
 wulent attacks upon them, this breach of covenant was always his 
 strong point of argument. The Moslem priest was a small, thin, 
 sallow-faced man, with a large aquiline nose, a retreating chin, and a 
 straggling beard, the hairs of which might be coimted. His upper 
 teeth were large and projecting, and his scraggy lean throat, barely 
 concealed by a thin beard, seemed composed of bones and sinews only, 
 with a few thick veins spreading over them, which swelled out, as did 
 those in his forehead, when he began to speak and grew excited. But 
 the Moulvee was already boiling over, and his sense of etiquette alone 
 had prevented him interrupting the Nawab in the ironical speech he 
 had just made. 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! " he cried, " let the vengeance of Alia 
 descend upon them ! How often have I raised this feeble voice in 
 vain against these detestable Feringis! First, there was one ship 
 and a few merchants, and one nation ; now there are three nations, 
 and the ships come in fleets, like the flocks of birds at harvest time. 
 
514 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 I have no new words to speak. To my lord's honoured father, to the 
 lady mother, my speech hath been ever the same. Curse them ! I 
 have cried as I do now — curse them ! " he continued, raising his 
 shrill voice to a scream — " curse them, drive them into the sea, and 
 let my land be delivered from them for ever ! " 
 
 " Ameen ! ameen ! " rose in a low murmur round the room, as those 
 present twisted their moustaches, and grasped the hilts of their swords. 
 
 " What say the stars, my friend ? How are these infidels' horo- 
 scopes and our own at present ? Hast thou proved this, Moulvee ? " 
 asked the Nawab. 
 
 " My lord," cried the priest, " I have no knowledge of this art ; I 
 only know what is written in the blessed Koran — " 
 
 " I know it too, Moulvee Sahib. May the grace of God be on the 
 writer ; but I would fain know how the planets point in this matter. 
 Such art is beneath your holiness, that I know ; but there may be 
 those known to you who can assist us by it." 
 
 " What need of the stars, my lord ? " said a burly Tartar officer, who 
 sat near. " These are the best stars we can follow, which each of us 
 bears by his side," and he held up his sword. 
 
 The Moulvee turned on the speaker a scornful look as he replied, 
 " We have holy warrant for astrology, sir, and you are ignorant to 
 despise it." 
 
 " I don't know that we looked after the stars when Ali Verdy 
 Khan told us to tighten our waistbands before we rode through those 
 Kaffir Mahrattas," retorted the Tartar, angrily ; " and if we had 
 waited for them, they might have been long of coming. So may 
 these stars of the accursed Feringis, who have thrown dirt on our 
 beards. May their fathers burn in hell for it ! " 
 
 " Peace ! " cried the Nawab, interposing ; when we know what our 
 holy friend can tell us, we shall be the more sure j and thou, Moulvee 
 Sahib, must see to it forthwith." 
 
 " I think," replied the priest, " that this need not long be delayed. 
 In the cloisters of the mosque a wise man hath resided for some days 
 past, who hath wonderful power, my lord — wonderful ! Mashalla, it 
 is great ! and he has bestowed amulets on the poor, which heal sick- 
 ness as by a miracle. In your servant's family a case occurred but 
 yesterday, in which the malice of many devils was frustrated ; and 
 yet the patient had long suffered. The Durwesh hath visited Beeja- 
 poor, and the shrine of Sofee Surmust, and that of the blessed Geesoo 
 Duraz, at Gulbergah; and, in short, my lord, he is an apostle of 
 charity, but he is rough and free-spoken. Will your Highness submit 
 this matter to him ? I know no other so worthy or so wise." 
 
 " Inshalla ! " cried the Nawab, whose well-known superstition was 
 at once strongly excited — " Inshalla ! How say you, my friends ? " 
 
 Wiien an Eastern ruler makes a proposition, there are few perhaps 
 
THE DURBAR AND THE DERWESH. 215 
 
 in his council hardy enough to oppose it ; and except the old Tartar 
 soldier, and some Hindus present, there were none certainly tliero 
 who did not desire to see the Nawab's intention forthwith carried 
 out. One, however, honoured and trusted perhaps beyond the rest — 
 a secretary who had risen to distinction under the Nawab's father — 
 was sitting behind the prince, and putting a handkerchief to his 
 mouth, leant forward and whispered caution. 
 
 "This is no matter for public assembly, my Prince," he said. 
 " Dismiss those that are here, and see to this matter in private. 
 What if the result be unfavourable ? " 
 
 Suraj-oo-Doulah laughed scornfully. He was in a reckless, defiant 
 humour, and it was not safe to cross his purpose. " If any one but 
 thee, Anwar Ali," he replied, " had said that, he should have had his 
 tongue cut out. Be silent, and do not lose your respect. Beware, I 
 say ! " and as the man shrank back terrified and trembling, silence 
 fell upon the courtiers, which was only broken by the Nawab himself. 
 " Send for the man," he said — " for this holy fakeer from Beejapoor, 
 who is thy friend, Moulvee Sahib. Let him be brought forthwith." 
 
 " God forbid ! " returned the priest, lifting his joined hands. '"He 
 is no friend of mine, only a poor disciple, my Pr'ince, to whom I have 
 imparted some mysteries of revelation. A rough fellow, my lord, and 
 unlearned in all science, except that of his art. They say," he added 
 in a low tone, " he was once an infidel Brahmin, but hath been con- 
 verted to the faith." 
 
 " Enough ! " cried the Nawab ; " where are the players ? we have 
 had suflScient of this Feringi council. Let tis see the Kaffirs them- 
 selves. Let them enter — they will make some fun for us." 
 
 As he spoke, four men, dressed ^ludicrously in English costume of 
 the period, and with whitened faces, preceded by others bearing a 
 table and four chairs, with some glasses and a bottle, entered the hall : 
 and having made their obeisance, seated themselves on the chairs, and, 
 pretending to drink, made show of draining glass after glass, till the 
 bottle was finished, and was replaced by another. 
 
 " Mercy of the Prophet ! exclaimed the Nawab, "no one speaks." 
 
 " May it please your Highness," said another man, advancing, who 
 acted as spokesman for the players, " these Kaffirs never speak till 
 the wine begins to get into their brains. If your Majesty will 
 only wait." 
 
 It was impossible to maintain gravity, and the Nawab and his 
 corn-tiers burst into peals of laughter. The men, beginning to sway 
 about in their chairs, as bottle after bottle was brought and supposed 
 to be finished, held out their glasses to each othei-, clinked them 
 together, and apparently tossed off the contents. One after another, 
 too, dipped his head under the table, and raised it up with his face 
 changed from white to scarlet, and drank more furiously than before. 
 
il6_ RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 At last one rose, and, steadying himself by the table, bawled out, 
 " De King — hip ! hip ! hooray ! " — and the three others, also rising — 
 echoed, " De King — hip ! hip ! hooray ! " and sat down again. No 
 sooner had this been done than the first once more rose, and cried, 
 "De Coompaini — ^hip ! hip ! hooray ! " and was answered as before by 
 a cry of, " De Coompani — hip ! hipJ hooray ! " After that, each 
 man in quick succession bawled out other toasts, and filled his glass, 
 whUe all together began to jabber an utterly unintelligible gibberish, 
 in which a few coarse English words and oaths were intermingled. 
 Presently, too, one of the players pretended to quarrel with another, 
 and was pulled back by a third ; and songs which had little tune, but 
 of which the purport could not be mistaken, were howled indepen- 
 dently, till the clamour and riot became indescribable, and the scene 
 ended by one after another of the men tumbling from his chair to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Protection of God ! " cried the Nawab, holding his sides, " is this 
 the truth ? The Feringis at Cossim Bazar are not like this." 
 
 " May I be your sacrifice ? " cried the spokesman, in an attitude of 
 supplication, " your slaves have seen them all like this at Calcutta. 
 There is no lie in it ; and the next act is their dance, which is better 
 still. Will my lord see it ? " 
 
 "The Fakeer is present," said an attendant, "and salutes my. 
 Prince." 
 
 Suraj-oo-Doulah looked up as a remarkable figure advanced through 
 the court, and stood before him without salutation. 
 
 " Salute the Nawab ! salute the King ! " cried many voices, but the 
 man looked round him disdainfully, and said in a commanding voice, 
 " I never salute any but God," — then turning to the mummers, part 
 of whose performance he had unwillingly witnessed, he cried, — " Be- 
 gone, ye shameless, thus to defile God's image ! I have seen the 
 durbars of kings and princes of the faith from Constantinople to 
 Delhi, but never, O Nawab, did I behold so shameless a scene as this. 
 What dost thou require of me % Speak ! " and the Fakeer dpew him- 
 self up proudly, and looked around him. 
 
 A tall, gaunt figure, with matted hair twisted round his head ; a 
 long grey beard, partly turned over his ears ; naked to the waist, with 
 every bone of his attenuated body starting out under the skin in 
 painful relief; a long purple and white cotton waist-cloth descending 
 to his ankles, and a soft leopard skin depending from his shoulders. 
 The Nawab had rarely beheld so weird a figure, and started at the 
 abrupt and defiant address. 
 
 " Thou mightest use civil speech, friend," he said haughtily. 
 
 " Nay, my lord," whispered the priest, " a holy man, and rough of 
 speech, as I said ; to be pardoned, therefore, as it is his custom. He 
 knows no master but God." 
 
^ THE DURBAR AND THE DERWESH. 217 
 
 "Tell him what I want," replied the Nawab in a surly tone, 
 " and let him depart in the devil's name, as soon as he has answered." 
 
 "Come hither, friend," said the priest, blandly, "and sit down 
 here by me," and the Moulvee sidled away a little. " His Highness 
 hath need of thy art, and would know how the holy mysteries of thy 
 science explain the planets in conjunction on the — on the — " and he 
 looked to the Nawab, uncertain whether he should tell what had passed. 
 
 " My army is going to Calcutta," said the Nawab, " and I would 
 know the result. Dost thou fear to speak ? " 
 
 " Fear ! " cried the man — " only slaves fear. I am the slave of 
 God and the Prophet, and I fear not man. I will tell thee, but 
 I will not sit in this assembly. 
 
 For a few minutes the Fakeer was silent as if in prayer. He then 
 took some silver tablets from liis girdle and consulted them. 
 
 " Speak quickly," cried the Nawab, " and the less of thy mummery 
 the better." 
 
 " Listen," said the Fakeer, solemnly. " The conjunction of planets 
 is good. For a year there is no change, and there will be victory to 
 thee, O Nawab ! " 
 
 " Victory ! " echoed the Prince. " Do you hear ? — Victory ! " and 
 the. words were taken up by all around, till the court resounded with 
 the cry of " Futteh-i-Nubbee ! victory to the Prophet ! " 
 
 " Wouldst thou know more. Prince ? It is not good what thy 
 destiny reveals to me." 
 
 " I fear not," was the hard reply ; " but if thou liest, by Alia, thou 
 hadst better never have seen me." 
 
 " O Prince ! a holy man, a holy man ! • His speech is privileged," 
 interposed the Moulvee, with a deprecatory gesture. 
 
 " Be silent," said the Fakeer. " If thou wilt hear, listen to what 
 I see in the future — defeat, misery, and to thy enemies triumph." 
 
 " A lie ! a lie ! " shouted the Nawab ; " beat him on the mouth with 
 a shoe." 
 
 " I fear thee not," continued the man, " raving as thou art like a 
 madman. God hears thee, impious man, and will smite thee. 
 Beware of these Feringis, I say, and harm them not. They are true, 
 they are charitable. When I lay sick to death at Bombay, they put 
 me into their hospital ; they fed and clothed me, and I love them. 
 They are just and true, I say, and I honour them, and do not forget 
 them. Enough ! If they have to suffer, they have to suffer. Ameen, 
 ameen. and the grace of God be on them ! " 
 
 "And the curse of the Shaitan be- on thee, foul-tongued 
 Derwesh ! " cried the Nawab, savagely, with an obscene oath. 
 "Thou hast not forgotten them? Ah, well, nor thou shalt not 
 forget me. Ahmed ! — some of ye, cut off his ears — there, before me 
 as he stands." 
 
218 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Before the Fakeer could resist — before he could speak — he was 
 pinioned, dragged back a few paces, and mutilated with a sharp 
 knife. Bleeding and faint, he was buffeted into the outer court, and 
 thence pushed into the street, followed by mocking shouts. 
 
 " Ya, Alia ! " he cried, lifting his hands — red with his own blood 
 which had streamed over his body — to the sky. " O thou just God ! 
 wilt thou not avenge this ? Enough for me that it is thy will ! " 
 
 That night the Fakeer disappeared from the mosque, and was no 
 more seen ; but we may meet him again. 
 
 " And now, my friends," said the Nawab, when the ears of the 
 Fakeer had been displayed to him, " we would be at rest. Be ready 
 with your troops for to-morrow. Inshalla ! we will plunder the 
 English shops at Oossim Bazar, and there will be rare booty for all." 
 
 " What was the disturbance in the durbar, my lord ? " asked 
 Sozun, with a scared face, when the Nawab joined her in the zenana 
 shortly afterwards. 
 
 " A mad Fakeer was insolent to me, and I had his ears cut off: 
 wouldst thou like to see them ? Take care I do not the same to thee 
 some day," was the brutal reply. " Siugto me, Sozun ; my spirit is 
 disturbed to-night, and thou alone canst quiet it. Sing, dost thou 
 hear ? Art thou like him, insolent ? " 
 
 The girl took her little lute, and sang : but there was no heart in 
 her sad song that night; it had gone far away among the blue 
 Affghan mountains, and would not return. " Ah me, alas ! " she 
 sighed, and bur.st into tears, as her master tossed restlessly on the 
 bed where he had flung himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE FACTORY, CALCUTTA, 1756. 
 
 While these scenes were passing at Moorshedabad, we may well 
 believe that the gentlemen of the Calcutta Factory were not without 
 serious apprehension. When Ralph Darnell landed, indeed, there 
 was no suspicion of probable interruption to the general prosperity. 
 Ali Verdy Khan was alive, and his life promised to be a long one. 
 If a few of the most experienced men then feared, when the time 
 did come, that a new succession to the throne of AJi Verdy Khan, 
 for it was little else, would bring fresh demands and disturb existing 
 rights — there were others who, despising such counsels, anticipated 
 even greater extension of privileges, which as yet had experienced no 
 serious interruption. Trade was very active and vei-y prosperous ; 
 
THE F ACTORY, CALCUTTA, 1756. 219 
 
 and society was in accordance with its prosperity, free and reckless, 
 not to say licentious and immoral. Kalph, as yet, had done no more 
 than every fashionable man in London daily practised ; but though 
 by no means squeamish, he found, in the English society of Calcutta, 
 harder drinking, coarser swearing, and deeper play than he had been 
 accustomed to, and a general tone of profligacy which belonged, as it 
 were, to a lower grade of society altogether. I am by no means 
 desirous of claiming any remarkable amount of virtue for Ralph 
 Darnell, or, as we must henceforth call liim, Ralph Smithson, at this 
 period of his life ; but the old injunction of Ijis uncle, that there 
 never had been a Darnell that was not a gentleman, came more and 
 more vividly to his remembrance as he witnessed, and often had to 
 share, the orgies which were enacted, if not in the official Factory 
 hall, at least in the private houses of the members and officers of the 
 Factory. We should gain little, I think, by records of these doings, 
 or of the men who passed their time in the society of Mahomedan 
 dancing-women, or their native mistresses. Money was abundant, 
 and was freely squandered upon these parasites. It did not signify 
 much whether a man's nominal pay were twenty pounds a year or a 
 hundred. All lived at the rate of thousands, and bought and sold 
 their own investments with a boldness which Ralph gradually grew 
 to comprehend, and in which he largely shared himself. 
 
 He had been received by Mr. Wharton with great kindness and 
 hospitality. The worthy Captain Scrafton, and the chief officer of 
 the Valiant, the only persons to whom his real name and histoiy 
 were known, had kept his secret ; and to Mr. Wharton the young 
 well-mannered Englishman Ralph Smithson, in whom Mr. Darnell 
 " had an interest," and who came to Calcutta so well provided with 
 money, was very welcome; while his frank manners and cheerful 
 disposition soon rendered him a very general favourite. 
 
 Ralph had stared about him in wonderment at the first official 
 dinner on New- Year's Day 1766, in the great Factory hall, where 
 all the members of the service dined together ofl' good old English 
 fare of roast beef and plum-pudding, mingled with hot curries and 
 dishes pertaining to the country, and after dinner the hookas of the 
 guests were brought in, and with their long and richly ornamented 
 shanks, and gold and silver mouthpieces and " chillams," deposited 
 behind their chaii'S by well-dressed servants, and a general gurgling 
 and bubbling began, and toasts were drunk in the Company's rare 
 old Madeira—'" The King," " The Honourable East India Company," 
 and the like — at the hottest hour of the day, and the guests departed 
 afterwards to don cooler garments and finish the evening with gamb- 
 ling and profligate riot, — if Ralph at first, as I say, wondered at all 
 this, he very soon grew to be accustomed to it. One great trial and 
 danger of his life had passed away, and his spirits were hopeful and 
 
220 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 elastic. It was strange, perhaps, to Mr. Wharton, and far stranger 
 to young men of his own age, to see Ralph careful and prudent, and 
 on this account he was not so popular among his young friends there 
 as he might otherwise have been. 
 
 Perhaps Ralph's induction into gay life in England proved to be 
 now of service to him. I am decidedly of opinion that it did ; for 
 it too often happens that those youths, sent direct from home influ- 
 ences and the strictest previous guidance into strange society, no 
 sooner find themselves free from restraint, than they plunge more 
 madly than others into excesses of all kinds. Hot, dissipated youths, 
 who drank arrack-punch every night, gambled, and did other naughty 
 things which I need not detail — ^feared, while they respected or dis- 
 liked, as it might be, the young Englishman who declined to join 
 their excesses, and, holding himself aloof from intimacy, was only 
 courteous and kind to all. 
 
 It may hardly be supposed either that Ralph took the place he 
 did without opposition, or that he had no enemies. Every society, 
 in particular one which is necessarily limited, and composed of very 
 heterogeneous materials, has its bullies, and that of Calcutta was no 
 exception. When rough invitations were declined civilly, or refused 
 peremptorily, taunts had followed, and insults. We have had already 
 some specimens of Mr. Ralph's temper, and can understand that such 
 were resented. Duels generally ended these quarrels, and gentlemen 
 fought with their small swords as others did in England. As there 
 " a man of spirit " had to fight before he was known to be one, so 
 more especially in Calcutta ; and our friend had already had two 
 affairs, in both of which he had disarmed his antagonist, who, iu 
 fact, were weak and unskilful opponents of the stout Northumbrian 
 gentleman. Ever since he could hold a rapier, his old uncle Geoffrey 
 had taught him the use of one ; and the baronet was beginning to 
 say " Ralph was growing too much for him," when he was sent to 
 London. There too, as a pupil of Mr. Sutton, Ralph had not 
 neglected his opportunities ; and his style of attack and defence was, 
 as may be supposed, infinitely superior to that of the Calcutta gentle- 
 men. His easy conquests of those by whom he had been challenged, 
 therefore, rendered others careful. Ralph would allow no liberties 
 to be taken with him, and every one came to know this in course of 
 time. 
 
 Up to the period we are arrived at, Ralph had remained with Mr. 
 Wharton as his guest. Mr. Wharton would not hear of his living 
 in the chambers of the Factory, and presently grew so attached to 
 him that what had been intended by Ralph as a temporary sojourn 
 only, had now been protracted for several months, and was likely to 
 be continued. There were two other alternatives — the one, to build 
 a small thatched cottage or bungalow for himself ; the other, to board 
 
THE FACTORY, CALCUTTA, 1756. 221 
 
 ■with one of the chief clerks of the Factory who acted as bookkeeper, 
 and who lived in the native town, but at no very great distance from 
 the fort. It was not uncommon to see two or more youths living 
 together apart from the Factory ; and any escape from the confine- 
 ment of the fort was most desirable ; but the style of such living did 
 not suit Ralph — it was generally the precursor of those native attach- 
 ments from which few were then free, and these in Ralph's eyes had 
 no charm. As yet his mind was full of his sweet cousin Constance ; 
 and poor Sybil — ah, poor Sybil ! does she ever think of me ? he 
 would ask himself sometimes, and so dream away his thoughts. 
 
 No doubt, Don Gomez da SUviera, the book-keeper, could have 
 made him very comfortable ; and the " Don Sahib," as all styled him, 
 had taken unusual notice of Ralph. Soon after he began to attend 
 the office of the Factory, tlie Don found Ralph to be a good man of 
 business, who required no teaching ; who, in fact, could teach many 
 things himself. The Don called himself a Portuguese nobleman, and 
 possessed a strange character of combined subservience and pride. 
 When his noble ancestor might have come from his native Portugal 
 to Bengal, and begun the black degenerate race of which the Don 
 was the present representative, it is impossible to say; equally as 
 impossible to account for the Portuguese of Bengal being, as they 
 most frequently are, blacker than any natives. So it was in Don 
 Gomez da Silviera's case ; the Don was jealous of his pure descent 
 from the " Don Gomez da Silviera " ancestor, and kept a family tree 
 to prove it, and ancient Portuguese histories in which the Silvieras 
 were mentioned as the companions and ministers of royalty. The 
 Don was, therefore, an educated man in his degree ; but his acquaint- 
 ance with English literature was confined to the spelling-book of Mr. 
 Mavor and the dictionary, and had resulted in the oddest collection 
 of English words that could well be conceived. They were fine and 
 high-sounding, but, as he spoke them, what meaning he intended to 
 convey by them was generally very mysterious to the hearers, and 
 could only have been intelligible to himself by his own thoughts. 
 The Don's wife, Donna Luisa, was a fat worthy woman, who spoke 
 no English, and there were two daughters and two sons; the latter 
 working as copying clerks in the Factory, and the girls growing up 
 at home as black as their parents, but in intense admiration of the 
 fair, rosy-cheeked Englishman, whom they saw occasionally. 
 
 Don Gomez da Silviera had purposed to take Ralph as a boarder. 
 He had a garden-house — that is, a house in a campao or compound, 
 or enclosed space laid out as a garden — with a detached bungalow, 
 all which Mr. Smithson might have to himself ; and Ralph had seen 
 that it was vei-y comfortable. When he proposed to move from Mr. 
 Wharton's house, however, there was such an outcry of opposition 
 that he was forced to abandon the scheme altogether — nobody would 
 
222 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 hear of it. Mr. Wharton ridiculed the idea of a covenanted ser- 
 vant — for Ralph's papers had followed him— living with a mere 
 clerk. Such a thing had never before been heard of. Mr. Whar- 
 ton's children — he had three, two girls and a boy, whose mother was 
 a native — burst out sobbing, and clung about him crying, scolding, 
 and coaxing by turns, and most of all Mr. Wharton's wife's silent 
 reproaches were hardest to resist. 
 
 Mr. Wharton had written to Mr. Darnell that he had lately 
 married, and Julia Wharton had not been a wife for a year when 
 Kalph arrived. One of the first parties in which the ladies and 
 gentlemen of the Factory assembled together after Ralph's arrival, 
 was to celebrate their wedding-day ; and a merry one it was, after 
 Calcutta fashion, in the cold weather. There had been jolly country- 
 dances and reels, with here and there a minuet ; and Julia Whar- 
 ton had not forgotten, never would forget, one that she danced vith 
 the handsome fresh-coloured youth, dressed in the best fashion of 
 London, and alike by his grace and manner putting to shame those 
 whom she had assembled ; nor could she forget, either, the walk 
 afterwards through the garden, decked out with Chinese lanterns 
 and Bengal lamps, and a glorious moon shining over all, and over 
 the broad calm river with the ships and native boats lying there 
 reflected in it. She had not forgotten that night, and her own heart 
 was sorely stirred ; but as yet Ralph Smithson was only her guest, a 
 coiirteous and pleasant one, whom she could not part with to go to 
 Don Gomez da Silviera and his dusky daughters. 
 
 Julia Wharton was no beauty perhaps, but she was a fresh 
 English girl, with saucy blue eyes, a nose somewhat turned up, 
 reddish auburn hair, a bright rosy mouth, pearly teeth, and a cheek 
 like a peach, which even Calcutta had not yet blanched. She was 
 very fair, with a plump figure and tiny waist, and knew how to 
 dress herself so as to display her charms to the best advantage. Of 
 education she had had little enough ; but she could play on the harpsi- 
 chord and guitar, and sing, rather theatrically perhaps, with a good 
 voice. There were many speculations at Calcutta as to what Miss 
 
 had been before she came out there ; but whether true or false, 
 
 we have no concern with them. Young women, as well as young 
 men, were occasionally sent to India for indiscretions in those days. 
 She had been received by friends to whom she had been sent out ; 
 and she was in the eyes of the gentlemen of Calcutta a dazzling 
 beauty, so there was much competition for her hand ; and finally, 
 after a very short courtship, Mr. Wharton, one of the oldest, and cer- 
 tainly the richest of the society, ofiiered to settle a lac of rupees upon 
 her, presented her with a gorgeous necklace of pearls, and having 
 promised to put away her native predecessor, married her. This 
 was what the girl had been sent to India for, and she had done it, 
 
DISQUIET. 223 
 
 as every one told her, to the best advantage. Did she tliink so her- 
 self? I think not; but what had been done could not be undone, 
 and I am afraid that her predecessor and Ealph Smithson together, 
 gave her more uneasiness than I need account for. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 DISQUIET. 
 
 Troubles were coming fast upon that small English settlement ; and 
 as the days passed drearily, the rumours which were hourly arriving 
 in Calcutta were confirmed by news of overt acts on the part of the 
 young Nawab, or Subah, as he was generally denominated, for 
 which we have already accounted. I do not think it necessary to 
 detail the native political events at Moorshedabad ; but I may men- 
 tion that, on the ostensible pretence of coercing a refractory vassal, 
 the Subah had ordered his army to march, and had accompanied 
 it. He did not, however, proceed to the first declared destination of 
 his forces ; but turned suddenly on the English Factory at Cossim 
 Bazar, twenty miles below his capital, and invested the place ; 
 making prisoners of the few English gentlemen there, and appro- 
 priating all the spoils. Here was the first victory gained, and a 
 bloodless one too, for there were no local means of resisting an 
 attack by fifty thousand men. The poor gentlemen had written to 
 Calciitta in their sore strait for help ; but there was none to be had, 
 and none could have reached them in time to prevent what, indeed, 
 was not to be averted. 
 
 After that, deprecatory letters to the young Subah were written 
 from Calcutta, with grave remonstrances and remindings of ancient 
 friendship and of the imperial deeds and grants of Delhi ; but to 
 very little purpose, except to confirm the Nawab's idea, that the 
 English were, after all, helpless beggars, and thus make' him resolve 
 once for all that their ancient arrogance was to be humbled to the 
 dust. It was in vain that the kind old Begum, the Nawab's mother 
 — always friendly to Englishmen — ^besought her son not to molest 
 them. " She would become peacemaker," she said, " and restore the 
 former good understanding." All she could effect, however, was to 
 save the lives of the gentlemen who had given themselves up, 
 trusting to her son's honour, and to preserve them, in some measure, 
 from ill-usage and indignity. 
 
 Thais was urging on her royal lover, and his good mother's 
 warnings were cast to the winds. Perhaps, indeed, he needed little 
 
224 RALPH DARNELL 
 
 urging. Cruel and vindictive by nature, as he had ever been, he 
 could ill brook opposition at any time. Now the councils of the 
 Affghan girl accorded with his own. Her fierce, passionate nature 
 was developing itself, and his own had blended with it to ensure the 
 rejection of any peaceful advice. Advocacy of the English cause had 
 been interdicted ; and whosoever had dared to offer any, might well 
 have said his last prayer, and made himself ready for death or 
 mutilation, as he proposed it. 
 
 Under these circumstances, what booted the English letters of 
 i-emonstrance, the reiterations of no offence being intended, or the 
 denial of new fortifications ? Offence had been given ; some new 
 defences, under the apprehension of French attacks, had undoubtedly 
 been constructed. The old system of bribery of ofiicers to propose 
 deprecatory offerings to their masters, which had often succeeded in 
 the days of the empire, was now hopeless. No one would dare to 
 propose what might result in instant death, or disgrace. 
 
 And all this having happened, the council that sat in Calcutta 
 Factory on the 7th day of June 1756 were left in no doubt whatever 
 as to what awaited them, when they heard direct from the Cossim 
 Bazar Factory of what had been done there on the 2d of that month, 
 and that the Subah's army had, for the most part, marched for 
 Calcutta itself, under his own personal command. The bloodless 
 victory which I have recorded had but whetted the young ruler's 
 appetite, and, had there been no other reason, very shame at delay 
 would have urged him on. 
 
 " Thou wilt be less than a man," had the Affgan girl said, " if this 
 be abandoned. Thy people will spit at thee, and the children will 
 cry coward in the streets. None of thy slaves in the dvirbar dare 
 tell thee this, but I fear not. If I cannot live for my own honour, 
 I can live for thine." 
 
 Perhaps such vehement adjuration was not needed ; for the Nawab 
 only laughed at his beautiful slave's enthusiasm, as he bid her be 
 content, for she should see the English ships and the English treasury 
 ere the month had passed, and she believed him now. 
 
 I have no need, then, to say that the council which sat in Calcutta 
 that 7th of June was an anxious one. It was the end of the hot 
 weather, and before the rain should fall the heat would be greater 
 and greater. Those were not days of comfort in India : we English- 
 men had not come to know how to live. In Calcutta, as everywhere 
 else, it was for the most part a short life and a merry one. There 
 were no good houses, no palaces as there are now. Some English- 
 looking warehouses, a factory hall and close chambers for the public 
 servants, a barrack for the soldiers within the fort, and a few 
 garden-houses without, where the air was fresher and cooler, with a 
 church, completed " the Factory." There were few means of keeping 
 
DISQUIET. 225 
 
 )ut the heat, and little mitigation of it when it came into the houses, 
 IS it did fiercely on that 7th of June, when the English gentlemen 
 lat in the great hall wiping their faces, and being fanned by their 
 lative servants. 
 
 What could they do ? There were only a hundred and seventy- 
 ibur soldiers there, many of whom were sick in hospital, and some 
 «reak convalescents. There were crews of ships to be sure, but these 
 (vould be wanted on board. There was a large area to defend, and 
 If the enemy were not checked at once, there was little hope of sav- 
 ing the settlement. There was great stress laid on this by the most 
 Bxperienced, and not without reason : for if the Subah once began to 
 negotiate, they might hope to gain terms — hard enough perhaps — 
 but stUl terms after all. What, however, if he refused all negotia- 
 tion, as he had hitherto done ? 
 
 There was certainly no aid to be had — neither the French nor the 
 Dutch would, if they could, aid them : as one gentleman of the period 
 has vj^uaintly recorded, " The French gasconaded." They offered 
 shelter, if the English chose to leave all and come up the river to 
 them. I believe that the French gentlemen at Chandernagore felt 
 very easy at the prospect of their English guests ; and, as war 
 was expected shortly, had little hope of seeing their invitation 
 accepted. Leave Calcutta ? Leave the Honourable East India 
 Company's goods and chattels ? their homes and their fort ? There 
 were the ships anchored before the Fort ; and, if they pleased, if the 
 worst came to the worst, nothing would be simpler than to get on 
 board them and sail away as they had come : but what would they 
 say in England ? 
 
 The question has often been asked, and answered, for the most 
 part, in the same way. I do not believe that all were brave in 
 Calcutta that day — there were more despairing hearts there than it 
 was pleasant to think about ; but there were enough brave men to 
 determine to fight the place to the last in any extremity, and these 
 were the majority, as they always will be wherever Englishmen are 
 gathered together with any great national honour or stake to be 
 defended, whether on the land or on the sea. So when the military 
 gentlemen had gone over their musters again, and calculated their 
 means of defence, they called to the butler for a bottle or two of the 
 prime old Madeira, and drank, with a cheer which made the roof ring, 
 to the " Long life of the Company, and damnation to all Moors ! " 
 and felt their hearts stronger within them when they had done it. 
 
 When Mr. Wharton and Ralph Smithson walked up to the 
 warden-house that hot evening, some of the preparations were in 
 progress, some militia were being drilled, and Don Gomez, as the 
 captain of a company, saluted them on the esplanade with a gravity 
 worthy of a Silviera, 
 
 p 
 
226 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Dis dam sulphurity night, gen'lemen," he said ; " I'se too much 
 countervaluated to obligatory dreel dese men ; dey won't do regu- 
 larity exercisements, nohow at all proper, because affrightenation in 
 deir bellies, sir ; 'cause of Nawab Sahib, dat is Subah we calls 'im, 
 eomin' with two lacs of armamentation, sir ; so dey say in Bazar, 
 sir — 'pon my honour, sir, by George ! " 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! Don, don't be frightened," said Mr. Wharton, 
 laughing ; " two lacs is a great many, that's two hundred thousand, 
 you know. God bless me ! enough to eat us all up, and we're not 
 come to that yet. 'Now, you sirs, attention ! Let me see what 
 you're made of." 
 
 " Me frightened ! Oh no, sir — ^not Don Gomez da Silviera. Me 
 Portugueze, sir, service of Honourable Company, and Leften' in 
 Calcutta Militia. No gentlemen terrified at all of dam' black 
 Moors; w'en dey comes, sir, we gives 'em won woUy, and den dey 
 alls runs away, sir, by George ! — and w'en de incurvation of the 
 flightiness happen, den we runs a'ter them, sir. I tell my men 
 all dis, Mr. Smithson, but dey all indetermiued to make warfare, 
 dey says." 
 
 "Hallo! mutiny, Don? This will not do at all. What did 
 they say ? " 
 
 " Dey says, indexically, as I may say, sir, dat dey's no fi'tin' men, 
 sir. Got childer, sir, an' women, an' all's got indexterity to never 
 do no dreel. By George ! Mr. Wharton, sir, dey's dam' coward, 
 dat's what dey is ; an' I can't make 'em magniloquent nohow ; try 
 all afternoon, sir, 'pon my honour, by George ! " 
 
 " Well, drill them as well as you can, Don," said Mr. Wharton, 
 good-humouredly ; " if they won't fight, they'll do to stand on the 
 rampart, and make the Fort look full of men, which it isn't, more's 
 the pity. Good evening to you, Don Gomez ; we may hear better 
 news to-morrow." 
 
 " Good evening, gentlemen,'' returned the little Don, with a wave 
 of his laced hat which would not have disgraced Birdcage Walk — 
 " good evening. Now, 'tention men ! Dere's Mr. Drake and Cap- 
 tain Minchin comin' up, and if dey sees you with dat longanimity of 
 physionomities, I tink will scratch your backs, an' be dam'd to yoii, 
 or put in black hole, 'pon honour, by George ! dey will ! So look out, 
 you fellows. 'Tention ! Shoulder armcmes ! Now, see you make 
 present proper to Mr. Drake." 
 
 Leaving the Don and his company to be inspected, I shall follow 
 Mr. Wharton to his pretty house, where he was expected anxiously. 
 Evening was closing in as the gentlemen, after their usual stroll on 
 the Mall by the river-side, went on to the gate, where a native 
 soldier stood on guard, the barrel of his bright matchlock glinting in 
 the setting sun as it shone across the broad river in a rich yellow 
 
PERRIN'S REDOUBT. 227 
 
 ligtt, flooding the air witt golden radiance, and resting upon the 
 vanes of the ships, the gilt pinnacles of Hindu temples in glowing 
 sparkles ; while, on the cavalier of the Port, the old British flag 
 clung heavily to the staff! As the sun dipped behind bhe trees on the 
 western bank, a puff" of smoke from a bastion was followed by the 
 sharp report of a gun, and the fort-flag and the ensigns of the ships 
 were hauled down, as the drums and fifes in the Fort played off" the 
 retreat. It was too hot to stroll farther, and Mr. Wharton was 
 weary with his work of that day. As his children ran to meet him 
 with a merry greeting in their native Hindustani, he put them 
 aside ; and as his wife came forward, he said, " I must have some 
 rest, Julia; Smithson will tell you all about it; my head aches, 
 darling, and I will Ke down till supper is ready; sit outside — 
 there will be a breeze from the river by-and-by, and it will 
 be cooler." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. ) 
 
 peeein's redoubt, JUNE IG, 1756. 
 
 There is little time in the evening gloaming between light and 
 darkness in Calcutta, and gradually, but swiftly, the objects on the 
 fiu-ther bank of the great river faded away. The broad stream 
 itself seemed to mingle with the sky, and the gloom of night fell 
 upon the little garden and shrubbery in front of the house which 
 sloped down to the water's edge. Boats with lanterns twinkling 
 from the tops of their high sterns were flitting to and fro mys- 
 teriously on the glassy surface like so many ignes fatui, becoming 
 dimmer and dimmer amidst the mist which was slowly rising from 
 the water. The fireflies innumerable came out and whirled among 
 the trees ; the crickets and frogs by the river-side kept up an inces- 
 sant concert ; within the house, where the candles were lighted, the 
 air seemed full of insects flying about the flame, scorching their 
 wings and falling on the tablecloth. That was no place to sit with 
 comfort, and Mrs. Wharton and her companion were better without. 
 Occasionally, the sound of shrill native music came up on the air 
 from the town, where lights were sparkling in the distance : else all 
 was still, and the merry laugh of the children at play in an inner 
 room was hardly an intemiption to a silence which was growing 
 very oppressive to both. All that happened in the council was 
 generally known to Halph Smithson. He had told Mrs. Wharton 
 as much of it as he could without causing her extreme alarm, and 
 after that they were silent. 
 
228 RALPH DAR NELL. 
 
 It was impossible for eact not to be busy with their own 
 thoughts ; it was equally impossible to shut out the conviction of 
 danger. There were those among the reckless who met it with 
 defiance, or sought temporary oblivion in strong drink ; and there 
 were others, too, who looked upon the crisis with a higher fortitude 
 and resignation. 
 
 "And there is no hope of bringing the Subah to terms, Mr. 
 Smithson ? Has everything been tried ? " asked the lady, at length. 
 
 " I believe so," was the reply. " I am too young in jank to be 
 admitted to the council ; but Mr. Wharton told me as we walked 
 from the Port that he feared the Subah was implacable. There are a 
 thousand reports, madam, flying aboiit ; but what I have heard from 
 good authority — in fact, from Omichund, whom they have detained 
 in the Fort — is, that the Nawab has a new favourite, and she urges 
 him on to the sack of our poor Fort. This doth not appear openly, 
 but all the people seem to know it, and these native bankers have 
 always good intelligence. I have little hope, madam, if there is such 
 an influence at work, that we can counteract it." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Smithson, how wicked they are ! " broke out Mi-s. 
 Wharton, " these shameless creatures. You will hardly believe what 
 I have to endure even as I am. I do not understand a word of what 
 is said to me even by those children ; but they know I am not their 
 mother, and — and — indeed, Mr. Smithson, I cannot bear it — I cannot 
 indeed. Oh, if I had known in time, this would never have been ; I 
 would have died sooner — I would die now if I could. Look," she 
 continued, repressing a great sob — " look into the parlour, you will 
 not find him there ; he is gone to her : he often goes now — Oh that 
 I should have to bear this, and for a black woman too ! Is it fair, 
 Mr. Smithson, after all his promises ? Is it honourable ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wharton need not have feared her husband's honesty if she 
 had known what then was passing between him and the mother of 
 his children. What have we to do with the past, or with the con- 
 nections which were matters of ordinary daily Hfe in those days in 
 India ? There are some even now that say we are none the better 
 there that they do not exist ; and that in losing them we loosed one 
 of the surest ties which bound us to the country and the people. 
 Nay, the subject is gravely treated of in seiious histories. I only 
 say Mr. Wharton, when he married his wife, was faithful to her, as a 
 true English gentleman should be ; but he had not lost his respect, 
 perhaps his love, for one who had loved and had been faithful to him 
 for many a year. She had been put away. It was only what she 
 had foreseen must ensue sooner or later ; but her tie to Mr. Wharton, 
 that of her three children, could not be altogether broken, and while 
 he remained in India she had only implored to stay near them, that 
 she might sometimes see them. I say, then, if Julia Wharton could 
 
FERRIN'S REDOUBT. 229 
 
 have seen her husband, as ill thoughts of him flashed through her 
 mind, and jealousy was possessing her, she would have seen no wrong 
 that night. 
 
 He was telling a graceful native lady of middle age, who was 
 weeping bitterly, that he believed his time had come ; that he had a 
 presentiment he should not survive the coming struggle, and had 
 made provision for her ; that, in case the Fort was attacked, she must 
 protect her children, and was explaining to her how she was to obtain 
 the large sum he had settled upon her, the interest of which would 
 be paid to her by the agent of the great native banker, Juggut Seit. 
 All this Mr. Wharton told to his wife afterwards when it was too 
 late. Where he erred was in not doing this sooner, so as to have 
 saved mutual misery in those sad sad days of trial. 
 
 Ralph Smithson got up and looked into the centre hall. Mr. 
 Wharton was not there. The bedchamber was beyond, open to the 
 verandah, and a lamp burning in it. The large bed, with its blue 
 gauze musquito-curtains, was not occupied, nor was a sofa at its foot. 
 
 " Where is your master ? " he asked of a servant who came to 
 him. 
 
 " He is gone to the Begum Sahib's," said the man in a low whisper ; 
 " but the Madam Sahib must not know this." 
 
 Ralph Smithson returned to his chair. All that he could say was, 
 Mr. Wharton had gone out, and would soon be back. 
 
 " I knew it ! " cried his wife, with a burst of passionate weeping. 
 " I told you where he had gone. He loves her more than me, and I 
 will not bear it, Mr. Smithson — I cannot — I, an Englishwoman, to 
 submit to this insult ! Have you no sympathy with tliis misery ? 
 Oh ! Ralph Smithson," she continued, flinging herself upon her knees 
 before him, " you can save me from this. You can — you can." She 
 could not speak for the hysterical sobbing which possessed her. 
 
 " Mrs. Wharton — Julia — rise, I pray you," said the young man 
 earnestly. "Indeed you must. I will speak to your husband — " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " she exclaimed, rising and sobbing still, " not to 
 him — not to him. If I am mad — ^if I am beside myself with this 
 misery — you alone know it. I have no one, not a friend in all the 
 world, Ralph — not one — not one but you. Those I had all forsook 
 me when — when — they sent me out here. I thought him true, and 
 that he would help a poor child like me, and he promised me. But 
 he is like the rest, and I cannot bear it^— indeed I cannot. Only do 
 you be true to me, and in all the misery we may have to endure, I 
 wiU not give way if I am near you. Will you pity me ? " 
 
 It was no easy matter to resist that pleading face, and the hands 
 held out to him. Ralph Smithson had no hard heart, as we know. 
 He had no higher motive on which to faU back for help, perhaps, 
 except that feeling of a gentleman which had held him up ; but he 
 
230 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ■was no profligate seducer to take advantage of a jealous woman's 
 weakness. " I do pity you," he said, taking ber hands kindly in his 
 and kissing them, " and I will be true to you, so long as I can help 
 you or myself — I will indeed." 
 
 " Enough," said the lady. " I think I could endure any misery 
 were I with any one to share it with me. But he must not see these 
 tears, Ealph. I am a weak girl before you, but to him I have not 
 yielded yet. Sit still — I will be back presently." 
 
 " Where is Julia ? " asked Mr. Wharton, as he came round the end 
 of the house. " I thought I heard her." 
 
 " She was here, sir, till this moment, and said she would be back 
 directly." 
 
 Mr. Wharton sat down and sighed. " I will tell you, Ralph, some 
 day, what I have been doing, and I'm glad it's done. The time may 
 come to us all when we will need mutual confidence and support, and 
 sooner than we think, perhaps. All I want you to promise rae is, 
 that if anything happens to me, you will see after her — after Julia — 
 to the last. I was too old for her, Ralph, and I ought not — I ought 
 not—" 
 
 Mr. Wharton did not finish the sentence, for he heard his wife's 
 step in the verandah. " Promise me," he said in a low tone, putting 
 out his hand. 
 
 " I do, sir, as you wish," replied the young man, taking it, " and 
 with all my heart. I only hope that there may be no need." 
 
 Mr. Wharton could only press the hand he held, for the servant 
 announced that supper was ready, so they went in together ; and we 
 may well believe that while the meal lasted, there was restraint 
 upon all. 
 
 A few, very few days more, and it was evident that outlying 
 houses could not he maintained, and they were abandoned one by one 
 with sad hearts. The military ofiicers of the settlement held daily 
 consultations, and to the best of their judgment posts were arranged 
 with a few guns on each, which, though they might afibrd means of 
 a temporary check to the Subah's forces, were of too slight a nature 
 to maintain defence against the odds they would have to meet when 
 the real attack came. There was no news of any halt, even for 
 refreshment, of the native forces. Day after day they were reported 
 a march nearer ; and this unusual vigour in the Nawab's proceedings 
 presented a strange and alarming contrast to the usual marching of 
 native armies. At the rate at which progi-ess was reported, the 
 enemy must reach Calcutta on the 17th or 18th of June at furthest; 
 but on the 16th, about noon, there was no longer any doubt, for the 
 drums and horns of the native forces were heard distinctly to the 
 northward, as well as a few cannon-shots, which might be signals ; 
 and those posted in a redoubt called Perrin's, which commanded the 
 
FERRIN'S REDOUBT. 231 
 
 northern entrance road to Calcutta, saw the first masses of cavaliy 
 debouch from among the heavy groves of trees which had concealed 
 them, and for a moment halt irresolutely, while some of the foremost 
 pointed to the British Fort. 
 
 There were a few English soldiers and sailors in that slight en- 
 trenchment ; a few Portuguese and English artillerymen, and some 
 native soldiers with matchlocks. Ralph Smithson was not in the 
 military service, but he had volunteered to do his best, as did most 
 of the others ; and as that redoubt was the post of honour for the 
 present, he had asked to serve there, and his companionship was 
 gladly accepted by the officer in command of it. At anchor in the 
 river, within musket-shot of the shore, was one of the Indiamen, the 
 Prince George, the fire of whose guns would protect the flank of the 
 post, and prevent its being turned. The earthwork was slight, but 
 it was suflicient for protection and defence ; and those who now 
 garrisoned it had stout hearts. The day was insufferably hot, and 
 light fleecy clouds sailed hither and thither in the upper air, dispers- 
 ing, gathering, and changing perpetually, but without affording any 
 shade. There had been no rain as yet, and that day the sun had 
 blazed with a sweltering heat, from which even the natives shrank, 
 as, with their heads tied up in heavy cloths, they crouched under the 
 shade of the rampart, or clustered under that of a tree which over- 
 shadowed the redoubt, and spoke in low tones among themselves. 
 Thus, from early morning till past noon, the advance of the enemy 
 had been patiently awaited. 
 
 " The Moors ! there they are ! " exclaimed a burly sailor, who, 
 with several others, had been lounging over the parapet. " Gentle- 
 men, the enemy ! " 
 
 The officers, too, had been lounging on the grass, in a temporary 
 shed, and under what other shade they could find — chatting with . 
 each other, as men will do, cheerfuUy and gaily, when danger is 
 imminent ; and they started to their feet and hurried to their posts. 
 The guns were already loaded with grape and round-shot, and 
 matches were lighted. 
 
 " Steady, men ! " cried the captain cheerily ; " no firing without 
 orders. Our shot must not be the first, the President says. Let's 
 see what those fellows are going to do before we fire." 
 
 The horsemen had halted, and some could be seen unslinging their 
 matchlocks, while others careered about, wheeling and turning their 
 horses, while their naked swords flashed brightly in the sun. 
 
 "Very pretty, Mr. Smithson, is it not? I should not mind 
 sending a round-shot among these rascals if they'd only fire," said 
 Captain Brown, who commanded. 
 
 But there was a long pause, till a party of footmen, with a green 
 standard and a small drum beaten quickly by a drummer, arrived 
 
232 RALP H DARNELL. 
 
 and took post under some trees near the horsemen. Something more 
 was evidently expected. Nor had they to wait long. Presently the 
 heads of several elephants were seen over the bushes, and then a 
 drove of white bullocks, dragging a gun which was pushed on by the 
 elephants. 
 
 " That means mischief, Smithson," said a companion ; " we shall 
 hear its bark by-and-by. What a fool Brown is to wait ! damme ! 
 I'd have a shot into it before they could unlimber." 
 
 " Are you ready with that gun, Mr. Scott ? " cried the captain to an 
 officer of the Prince George, who was on duty there with two boats' 
 crews; cover that gun there, but don't fixe till you get the word." 
 
 " I am laying her myself, sir," was the reply, " and I'll watch your 
 signal, never fear. That's a small piece, and they won't like the 
 long nine when it gets among them, I think, my lads. Steady now, 
 and slew to the right, Jacobs. That's it — look out ! they've lighted 
 their match ! " 
 
 There was a puff of smoke and a dull report in the heavy, heated 
 air, and a shot passed high over the redoubt, roaring as it went. 
 
 " God save King George ! Hurray ! " cried the captain, waving 
 his hat ; " Three cheers, men ! " and they were heartily given, while 
 the officer at the gun touched his hat. " She's ready, sir," he said, 
 " and I can see their gun now." 
 
 " Fire, then, Mr. Scott, in the King's name ! " and as he spoke 
 Captain Brown saw the aim had been perfect. Splinters of the weak 
 native gun-carriage flew about, and the gun itself seemed to subside 
 into a heap on the ground. " Now, the other, Mr. Scott ! That's 
 capital, by George!" he exclaimed. "I suspect they don't like 
 cannister, gentlemen. Look ! " 
 
 Fifty heads were above the rampart looking anxiously at the scene 
 before them. Before the round-shot had been fired, a crowd of the 
 native soldiery had collected about their gun, and into this mass the 
 cannister of the nine-pounder descended with terrible effect, and a 
 dozen or more men lay prostrate, some writhing, others still in death. 
 
 " Let's dash among them," cried Ralph Smithson, waving his 
 cutlass. " Now's our time, sir." 
 
 " Not yet, Mr. Smithson — not yet," said the captain calmly. 
 " For heaven's sake, sir, be cool. We'll do our best, but we can't 
 risk this post." 
 
 He was right : the force of the attack had not yet come, for in a 
 few minutes more they saw several other guns dragged into position, 
 and prepared for action. 
 
 '' By George ! there's a woman among them ! " cried the captain, 
 who was looking through a ship's-glass. " What can she be doing 
 there ? Don't throw away a shot, Mr. Scott, and wait for my word. 
 She's there — there on that elephant with the silk howda. Look out ! " 
 
PERRIirS REDOUBT. 233 
 
 The next disctarges from the native guns were no better aimed 
 than the first. The shot sang harmlessly over the English fort, and 
 was replied to by so sharp a fire from the two guns, that the adverse 
 artillery was dragged back among the bushes, while the place they 
 had stood on was pretty thickly covered by the dead. 
 
 " A little nearer, and we'd have done for more of the d — d 
 niggers," said the naval ofiicer, wiping the sweat and powder from 
 his face. " It's too far for the grape, Captain Brown." 
 
 " Wait,'' was the reply. " I see a body of new people forming in a 
 mass behind the trees. Steady, men ! Here they come, by George ! 
 If the ship only sees them ! " 
 
 As he spoke, a mass, rather than a column of footmen, with drawn 
 sabres glittering in the sun, and broad black shields across their 
 bodies, advanced at a run ; a man bearing "a green standard, and 
 another beating a small drum, preceding them. 
 
 " Let them come on, Mr. Scott — nearer, nearer ! " cried the 
 captain, who was standing bareheaded. " Now ! " 
 
 The guns were fired almost simultaneously, and within perfect 
 range this time, for the grape mowed lines through the mass, but 
 did not stop it. At the same moment, a broadside from the ships 
 took the column in flank, and did more havoc. This had not been 
 foreseen by the enemy ; and after an unsteady pause they broke and 
 fled, a volley from the English muskets following them. Again 
 Ralph Smithson and some of the men would have pursued, but were 
 kept back. 
 
 " We have not done with them yet, I think,'' said Captain Brown. 
 " They think they'll carry this post ; but, by George ! gentlemen, if 
 you're all of my mind, they'll only get to Calcutta by this road over 
 our bodies. Steady, men ! and wait ; when it's time I'll lead you. 
 Does that satisfy you ? " 
 
 The enemy were now more careful, and shifted their position more 
 to the left, while a heavier column of attack was being formed ; and 
 a battery of rockets was opened upon the post, which, however, did 
 no great harm. Every now and then plunging shots from the 
 ship swept through the trees, but did not stop their advancing 
 preparations. 
 
 "She's there again, sir," cried Ralph Smithson, who had borrowed 
 the glass. " I see her plainly — a fair red-cheeked girl, richly dressed. 
 What can she be ? There's no English woman among them surely ? " 
 
 No, it was no English woman ; but the Affghan girl Sozun, who, 
 unable to contain her excitement, had been in the front on an 
 elephant when the unlooked-for obstacle in the road appeared. It 
 was she who was aippealing to the Rohillas of the Nawab's force to 
 prove themselves men — to bring her the heads of the English Kaffirs, 
 promising a shield full of i-upees for every one. She was speaking 
 
234 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 to tliem in lier own fierce Pushtoo, and reminding them of home, and 
 ■what ■would be said there, as the English captain ■was reminding his 
 men too; of dear old England. 
 
 So an hour or more passed, and a sputtering fire of matchlocks was 
 kept up from the brushwood and hedges in front, which was galling, 
 because they had a longer range than the clumsy English musket, and 
 by it a few men were wounded and four killed. 
 
 " Ye'U be frae the North, surr, a'm thinkin' ? " said a tall seaman, 
 with greyish hair and a weather-beaten face, who belonged to the 
 Fnnee George, touching his hat to Ralph Smithson. " AVe heerd 
 the burr a bit, surr, frae ye, and it's aye like music to mey." 
 
 " I am," he replied. " Why do you ask ? " The North ! ah, dear 
 old Melcepeth ! what a flood of recollections flashed through Ralph's 
 mind at the simple question ! 
 
 " Weel, surr, a' made bow'd t' speak t' ye, fur there's na tellin' 
 wha'll be alive an'-wha'll be deed the day ; but if anything happens 
 to mey, ye ken, a'd like to think what a' have wad be sent 
 hame to my folk, surr. A'm John Drever, surr, frae Berwick, 
 an' a countryman- — " 
 
 " Look out, Mr. Scott ! " was the captain's cry again. " By 
 George ! a gallant set of fellows they are ! Ready there with the guns ! " 
 
 " I'll see to it," cried Ralph to the seaman. " There's no time now 
 for talking." 
 
 Little time indeed ; for it was a heavy column that was advancing — 
 perhaps a thousand men. The cries and shouts of the first party 
 were changed for a rough chorus of some mountain war-song ; the 
 faces of those that came on were as fair as the English faces in the 
 redoubt, and they wore a sort of uniform dress of blue cotton. 
 
 " Eire ! " cried Captain Bro-wn, standing on the parapet, whUe balls 
 whistled x'ound him like hail. 
 
 The aim was the same, the result was the same : a lane of maimed, 
 and wounded ; but the fair-faced men's song did not cease, and the 
 column surged on with increased speed. It was well that the com- 
 mander of the Prince George had been watching carefully what was 
 going on. With springs on the cables, he had warped the ship 
 nearer to the shore, and so that her broadside commanded the green 
 space before the redoubt, and at this moment a full broadside of grape 
 and round shot struck the RohUla column on its flank, while Mr. 
 Scditt's guns again vomited their deadly contents almost in their faces. 
 
 About fifty of the enemy still dashed on, and attempted to scale 
 the breastwork, but were met by the English boarding-pikes and 
 bayonets, and fiercely thrust back. They were all of that column 
 which came to close quarters ; the rest turned and fled, and Captain 
 Brown, with a ringing cheer, leaped from the parapet, followed by 
 Smithson and fifty others, in hot pursuit. 
 
PKREIN'S REDOUBT. 235 
 
 Ralpt Smithson's powerful arm told well in the hand-to-hand 
 melee which followed, and it was not a bloodless one. First in the 
 pursuit, he had soon overtaken the huidmost of the retreating foes, 
 and dashed among them with all the energy and passion of his race — 
 the Darnell blood was fairly up, and he felt, for the first time, the 
 uncontrollable excitement of actual battle. It might have fared ill 
 with him, however, that day but for Drever the sailor, who was close 
 at his heels. 
 
 " Hae a care, surr," cried the man, "striking down a thick-bearded 
 fellow with his cutlass — " ha'e a care. Thrree to ane. D — n ye for 
 cowards ! " 
 
 Three men had turned, and with all their force attacked Smith son ; 
 but it was for a moment only, as he parried the cuts made at him 
 and fell back, for the seaman had rushed in, and others followed, and 
 there was soon an end to the encounter. 
 
 " You're wounded, surr," cried the seaman. " A' hope it's no bad, 
 an' a've jist gotten a clink mysel'." 
 
 Kalph Smithson had not felt the cut in his excitement : but there 
 was. a slash through his coat on the left arm, and his blood was 
 flowing freely. It was not the first time he had seen it. Then he 
 was sick to death, lying in a London street — now, had it not been 
 that Captain Brown ordered them back, he would have gone on with 
 the pursuit, little heeding bis wound, perhaps beyond the bounds of 
 prudence. 
 
 So they all returned to the redoubt, and shook hands over the 
 afiair, as stout Englishmen should do. There were a few wounds 
 among the party hastily tied up, and four gone to their rest who 
 could be ill spared ; and with a can of grog all round, they waited 
 for what should come next ; but the " Moors " had had enough. 
 There was an attempt made to form up more men, but a shot or two 
 dispersed them, and presently the Englishmen heard the deep drums 
 of the Subah's forces beating far away to their right, the sound 
 growing more and more distant among the trees ; and the fair face 
 on the elephant was seen no more. 
 
 Nor were they long in suspense as to future plans, for a messenger 
 arrived shortly afterwards with a written order for the post to with- 
 draw to the Fort, the enemy having appeared in its vicinity, and 
 every man being needed for its defence ; and as the evening was 
 drawing in, the garrison of " Perrin's Redoubt " was safe within the 
 walls of Fort William, telling their tale to eager listeners, and 
 receiving the congratulations they had so well earned. 
 
236 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 BESIEGED. 
 
 In spite of his ■wound, -which, though slight, was painful, and irri- 
 tated by the great heat, Ralph Smithson had fought through the 
 whole of the 18th of June in a battery which, as belonging to the 
 outer defences of the Fort, was one of the most important of those 
 positions. He had never left this post night or day, so he had little 
 idea what was doing in the Fort, and little inclination to be amidst 
 the wrangling and confusion which prevailed. He had seea nothing 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, who, he knew, were there now ; and 
 their house was a post which, as long as it could be maintained, 
 strengthened the line of defences to the south-east. There had come 
 a hurried note from Mr. Wharton, bidding him take care of himself ; 
 that his wife was safe; and they hoped, God willing, to see him 
 again. But there were reports brought up to the post by men from 
 the Factory — ^reliefs when they could be sent, or parties with supplies 
 of ammunition — that matters looked bad there, and the gentlemen 
 had decided upon retreat to the ships in case they were pressed 
 by the enemy, and some women and children had even been sent on 
 board. 
 
 There was no time, however, to think of such matters. Early on 
 the 18th, as the mist which had been lying dank and chill on the 
 low grounds rose under the gleams of the sun, it was easy to be seen 
 that, though the previous day had been one of comparative quiet, 
 the Nawab's officers had not been idle. On every house from whose 
 terraced roof part of the entrenched lines could be commanded, strong 
 parties of matchlock-men had been posted during the night behind 
 screens made of cotton bags, grain baskets, or such other contrivances 
 for protection as could most readily be arranged ; while in others, 
 loopholes had been pierced with crowbars through the parapets of 
 the terraces, and marksmen lying safely behind them could fire 
 leisurely upon those who manned the guns at the posts, and pick off 
 any who moved about or showed themselves at all so fast, that the 
 officers in command were forced to keep their men under cover, and 
 to await attack, rather than seek to anticipate it. 
 
 Nor was this confined to the outposts only. Many of these match- 
 lock pickets commanded the Fort itself, outside as well as in ; and 
 though there was shelter enough for the garrison, the guns could not 
 be worked except at great disadvantage, and the losses everywhere 
 were constant and severe. It was no part of the enemy's tactics to 
 come to close quarters with the defenders of the outposts, else, during 
 that day, the whole of the outer lines might have been stormed ; the 
 
BESIEGED. 237 
 
 result of one attack at the redoubt had been enough to prove the 
 mettle of Englishmen. Now, beleaguered as it ■was, the whole of the 
 English garrison had, it seemed, no chance of escape. It would be 
 an affair of time only, that complete humiliation of the English 
 which he had decreed ; and tUl they were brought bound before 
 him, asking pardon humbly, Suraj-oo-Doulah's revenge would be 
 incomplete. 
 
 From early morning, in an upper room of a good native house, 
 from whence, though out of range of musketry, the progress of the 
 conflict could be watched, the young Nawab had sat at an open 
 window with little intermission till noon. It was remarked by the 
 English that there was a sudden cessation of firing then for about 
 two hours for which they could not account, and in regard to which 
 there were many speculations. The enemy might be eating, or some 
 other movement was being arranged ; perhaps a general charge on 
 all the outlying positions. It was not so, however. The Nawab 
 had kept up his attention as long as he could, but there was no per- 
 ceptible progress ; and the pufis of smoke, and dull reports of cannon, 
 varied by the sputtering rattle of matchlocks and muskets, became 
 so monotonous, that he had directed the firing to cease while he 
 rested, lay down on a bedding, and slept heavily. 
 
 But Sozun, who was by him, driving away the flies with a light 
 fan of feathers, was not sleepy. She sat at the open window, still 
 looking out on the plain, and on the Fort of the mysterious people 
 of whom she had so often heard. There were their ships which had 
 come over the ocean in voyages of many months, with their white 
 awnings glistening in the sun, and the red English ensigns flying 
 from their mizen-peaks. There were a few small posts on the plain, 
 defying the whole Moslem army as the redoubt had done — where 
 even her own countrymen had been beaten back, and her promises 
 of shields full of rupees for every infidel head, had failed to bring 
 one. What were these Feringis who fought so boldly, and dared to 
 defy the hosts before them ? She could only see a few men in red 
 coats and black caps moving about the outworks. She had watched 
 more than one drop suddenly at a gun, as it was loaded and fired by 
 a few, and a sharp storm of matchlock balls whistled about them, 
 and sent them again under cover. Now, as the Nawab slept, and 
 the silence was almost oppressive, she could see those in the nearest 
 post (it was Ralph Smithson's) come out and look about them ; peer 
 over the parapet of their fascine battery, and look up to the houses 
 from whence the matchlock firing had been incessant — wondering, 
 no doubt, as well they might, why it had ceased. Well ! she should 
 see them nearer soon — those fair-haired ruddy Englishmen would all 
 be captive! And their women? Were there any there among 
 them, beautiful as houris — as angels cf Paradise — as she had heard 
 
238 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 fairer than herself ? What if he should see any and take them, and 
 cast her out, or send her to the vaults below the palace, where there 
 were others she knew of, like the Begum, who might never see the 
 open light of heaven again ? For this there was at least a remedy ; 
 and while she shuddered at a possible alternative, he who might 
 occasion it lay in his heavy sleep prostrate before her, as he had lain 
 often before. Oh for a free life ! This was but that of a slave ! — 
 caressed and indulged, truly, but to an Affghan girl a very hateful one ! 
 
 Hateful indeed ! "What had her own countrymen cried to her 
 when she strove to urge them on to the attack two days before ? 
 " Hide your face, shameless one. We need no courtesan to tell us 
 what to do. Hide your face, and begone from among honourable 
 soldiers. Was ever an Affghan woman like you, O daughter of 
 shame ! " Ah, yes ! they would not heed her protestations, or her 
 frantic, passionate cries. They bade her begone, and one had lifted 
 his matchlock to his shoulder, as he swore a shocking oath in her 
 own tongue, which had terrified the driver of her elephant, who had 
 turned the noble beast and hurried her away. Had she forgotten 
 this ? What to her were the cries, the f awnings of adulation, which 
 attended her every movement abroad, from the servile courtiers and 
 Bengalee officers whom she despised ? 
 
 In many a fight worse than that had she ridden with her brave 
 father, and had no terror of sharp swords or matchlock balls. What 
 she saw now, seemed but child's play to those fierce conflicts, and to 
 the sweeping charges of the chivalry of Delhi, as they burst through 
 the Affghan squadrons and left her father dying in her arms on the 
 bloody field of Sirhind ! Had he but lived, she would now have 
 been a wife in some quiet nook of the glorious valleys of Istaliff. 
 There might have been children at her knee, and the rough choruses 
 of her people ringing in her ears, instead of a life of shame. " Be- 
 gone, O shameless one ! " they had cried — " hide thy face from 
 honest men ! " And yet she might redeem the past. There were 
 women in her country who, clad in coarse garments, went about 
 singing the name of Allah, or in waste places ministered to the 
 wants of faint and weary travellers — women who had changed their 
 life of sin, to one of good works in the love of God and the Prophet 
 — women who were honoured while they lived, and had shrines by 
 lone waysides raised to their memories after death. If she lived — 
 if she Uved — this might be ; but for the present there could be no 
 change — she could not fly — she must endure. And these, and a 
 thousand whirling thoughts, went through the girl's mind as her 
 master slept. 
 
 " Is the Fort taken ? are the Feringis here ? " he cried at last, 
 starting up from his sleep. " I hear no firing. Sozun, thou hast 
 been looking on — how is it ? Have they surrendered ? " 
 
BESIEGED. 239 
 
 " Surrendered ! " she repeated, bitterly. " No ; the English, they 
 say, never surrender. My lord slept, and there could be no noise 
 permitted — so they told me." 
 
 " The fools ! " he cried — " as if I could not sleep soundly with the 
 roar of cannon in my ears ! The fools ! and they have lost hours. 
 Ho ! Ahmed ! Nasir ! tell them I am awake, and look on at the 
 war." 
 
 I think the AflFghan girl, with shame lying deep at her heart, which 
 her lord knew not of, would have gone forth there and then to her 
 own countrymen if she had daved, and humbled herself before them, 
 asking them to let her share their fate. She had been sorely tempted 
 to do this many a time since she had heard their cries of shame ; but 
 she would have thus exposed them to fearful risk, and herself to 
 destruction. Yet there was many a tale and legend she knew, in 
 which women of her own mountains had cheered men on to victory 
 with shrill cries, and had even led them sword in hand — which were 
 sung round rude fireplaces when the snow fell, or at the house-mill 
 in the early morning, when meal was ground for the day's cakes. 
 Her lord was impatient for victory. If she died among her people, 
 it would not be in shame ; and as the firing recommenced suddenly, 
 and she saw the red-coated Englishmen, who had been lounging about 
 or lying on the grass, start to their feet and huri-y to their posts — 
 the desire to be with her countrymen in the hottest of the fray be- 
 came more and more uncontrollable. 
 
 " There is nothing done, Sozun," cried the Nawab at length, as he 
 rose and seated himself at the lattice, watching, as before, the inter- 
 minable puflfs of smoke, and listening to the patter of musketry. 
 " Not even thy people, who boast they are the Feringis' masters, 
 dare to venture out sword in hand against those few feeble Kafiii-s. 
 I tell thee, girl, there are not a hundred able men among them. 
 See, here is the list, sent me from their Fort this morning ; and yet 
 no one dares — no one dares," he cried loudly and bitterly, " to go 
 upon them." 
 
 " I dare, my lord," she said firmly, rising from her seat near the 
 next window — " I dare ! Will my lord let me lead my people ? " 
 
 " They are cowards ! they would leave thee dead on yonder plain. 
 My rose," he returned, " I could not spare thee. What tales have I 
 not heard of Rohilla prowess, and that their plan of war was to 
 charge sword in hand up to guns and slay th6 gunners ! Look ! 
 there are but two guns in yonder post, behind some faggots which a 
 boy might jump over, and not twenty men to defend them. And 
 there is Noor Khan with five hundred of thy people firing volleys 
 of shot at them and killing none. Oh, shame, shame ! they to call 
 themselves men ! " 
 
 " It is true, my lord — most true. I have watched this all day, 
 
240 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 and now am ready. My lord must let me go to my people ; a 
 woman's cry may shame them to victory. I am a soldier's child. 
 Oh, my lord, do not refuse this ! If I die, who wUl mourn? What 
 I can do, will be but a poor return for all my lord's kindness and 
 love." 
 
 The Nawab looked at her from head to foot with a strange puzzled 
 expression. Such a request to come from a woman ! What woman 
 did he know — had ever known — that would dare to make it ? Had 
 ever such been before ? There were a few dim Persian legends of 
 woman's bravery and devotion which he remembered, and did not 
 the noble wife of Humayoon the Emperor share her husband's battles 
 and his camp life ? Had not Chand Beebee of Ahmednugger fought 
 on the breach of her own citadel hand to hand with the Mogul 
 chivalry, and driven them back ? 
 
 " By Alia ! Sozun, thou mayst be right,'' he exclaimed ; " but 
 would I exchange that Fort and all its wealth for thee ? " 
 
 " If so poor a thing as I," she said, " could win it for thee, my 
 lord, and die on the rampart yonder, my death would be welcome. 
 My people would then sing of me in the old home, that she who had 
 lived in dishonour had redeemed herself, and was slain in fight. My 
 lord, my lord ! if thou hadst only heard their words of reproach, 
 which still ring in my ears, which haunt me night and day — night 
 and day — ^for the memory of which I cannot sleep — thou wouldst let 
 me go, else — I shall die in my shame. If thou wilt, I may do this. 
 If I win that place for thee, Sozun will be a thousand times dearer 
 — if I die, a thousand, fairer than I, are to be bought as thou needst 
 them. Let me go ! It is my destiny — thine and mine are the same. 
 Day by day I have had the book of the stars read, since that Derwesh 
 told it to thee, and the planets do not change. The star of my lord's 
 victory is shining above his head and over mine. My lord, I beseech 
 thee, let me go." 
 
 The young man seemed to catch up some of the enthusiasm of his 
 beautiful slave, and he clapped his hands, and cried to the attendants, 
 who answered. " Let Noor Khan be called," he said. 
 
 Noor Khan was the commander of the Affghans in the Nawab's 
 army. He was in a house hard by, directing a heavy matchlock fire 
 upon the redoubt in which Ralph Smithson was posted, and admir- 
 ing, with a grim satisfaction, the obdurate tenacity with which the 
 few Englishmen left there were now serving their guns, now firing 
 from their heavy muskets, when the Nawab's messenger reached him, 
 and he was soon in the presence. 
 
 " He is as my father," Sozun had said to the Nawab, " and I will 
 not withdraw." 
 
 " Hear what the lady has to say to thee, Noor Khan," he said, 
 "and be kind to her. If it is to be, it is to be." 
 
___^ BESIEGED. 241 
 
 The Affghan looked grimly at the richly-dressed girl before him, 
 and said, ia the broken patois of the country he knew, 
 
 " Men who look on the like of these are but zenana soldiers, my 
 lord. Pardon me ; it is shameful ! " 
 
 " She is of thy country, Noor Khan." 
 
 " She had better have died on the field of Sirhind," said the man, 
 "where her father died, than live thus. I know her. If we dared, 
 we would put her to death, as we do such in our country." 
 
 " Do not speak, my lord," cried the girl, her breast heaving; 
 " Let me — he will not refuse me." And then, in a passionate flood 
 of her own native tongue, she told her shame ; her desire of death 
 in dishonour, or life in honour ; and begged, as she cast herself 
 before the old soldier, that her prayer might not be rejected. 
 
 " Art thou content, O my king ? " said Noor Khan, when he had 
 heard all. " If she lives, I will take her inside yonder fort to- 
 morrow ; if she dies she will be at rest, and it will be well — she 
 will have redeemed her shame." 
 
 I do not profess to say that the young Bengal nobleman at all 
 understood or appreciated the wild sense of honour which the girl 
 had inherited from her race. But he knew that Sozun, having once 
 formed the determination, would not cease to beseech or taunt him. 
 Perhaps — I will not avouch it — he was weary already of the wild 
 Affghan girl whom no menance could terrify, and at whose hands, if 
 he provoked her, he was as likely to meet death as she at his. He had 
 been accustomed to other tempers^-to women whom he could kick, 
 or strike, or abuse, or insult at his pleasure. No doubt she was a 
 restraint upon him, which he had never known before, and of which 
 he was often impatient. It was only the girl's extraordinary beauty, 
 and the fascination which she exerted upon him, that had held him 
 faithful, or tolerant of her so long. Above all, to his superstitious 
 mind there seemed to have entered a conviction that his destiny was 
 in truth linked with hers j and that as she had brought him good 
 fortune, it would continue. 
 
 " She is my pledge with thee. Khan," he replied, " and my honour 
 is in thy hands. See what trust I place in thee ! Thou art not the 
 Noor Khan I know, if one of these Kaffirs escape thee." 
 
 As he spoke, he had pointed towards the plain, and an exclama- 
 tion of surprise escaped him. " What are they doing ? " he cried. 
 
 Noor Khan looked out upon the plain, over which the last rays of 
 the sun before it set were streaming, upon a few parties of English 
 soldiers here and there dragging a gun ; carrying dead and wounded 
 in blankets ; some hobbling along weary and faint, holding by a com- 
 rade's shoulder ; while others, covering their retreat, fired from time 
 to time in answer to the shot which fell thicker and faster around 
 them. All this was quite visible to those who looked on from that 
 
 % 
 
242 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 window — the green plain, the red coats on it, the small sad proces- 
 sions, and the little puffs of smoke from the muskets and matchlocks, 
 fired as if by children in play. Beyond, the old Fort, and the vessels 
 behind it ; the evening breeze now and then floated out the English 
 flag, which was flying there in defiance of the hosts which beleaguered 
 it, and flights of great storks and crows were going to their roosting 
 places. 
 
 " Too late ! " cried Noor Khan. " While I have been prating 
 here, they have escaped me. My lord, let me go ! If thou art 
 coming, girl, be quick ; but not as thou art," and he turned to where 
 she had been standing. 
 
 Sozun, however, had quitted the room ; but as the old soldier was 
 leading his men into the battery which Ralph Smithson had just left, 
 a boyish figure, dressed in the blue tunic of his people, lightly armed, 
 and with a rich handkerchief tied round the turban and mouth— over- 
 took him, and, touching his arm, made a respectful salute; then 
 dropping beside him, took up the hoarse war-chorus which the men 
 were singing, as they went on at a swinging trot. Ah ! it was like 
 the dear old time when she was by her father ; and the girl's heart 
 bounded within her with a sense of freedom and exultation to which 
 she had long been a stranger. There and then, had they gone across 
 that green plain into the mouths of the English cannon, Sozun would 
 have led them in a delirium of excitement which she could not re- 
 press — as she leaped high to the burden of the rude war-song, and 
 waved her sword and clashed her shield with her countrymen. But 
 for the present the Affghans' advance was soon checked, and night 
 fell upon the scene of conflict. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 RECONCILIATION. 
 
 Just then Ralph Smithsou was entering the gate of Fort William 
 with his men, weary, faint, and sick at heart, as well from his pain- 
 ful wound and hard day's fighting in the sun, as from the order to 
 retreat, and to leave spiked the heavy gun, which could not be carried 
 away. The dead, however, had been brought, and the wounded, and 
 such ammunition as remained. The enemy had only got one gun, 
 spiked, and that would at least be useless. Instead of finding an 
 orderly garrison, and the usually grave quiet of the Fort, his ears 
 were assailed with a clamour, and his eyes fell upon a scene of con- 
 fusion, which he little expected there. An order had already been 
 
RECONCILIATION. 243 
 
 given for the -womeii to be sent on board ship, and the boats lying at 
 the landing-place were taking in cargoes of trunks and boxes, and 
 terrified weeping women and children. In place of an embarkation 
 with proper order, every one was clamouring for places as though all 
 chance of escape was already cut off. Shrillest were the cries of tflie 
 Portuguese women and children, which mingled with the hoars© 
 oaths of English seamen and native boatmen ; and it was in vain 
 that some of the officers appeared to be endeavouring to persuade the 
 terror-stricken people that the enemy were still far from the gates. 
 Several boatloads of helpless persons had already been tipset from 
 the crowding in them, and the people rescued with difficulty from 
 the stream — nay, some had even been swept away ; but this did not 
 deter the rest, and it was only when the last boatload had gone, and 
 the water-gate was shut, that, for the night at least, confusion was 
 stayed. 
 
 Sick, then, with heat and pain, and faint with hunger, as he might 
 well be, for a little hard ship-biscuit and some cold ship's beef had 
 been his only food for two days, it was with a sense of comfort, and 
 enjoyment of safety, that Ralph Smithson sat down that night to the 
 only comfortable meal he had eaten for several days. A plentiful 
 cool bath had refreshed him ; the surgeon had dressed his wound 
 with a cooling plaster ; the kind thoughtfulness of Mr. Wharton and 
 his native servant had provided him with a clean suit of clothes ; and 
 if any of my readers can remember having been in Ralph Smithson's 
 straits in India, and to have undergone cleansing and refreshing as 
 he had done, they will acknowledge with me that, during a meal so 
 comfortable, all previous hardship would be forgotten. After his 
 experience of an open post, a blazing sun over him by day, and chill 
 dank dews by night, with a rain of shot perpetually pelting into it, 
 and an enemy shouting defiance with every volley — the quiet of the 
 Fort, the apparent security of the walls and gates, the heavy cannon 
 on the bastions, and the cessation from firing on the part of the 
 enemy as the evening closed in — conveyed an assurance to his mind 
 which, though it raised his own spirits, did not apparently affect 
 those about him, and the Factory hall was dull indeed that night. 
 
 Supper was one of the pleasantest of the Factory public meals, at 
 all times ; a substantial hearty repast, wherein savoury curries, fresh 
 mango, and bhilsa fish almost alive from the river, and Patna, or 
 other up-country beef and mutton, smoked on the board ; and such 
 tea from China, such coffee from Mocha or Java, as money could not 
 purchase in England — with old Madeira and punch — ^were freely 
 spread out at that liberal and hospitable board. Sometimes the 
 English ladies of the Factory spent the evening there ; and not un- 
 fiequently there was a country-dance, or a minuet or cotillon, by 
 way of wind-up among the younger folk, while the elders had their 
 
244 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 whist or picquet, or boston, or cribbage, and played pretty deeply too. 
 It was not here that the coarse profligacy of the settlement was to be 
 seen. That lay at no great distance perhaps, but apart, in the pri- 
 vate bachelor houses, in purlieus of the native city and elsewhere, 
 where we need not seek it. 
 
 But that night the meal was eaten almost in silence, and quickly 
 removed. The old khansaman, or butler, saw his English masters 
 were in no good humour, and that it would be safe to get out 
 of their way as speedily as possible ; and afterwards, instead of the 
 pleasant card-parties, men gathered into knots and spoke little above 
 their breath. There were some who, like Ralph Smithson, had had 
 a post to defend, and who had much to tell of what had happened 
 there. There were some still buoyant and defiant ; not boasting, as 
 Englishmen seldom do among themselves, but saying to their own 
 hearts, and perhaps asseverating it with an oath, that they'd fight the 
 old Fort to the last shot before they'd give it up to the Subah, or 
 any d — d Nabob in the country. 
 
 And there was a group gathered round an elderly native, sitting 
 very much as if he were extremely uncomfortable in a chair, with his 
 naked legs tucked up in it, and his knees projecting for want of room 
 — a man with a thin bony face, and small twinkling eyes, who had a 
 hooked nose, which projected over his short upper lip and thin 
 moustache ; else close shaven, with a muslin skull-cap on his head, and 
 a broad yellow mark of Hindu caste upon his forehead. This was 
 Omichund, the great Hinda banker, who had been seized on suspi- 
 cion of intrigue, and detained in the Fort, whom the President would 
 not release ; and who, very friendly to his rich English constituents 
 himself, was professing his willingness to go and do what he could ; 
 but at the same time expressing honestly his opinion that he feared 
 that matters had gone too far for adjustment, except by unconditional 
 submission. 
 
 Omichund well knew the young Nawab's implacable disposition. 
 A thousand stories of it, which concerned natives alone, were current 
 among them. Men — the public — for there is a native public there, 
 as we ourselves know now — knew how the ears of the Derwesh had 
 been cut off in open durbar, because he had spoken a word in favour 
 of the English ; they knew that the Nawab had witnessed a special 
 play in which Englishmen had been personated by the vilest of 
 buffoons ; and the astute Hindu banker judged badly of the chances 
 of the English after this. But he had been honourable ; he had paid 
 every farthing of the heavy bills of exchange drawn upon him by the 
 house of Juggut Seit, which were, in fact, the realisations of balances 
 by the English Factory agent at Moorshedabad. He had done all 
 this, but neither the Nawab's good mother, who had written to Omi- 
 chund to do what he could for her English friends, nor Juggut Seit 
 
RECONCILIATION. 245 
 
 himself, powerful as he was, could turn the young Nawab from his 
 purpose before he marched for Calcutta ; and it was not likely that 
 he, Omichund, could do anything either, now he had arrived there. 
 He had no need to go, he said — ^they need not send him away. The 
 Nawab would not hurt him, and lif the Fort were soon taken, bis 
 mediation might be of use. 
 
 If the Fort were taken ! Then it might be ; the old banker 
 thought it might be. I think many others that night thought the 
 same, because the ammunition had been inspected that day, and the 
 disgraceful neglect of years had come to light. Men's hearts sank 
 within them when they found the fuzes of bombs green and mouldy, 
 and their contents wet with the damp of the magazine ; where also 
 they found round-shot and grape hardly enough for three days' 
 defence, and the powder so damp that it hissed long before it ex- 
 ploded. Under all these circumstances I do not marvel that the 
 gentlemen of the Calcutta Factory spent an unpleasant evening ; or 
 that the minds of many, ordinarily cheerful, were filled with undefin- 
 able but miserable forebodings. It had not come home to those 
 gentlemen yet, that Calcutta was unsafe ; that the host thundering 
 at their doors was in earnest. Such a thing had not happened since 
 good old Job Charnock's time, and why should it be now ? Here 
 was only a weak sensual youth, whom anybody could turn round his 
 finger — even his women and his eunuch — so they had been told, and 
 so believed ; but they forgot that, vei-y often, these weak sensual 
 youths are the strongest in obstinacy of profligate indulgence, and 
 the hardest to be turned from their revengeful purposes. 
 
 Ralph Smithson had exchanged a few words only with Mr. 
 Wharton since his return from the outpost, but he knew where he 
 should find him. A bastion on the river face was a favourite resort 
 of the Whartons, as it was of others — a place where people met in 
 the evening, where chairs were set and gossip went on while the 
 fresh air came up from the water, and the great stream, hurrying to 
 the sea, sent up its indefinable murmur of small breaking wavelets 
 and the rushing of the water amidst posts and tall sedges : a place 
 where many a love-scene, honest and dishonest, had been played out, 
 and where many a sadly heaved sigh had been sent over the great 
 ocean to which the river was ever hastening ; Ralph Smithson was 
 sure they would be found there. And how had it fared with them ? 
 Had Julia Wharton's jealousy increased, or had her husband, at last, 
 given her his confidence ? 
 
 When Ralph Smithson had gone out to Perrin's Redoubt, to face 
 what might be death, he had deliberately made his will. He could 
 have no claim to his father's allowance from the estate, for that must 
 lapse, with his life, to the baronet or Constance. There was no need, 
 therefore, to say anything about it ; but the property of which he 
 
246 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 was the owner he had a right to dispose of as he pleased ; and he had 
 willed half of it to Mr. Stnithson, of Warkworth, in usufruct for his 
 life, and the other half to Mistress Sybil Morton, with the reversion 
 of what would come from his grandfather to the same person. He 
 had not forgotten dear old Nanny either, and she had a share too. 
 So it will be seen that, while this will secured all he had to those he 
 best loved, there was no clue in it to what he was that could be 
 understood by Mr. "Wharton or the other gentlemen who witnessed 
 it. The venture he had sent home would, he knew, prove very 
 profitable ; and Mr. Darnell held the rest of his property and would 
 account for it. 
 
 When this was accomplished, Ralph Smithson felt that he had 
 done his duty, and was the better for it. He had written, too, to his 
 uncles ; to the baronet praying his forgiveness, and to be remembered 
 by him and Constance kindly ; and to Roger Darnell very warmly, 
 and out of the fulness of his heart ; a few lines to Sybil also : and so 
 was prepared to live or die as his Lord willed. 
 
 These papers he had made up into a packet and given to Mr. 
 Wharton in his wife's presence, and had said, with a manly tear in 
 his eyes, that if he lived he would hope to be of use to them, and if 
 not, they should not forget him ; and he took Mr. Wharton aside, 
 and conjured him to do the same as he had done. In this time of 
 common danger, there should be perfect confidence, and Ralph 
 reminded him of the little scene outside the bungalow, when Mr. 
 Wharton had promised to tell him all some day. Now he was 
 anxious to know whether that had been done or no, and it was with 
 a swelling heart, and a gush of thankfulness, that, as he ascended the 
 steps of the rampart, he saw the bastion empty, except of two figures, 
 whom he knew to be his friends. 
 
 They were standing with their backs to him, looking over the great 
 river, shimmering in a faint moonlight. Mr. Wharton's arm was 
 about his wife's small waist, and her head was lying on his shoulder 
 quietly, with her hand in his. They were not speaking ; but the 
 figures had an expression of confidence and love in their position 
 which Ralph Smithson had never seen before, and he thanked God 
 for it. It was evident Mr. Wharton had done his duty. 
 
 " Ah ! is it you, Ralph ? " said Mr. Wharton, cheerily, turning as 
 he heard the step. "You have found us out, and Julia has been so 
 anxious to see you. How's your arm, since the doctor dressed it ? " 
 
 " Thank God, you are safe, Mr. Smithson," cried Mrs. Wharton, 
 turning to him ; " you are welcome back — oh, so welcome ! " 
 
 " And I trust you got the clean clothes, Ralph. I gave them to 
 the servant," continued her husband. " Julia had them tied up care- 
 fully. There were all you wanted, I hope ? " 
 
 " All, sir ; and I feel so fresh and happy after that horrible post. 
 
RECONCILIATION. 247 
 
 I don't think we could have held it all night, and we were right to 
 withdraw, though we did leave a gun behind." 
 
 " And we are glad to be here too, Mr. Smithson, for we could not 
 have remained in the dear old house ; but we have done the best for 
 our property," added Mrs. Wharton. 
 
 " All yours, and the papers, are safe on board the Daddaley 
 yonder," continued Mr. Wharton, " and under the especial care of 
 the captain — so we shall find them when we get on board — that is, 
 if we have to go. I am quite prepared for tJiat, Ralph, for you would 
 have been as disgusted as myself at what has passed here. The 
 President has written once more to the Nawab, through the 
 Armenians, but I very much question whether it is of any use." 
 
 " Then we should retreat, you think, sir? It's an ugly word, Mr. 
 Wharton." 
 
 " Well," replied Mr. Wharton, " Job Charnock, who was a wise 
 man in his generation, once left the Factory, and came back in better 
 plight, and so may we. However, there's no use speculating; to- 
 morrow or next day we shall know all, and meanwhile we shall do 
 our best, I daresay. And now I have some good news for you. I 
 have followed your advice, and feel as if I were a far happier bride- 
 groom than I was when I married Julia." 
 
 " And I, Mr. Smithson," said his wife, " have to thank you for 
 this. I am sure I have, sir," she added quite gaUy, and with some 
 of her usual sprightly manner. " I feel as if the Moors yonder had 
 brought me a treasure, and I'm so happy — oh, so happy ! We sat on 
 the other side of the walls, John and I, all the afternoon, after the 
 firing began again, and watched you. John sheltered me behind 
 some cotton bales ; and we watched you coming in from the redoubt, 
 and I prayed you might come safely, and so did he ; and I thank God 
 that you are here with us again." 
 
 " Ah yes ! " said Mr. Wharton, " it was all over before we left the 
 bungalow. I told her everything, and slie came at Julia's request, 
 and — and — ^no matter now, Ralph, it is happily over, and the chil- 
 dren are safest with her." 
 
 " And he forgave me all my waywardness and foolish jealousy, 
 Ralph. Oh, it was so good of him, wasn't it ? " 
 
 I don't think Ralph Smithson could say much in reply — perhaps 
 his heart was too full. Had he not known what it was to be jealous, 
 and what had come of it ? He could only take their hands and press 
 them together in both his own, and they all sat down, and, without 
 speaking much, looked out on the great river and its current, running 
 swiftly to the sea. 
 
248 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 EVENING, JUNE 19, 1756. 
 
 I OFTEN think, as I write these pages, of other very sore sti'aits into 
 ■which our countrymen have fallen in that distant Indian land ; and 
 it is a strange but awful lesson in human bravery, endurance, and 
 ghastly suflFering, to compare what happened in Fort William on the 
 next day, Saturday, the 19th of June 1756, with the occurrences of 
 the same day a hundred years later, in the saddest of all memorials 
 in India — the barrack entrenchment at Cawnpore. But there is 
 hardly a parallel. 
 
 In the one, as many Englishmen as there were in Calcutta, 
 beneath a fiercer and more burning sun, without cover save a slight 
 breastwork, were fighting day and night, without relief and without 
 rest, with a few poor field-pieces, and some light guns, fowling-pieces, 
 and rifles, against a more cruel enemy than Suraj-oo-Doulah's Ro- 
 hillas — cowards and traitors who dare not show themselves in fair 
 fight, but skulked behind the buildings which screened their heavy- 
 guns, whose fire ceased not day or night. Those few English 
 soldiers, railway constructors, shopkeepers, and clerks, were de- 
 fending frail roofless buildings, riddled with heavy shot and shell ; 
 and a motley assemblage of helpless women and children were sitting 
 within thom in groups, huddled upon the bare floors, grown careless 
 of the cannon-shot which whistled over them, or crashed through the 
 tottering walls, or of shells which often burst among them — envying 
 the happy fate of any whom they struck, or of others who, in disease 
 or very weakness, sank gently to their eternal rest. 
 
 We who live in the happy homes of England, secure and peaceful, 
 can have but a very faint idea of so terrible a reality ; of its aggra- 
 vation by lack of food and of water — of the scorching sun by day 
 and chill dews by night — of the dawn and the sunset following each 
 other without a change in that fearful strife — each day succeeding 
 the last only to differ from it in intensity and augmentation of 
 sufiering— of the conviction that there was no retreat, and no alter- 
 native but to fight on to the last and die, if happily death might 
 come fighting, and not by foul treachery. We know how all that 
 ended ; and pray God in His mercy that His glorious host of heaven 
 may never witness the like again. 
 
 It was not thus in Fort William on the day of which I write. 
 The morning broke calm and beautiful, and the fresh breeze curled 
 the great river, and blew out the red English flags defiantly before 
 the Indian Lost. The Fort was still secure. There was no slight 
 parapet, as at Cawnpore, with scores of yawning breaches ; but a 
 
E VENING. 249 
 
 strong fort wall and shelter enough. There was no artillery used 
 against it which could breach such a wall, and there were no bomb- 
 shells to descend from above, and, bursting, scatter their horrible 
 fragments far and wide. There were ships lying in the stream, on 
 board of which most of the helpless women and children had already 
 gone, and more were following. From them at least there would be 
 no hindrance, no unmanning of brave hearts by contemplation of 
 their sufferings ; a^ yet we know by the sad record of history, and 
 by the testimony*? men who shared and survived that trial, that — 
 it is hard to wr j^ it — there was panic, and its inevitable accompani- 
 ment, cowardiee. " Oh for Mr. Olive !" had been the cry of many a 
 brave sorrowiflg heart, as boatload after boatload of men and officers 
 who, having the responsibility of the defence, were now terror- 
 stricken — abandoning the Fort, and flying shamefully to the ships. 
 
 " As soon," writes one of the officers, " as it was known that the 
 Governor had left the Factory, the gate towards the river was imme- 
 diately locked to prevent further desertion, and the general voice of 
 the garrison called for Mr. Howell to take the charge of the defence 
 upon him ; " and, like a gallant Englishman as he was, he thence- 
 forth did his best. There were no craven hearts in the Fort now, 
 and there were no means of retreat ; no boat, English or native, 
 approached the doomed Fort. The English ships had dropped down 
 the stream, but not to any distance ; they could see among them 
 the signals which Mr. Howell made for them to come up again to 
 their anchorage, or to send boats for the garrison, but nothing 
 stirred. As the tide turned, and the south wind blew gently from 
 the sea, the garrison looked for a moment for one ship, one sloop, 
 one pinnace, to come up and help them in their great need, but 
 none came. I can believe this to have been no little aggravation of 
 their misery — one which, amidst all their horrible varieties of 
 suffering, the Cawnpore people were at least spared. 
 
 There, no hope of succour had ever existed ; for it was soon 
 known that those at Lucknow, from whence help alone could come, 
 were in as great strait as themselves ; and so, in the grim, calm 
 energy of despair, they fought on. But here, in Fort "William, their 
 very friends had deserted the garrison, and had grown callous to 
 what they might suffer, so their own more precious selves were safe. 
 I feel that this must have been a most frightful aggravation of 
 suffering, because a wound in the tenderest part of all true English- 
 men's hearts — national honoui-. " What would they say in England 
 if we were to give up these shattered walls now we hold them ? " 
 said the brave fellows at Oawnpore, at Lucknow, and Arrah, as 
 others had once said at Jellalabad, when mighty Indian hosts were 
 encamped against them. At least we who live on know what they 
 have said, and will ever say — and hope, that the poor fellows who 
 
250 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ■were taken away, have heard from awful lips that, like gallant 
 British men — they did their duty. 
 
 And those in Fort William were minded now to do it too. They 
 had still one hope, in the good ship Prince George, which lay above 
 at the redoubt, and was ordered down. I believe that worthy 
 Captain Hague, if he could, would have come down in the teeth of 
 the enemy's shot; and as he weighed anchor, and sailed slowly 
 under his topsails, there was many an eager eye looking to his 
 manoeuvres, and many a beating heart expecting him ; and it must 
 have been a sore pang to the brave fellow when, as we read, " his 
 ship was run on a shoal, either by the ' Pilate's' treachery or want 
 of skill, and his good ship stuck fast, never to be moved again." 
 And so the last hope of the Fort garrison was blasted, and with 
 many a heavy sigh, perhaps, but with clenched teeth and grim, 
 defiant hearts, they set themselves — to do their duty. 
 j^And bravely, too, while they could, they did it, as history tells us, 
 and as we can well believe. As the morning advanced, the Nawab's 
 army closed rapidly round the Fort ; the firing was heavy and con- 
 stant, and their approaches grew nearer and nearer. The church 
 without the walls, the offices and warehouses, were carried ona by_ 
 one, whUe the defenders plied their musketry and cannon, and 
 sheltered themselves as well as they could with parapets of cotton 
 bales, and packages of stout Yorkshire broadcloths. Many were 
 killed, and many were sorely hurt : but the evening came, and with 
 it the rest which night gave — for the young Nawab slept, and it 
 was death to disturb his slumbers. 
 
 All that day had the Afighan girl urged on her people, and well 
 had they answered her call. She had seemed to them to bear a 
 charmed life ; and superstition, as well as admiration of her bravery 
 — it might have been called desperation — had already won for her 
 the fame she had coveted. They had told her she would be sung of 
 in the bazaars of Cabool, in the mountains of Istalifi", in the royal 
 fort of Ghuzni. They — those wild, rude fellows — ^had bowed them- 
 selves before her, and touched reverently her hands and her feet. 
 Wliere she led they would follow; and among them, some of the 
 burliest and bravest had formed themselves into a bodyguard, and 
 placed their shields before her when the English balls came hottest. 
 She had won her fame, even did she survive ; but I think the girl, 
 in the fierce enthusiasm of her nature, rather longed for death, that 
 she might live for ever in her people's memories. 
 
 So, too, fighting on the north-west bastion, all that day, were 
 Kalph Smithson and Mr. Wharton. The few men that could be 
 spared to them were weary and sick, some wounded too, and some 
 fell occasionally ; but none left the post alive, and Julia Wharton, 
 utterly refusing shelter within the buUdings, shared the danger with 
 
EVENING. 251 
 
 them. Perhaps this one day, of all that siege, might be likened in 
 some wise to the corresponding day of June in the Cawnpore en- 
 trenchment — and yet hardly. Great as was this peril and misery, 
 there was still the hope that ships might come up, or that the 
 garrison might be able to hold out. There was not the weariness 
 of fruitless fighting which was falling on the others ; or that dull, 
 leaden despair which contemplated grimly the few sacks of meal left,. 
 the empty provision-tins, and the gaunt, sun-scorched faces of hollow- 
 eyed women and children. 
 
 So one more night of rest from shot ensued, and yet less peace 
 than before. Though the Nawab slept, and scarce a shot was fired, 
 the enemy were not idle. As the night advanced, fires broke out in 
 various houses beyond the walls. Mr. "Wharton's had been safe up 
 to this time, and they had watched, with a curious interest, the pro- 
 ceedings of the first body of native soldiers which took possession of 
 it. Would it be destroyed ? They were not long in doubt. As 
 they sat there on the floor of the bastion, behind their cotton bales, 
 eating what their native servants had been able to cook for them, 
 and truly enjoying the repast more heartily perhaps than they had 
 done many a costly dinner — a sudden glare fell upon the little group 
 which told its own tale, and a fierce roaring and crackling of the dry 
 thatch and bamboos quickly completed the ruin. So on, through the 
 night — the marine-yard, with all its stores of timber, tar, and pitch 
 — many houses — the church — biirst one by one into flames, and lit 
 up, with a frightful glare, the Fort, the white houses of Calcutta, the 
 trees and the river, and rested far away on the masts and sails of the 
 faithless English ships, which lay in safety. I do not think the 
 thoughts of those who were in them could have been enviable that 
 night, and, though death in all its most horrible forms was before 
 them, those in the Fort were perhaps the happier. 
 
 I daresay many a last strange tale or wish was told by English 
 soldiers, one to another, that night, in their last watch, while the 
 glare of conflagration around them lighted up every nook and corner 
 of the Fort, and vast forked tongues of flame darted to the sky, send- 
 ing up showers of lighted embers and brilliant sparks ; but I have 
 no concern with them. It was impossible to sleep, and our friends 
 sat together on the bastion, where Mr. Wharton and Ralph Smithson 
 had to watch by turns until the morning. They had nothiug new 
 to tell — nothing new to request — all that was needed had been 
 already arranged. In a quiet bivouac or picket, with the soft stars 
 twinkling in a dewy sky, the men might have told each other of their 
 lives ; but this was not a time for such confidences. It signified very 
 little, death seemed so near, what had passed beforehand, and their 
 thoughts were involuntarily solemn ; and when Julia Wharton took 
 from her pocket her small prayer-book, and began to read in her 
 
252 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 s-weet voice, by the light of the glare beyond the walls, the Psalms 
 for the evening of the nineteenth day of the month — many of the 
 soldiers gathered round and listened bareheaded, and devoutly, to 
 what I hope we all remember, while the girl's voice grew stronger as 
 she proceeded — 
 
 " O sing unto the Lord a new song, for He hath done marvellous 
 things. With His own right hand, and with His holy arm, hath He 
 gotten us the victory." 
 
 Ah yes ! Even in that sore strait they hoped and prayed for it, 
 and reverently commended themselves to Him in whose hands the 
 issues lay. And we know that all those in Cawnpore, daily and 
 nightly, did the same. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 THE STOEM, AND WHO SURVIVED IT. 
 
 Dawn broke again, and the horrid stifling smell of burnt houses, the 
 smoke of still blazing timber, had taken the place of the sweet dewy 
 morning breath which ought to have been there. In place of trim 
 garden-houses and the quiet of the English settlement, there were 
 groups of smoking ruins and hosts of the native army, and roughly- 
 constructed batteries, armed with cannon ready for the day's work. 
 As the drums and fifes of the Portuguese musicians of the Foi-t beat 
 ofi' a quavering " reveille," they were answered by defiant blasts of 
 shrill native pipes and horns and the deep bass drums of the Nawab's 
 nobut. 
 
 It was a Sabbath dawn. Far away in their dear England the 
 church-bells on the bright summer day would ring out mellow chimes 
 of invitation to prayer, and the soft south-west wind would bear them 
 over fragrant bean-fields, over meadows strewn with sweet fresh hay, 
 through avenues of lime-trees full of the murmur of bees, loading 
 itself with perfume till it could carry no more. There, many a 
 homely, bright-dressed group would wander leisurely by field-paths, 
 and through green shady lanes, to hear the Sabbath service. Children 
 would gather bright wild-flowers by hedgerows, and ancient men and 
 dames would sit by cottage-doors basking in the warm sun, and 
 looking on at harmless play. There, too. Coquet would be in its 
 beauty, fretting over many a mossy rock and stone with a plashing 
 murmur, or gliding through deep brown pools overhung by dipping 
 woods, with the trout leaping in them. In many a house of God the 
 holy message of peace and good-will towards men would be read, and 
 many a choir raise melodious hymns and psalms to the glory of the 
 Most High. 
 
THE STORM, AND WHO SURVIVED IT. 253 
 
 But this Sabbath day, the 20th June 1756, was to be very 
 difierent to those who remained in Fort William. As the day broke, 
 those who had been able to snatch a few hours' sleep hurried again 
 to their posts, and joined their comrades who had been watching. 
 Behind their little barricade of cotton bales, our friends and a few 
 soldiers were assembled ; and as soon as she could see, they all heard, 
 reverently, the sweet voice of Julia Wharton read out the psalms 
 for the day. Who does not remember them, and that sad, pitiful, 
 cry for help ? — 
 
 " Hear my prayer, Lord, and let my crying come uuto Thee ! 
 
 " Hide not Thy face from me in the time of my trouble ; incline 
 Thine ear unto me when I call ; O hear me, and that right soon." 
 
 Passing into the exultant song — 
 
 " Praise the Lord, O my soul ! And all that is within me, praise 
 His holy name ! 
 
 " Praise the Lord, O my soul ! O Lord my God, Thou art become 
 exceeding glorious ! " 
 
 While they listened, the enemy were gathering quickly in every 
 post, which became thick with turbaned heads ; and as daylight 
 advanced, and the sun rose through the eastern mist and clouds, a 
 fire more rapid and more deadly than any the English garrison had 
 yet experienced, burst upon them on every side — from cannon, from 
 wall-pieces, and from matchlocks it poured thick and fast — and a 
 heavy column of men were soon seen forming towards the north-west 
 bastion, with the evident intention of storming it. 
 
 Snatching a few hasty mouthfuls of food such as they could get, 
 Mr. Wharton and Kalph Smithson hurried to the point of danger, 
 and, with such of their men as could be assembled there, strove to 
 check the progi-ess of a body of blue-coated assailants who, with an 
 energy and bravery they had not yet seen attempted, charged up to 
 the foot of the works and attempted to scale them. It was here that 
 Ralph Smithson noticed a slight active figure foremost in every 
 charge, shouting the war-cry of those people, urging them forward, 
 and using passionate gestures of reproach and entreaty as time after 
 time they were hurled back by discharges of grape and musketry, and 
 by bayonets and boarding-pikes, wherever escalade was attempted. 
 They marvelled who this could be, so young and so fair : for the 
 ruddy features could be easily seen, and looked almost English. 
 
 " Before he sleeps — before he sleeps at noon," had that Affghan 
 girl cried to her countrymen, and so had led charge after charge in 
 the name of Allah and the Prophet. But noon came, and the mys- 
 terious silence which they had always noticed at this hour fell again 
 upon the native host, and once more there was to be temporary rest 
 for all while the Nawab slept. 
 
 It was but a faint hope ; but men in such straits will cling to any. 
 
254 RALPH DARNELL. _ 
 
 while it was evident to all that another attack made with such re- 
 solution could not be withstood ; so Mr. Howell requested the banker 
 Omiohund again to write to the Nawab's minister, and as the mes- 
 senger with the letter was allowed to pass, there was hope for a while. 
 
 But not for long, though the cessation of firing had been of greater 
 duration than usual. The letter had reached its destination ; but 
 with such a prize almost within his grasp, the Nawab was little 
 likely to abandon his determination of revenge. Many a brave 
 Moslem soldier had been shot down; the priest of the mosque, 
 aided by other priests, had been busy all the day preaching a holy 
 war against the infidels, and the army burned to revenge those who 
 had already fallen. Above all, Sozun had sent message after message 
 to her lord to encourage his obstinacy of purpose, and his belief in 
 her destiny now surpassed all other motives for persistence. 
 
 There was no answer, therefore; and presently, as they watched 
 the enemy, the preparations of several heavy storming parties could 
 be easily seen, and the already exhausted garrison viewed them 
 with a grim dismay. Before those thousands thirsting for their 
 blood, without the possibility of defending or even watching the 
 whole of the walls, there was no hope, and yet surrender was not 
 yet spoken of among them. Even at that late hour, had the recre- 
 ants in ftie ships below riding safely at their anchors— witnessing 
 the strife, yet giving no aid— rmoved up a few vessels, the Fort might 
 have been saved ; but Mr. Howell, as he went to the south-east 
 bastion to judge whether he were justified, under the circumstances, 
 in prolonging the defence, saw no movement among them ; not a boat 
 was lowered, nor was one near by which any message might be sent, 
 while the enemy were crowding up the defences in numbers which 
 he had no hope of resisting. It was then that, seizing a flag, he 
 waved it as one of truce ; but the only reply was a volley of shot, 
 and fiercer and hoarser cries from the men below. Then, on each 
 other's shoulders — by ladders, clinging to pieces of broken walls — 
 the Moslem soldiers gained the rampart, and, as he yielded his 
 sword to a native officer, Mr. Holwell found himself a captive, while 
 the few soldiers who still resisted died at their posts. 
 
 It was just before this that the Nawab's Eohillas, before whom ran 
 and leaped the same youthful active figure which had been seen in 
 the morniflg, came on in serried array, and at a rapid trot, holding 
 their shields before their bodies to turn the English bullets, and 
 reached the foot of the north-west bastion. There were fewer there 
 now to receive them than before. Many of the militia — who, despite 
 the Don's predictions, had fought well — now cowed and terrified, 
 were sheltering themselves below. A few English soldiers, Mr. 
 Wharton, Ralph Smithson, and the Don prepared to do what men 
 could ; and behind a screen of cotton bales Julia Wharton was load- 
 
THE STORM, AND WHO SURVIVED IT. 255 
 
 ing muskets, and handing them to be fired. I do not think any of 
 them spoke ; death seemed very near now, but amidst that fierce 
 strife it was little thought of. As the EohUlas climbed up, hewing 
 fiercely at pikes and bayonets with their broad sabres and sharp 
 battle-axes, Kalph was at last face to face with the person he had so 
 often watched j that fair glowing face with its flashing eyes and a 
 sword between its set teeth, the slight womanish hands clutching at 
 the broken masonry, with a pile of dead beneath — was being raised 
 up and covered with their shields. The Englishman's and the 
 Affghan girl's eyes met for a moment as Ralph Smithson raised his 
 cutlas for a blow which must have cloven her head to the teeth ; but 
 he could not strike. 
 
 " It is a woman ! " he cried, as he dropped his sword point. " God 
 help me, I cannot strike her ! " The next moment he heard a sharp 
 scream from Julia "Wharton, and rushed to the spot. A glance told 
 the story — ^her husband lay writhing in mortal pain. She was striv- 
 ing to raise his head, and as she heard his faint cry for water, to pour 
 some into his mouth. 
 
 Ralph Smithson laid down his bloody weapon, useless now, for the 
 Rohillas had crowded up the wall, and were spreading themselves on 
 every side, as he reached his friends — all but Sozun and an old officer, 
 who were arrested by the group before them, 
 
 " Strike him not ! " she cried to some of her men, who had lifted 
 their swords to cut down Smithson as he knelt over Mr. Wharton. 
 
 " He has killed our bi-ethren. We have marked him these two 
 days," shouted some of them, savagely. 
 
 " He is mine ! " she said. " Away with ye to plunder ! " and 
 Smithson and Mrs. Wharton were saved. 
 
 Ralph heeded not the action, or thought of the blood-stained 
 weapons lifted over him. There lay one he loved gasping out a last 
 few trembling words, and amidst the din of strife he was listening 
 with intense eagerness. 
 
 " I'm going . . . Julia — fast now. . . . It's very dark, darling. 
 Where, where . . . are you ? Where's Ralph ? . . . Don't, don't 
 forget . . . mother — mother ..." 
 
 A last great sob, a quick convulsion, and Henry Wharton, like 
 
 many another, had gone to his rest, with his mother's name last on 
 
 his lips, spoken as it had been in days of childhood long gone by. 
 
 The convulsion left no painful trace — there was a sweet smile of 
 
 triumph on his sallow wasted face, a flush of almost bright colour 
 
 upon his cheek ; but the blue eye was set in death, and a great 
 
 majesty of expression was settling upon the strong handsome features. 
 
 " Oh, Ralph, he is not dead ! Lift him up," she said, faintly. 
 
 " He is gone, Julia — gone for ever to his rest." 
 
 She threw herself upon the body with a passionate wailing cry. 
 
256 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 To have him snatched away in death, whom she had only begun to 
 love within these last three weary days ! — he, too, who had been 
 spared through all previous danger. It was too quick a revulsion, 
 and she had fainted. 
 
 " Raise her up, sir," said Sozun, who, fascinate^ by the scene of 
 grief, so natural — so terrible — had remained. " Raise her up — I can 
 protect her, and Affghans do not war against women or helpless 
 men." 
 
 " Art thou a woman ? " said Ralph Smithson. 
 
 " No matter," said the girl, " what I am. Raise her up, and give 
 her some water, else she will die." 
 
 Between them, they raised Julia Wharton, and Sozun filled an 
 earthen cup from a pitcher which stood there. " Drink," she said, as 
 the Englishwoman's bosom heaved, and she sighed — " drink, and 
 rouse thyself. He is dead — what canst thou do for him ? Dost 
 thou understand me ? " 
 
 " I do," said Ralph Smithson. " Who art thou ? " 
 
 " I told thee, Feringi, it does not matter ; she is my care, and I 
 can protect ye both. Take her up, and follow me. I hear the 
 Nawab's procession. He is coming." 
 
 The sun was setting, and a blaze of light shone upon the bastion, 
 the blood-stained breastwork of cotton bales, and the white upturned 
 face of him who lay at rest there. Perhaps the Afifghan girl remem- 
 bered the white face of her dead father as the sun had gleamed upon 
 it that evening on the field of Sirhind, for it was like an act of vene- 
 ration, when she went, touched lightly the eyes and the lips of the 
 dead, and then her own heart and forehead. " The peace and bless- 
 ing of God be upon him — he has died a soldier's death," she said 
 gently, and turned away. " Come, sir, if thou canst carry her — she 
 is safe nowhere but with me. I am a woman, and can protect her 
 and thee. Art thou her brother ? Oh, she is very beautiful ! " 
 
 " I was his friend in life," Ralph Smithson replied to the girl — 
 " no more. She was his wife. Julia, we must go. I dare not leave 
 you. Come ; I will see to him afterwards. Come, this person will 
 help us; she is a woman, and will save you from violence." 
 
 " O Ralph," cried the sobbing girl, falling upon his shoulder, " I 
 have none left but you — no one. O my God ! no one but you ; do 
 not leave me now." 
 
 So they descended the steps of the bastion, as the Nawab's palan- 
 keen was set down in the area of the Fovt, and a concourse of people 
 had crowded about it. " He must not see her," said the girl quickly ; 
 " it will be her death, or worse. Can you not conceal her, till I can 
 make her safe ? Thou canst understand ir.e ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," said Ralph, in good Hindustani. He had soon learned 
 the colloquial dialect. " Is there danger ? " 
 
THE STORM, AND WHO SURVIVED IT . 257 
 
 " I tell you, sir," she said, " upon a woman's honour, and I swear 
 to you by my dead father, if he sees her. she will be seized for his 
 zenana, and then — God help her ! " 
 
 " Who art thou ? " cried Smithson quickly. 
 
 "I am his slave and his mistress," she replied; "do as I bid ye, 
 else she Ls lost." 
 
 " She is right, Julia," said Smithson ; " come here, it's the last 
 place they'll seek you in — ^the black hole. It's dark there, and you 
 will not be seen. Crouch down by the window, and I will come for 
 you as soon as I can." 
 
 " Yes, she will be safe there," said Sozun. " Keep quiet, lady, and 
 for your life's sake do not show yourself." 
 
 There was a group round the Nawab's palankeen, in which he was 
 sitting speaking to Mr. Holwell, whom he was questioning as to the 
 amount of treasure in the Factory. Men were loosing Mr. Holwell's 
 hands which were tied, and he was telling the young prince that there 
 was not much money in the treasury. Whatever there was should 
 be looked after. There was no violence offered to Mr. Holwell ; and 
 others who were looking on augured well from that. The Affghan 
 girl went and stood behind the Nawab's palankeen, and, except her 
 countrymen, no one there knew her. The !Nawab was inquiring who 
 had climbed into the Fort first, and was holding in his hand a heavy 
 gold necklace to bestow upon the person. Several soldiers had 
 stepped forward, among them the oflficer to whom Mr. Holwell had 
 given up his sword, and who appealed to that gentleman for corro- 
 boration of what he said. 
 
 " Nawab Sahib," said Mr. Holwell, " if I may speak, this man was 
 the first beside me ; but it was not till I saw the bastion beyond me 
 full of Rohillas that I surrendered. One of them was the first." 
 
 " Let me speak, Nawab Sahib," said Ralph Smithson, stepping 
 forward. " The first upon my post was a mere youth ; I could have 
 slain him, but he looked so like a woman that I could not strike." 
 
 " I am here, my lord," whispered the girl, bending down to him, 
 " but take no notice of me for your honour's sake. Enough, that I 
 have done what I needed." 
 
 " Nay, thou hast earned it, darling," whispered the young man, 
 throwing the jewel about her neck, " and wilt not refuse it ; now 
 begone, I will follow directly. Come hither Noor Khan," he con- 
 tinued to the chief of the RohUlas — " well hast thou earned this, as 
 well by thy bravery as," he whispered, as he tied a gorgeous ornament 
 of rubies and emeralds into the old Affghan's turban, " by thy care of 
 her ; nor shall your men be forgotten." 
 
 Sozun waited to see the decoration bestowed upon her countryman ; 
 and was satisfied, when the old ofiicer's eyes met her own, that he was 
 content now. She had redeemed much, but not all. Could she but 
 
 K 
 
258 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 save that fair Englishwoman ! Ah, should he but see her ! It was 
 hopeless to attempt it then, and till to-morrow they would be all 
 safe ; and, giving a sign to one of the eunuchs, she stepped into a 
 litter, and was carried rapidly away. 
 
 There was little more to be done that evening. The Nawab's 
 heart was following his slave. How beautiful had she looked with 
 the flush of victory on her face. Again and again the Fort was 
 searched, and plunderers and Portuguese driven out. The Nawab's 
 seal was put on the treasury ; "he would come," he said, " and count 
 the money in the morning." Then guards were set, and there was 
 quiet. The English gentlemen and soldiers, many of them wounded, 
 were sitting about the courts in groups, speculating as to where they 
 would be put for the night. That was the barrack square, close and 
 hot enough ; and many, faint and weary, were lying down. The 
 barrack-rooms were at least open and airy, and the platform where 
 the men slept especially so. Perhaps they would get something to 
 eat; and the quiet, the relief from constant excitement of battle, had 
 already sent some to sleep, and relieved the rest from all immediate 
 apprehension. 
 
 Then, as the time for pnayer came, the Nawab and all his people 
 prepared for it, and jjarpets or scarfs were spread to kneel upon. 
 There was no minaret ; but a muezzin ascended a terrace hard by, 
 and began to chant the Azan — " Prayer is better than sleep, ye 
 faithful ! Prayer is better than sleep. God is victorious, God is 
 victorious ! " — and the cry, " Ulla hu Akbar," was taken up by a 
 thousand hoarse voices. Thus, as the chronicle hath it, " the Moors 
 sang a great psalm for their victory, and the Nawab with them." 
 True, indeed, was the prophecy of the Derwesh, "There would be 
 victory." 
 
 A few more directions as to the safe custody of the prisoners; a 
 few last orders to the governor nominated in regard to the treasury, 
 that it was not to be opened till he came in the morning ; a few 
 assurances to Mr. Holwell that he would be well taken care of; and 
 the English captives saw the Nawab's palankeen taken up, and 
 attended by his courtiers and soldieiy, set out for the town ; and 
 they heard the matchlock shots and the great drums which accom- 
 panied his progress, till the sound grew fainter and fainter with the 
 distance, and so ceased. It was almost dark now, and men with 
 torches ran hither and thither exploring the Fort, for a safe place 
 into which to put the captives. At last one cried, •' There is the 
 prison, it will hold them all." 
 
 Ralph Smith son had taken Mrs. Wharton a jar of water, and she 
 was drinking it eagerly and thankfully, and put it down carelessly 
 by the -window. " It is so hot and close here," she said, " may I 
 not come out, Ralph ? they are all gone." 
 
THE BLACK HOLE. 259 
 
 " Not yet," he replied. "After the Nawab is gone I will seek a 
 safe place for you," and he went out again into the court. Some of 
 his friends were sitting sadly, weary and sick with the day's fighting, 
 and their losses; others were chatting together cheerfully. "The 
 Nawab had been kind, and to-morrow the ships would be up again." 
 " If John Company had to pay a swingiag ransom, what matter ? he 
 was rich enough." Some of the soldiers, English and Dutch, had got 
 to the arrack stores, and were roaring in drunken mirth, while others 
 were trying to keep them quiet. Gradually all saw the soldiers of 
 the Nawab close round them and drive them forward, while men 
 stood at the prison door with torches to light them in. Ralph 
 Smithson sprang forward to get Julia Wharton out of a place 
 which he knew would not be fit for her, but he was too late. Those 
 after him — some laughing, some shrieking in drunken madness, some 
 protesting — came on in a dense mass, blocking up the doorway, while 
 lolows and pricks of swords and spears from behind urged on the rest. 
 Then closer and closer the mass within pressed together and occupied 
 all the standing room, till the last man was thrust in, and the door 
 was shut and locked. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE BLACK HOLE — SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20, 1756. 
 
 It did not need many moments to reveal to the prisoners the fright- 
 ful situation in which they had been placed. It was indeed impos- 
 sible for any one to move now, so closely was the mass wedged 
 together ; and had it been standing in the open air, the weakest 
 must have inevitably fallen and been trampled down to death. This 
 was a room but eighteen feet square, and into it one hundred and 
 forty-five people had been crammed. On three sides there was a 
 dead wall of brick without any apertm-e, which indeed formed part 
 of the Fort. In the fourth side, which opened to the barrack court- 
 yard, were two windows which had iron bars, and by these, whatever 
 air could reach the interior found entrance ; but what was it in com- 
 parison with the frightful need ? " This is for life or death, Julia," 
 whispered Ralph Smithson to the terrified woman, who had seen the 
 throng troop by her with frantic cries and gestures. " Kneel down, 
 keep your face to the bars, I will stand over you while I have life 
 and strength ! and I will yield to no other. Here, Mr. Holwell, 
 there is room by us ; come quick, and stay by me ; you are weak, 
 and I am strong." 
 
260 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " You are wounded, Mr. Smithson, and need a better place than 
 I," replied the brave, generous man ; " I shaU do very well ; we have 
 others to look to, and must not forsake them." 
 
 There was little spoken, as men took the places in which they were 
 to live or die that night. 
 
 " Eh, Captain Smithson ! " said a rough but weak voice behind 
 him, " ye'U no forget Drrever, surr ; that's the man fraa Berrik, ye 
 ken ; a'm vara weak, surr, "an' if ye'll let me pit ma heed a'tween yer 
 legs, surr, all no disturb ye, surr ; a'U be vara patien'. Eh, captin, 
 but it's vara terrible a' this ; the Lord be gude to uz." 
 
 " Be quiet, then," said Ralph Smithson ; " lie still, and take care 
 of yourself — I cannot help you." 
 
 " It hardly matters, surr, if a' live or dee, it's jist the Lorrd's will ; 
 but if a'm deed in the mornin', jist send aale I ha' aboot me to ma 
 folk at Berrik ; there's a wee bit goud I've gotten, an' — " 
 
 " Don't talk," cried Ealph, sternly ; " keep still, I'll see to you, if 
 we're alive." 
 
 Julia Wharton dared not speak. She knelt there between Ralph 
 Smithson's strong arms and knees, safe from any crush from without, 
 her white face pressed against the bars, breathmg, but almost uncon- 
 scious then. Every now and then she heard a cheering word from 
 her protector ; and Mr. Hoi well, and others standing and kneeling 
 by her, tried to soothe her as best they could. Occasionally, when 
 the pressure was heaviest, Ralph Smithson passed his arm round 
 her waist, and held her up for a little to breathe more freely ; and 
 once, when those without had brought a torch to the window, he saw 
 her turn round her head and smile at him. I think, if she had dared 
 to speak, it would have been some passionate avowal of gratitude for 
 his care. But she was better silent. 
 
 There were men who, in that awful time, comported themselves 
 with fortitude and resignation only known to Him to whom their 
 spirits had gone before morning dawned ; and there were others as 
 brave who were spared ; but among all that hideous mass of suffer- 
 ing, there was perhaps no calmer heart than Julia Wharton's. To 
 live or to die, who could tell ? and she waited patiently for the issue. 
 For a time the mass stood up quietly and patiently, and an order to 
 strip off their upper garments was obeyed by most. Then they tried 
 to sit down and get up at word of command ; but this soon became 
 impossible, for many who sat down could rise no more, and fell under 
 foot to die ; and the heat and stench were momentarily increasing, 
 and becoming intolerable even to those in the foremost ranks. Who 
 can tell of what passed further back ? Even those who came out 
 alive the next morning, and have left their records for us to read, 
 could only guess. To look back into that thick darkness was impos- 
 sible, for the steam of men's bodies increased the gloom ; and when 
 
THE BLACK HOLE. 261 
 
 a torch was held up to the windo-w by those outside, all that could 
 be seen was a dim surging mass of naked men — English, Dutch, 
 Portuguese, and natives — rising, falling, climbing on each other's 
 slippery shoulders, only to drop tsetween and be at once trodden to 
 death. 
 
 Out of that horrible, seething mass came cries of " Water, water ! 
 open the door!" intermingled with prayers, wild and incoherent 
 ravings, the shrieks of drunken men, to whom their intoxication 
 gave temporary energy — ^fearful oaths and curses in English and 
 Dutch — in a Babel of languages — and among them the groans and 
 sobs of the dying. 
 
 So passed one hour — ^two hours — and many were already dead, 
 and more were dying. There was now greater space within, but 
 existence was more difficult and impossible every moment. Some 
 gave up the struggle at the windows for air, and wandered over the 
 dead, lying down in corners ; and, if they had sense or consciousness, 
 breathing a last prayer, and so dying. Was there no pity among 
 their guards ? At first, under the heartless intoxication of victoiy, 
 the native soldiers crowded round the windows, and looked through 
 them by the light of torches, jeering in horrid exultation, and mock- 
 ing the shrieks and turmoil within ; while the heat, the glare, and 
 the smoke and smell of burning oil aggravated the general suffering. 
 Even these hard men could not long bear this sight, and turned from 
 it with horrible loathing. Water ! water ! — would no one bring any 
 to the dying, for the sake of the Lord Jesus and his mother Mary ? 
 
 They brought it at last plentifully, and dashed it in the faces of 
 those who clung to the bars, while hats were held out from 
 inside, and filled from the cool waterskins, and so passed on behind. 
 Some fainting wretches got a little, but most was spilled in the 
 frightful struggles for it ; and after a time came no more. 
 
 " A thousand rupees to any one who will open the door and let us 
 out," cried Mr. HolwelL " Ye all know me. I will answer with 
 my life to the Nawab. We cannot escape — we will be quiet out- 
 side ; and many are already dead. Oh ! by your mothers, by your 
 children, by the Prophet, do not look on at suffering like this, and 
 deny us mercy ! " 
 
 " Let them fire on us, Mr. Hoi well," shouted many a voice ; 
 " better we should be shot down and put out of our misery than 
 endure this." 
 
 Ah yes! it would have been better — an easier death than that 
 horrible choking for lack of air ; but no one fired. 
 
 " We dare not let you out," said a native officer, who had been 
 roused by the tumult, and who came to see what it was ; " but I will 
 go and see what can be done." 
 
 It was but a mockery of hope. Again and again the man sent his 
 
262 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 dread message that all the Feringia would be dead ere morning if 
 they -were not liberated ; but to no purpose. 
 
 " Two thousand — anything — ten thousand ! " again besought Mr. 
 Holwell, Ralph Smithson, and others who could speak the native 
 language. " Go to the Nawab. He did not desire this ; and ye will 
 have to answer for it." 
 
 " We dare not wake him, gentlemen,'' said another superior officer, 
 who had a compassionate face ; " we dare not indeed." 
 
 Wake him ! who dare do so now ? In a luxurious apartment, on the 
 softest of cushions, the windows open to admit the night wind, 
 Suraj-oo-Doulah slept tranquilly, and his lovely slave, Sozun, restless 
 and wakeful, now sat leaning out of the lattice, now with stealthy 
 step moved near her lord, and gently fanned him. All her excite- 
 ment was gone ; there was only one thought at her heart — that if 
 the lovely Englishwoman were but seen, her reign was over. Yet 
 she must be seen. Her lord would waken early, and the prisoners 
 would be called before him. She must appear with the rest — and 
 then? 
 
 Could nothing be done ? It is a desperate resolution. Could she 
 go ? The clothes she had worn were in the next room. She could 
 but attempt it, and die if she failed — 
 
 But even this was impossible. As she went out of her lord's 
 chamber, and drew the curtain which separated it from a corridor 
 without, she saw a group of the eunuchs sitting there awake, their 
 swords drawn and resting on their knees, who looked up at her with 
 their bleared, red eyes. They at least were watchful and faithful. 
 
 " What is it, lady ? " said one, rising. " It is but just midnight, 
 and you are awake. Can we get anything, or call the women- 
 servants ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Nasir,'' said the girl. " My lord is resting quietly ; 
 but I am anxious, and could not sleep.'' 
 
 " Anxious ! " said the man, respectfully ; " we are all here — ^there 
 is no fear. Go and rest yourself, lady." 
 
 Should she tell him? He was one she trusted more than the 
 others, and it was her only hope. If she could but get the English 
 woman into her own keeping, she would answer for the rest. 
 
 " Listen," she said, beckoning him to her, and speaking in a low 
 tone. " There is an Englishwoman among those prisoners ; take a 
 palankeen and go for her. I would not have her escape in the morn- 
 ing — she is so beautiful. Go ! — here is my lord's ring. Bring her 
 here by the back way, and let me know when she arrives. She will 
 need clothes and — and — no matter. Bring her hither, and to me." 
 
 " On my head and eyes ! " said the man, whispering, " I will do it." 
 And so he left her. 
 
 Sozun returned to the window and looked out. A heavy sultry 
 
THE BLACK HOLE. 263 
 
 niglit it was, -vsrithout a star visible, and a dull, oppressive weight 
 seemed to hang in the air. All about was still ; but over the plain 
 before the Fort troops of jackals began to scream their midnight cry, 
 and their unearthly howling seemed to be taken up from all sides by 
 packs fighting over the dead. She drew the muslin scarf abotit her 
 more closely, shuddered, and still watched. She saw torches moving 
 over the plain, and a heavy litter borne rapidly along by men, and 
 presently the torchlight gleamed upon the Fort wall and gate, and 
 disappeared within it. Would she come ? The girl's heart beat 
 fast, as she strained her eyes to pierce the gloom of night ; but there 
 were no torches, nor any sign of movement over the black plain ; and 
 so she sat watching tUl the fresher air of morning warned her that 
 daybreak was nigh. Then she sadly gave up hope, and went and lay 
 down beside him whom she had often dreaded, and never more than 
 then. 
 
 I do not say that Ralph Smithson never moved from his first 
 position. It was nearly impossible to maintain it at all times ; and 
 nothing but his strong bony frame and great muscular power enabled 
 him to remain where he was, and to repel the surging masses of 
 men which assailed him from behind, climbing on his shoulders, 
 and striving to drag his hands from the bars, to which he held 
 with an almost iron grasp. Again and again he had fiercely and 
 desperately struck down the poor wretches who thus assailed him. 
 There was little pity between man and man that night. Often 
 had he thought, if Julia Wharton died, he would go back among 
 the crowd and die too. But she lived, and she was his — for 
 that night at least. The poor seaman, Drever, too, held fast, and 
 every now and then spoke cheerily. 
 
 " Eh ! dinna ye let go, Captin Smithson, else we'll a' be deed men. 
 An' the leddy, surr — ^my ! but she's a brave lassie — an' the drooth's 
 sair. Ye'll keep a brave heart, my leddy ! " 
 
 " Julia, do you hear what he says ? — that brave fellow behind 
 you ? Keep a stout heart. If we die, we shall but follow him," 
 said Smithson, cheerily. 
 
 " I will, Ralph, I will. I do not fear so long as you are by. 
 This water that you brought me so kindly, with God's help is keep- 
 ing me aUve. I dip my handkerchief in it, and suck it. Will 
 you have some ? " 
 
 " I will not take a drop, Julia. I have had plenty from the window, 
 and Mr. Holwell says our shirt sleeves are the best. Mine are wet 
 enough." 
 
 " How quiet they are ! " she said after a long silence ; there are 
 few speaking now behind us." 
 
 Few indeed ! He only dreaded that she might look back and see 
 the ghastly heaps there, for a torch before them shed a lurid light 
 
2«1 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 into tlie room, and revealed all its horrors ; but he did not allow her 
 to turn her head. " Yes," he said, " they are quiet, but do not speak 
 — it \vill increase your thirst." 
 
 "If the leddy'd like some of the Psaalms, Captin Smithson ? 
 Mither used to sing them, and a'll try if they'll come till mey. It's 
 better than this dead silence. Eh, but it's vara awfu', surr ! Ye 
 wadna raind, mem ? " and he began in a low quavering voice, weak 
 from suffering — 
 
 " Since I have placed my trrust in God, 
 A rrefuge aaways nigb, 
 Why should I like a tim'rous burrd 
 To distant mountains fly ? ' 
 
 Eh, Mr. Smithson, but if the bonny Cheviots was nigh us, an' we 
 could get a brreath o' the purQ. air, surr, an' a smell o' the brright 
 bonnie heather, instead o' this horrid stench — or maybe the fresh 
 rroar o' Coquet or Wansbeok, surr, an' no thae skirrls an' grroans o' 
 dyin' crreatures, surr, we'd be happy ! Ye'll mind thae rrivers ? 
 Eh me ! eh me ! but a'll niver see them nae mair — but it's the Lord's 
 wUl, surr ! . . . Ay, mem," he continued after a while, " that's 
 the eleventh Psaalm, ye ken, an' a rnind mair o't — 
 
 ' Behold, the wicked bend their bow, 
 
 Aiid ready bend their darrt ; 
 Lurrking in ambush to destrroy ' 
 
 . . . A' mind nae mair, my leddy, an' a' canna sing — a'm too 
 drey, mem, an' a sair dwam's comin' ower me — " 
 
 " Here, take this handkerchief and suck it," said Mrs. Wharton in 
 a low voice. " Give it back to me — I've more here for you." 
 
 "God's blessing on ye, my leddy, but you've the noblest hearrt I 
 ever seed in a womin. A' know'd anither ance. Ah ! but she was 
 a bewty too, Hke yersel', mem. But this is nae place for telUn' o' 
 storeies, mem — " 
 
 " Don't talk, Drever," cried Ralph Smithson, sternly. " You'U die 
 of thirst if you do." 
 
 "'Deed, then, a'm reddy to dee, surr, if it's the gude Lord's wUl, 
 an' a'll no talk nae mair. Only if I could mind anither hymn or 
 psaalm. Listen ! wha's that ? " 
 
 It was a hollow voice at the far end of the room, and it cried with 
 a great moan — 
 
 " When the Lord turneth again the captivity of Sion, then were 
 we like them that dream." 
 
 The words had an awful unearthly sound as they came from 
 among the heaps of dead, and silence fell upon all. After a pause, 
 as if striving to recollect, it said again, in a louder and more hoUow 
 tons — 
 
RELEASED. 265 
 
 " Turn our captivity, O Lord, as tlie rivers in the soutli. . . . 
 
 They that sow in tears shall reap in joy He that now 
 
 goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed, shall doubt- 
 less come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him." 
 
 Then there was a brief muttering of prayer, which died away into 
 a hollow broken murmur, and again silence fell upon all. One more 
 of that ghastly company had passed to his eternal rest ; and there 
 were some of the survivors who, like Ralph Smithson, never forgot 
 those last solemn woi-ds of hope and trust, and felt even in that 
 hour of horrible trial as though the peace of God were coming 
 upon them. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 RELEASED. 
 
 So they remained enduring, and speaking little now. Except an 
 occasional moan, the sufferers were quiet. It was past midnight when 
 a messenger came to the bars of the window. 
 
 " There's a woman among you ! " cried a shrill voice. " This is no 
 place for her ; she is to go to the Nawab's. Come out ! " 
 
 Ralph Smithson instantly remembered the warning words of the 
 Affghan girl; but Julia did not at first understand that the message 
 brought regarded her. 
 
 "Let her go, Smithson," said Mr. Holwell; "she will be well 
 cared for ; we cannot save her. Mrs. Wharton, go — save your life — ■ 
 we shall all die before morning." 
 
 " Oh no, no, no ! " she cried — " oh no, no ! Kill me here — I am 
 ready to die ; but do not send me away ! It would be horrible ! 
 Ralph ! Mr. Smithson ! I will not leave you — indeed I will not ! " 
 
 She had struggled to her feet, and beheld, by the torchlight which 
 streamed in, what Ralph had hitherto kept from her sight. Strong 
 and resolute as she was, the sickening reality was more than she 
 could bear, and she fainted. 
 
 " She is dead," he said to the man. " You have killed her ! 
 Look ! " 
 
 The eunuch shrugged his shoulders. " Open the door,'' he cried, 
 " and let her out ; she will recover in the air." 
 
 But it could not be opened. The few chinks in it, and the openings 
 underneath and beside the door-posts, had been so many air-holes, 
 and men had fought for these, and died there in a heap ; now no 
 one could stir the door v/ithin or without. 
 
266 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Wharton revived. There was now water in plenty, 
 and Ralph Smithson poured some into her mouth and upon her face. 
 The soldiers without were trying to open the door, and did not 
 perceive that the lady had rallied. 
 
 " Keep close down, Julia," he whispered ; " hide yourself if you 
 can under me. Drever, look to the lady if you are able." 
 
 " I will, Ralph — I will do all you tell me," she said, faintly. 
 " But do not give me to them — oh, promise you will not ! I had 
 better die than that. How many are dead, and yet my worthless life 
 is spared ! " 
 
 She said this in broken sentences, and he could not reply. His 
 assuring arm round her waist, as he held her up with his still great 
 strength, was proof enough that he would be true to her. 
 
 If she can't be got out," said Nasir, to one of the native officers 
 present, " she can't run away. Perhaps she is dead ; are there many 
 dead ? I must wait till dawn." 
 
 " All," replied the man, with a sigh — " aU except those round the 
 windows. I wish it were daylight." 
 
 There were more than he who wished for daylight. Of those at 
 that window, Mr. Holwell among the rest, some left it frequently, 
 and wandered back into the room to die. Those who lived, struggled 
 to their old places, and, with another terrible fight for air, lived on. 
 But Ralph Smithson never quitted his hold on the bars. His left 
 arm was much swelled, his wound had become exquisitely painful, 
 and his right arm and hand, his legs and back, were bruised in every 
 part. He was often faint and sick ; but still the true endurance of 
 his Darnell blood, and his awakening hope in an Almighty Provi- 
 dence, kept him up amidst that ghastly company. He had had 
 much communing with himself that night; and felt, if he were 
 spared, he might do better things hereafter, and be thankful if his life 
 were saved. 
 
 At last the morning broke, and a Moslim priest, ascending the 
 rampart above them, chanted the Azan, and its close — " Ulla hu 
 Akbar ! Ulla hu Akbar ! " — God is victorious ! — with more than usual 
 solemnity and energy. Then the captives knew that their time had 
 come either for deliverance or death. The fresher morning air had 
 already revived some who could stand nearest the bars, and behind 
 there was space enough now. Presently a message was brought 
 from the Nawab that Mr. Holwell should come to him, and in no 
 anxiety ; but the door could not be opened, nor was it till after a 
 weary labour, by the already exhausted survivors, that its ghastly 
 obstruction could be cleared away. Then twenty-two men and one 
 woman, weak, pallid, utterly exhausted in mind and body, staggered 
 forth into the open air, and sat down helplessly — some weeping, 
 some sobbing hysterically, some praying and thanking God aloud, 
 
RELEASED. 267 
 
 and others, not seeming to comprehend that they were in existence, 
 tottering here and there, buffeted by the rough soldiers. 
 
 " You are to come to the Nawab, Holwell Sahib," said a native 
 officer he knew, who took him kindly by the arm and led him on — 
 " you and the next to you in rank. Come, sirs, and fear not. The 
 Nawab is sorry for all this, and will be kind to you." 
 
 No time was allowed for parley. There were some litters ready, 
 and the poor gentlemen bareheaded, and bui-ning with the fever pro- 
 duced by the sudden reaction to life, were hurried away at once. No 
 one seemed to care for the sick. 
 
 Ralph Smithson had supported Mrs. Wharton oiit of the prison, 
 and had seated her in a chair on the shady side of the court. He 
 thought Drever, the sailor, whom he had seen as the dead were 
 dragged away from the door, had showed signs of life, and he returned 
 to carry him out if he were alive. Just then the eunuch Nasir, who 
 had remained on the watch, and had carefully scanned every figure 
 as it passed out of the prison door, had the litter brought up, and ere 
 she was aware of his purpose, Julia Wharton found herself lifted by 
 several stout men into the palankeen ; then the doors were shut to, 
 and a cloth fastened round them, and, followed by Nasir and a guard 
 of soldiers, it was borne forward at the utmost speed of the bearers. 
 
 Ralph Smithson, as he came forth carrying the almost insensible 
 sailor, saw the litter and the soldiers turning out of the barrack-yard, 
 but hardly noticed it further, and for the time the poor fellow he had 
 brought out received all the care he could afford. But this was not 
 needed when he was rapidly reviving and could sit up. Then Smith- 
 son turned to the place where he had left Julia Wharton, but she 
 was gone. " She will have gone to him," he thought, and went to- 
 wards the steps which led to the bastion where Mr. Wharton had 
 died. 
 
 "You cannot pass up here, Sahib," cried a sturdy native soldier, 
 presenting his piece. 
 
 " Did a woman go up ? " asked Smithson, hastily. 
 
 " A woman ? No ; there was one taken away in a palankeen by 
 the eunuchs from the chair yonder — was that she whom you seek ? 
 They were the Nawab's people, and could not be stopped." 
 
 Ralph Smithson turned away, sick at heart. " Would that she 
 had died in my arms ! " he said, bitterly. " Would to God she had 
 died rather than live a future life of shame ! Was nothing possible 
 to rescue her ? " 
 
 Mr. Holwell and several other gentlemen had been taken away, 
 and did not return. The sun was already high. Ralph felt very 
 faint and weak, and sat down in hopeless exhaustion of mind and 
 body. It was not that he loved the woman whom he had protected 
 through that fearful night, but the thought of her probable future 
 
268 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 fate was very shocking. Could riotliing be done, even to ascertain 
 it? Rousing himself again from the strange chill languor that 
 seemed to be rapidly spreading over him, he addressed himself to a 
 group of the Nawab's officers who were present, and by them his 
 worst fears were confirmed. " One of the Prince's most confidential 
 eunuchs had come with special orders at night," they said, " and had 
 just taken away the English lady ; by this time she would be in the 
 royal harem, and who dare follow her ? No, they could give no help, 
 no counsel. He was free to do as he pleased ; but to approach the 
 Nawab at all in his present humour, least of all in regard to Mrs. 
 Wharton, would be madness." He felt this to be true, and again sat 
 down in despair, sick and giddy, as he had never felt before. 
 
 A friendly touch on his shoulder caused him to look up. It was 
 the Don, who, with other Portuguese, as the Nawab entered the fort 
 the evening before, had escaped to his home, little thinking how the 
 night would be spent by his masters, or what he should find in the 
 morning. The little Don's face was wet with tears, and he could 
 scarce speak from convulsive sobbing. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Smithson," said the little man, as Ralph looked up at 
 him with a gaunt face and hollow eyes. " Come, sir — my house. . 
 . . You ver ill, sir — come. Will die if stay here. All go w'ere 
 dey like now ; and dey take away poor Mr. Holwell and some more 
 gentilmen. Oh dear! Oh dear! What for not take you, sir? I 
 tank Almighty benefactions for you, sir ; an' I got all Honorable 
 Company's books safe, sir — lock up ; and here de key all safe, sir, 
 'pon my honor. Come, sir, no good stay here. Dese dam Moor bury 
 poor Mr. Wharton with dead men, sir, in night. Bequiescat in pace," ' 
 he continued, pausing and looking up reverently — " Amen ; and I 
 will get masses said, sir — by my Padre Sahib — Catolik Church, sir ; 
 never mind orthodoxation of comprehendings, Mr. Smithson — all 
 quite good, sir, 'pon my honor ! Come 'way, sir ; I fritin to see de- 
 belopments of corpses out of dat dam Black Hole. Let 'em go into 
 big pit, sir. Ugh ! bah ! Come 'way, Mr. Smithson, you very ill. 
 
 I see you shiver, an' you gettin' fever. Dona Luisa glad to see you — 
 'cuse me, but we's humblest people, sir, only truthfulnest of Honor- 
 able Company servants — and — King George. You not trust me, 
 Mr. Smithson ? I got all books safe, by George!— no lie, sir, 'pon my 
 honor ! Come, sir, I insist — you gettin' worse every minit. If you 
 lit) down now you never get vip. Here, Cassim, help up your master," 
 he continued, decisively, in Hindustani, to Ralph's native servant, 
 who had just entered the court ; and between them they dragged 
 Smithson to his feet, and led him away. 
 
 In truth, the Don's long speech could hardly be followed by the 
 young man. He felt he was growing worse every moment ; and as 
 
 II is recorded in history that many of the survivors of the Black Hole 
 
SOZUlSrS PLOT. 269 
 
 died of a putrid fever afterwards, I think he would have shared their 
 fate, but for the skill and kind care of those who tended him. He 
 could never remember perfectly how he got to Don Gomez's house, 
 nor what befell him there ; but when consciousness, accompanied by 
 almost a child's weakness, returned to him, he found himself in the 
 small bungalow which had been offered to him at first in the Don's 
 garden — ^the cool wind playing over him and rustling in the trees 
 above — unable to rise from his bed indeed ; but, as the worthy Don 
 and a Portuguese doctor informed him with thankful tears in their 
 eyes, safe and convalescent. Then, too, he heard gradually that the 
 Nawab had already left Calcutta, taking with him as prisoners Mr. 
 Holwell and the other gentlemen ; but of Mrs. Wharton's fate no 
 traces had been discoverable. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 sozun's plot. 
 
 In her terrible impatience, the interval between the despatch of the 
 eunuch and the last sight of the little procession as it passed into the 
 Fort gate, was hardly endurable by Sozun, as she sat at the window 
 watching. How long would it take to secure the Englishwoman and 
 bring her forth ? — had she escaped ? — -was she with the rest of the 
 prisoners, who were, she had heard, locked up for the night, or was 
 she with other women, hiding where she could ? If she could be 
 brought away at night, she might be hidden and saved; but once 
 seen by day, there was no hope — she was far too beautiful to escape 
 his notice. And at the remembrance of the misery of the English 
 girl's face, bending over her dead husband, the best portion of Sozun's 
 nature was touched to the quick — an honourable wife, she thought, 
 who had loved him who lay there white and still in death. Had 
 they children ? If so, where were they ? She had seen none. 
 Hidden away, perhaps, out of the battle. So, chasing each other, as 
 it were, thoughts of the scene on the bastion, and of her warning to 
 Ralph Smithson, came thick and fast into her mind ; and still she 
 watched. 
 
 Who was he ? She had not forgotten the stern, excited face and 
 flashing eyes which met hers as she was being lifted over the dead 
 up to the bastion he was defending, nor her thrUl of expected death 
 as the young man's bloody sword was raised above her head for a 
 moment and then dropped. He had said something in English — 
 what was it ? Did he then know her to be a woman ? or was it the 
 
270 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 English giiTs cry -whicli had stayed his hand ? How grand he had 
 looked as her countrymen had crowded found him, and he held them 
 at bay by the dead Englishman till she bade them begone. She had 
 never seen one like him. Beside him, what was the miserable being 
 lying there — tossing in an uneasy sleep — muttering words she could 
 not distinguish ? She crept near him to listen ; but he was at rest 
 again, and sleeping heavily, and having trimmed the lamp, she re- 
 turned to the window. 
 
 She was weary with the day's work and the fierce excitement ; 
 but no sleep came to her heavy eyes. Though her limbs ached, she 
 scarcely stretched them out to rest. Without she could see nothing 
 but the dark plain, the river glimmering faintly beyond it, and the 
 mass of the Fort and ruined warehouses, from among which dull 
 fires gleamed, and light wreaths of smoke from smouldering embers 
 rose occasionally into the air. Far away to the west, lightning was 
 fiiokering among the clouds on the horizon; and she watched it 
 vacantly, now brightly flashing, now glowing with a dull coppery 
 gleam, and disappearing altogether. There was perfect stillness over 
 all, except now and then the faint, distant cry of a sentinel, or the 
 beat of a hollow-sounding drum and blast of a shrill horn, where a 
 new watch was being set. 
 
 Still the eunuch did not return ; and to her perception the danger 
 had much increased. What if the' woman were dead ? Did English- 
 women, like other infidels she had heard tales of, sacrifice themselves 
 to their husband's memory? Had she escaped to the ships, and 
 Nasir feared to return without her ? If she came, what was to be 
 done ? Where could she be lodged in safety, away from the Nawab ? 
 Would Nasir be faithful ? and 2 not — ? She had no attendant on 
 on whom she could depend for aid. There were crowds about her, 
 but they were the Nawab's creatures — not one of them would dare 
 to brave his anger, with the memories of many a tortured, mutilated 
 wretch vividly in their remembrance. No, there was no help there ; 
 whatever was to be done she must do herself. The palankeen, when- 
 ever it did come, must be brought into the inner court of the house 
 where they were staying. It was true she had told Nasir to await 
 her orders, and he might be obedient; but it was a fearful risk, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 Then her memory went back to the young Englishman. She shiit 
 her eyes and thought of him — so beautiful and yet so terrible. She 
 thought of him, too, as he might be — tender and gracious ; as she 
 had seen him when he spoke to the woman, full of pity, with tears 
 flowing from her eyes as he comforted her and led her away. Would 
 she have gone like her ? Ah yes ! They said — even her own people 
 said — he was a hero, and no one would have harmed him. 
 
 A strange watch indeed, and with stranger thoughts for company. 
 
SOZUJVS PLOT. 271 
 
 Where had they not •wandered in those weary hours, back from 
 childhood, from the deadly field of Sirhind, through a life of false 
 triumph and of shame — down to this ? Was it enough to have 
 lived for ? A life ■without a tie, a life without love such as she had 
 dreamed of lq spite of evil influences ! Yet one of splendour and of 
 power such as she had hardly dared to imagine ! She could not 
 retract now — she durst not. Among her people she had won honour, 
 but her shame remained — could she leave that, hang grave-clothes 
 about her neck, and go forth a humble devotee of God ? It was the 
 only alternative she knew of, but one she dared not attempt. Would 
 the Nawab let her go? Never with life; to be detected in flight 
 would be attended with mutilation or death. But she was yet 
 secure ; and as she turned to her lord's couch, memories of kindness, 
 of many a fond caress, of the only love he had given to any one, came 
 back upon her heai:t, and for the time softened it. " He raight wrong 
 me, he might even strike me," she said ; " but I could bear it : I could 
 not leave him but for God's service, and I am not fit for that yet. 
 So long as it may be my destiny I will live with him — or die, true even 
 in death. See, he calls me, and I was in his thoughts as he in miae." 
 
 " Sozun, Sozun ! " It was a moaning, plaintive cry in his sleep, 
 and she went again to his side. " Sozun ! ah, girl, do not leave me ! 
 I have only you — only you," and he stretched out his arms, while 
 she saw by the dim lamp that his face was sorely troubled. 
 
 " It is some uneasy dream," she thought ; " I had best wake him. 
 " I am here, my lord," she said, gently taking his hand ; " Sozun is 
 here ; why didst thou call ? I have not left thee." 
 
 The Nawab started up and pushed away her hand apparently in 
 terror. " Where am I ? " he cried ; " that Derwesh ! save me from 
 him ; oh save me, Sozun ! " and as he hid his face in her lap, she felt 
 that he trembled. 
 
 " My lord, my lord ! Let me take the evil oS thee : what was the 
 dream ? " she said, soothing him. " There was no Derwesh near thee 
 — ^there is no one but me. I could not sleep, and was watching thee, 
 my lord. It is but a dream — let it pass." 
 
 " His eyes, his eyes ! Oh, Sozun ! they gleamed at me, as they 
 did once in life. That dream ! Ah ! girl, that would frighten thee 
 — even thee. Yes, let it pass. Is there yet much of the night ? " 
 
 " I think not," she said ; " the dawn is almost breaking. Wilt 
 thou sleep again ? " 
 
 " No," he said, " not now. I should dream again of him, perhaps. 
 Sit by me, and tell me of the fight." 
 
 " Thou hast won Calcutta," she said ; " is not that enough ? For 
 no one yet dared to attack the Feringis but thee. Did not the 
 Derwesh — did I not tell thee, thou wouldst be victorious ? " 
 
 " But for thee, my life, I should have lost it. Now, what my 
 
272 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 father dared not do, I have done. But for thee, I should have been 
 like him, afraid of a few white faces and a few guns. Now these 
 Feringis fear me, and, Inshalla ! they shall do so hereafter. I 
 promised thee the plunder of Calcutta Fort, and thou hast won it, 
 girl ; and while I dispose of these Feringis, who have so long defied 
 me, thou canst go there and do thy will." 
 
 " Be as merciful, my lord," she said pleadingly, " as thou hast been 
 victorious ; they cannot hurt thee now. Be merciful, for Sozun's 
 sake." 
 
 " I will," he replied ; " but the Priest thirsts for their blood, the 
 blood of the Kafirs who deny the Prophet, and he hath inflamed 
 men's minds." 
 
 " The blood shed yesterday was enough surely to satisfy him, my 
 Prince?" 
 
 " I fear, not, Sozun ; but I will not yield. Ah ! there is dawn, 
 and the music begins. Get thee to sleep for a while — thou art weary, 
 and thine eyes are heavy. I shall not see thee all day, my life ; but 
 in the evemng thou shalt sing me to sleep ; " and he passed out of 
 the chamber to his attendants. 
 
 It was like a reprieve to Sozun to hear this : she would then be 
 alone, and there was a better chance of success than she had dared to 
 hope for. Sleep was out of the question, for her faculties were more 
 than ever excited. Would the Englishwoman be brought ? When 
 she came could she imderstand her, and if not, what should she do ? 
 There were servants in Calcutta who spoke English — could one be 
 sent for ? Ah ! why was she delayed ? 
 
 Sozun seated herself again at the window. The morning breeze 
 blew fresh and cool then, driving before it the heavy mist which had 
 rested on the river in that close sultry night, and she watched the 
 sails of boats gliding to and fro on the river. People were thronging 
 toward the Fort, and some of the burned buildings were still smoking. 
 Presently she saw the Nawab's retinue assemble below, and it was 
 shortly in motion towards his tents, which were pitched in the camp. 
 No one moved from the Fort as yet ; but after a time some soldiers 
 issued from the gate, then a few mean litters and men on foot, and 
 she watched their progi-ess to the camp; presently, too, a royal 
 palankeen — she well knew its scarlet cloth covering — and Nasir 
 mounted on his piebald palfrey urging on the bearers behind. 
 
 " It is she — it is she ! " the girl exclaimed, clasping her hands ; 
 " and he is true." Ere many minutes had elapsed, footsteps were 
 heard on the private stair which opened into an adjoining room, and 
 she went to receive her strange visitor. 
 
 " She is here, lady," said Nasir, who first entered ; but she has 
 come out of the mouth of death, and is in sore plight. They all died 
 last night but her axid a few others — but she may be saved. Look ! " 
 
JULIA'S CHANCE. 273 
 
 It was indeed as he had said. Julia Wiiarton — clothes wet, torn, 
 and dirty, her hair dishevelled, her face haggard, and her eyes swollen 
 with weeping and misery — the lovely Englishwoman Sozun had seen 
 the evening before, could hardly have been recognised. " Thou art 
 welcome, sister," she said, as Julia Wharton, weeping and trembling 
 with terror, sank down before her, and was raised with cheering 
 words of genuine compassion. " What can I do for thee ? Dost 
 thou understand me ? " But the lady could not reply ; ia her terror 
 and misery she was as one distraught. 
 
 " Some one must be brought who can speak her strange tongue. 
 Canst thou get such a one, Nasir ? " 
 
 " I will try," he said, " but it is dangerous. What wilt thou do 
 with her, lady ? Is she for him ? — ^thy gift to him ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " she returned fiercely, stamping her foot. " Why do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " I beg pardon," replied the man humbly; "I will seek for an 
 ayah," and he left them together. 
 
 As he passed out there was a woman sitting alone by the steps of 
 the house, weeping bitterly. " Who art thou ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am Missy Baba's servant," she said, " and she has been taken 
 here. Oh, sir, let me go to her; I have followed her." 
 
 " How lucky," thought the eunuch. " Come with me," he said ; 
 " she is safe ; " and they returned through the private court. 
 
 " Missy — oh. Missy Baba ! " cried the faithful creature, as she 
 entered the room, and cast herself at the feet of her mistress ; " come 
 Vay — come my house ; you no to stop here ; dis no good place ; 
 come, I take you — come," and she tried to drag Mrs. Wharton to 
 her feet. 
 
 " Let her alone," said Sozun ; " she hath hardly sense to hear thee. 
 Peace ! ye are with a friend ; speak to her, for she doth not under- 
 stand me, and tell her not to be afraid." 
 
 CHAPTEK XLIV. 
 
 JULIA'S CHANCE. 
 
 " Missy not know Anna ? " cried the woman. " Oh, look up, and no 
 fear for any ting ; dis lady kind lady, an' Anna come to help. Oh, 
 Missis safe; and, I tank God, no dead in Black Hole." 
 
 Julia Wharton's great blue eyes opened, and she looked up. It 
 was the only aet of consciousness she had evinced since her entrance. 
 With whom was she ? Who were the man and woman — ^that 
 
274 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 English girl in disguise, as she had thought Sozun ? Where was she ? 
 She tried to speak, but all that Anna could understand was, " Water." 
 
 " Water — she wants water, lady," said Anna, anxiously. " Ah, 
 lady, my mistress was in the prison all night, and hundreds died 
 around her. She will be better presently \ pardon her." 
 
 " And her husband was killed beside her," added Sozun. " I saw 
 him lying dead on the bastion : would she had died too ! Art thou 
 a Moslimin ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! " cried the woman. "I am a Christian, Portuguese, 
 and her servant. They told me she was in the Nawab's palaiSieen, 
 and I followed it." 
 
 " It does not matter, if thou canst be faithful," replied Sozun. 
 " Take of this water freely ; there are no distractions in such grief. 
 Drink, lady." 
 
 " O Missy, drink some cool water, you will be better soon, 
 and safe J dis lady goot lady, but I was afraid at first," said the 
 sei-vant. 
 
 " Who is she, and where am I ? " asked Julia Wharton, after an 
 eager drink. 
 
 " Me not know," replied Anna, but me here wit you, dat's 'nougL 
 Now lie down. Missy — poor Missy— but will be well presently ; " 
 and luising her mistress she supported her to a carpet which was 
 spread near them ; while Sozun fetched piUows, which she arranged 
 carefully under the poor aching head. 
 
 " Be quiet now, lady," said Anna in a whisper ; " she may sleep ;" 
 and they sat down silently beside her. 
 
 Julia Wharton was weary, even to death she thought. Her 
 senses were confused and stunned ; she could remember nothing but 
 portions of the fearful night she had passed, and shut her eyes shudder- 
 ing, as the cries and groans of the dying seemed to fill her ears. 
 
 "Ah, you not tremble so. Missy — me wit you? Anna not go 
 'way now, never no more ; " and she took her mistress's head on her 
 bosom, and put away the dishevelled hair, while Sozun chafed her 
 hands. Presently they saw a faint colour come into the wan cheeks ; 
 and as the girl grew calmer, tears welled fi'om her eyes. " Do not 
 leave me, Anna," she said softly ; " they are aU gone but you — all 
 dead !— all dead ! " 
 
 " Me never leave p6or Missy Baba no more," said the woman, 
 herself bursting into tears — " never no more. Now, go to sleep, 
 that's a dear lady, me watchin' by missis ; " and she began to sing a 
 low crooning lullaby of the country, such as is sung to children. 
 Gradually they saw the eyelids drooping more heavily, and the fair 
 girl's countenance relax from the expression of terror ; and they sat 
 and watched her silently. The frame was utterly worn out, and 
 kind nature was applying the only remedy for its restoration. 
 
JULIA'S CHANCE. 275 
 
 " Couldst thou conceal her — ^hide her away ? " asked Sozun, after 
 a while in a low whisper. " Dost thou wish to save her ? " 
 
 " From what ? " answered the woman. " You are kind, why 
 should she fear ? She is not a man that the Nawab should desire 
 her Uood. Has he not destroyed them all ? " 
 
 " It is because she is a woman that I fear for her," returned Sozun. 
 " It is because she is beautiful that I have had her brought to me. 
 Who dare conceal her but me ? Were he to know of this, dost thou 
 think my life or her honour would be safe ? Canst thou understand 
 what I have dared — to — save her ? " 
 
 " Who art thou, lady ? " asked the servant, tremblingly. " His 
 wife ? " 
 
 " Ah, no," she said, " I am not his wife : and if she remained he 
 would hate me, and forsake me for her. Look ! her beauty is 
 returning. Why did she not die ? " 
 
 True, it was returning, for her sleep was peaceful and refreshing. 
 As they looked upon the girl, there was a soft smile upon her 
 mouth ; the rosy lips were partly open, and disclosed the pearly 
 teeth, and the cheek was flushed with the beautiful colour' habitual 
 to it, even in India. 
 
 " Look ! " continued Sozun, " is she not beautiful ? Such may be 
 the houris of Paradise they tell of, but not women amongst us. 
 Dost thou comprehend now what I fear ? " 
 
 The servant's mind was a poor one, blunted perhaps by service and 
 a rough striving life ; biit it was a woman's, and could comprehend 
 jealousy and its accompanying dread and terror, which, in the fair 
 face of Sozun, were fast increasing. 
 
 " I understand," she replied ; " thou art not her enemy, lady ? " 
 
 " If I were," returned Sozun, " I would take my lord by the hand 
 and bring him to look on her. Even thus — as she lies, weary and 
 faint — she is more lovely than he had ever dreamed of; and what 
 would she be were she attired as I am ? Ah, no — she or I — she or 
 I : and I would save her." 
 
 " An English woman would not be the wife of the Emperor of 
 Delhi," said the servant, proudly. " Why do you fear for her ? " 
 
 "I fear thou, too, art a fool," returned Sozun, quickly. "His 
 wife ! No, but worse ; the slave of his honour, to be cast away to 
 perish when he was weary of her. Dost thou not understand ? If 
 thou canst not, wilt thou make her do so ? " 
 
 " Where could I take her ? " said the woman, drearily, passing her 
 hand across her eyes ; " who could now protect her ? ' Even Don 
 Gomez dare not, and the Nawab would hear of her, and hang him. 
 Oh, lady, why was she brought at all ? " 
 
 " That she might be saved," was the reply. " None but I could 
 save her, or can save Iier. If thou hast any wits thou wilt not fail 
 
276 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 me. Think again ; the Nawab will not stay many days — any hut, 
 any cabin — ^what matter? If she once knows her own danger, 
 she will save herself, or die. Does she fear death more than 
 dishonour ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell," said the woman, despairingly. "When she 
 wakes we must tell her. There is one — ^yes, one — the Begum, 
 who might — " 
 
 " What Begum ? Tell me, quick !— I can send for her." 
 
 " No, no, lady, she would not come ; she is hiding herself, but I 
 know where. She lived with her husband, with Missy's husband, 
 many year?, and his children are with her." 
 
 " I bless thee, Allah Kureem ! that there is hope. She would 
 not refuse her ? " 
 
 " No, I think not now. Before the Fort was attacked they met, 
 and fell on each other's necks. I could take Missy there at night if 
 you would give her clothes." 
 
 " Surely, surely. Ya Allah, I vow thanksgivings to thee at every 
 shrine. Yes, till night. Before then she shall be bathed and re- 
 freshed, she shall eat, and be strong. Oh that it were night ! Till 
 then — be thou but merciful, Lord ! See, the door there is 
 fastened ; no one can enter. I shall order water for the bath, 
 which is beyond, and I shall tell them I bathe in private to-day. 
 Yes, it wiU do," continued the girl to herself, quickly ; " there is no 
 fear; and when my food comes, she can eat of it with me. Fear 
 not to be alone, I will soon rejoin thee." Would Nasir be faithful ? 
 That was her only dread now. 
 
 He met her at the anteroom-door of the Nawab's chamber. " I 
 have been watching," he said, "and no one suspects as yet. But if 
 he discover this lady, we must both die. Why didst thou risk it? 
 Had I but known thy intention, I would not have gone for the 
 woman — no, even for thee ; why not give the Feringi to him ? " 
 
 " There is no fear," she replied, with all the calmness she could 
 command, but she well knew the truth of his word, and trembled — 
 was it worth the risk after all ? Might not she trust her lord, and 
 send the English girl there and then into the street ? Give her to 
 him ? Ah, no ! The sharp old pang of jealousy once more shot 
 through her heart, as she stood irresolute for a moment ; and she 
 who had not feared death as the Englishman's sword quivered over 
 her head, did not fear it now. " She or I," she muttered — " she 
 or I." 
 
 " As you wUl, lady," continued the man ; " what will be, will be. 
 Thou hast not eaten yet ? " 
 
 " Tell them to make the bath ready, and to send little Janum to 
 rae ; she will do what I need, Nasir. If there be danger, tell me of 
 it, and keep watch." 
 
JULIAS CHANCE. 277 
 
 " It is too late," said the man moodily to himself as he bowed and 
 left her—" too late." 
 
 All day the house had been still, and Julia Wharton slept on her 
 heavy sleep. When she woke, her eyes first fell upon Anna, who 
 had never left her. A moment afterwards, as all the events of the 
 night rushed upon her memory, she flung her arms round her servant 
 in a paroxysm of terror. " Come away," she cried — " come away, 
 Anna ; why do we stay here ? " 
 
 " Ah Missy ! " said the woman, " where you go now ? Got no 
 house, no Fort, no nothin' ; where you go, my darlin' ? best to stay 
 here tUl night, then go 'way to Begum Sahib ; she will keep you 
 
 Perhaps it was then only that her utter desolation was understood. 
 Last night, even in the fearful death-prison, Ralph Smithson's stout 
 arm was about her ; and there were Mr. Holwell and other friends 
 near ; why was she not with them ? " Where are the gentlemen ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "I tell by-and-by every ting. Missy now bathe and eat some- 
 thing, then will be more stronger. I get clean clothes, native clothes 
 missis wear, cause nobody not find out missis." 
 
 " Who was with me at first, Anna ? " she continued. " I think I 
 saw some European woman disguised in native clothes ; but, indeed, 
 I was very confused." 
 
 " Ah, she good lady dat ! she send missis away to-night, den bad 
 Nawab not get her." 
 
 " The Nawab ! then I am in his power,'' she gasped. " Anna, 
 I remember now how they seized me, and carried me here when I 
 had fainted." 
 
 " Lady will tell aU when come ; now be qiiiet an' wait. Me not 
 dare go out, but missis get bath and eat ; then get plenty strong, and 
 night-time dey send away safe ; missis understand ? — safe to Begum 
 Sahib." 
 
 I do not think Julia Wharton could then comprehend the danger 
 of her position. She thought some compassionate native lady might 
 have protected her, and she understood that she must go out at night 
 to be safe. She was no coward ; and if there was ever a moment of 
 her life in which all her presence of mind was needed it was this. It 
 was clear to her that she was alone, and that none of her English 
 friends were near ; but those who lived through the night must be 
 alive, and if she could get to the Begum she would soon find means 
 to communicate with them. With this thought her spirit rose, and 
 she prayed fervently for help. 
 
 " I will do what you wish," she said ; " and oh, Anna ! how can I 
 repay what you are doing — what you have done for me ? " 
 
 " Missis, never mind dat," said the woman joyfully. " I very glad 
 
278 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 to help my darlin' Missy Baba. Now we take off dem dirty clothes, 
 an' make pretty Mussulmani girl of my lady. Den rest quiet all 
 day ; and I pray good Virgin Mary she keep you safe. Dere's no 
 helpin' w'at's been done neider. Dat's God's will, an' holy Virgin." 
 Sozun was right. It would have been little use overwhelming an 
 already scared aud nearly unconscious woman with a prospect of 
 imminent danger; but when she herself and Anna, aided by the 
 little slave, had bathed the fair stranger, Sozun's exclamations at 
 her beauty could hardly be restrained. When all the dishevelled 
 hair had been combed out and braided ; when, refreshed more than 
 she could have thought possible, she was dressed in a plain suit 
 of Sozun's travelling clothes — ^the metamorphosis from the haggard 
 draggled woman who had been brought in the morning, to the lovely 
 being who sat before her, blushing at the strange attire ia which she 
 found herself dressed, was more wonderful than Sozun could have 
 imagined. She pressed her guest to eat, and Jidia Wharton was 
 strengthened by what she took. She had only one object now — to 
 escape thence ; and though it was no easy matter for Anna to inter- 
 pret the rapid impetuous speech of the Affghan girl, Julia soon com- 
 prehended what she had to do, and the reason why it should be 
 done. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 HOPELESS. 
 
 I QUESTION which of the two women was the bravest — the Affghan 
 who had gone to battle in a fierce desire of winning back the honour 
 among her people which her evil life had forfeited — or the English 
 girl who, with a calm brow and now serene beauty, heard what her 
 fate might be, and in the purity of her faith looked up to Him to 
 whose protecting care she committed herself. Sozun had expected 
 tears, wailings, helplessness — ^which might mar her project altogether, 
 or increase the difficulty of its executiou. Instead of this, she saw a 
 girl, hardly older than herself, who had already endured horrors such 
 as she could not imagine — a stranger in a foreign land, far away from 
 her people — undismayed; trusting in God, and prepared to do her 
 best in whatever might follow. " Ah, yes ! " she thought, " such 
 are the mothers of those men whom we have feared ; such was the 
 mother of him who spared me ! What marvel if, hereafter, they be 
 our conquerors ! " 
 
 From time to time Sozun had anxiously sent for news of the 
 Nawab ; and it promised well for the success of her enterprise that 
 
__^ HOPELESS. 279 
 
 there -were messages in reply from him that he was delayed — that he 
 might be late — that it might even be night before he returned. The 
 English gentlemen had to be examined as to their treasures; the 
 agents of Jugget Seit, Omichund, and other bankers, as to the moneys 
 lodged with them ; the amount of advances made for purchases ; and 
 the stocks of goods in hand. Weary, unrefreshed, stunned by the 
 calamity which had fallen on them, Mr. Holwell and his fellow- 
 captives yet bore themselves stoutly that day ; and the abuse and 
 execrations of the Nawab, on his disappointment at not finding the 
 treasure-hoards he had expected, were bravely endured. But I have 
 no concern with them ; nor can I follow them in their wretched 
 captivity and distress afterwards, when they were taken up to 
 Moorshedabad in an open boat, their bodies covered with boils and 
 ulcers — the efiect of the poisonous miasma of that horrible night iu 
 the prison — nor relate how at last they were released, and rejoined 
 their countrymen in safety, after all their perils. 
 
 Nasir had not relaxed iu his vigilance. In his heart he had dis- 
 approved of the child Janum having been admitted, yet he dared not 
 cross the humour of the Nawab's favourite. He had now left his 
 post, and had been able to lock up the door of the small court by 
 which the Englishwoman had entered, and thus to prevent intrusion 
 there ; still it was almost impossible to believe that she could be long 
 concealed. His fellow-servants were in their usual places : but some 
 were in attendance on the Nawab, and brought occasional messages 
 from him to Sozun. These were sometimes delivered by Nasir him- 
 self, sometimes by others ; in short, there was a perpetual going to 
 and fro, which could not be prevented. It was next to impossible, 
 also, to keep the ordinary women-servants out of the private apart- 
 ments without exciting suspicion, and he had several times, with 
 dread at his heart, observed them whispering together, especially as 
 the afternoon advanced ; and once or twice, Chandbee, the head of 
 the female attendants, tried the padlock of the closed door, wondered 
 why it was shut, declared she must break it open if the key wea-e not 
 found, and was promised by Nasir as often that he would look for it. 
 Now the little Janum, who was a child of six or thereabouts, 
 though passionately devoted to her kind mistress, whose pet she was, 
 was also the general pet and plaything of the eunuchs on guard, and 
 in particular of one of them, Juma, a negro of gigantic stature, a 
 good-natured fellow, who was an especial favourite of his master's ; 
 and as the three women were speaking in the inner chamber, Janum 
 had been bid to carry out tlie plates from which Julia Wharton and 
 Anna had eaten, with injunctions to set them down and speak to no 
 one. Probably, had she seen nobody she would have done her errand 
 faithfully, though the longing to tell of the beautiful Englishwoman 
 was burning at her heart ; but as she went out, Juma, who was 
 
280 
 
 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 sitting, his sword across his knees, as usual in the corridor, caught 
 her, and held her fast. 
 
 " Let me go, let me go ! " she cried ; " I cannot stay." 
 
 " No; I have caught you," he said playfully ; " and till you tell 
 me what the lady is doing, I won't let you go." 
 
 " She is tired with yesterday's fighting, and is asleep," said the 
 child. 
 
 " Ah, Janum, that's a lie ! Who ate all Ae pilao and the kabobs 
 that I Wught up ? " said the man, laughing. 
 
 " Let me go ! " cried the child. 
 
 " Who ate frhe kabobs, I say ? " continued the man, again lifting 
 her up, dishes and all, into the air. "Tell me, and I'll set you 
 down." 
 
 " I won't tell you, Juma." 
 
 " Tell me," he persisted, " and I'll give you such good julaybees." 
 
 " I won't— let me go." 
 
 " Very well ; then I won't let you go." 
 
 "Will you promise not to tell any one, if I tell you.'' Nasir 
 would kill me if he knew, and so would mother." 
 
 " I will \ " and he set her down. 
 
 " Swear on my neck, Juma." 
 
 He put his hand on her neck, with mock gravity. " I swear," 
 he said. 
 
 " Oh, she is so beautiful ! " whispered the child. 
 
 " She— who ? " 
 
 " The Feringi ; and we took oflf all her dirty clothes, and oh ! she 
 was as white aS milk all ovei-, and — " 
 
 " Ph-e-w ! " whistled the negro to himself; " what strange creatures 
 these women are ! Here is one, a prime favourite, thinking to gain 
 more favour by bringing in another. But it doesn't answer, and 
 they don't see it. A Feringi, too ! Perhaps if I were — " 
 
 " And the julaybees, Juma ? " cried the child, stroking his cheek, 
 
 " I will go and get them from the shop close by, my darling. 
 When I knock, come out again, and thou shalt have them," he said ; 
 and the child vanished. 
 
 Juma was not a bright character, but he was as faithful as a dog 
 to his master. " She wants to surprise him," he said, " but I'll give 
 him the first news. If the Feringi hath bathed and eaten, she is 
 quite ready. I can but go and see. I am on my way to the durbar 
 -with a message," he said, as he passed out ; " one of you must take 
 my place," and he went on. 
 
 The durbar tents were full of people. All the state officers were 
 there ; and several of the English gentlemen were sitting in a corner 
 on the ground, haggard, dirty, and weary. The native bankers of 
 tiie city were huddled in groups near them, with dread plainly im- 
 
HOPELESS. 281 
 
 pressed on their countenances. There were several Persian writers 
 busily making up an account, and a heap of money lying upon the 
 carpet. 
 
 " It is impossible," cried the Nawab, angrily, " Fifty thousand 
 rupees only ! Am I a child to believe that you great Feringi mer- 
 chants traded upon fifty thousand rupees ? Beware, I say, lest I put 
 you to the torture." 
 
 " Your Highness can do as you please," said one of the Englishmen, 
 rising ; " there is no more, and the Persian cash-book of yesterday 
 proves it," and he sat down again. 
 
 What did Juma care for the cash-book ? He took his place 
 behind the Nawab's seat, and, watching an opportunity, bent down 
 and whispered a few words in his ear. 
 
 The assembly saw the Nawab start, but were too polite to notice 
 it, and after a moment he resumed his questions. 
 
 But it was clear to those who knew him best that he was now 
 uneasy, and men in whispers asked why he should be so. It was 
 already dusk in the tent, for the evening was cloudy, and threatened 
 rain. The scribes, writing on their knees, shifted their positions to 
 get more light, and one even asked for a lamp. The Nawab would 
 perhaps have continued his work ; he was by no means satisfied with 
 what he had done ; he was bafiled altogether in his spoil ; he had 
 expected millions, and after all there were but a few thousands. But 
 who was this Feringi woman, so beautiful, for Juma's description 
 was an exaggeration of what he had heard from the chUd ? On the 
 one hand was the craving for gold, on the other a fast arising lust ; 
 and such men as he obey the stronger passion. " Put tlie Feringis 
 in irons, and take them to camp," he cried. " We will hear more 
 to-morrow. The durbar is closed." 
 
 " Durbar burkhast ! Durbar burkhast ! " roared the silver mace- 
 men. " Depart ! depart ! " 
 
 " Quick ! " cried the Nawab, as he entered his palankeen — " quick 
 to the house ! " and he leaned back, smUing at the anticipation of 
 what he should find ready for him. 
 
 The room where the women sat was already gloomy, and it seemed 
 as though night were closing in. " It will soon be dark, lady," said 
 Sozun, who had been looking out from time to time, " and the Nawab 
 will stay till past the evening prayer. She is not afraid ? " she asked 
 of the servant. 
 
 " Missy Baba, my lady, has no fear," was the reply. " May we go ? " 
 
 " What does she say, Anna ? may we go ? " asked Julia Wharton, 
 rising. 
 
 " Nearly time to go, mem ; when man come, then go. Missy not 
 he 'fraid, I go with her." 
 
 A few minutes after, Sozun went to the door of the small 
 
282 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 staircase ; a man's footsteps were ascending it, and she stood there 
 trembling. 
 
 " Lady, it is I," said Nasir, in a low voice. " Here is a blanket 
 for her ; come — there is no one without." 
 
 " Now ' we go, Missy, darlin'," cried Anna, joyfully. " Come 
 along, an' I take you safe to Begum Sahib," 
 
 Mrs. Wharton stretched out her hand to Sozun, who took it and 
 kissed it reverently. " May Allah be kind to thee," she said ; " do 
 not forget me when you are happy in your dear country." 
 
 Julia did not understand the words, but the action could not be 
 mistaken. She put her arms round the girl's neck and kissed her. 
 
 " Come, come quickly ! " cried the eunuch. " Why do you delay ? " 
 
 So they went on, and Sozun followed them, weeping. It was a 
 short stair, which ended in a small court, and Nasir led them into it. 
 But they were too late. As he opened the door which led into the 
 street, and they stepped out, there was a sudden blaze of torches, and 
 the Nawab, hurrying on on foot to the private entrance, saw the 
 group before him pause irresolutely ; then he cried to Juma and 
 others with him, " Seize them instantly. Who come out of my 
 zenana disguised and muified ? Nasir, who are these ? " 
 
 An instant more, and the coverings were torn from the now 
 shrieking women, and the bright torchlight revealed the English 
 girl's fair face and white arms, as she waved them wildly in the 
 air struggling with Juma, who took her up like a child and carried 
 her in. 
 
 " She would have escaped," cried the Nawab, foaming with rage, 
 " and thou, Nasir, aiding her. Hew him down ! " 
 
 " Spare me, O Prince ! " exclaimed the man, frantically, falling at 
 his feet. " Oh, have pity ! it was not I — not I ! " 
 
 " It was my order ! " cried Sozun, who had turned when she 
 heard the shrieks. " It was mine only ; he is beneath thy notice. 
 I, Sozun, would have sent her away. What is she, a poor Feringi 
 woman, to thee ? " 
 
 A fearful execration burst from the Nawab as he drew a dagger 
 from his girdle and aimed a furious blow at her. The girl evaded it, 
 but did not quail ; she feared death too little. 
 
 "Strike," she cried, "if thou darest, one whose only crime is 
 loving thee ! " 
 
 The Nawab's uplifted arm fell to his side. " Thou ait a witch,' 
 he said, gloomily; "and lam captive in thy devilish arts. Bind 
 her ! " he cried, to other eunuchs, whom the disturbance had collected. 
 " Put her in irons, and take her away to Moorshedabad. Now, now ! 
 she is in thy charge, Roostum," he continued, to one of the men, 
 " and thy life shall answer for her. Listen," he added rapidly, in a 
 whisper — " let her lie with the Begum in the vault ; " and he passed 
 
A LETTER FROM ENGLAND. 283 
 
 on Tip tlie narrow staircase, where Juma," bearing the shrieking 
 English girl, had already gone, driving Anna before him. 
 
 " Come, lady," said the eunuch to Sozun, as he dashed tears from 
 his eyes — " come ; it is thy destiny, and thou knowest we dare not 
 delay." 
 
 " Yes, it is my destiny," she said, calmly, " and thy will, O Allah !" 
 and she bowed her head and followed them out. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 A LETTER FKOM ENGLAND. 
 
 I DO not think that the details of a recovery from a severe illness 
 present any matters for particular record in this history ; and it is 
 probable that the worthy Don's magniloquence, and the wonderful 
 English addresses which he composed for Mr. Smithson, might be 
 weaiying to our readers. Nor perhaps would they care to know how 
 Mr. Smithson comported himself to Donas Caterina and Maria in 
 their kind attendance upon him ; nor how the worthy Dona Luisa 
 hoped perhaps for a while that Catberina's budding charms might 
 make a due impression on the handsome Englishman, and was 
 sharply reproved by her husband for her foolishness. As to Maria, 
 she was yet a child, and there was no danger for her ; but I question 
 very much whether she ever forgot those delicious days with the 
 sufferer, when as yet too weak to do anything for himself. She was 
 his devoted attendant, and was repaid by what she most craved for — 
 details of English life, to which she would listen for hours. I say, 
 then, let all this pass — we have no need to record it ; and after some 
 days' weakness, as we know, a strong constitution threw off the 
 languor of fever, and grew to be vigorous as ever. Then Ralph 
 Smithson and the Don held consultations as to the best way of getting 
 to the ships, and found there was but little difficulty. The English 
 gentlemen had had too many native friends to be without means of 
 helping themselves; and though they were no longer masters of 
 Calcutta, any who remained there were not ill used or distressed 
 once the Nawab's forces marched on their return. Although Ralph 
 Smithson was not then aware of the exact nature of Julia Wharton's 
 fate, and only heard it long afterwards in a manner we shall come to 
 understand ourselves, yet he made all the endeavour in his power to 
 ascertain the truth ; and, indeed, it was generally known that the 
 lady who was found alive on the morning of the 21st June had been 
 taken by the Nawab to Moorshedabad as one of his mistresses ; and 
 
284 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 we can easily believe that out of his seraglio very little information 
 that could be relied upon ever transpired. There she might live or 
 die, and nothing more be heard of her. 
 
 It may be recorded also that the little Whartons came often, and 
 ■when he was able to walk there, Ralph Smithson went to the house, 
 and conversed with their mother, who sat behind a screen. She was 
 of respectable people, and did not want for native friends ; but there 
 was much to do in regard to Mr. Wharton's property and the funds 
 settled on herself and her children, and I need hardly mention that 
 Ralph, as one of the executors, promised his hearty assistance when 
 the Factory should be reinstated. 
 
 There was no one, except perhaps the Nawab himself, deluded by 
 his flatterers and courtiers, who did not believe in the speedy restor- 
 ation of the English. Already there were parties earnestly at work 
 in their favour. The great Hindu bankers knew the value of their 
 presence, and that the country itself would languish without the 
 trade they followed. Even the Dutch and French trembled in their 
 factories ; and thought if the stout English could not beat back the 
 Nawab, how easily they, in their turn, might be overwhelmed ; and 
 now, therefore, their mistrust of him increased. It is true that M. 
 Law sent expresses to M. Bussy that the English influence in Cal- 
 cutta and in Bengal was for the present destroyed, and urged him to 
 press on to join the Nawab and strengthen him for good ; but the 
 monsoon had set in — for months to come the country would be 
 impassable by any regular army — and nothing could be efieoted. 
 
 Don Gomez was no indifi'erent observer of events. " Wen you 
 ready help yourselves. Mister Smithson," he said, as he bid his guest 
 farewell, " den plenty people's ready help you ; dat's my opinion. 
 An' you come soon too, sir, if God will, an' blessed Virgin ; an' all 
 the books safe, sir, an' I got key too. Honorable Company not lose 
 one cowry of advance, sir, 'pon my honor. You tell dat, please. 
 Mister Drake, an' be d — d to him. Good-bye, Mr. Smithson, an' 
 wish you well sincerity, sir, an' soon come back ; den we have inten- 
 .sification of jollification in Factory, and drink de King's health and 
 Honorable Company, by George ! " 
 
 This was said in the little cabin of a budgerow, at a village some- 
 what below the Fort. The head boatman was an old friend of Mr. 
 Smithson's, and had promised to take him safe to the ships, and he 
 did so. All there had heard of his illness, for they kept up a con- 
 stant communication with Juggut Seit's house, Omichund, and other 
 bankers, and that he was safe with Don Gomez ; and as his boat 
 next day ran alongside the Daddaley, then lying with the fleet at 
 Fultah, and many of the old familiar faces looked over the ship's 
 side, I am quite sure that Ralph Smithson's heart was grateful at 
 the wonderful preservation he had experienced. 
 
A LET TER FROM ENGLAND. 285 
 
 There was much, to do : a committee sat upon Mr. Wharton's 
 effects, and his will was opened. Provision had been made for the 
 Begum and his children very munificently, and the latter were to be 
 sent to England by-and-by ; but excepting some legacies to friends, 
 his wife Julia was made residuary legatee over and above all that 
 had already been settled upon her. Nothing, however, could be 
 done in that matter, and it was a sad subject altogether. Several 
 ships were expected, and they dropped in one by one from England. 
 Ralph Smithson had hoped to receive letters by every ship for 
 several months past ; but, though there were kind messages to him 
 from Mr. Darnell, none had arrived. It was not probable, he 
 thought, that his uncle or Mr. Sanders would write to him direct 
 till they had heard news of his arrival in India. A year had not 
 elapsed since he left them, and he might not hear for six months 
 more ; but to his great joy the ship that reached them late in July, 
 brought a packet addressed to Mr. Wharton, and enclosed in it were 
 two letters, one from Mr. Darnell and one from Mr. Sanders ; and 
 being in India ourselves at present, we may like to hear what has 
 been doing in the dear old country since we left it in Ralph Smith- 
 son's company. It was evident that though the letter had been 
 begun on Christmas Eve, it had not been finished for some time 
 afterwards. 
 
 "Private. Lombakd Street, Ohristmas Eve, 1755. 
 
 " Dear Nephew, — It would be hard, for all that is past, if I 
 didn't remember you at this season ; and as I cannot be here to- 
 morrow, I will begin, and trust it may find you as well as it leaves 
 me. I cannot expect to hear of you for several months to come ; 
 and though I have sent messages to you, which I trust have been 
 delivered, I have delayed to write, for in truth there was little to 
 tell you of that you would care to hear. I wiU, however, begin at 
 the period which followed your departure, and bring it up to the last 
 date I can detain the letter, but not to-day. This is only to say, I 
 do not forget you ; and Dolly and I, whatever madam and the rest 
 may do, will drink your health to-morrow in the Company's Madeira, 
 and wish you a merrier Christmas than we have ourselves. I doubt 
 not, also, they ^will drink your health at Melcepeth ; for I am re- 
 joiced to tell you your uncle hath quite forgiven you now. When 
 you were fairly at sea, and past recall, I went to him and told him 
 what I had done, and why ; and at first he was sore wroth with me, 
 and swore at me bad enough ; but the doctor came in and stopped 
 him, and presently he got calm, and we talked it over, and he was 
 brought round to my opinion. Mistress Gi-over and I had much 
 ado, however, to set him right. He would have not only forgiven 
 thee, but had thee to Melcepeth again ; and swore he deserved his 
 
286 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 wound for his hard-heartediiess. What if thou wast lawful heir of 
 Melcepeth, after all, how should he forgive himself ? But enow of 
 this — enow to satisfy thee that thou art forgiven — the best news I 
 can give thee on the eve of that day when He was born, who will, as 
 we hope, forgive us our«sins. 
 
 " It is well known to you that I have never interfered with your 
 uncle's plans for Constance ; and I had no mind to be, as I may say, 
 a spy upon Mr. Elliot, nor to find out what he had, or what he 
 hadji't, as Grover would have had me to. I told her she might even 
 find out for herself; but it seems there was no long doubt on the 
 matter. Although most of the people to whom he owed money were 
 willing enow to let my gentleman follow the rich heiress, yet one of 
 them clapt him into a sponging-house, and kept him there ; and how- 
 ever Peed came to know of it I can't find out, but he wrote to the 
 baronet, telling him what had happened, and why ; and this set my 
 brother inquiring of Braithwaite, and other Alnwick and Wooler 
 attorneys, and all came but — viz., that he had made ducks and drakes 
 of a pretty property, and there was no recovery or chance thereof; 
 and when my gentleman made his appearance at Melcepeth, I dare-' 
 say the baronet was cool to him, and Mistress Grover too, whatever 
 sweet Mistress Constance might have been ; and the end of all was, 
 that the gentlemen quarrelled over their wine, and Elliot got his 
 congi faster than he expected. Peed is delighted at his good work, 
 and saith, moreover, that there is more to be found out, and, as usual, 
 a woman's at the bottom of it all. He talks mysteriously about some 
 one privately married to this spark, or seduced, and gone to the East 
 Indies. Have you ever heard aught of him or her among your folks 
 there ? Well, we have no business with him or her ; only, you will 
 be glad to hear, though he was an old friend of thine, that Mistress 
 Constance is well shut of him. Grover hath written me pages of her 
 crief ; but the lass, I warrant, hath sound sense under all, and the 
 hint of the other woman hath, I fancy, quite cured her. 
 
 " You will grieve to hear that poor Mrs. Morton is much declined 
 in health, and Sybil hath but small hopes of her now. One Mr. 
 Forster, also an old friend of yours, I think, hath been courting Miss 
 Morton, and her mother and Nanny Keene advise her to take him ; 
 but she won't listen to them, which I consider foolish, because Mrs. 
 Morton's little annuity dies with her, and, in event of her death 
 I don't know what is to become of Sybil. They have no friends oi 
 relatives that I can discover ; but God tempers the wind to the shorn 
 lamb ; and though, according to my poor judgment, I tried to per- 
 suade the girl to settle herself honourably, and satisfy her mother's 
 anxieties, I could make no impression on her ; and faith, she fell into 
 
A LETTER FROM ENGLAND. 287 
 
 such a passion of weeping that I was thankful to gfet away, and have 
 heard no more since. 
 
 "i^eS. 26, 1756. 
 " I have writ you a business letter separate, and you will get more 
 advice about your investments from Mr. Sanders. I, see he is not 
 easy about political matters, especially if we have war again with 
 the French ; but I confess I have no such anxieties as he hath, 
 nor, indeed, doth any one here believe in what I call this croaking. 
 And now I have writ enough. I am longing to hear from you, dear 
 nephew ; for whatever hath passed, you are the same as ever to your 
 affectionate uncle, Roger Darnell." 
 
 Perhaps I need not record the mingled feelings of joy and anxiety 
 with which Ralph Smithson again and again read this letter. My 
 readers who know his antecedents will be able to follow them very 
 easily. Constance was free again, and SybU, poor dear Sybil, in 
 trouble ; but she would be firm against Forster, and even if Mrs. 
 Morton died, his uncles would not forget her, and he would send her 
 ample funds as soon as he could. No, he had no fear of her. Then 
 he was forgiven, freely and amply, and his dear old uncle loved him 
 stUl. Ah ! on that burning Jidy day, with the sweltering heat beat- 
 ing through the ship's awnings, his thoughts were far away in the 
 Melcepeth woods, and Constance — ^stiU his own Constance — free from 
 Elliot's wiles, beside him. No wonder, I think, if hot tears — tears of 
 mingled thankfulness and regret — were fast falling upon the paper 
 before him. Was Elliot then married? — and who could the woman 
 be who was in India ? Pshaw ! It would be an idle task, indeed, 
 to trace any of Elliot's amours ; and, thank God ! his dear cousin 
 was safe from him. 
 
 Upon the contents of the despatches which had reached the fleet 
 by the ship that morning, an anxious councU had since been sitting 
 in the cuddy of the Baddaley. I need not trouble my readers with 
 any detail of its deliberations. But when Ralph Smithson was sum- 
 moned to it, and told by Mr. Drake that the council, in the fullest reli- 
 ance upon his ability and judgment, had resolved to send him to 
 Madras — to represent there the affairs of the settlement, and to give 
 all the information necessary for the assemblage of a powerful arma- 
 jiient — to Mr. Clive and Admiral Watson, the young man's heart 
 fairly bounded within him, and the honourable mission was indeed 
 joyfully accepted. 
 
 END OF PART THIRD. 
 
PART FOUETH. 
 
 T 
 
PART FOURTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII, 
 
 COLONEL CLIVE AT MADRAS, 
 
 If I am asked why I have given no account of the English society at 
 Fultah, where the ships had lain at anchor ever since their retreat 
 from Calcutta in June, up to the period of the stirring events which 
 closed the year 1756, and with which the year 1757 opened, I reply 
 that there was not only little to record, but that what there was 
 would not probably elevate our countrymen in the opinion of readers 
 of this history. I am not of opinion that it was either particularly 
 sober or moral, or in the least degree intellectual; while of its 
 political inability, my Lord Olive's records furnish ample proof. In 
 books of the period we find occasional narratives, and from other 
 sources, pictures of Calcutta society before and after the tragedy of 
 the Black Hole, which are sufficiently entertaining ; and though, to 
 my knowledge, no one has written a particular detail of the events in 
 the fleet at Fultah, yet from what had occurred previously, we can 
 pretty well imagine that the habits of the Calcutta gentlemen had not 
 altered, or perhaps improved ; and that in their dreary sojourn on 
 board the ^ps, being seldom able to venture ashore, they followed, 
 perhaps with the greater avidity, their former occupations of drinking 
 and play. Nor will I dare to allege that all were in this categoiy ; 
 for there were no doubt some thoughtful, studious, sober, and re- 
 ligious characters among them, who kept mainly to themselves, and 
 were little able to influence others of contrary dispositions. All, or 
 most, had been ruined by the destruction of their property in Calcutta, 
 and would have, as they thought, to begin their struggle with life 
 again. They were, therefore, greedy and importunate ; and though 
 some were resigned and hopeful, I can imagine that the majority were 
 reckless and discontented, burning with revenge against the author of 
 their calamities, though helpless, for the present, to do aught to 
 achieve it — and plunging into such dissipation as they could contrive, 
 to pass the time and dispel painful thoughts. I consider these ample 
 
292 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 grounds for refusing to enter into details which may be better 
 imagined than described — of weary days of heat and discomfort on 
 board crowded and inconvenient ships; of quarrels and reconcilia- 
 tions, of bitter party spirit, and mutual contempt, if not actual 
 abhorrence ; and of not, perhaps, unfrequent insults one to another, 
 to which their situation alone prevented fatal catastrophes. 
 
 But in one respect the desires of the society were unanimous, and 
 their eager expectancy of relief never dormant. There were some, 
 perhaps, who despaired of the assistance which they had solicited from 
 Madras — of the possibility of assembling there an armament which 
 would be sufficient to force a passage up the river, disperse the 
 several garrisons left by the Nawab, and re-establish the Factory, or 
 even of maintaining their position at Fultah till succour could arrive ; 
 but these, perhaps, were the minority, and there was one man whose 
 name began to be a rallying-point with all — one whose tried bravery, 
 great experience, and undaunted spirit, could alone of all in India, 
 they thought, retrieve the past. They knew Colonel Olive was at his 
 post as Governor of the small settlement of St. David ; and, believing 
 that he would eagerly accept the command of the military forces, 
 they trusted that local questions of precedence or party spirit would 
 not defraud them of their champion. 
 
 And they were right in the main, though the delays and delibera- 
 tions of the Madras Council, in weighing the claims of the several 
 parties for employment on this service, which lasted for two months, 
 had as well-nigh exhausted the patience of the society on board the 
 ships, as it had the supplies on which they were dependent. I may 
 say also, that it had almost exhausted the patience of Colonel Clive 
 himself, and of our friend Mr. Ralph Smithson, who, having pre- 
 sented his credentials at Madras,' after he landed from the vessel 
 which brought him down there, became for a time an object of great 
 interest and admiration to the general society of the settlement. 
 One who had fought through the attack on Calcutta, who had sur- 
 vived the horrors of the Black Hole, and who, with every advantage 
 of person, was intelligent, modest, and unassuming — was, of all 
 others, the person to make the deepest impression upon those upon 
 whom the selection of the new commander depended. 
 
 The despatches themselves were urgent and even despairing requi- 
 sitions. Men who have suffered almost to the extinction of hope, 
 cannot often, collectively, easily arouse themselves to effective action ; 
 but Ealph Smithson had not suffered the depression which the 
 Calcutta Council expressed. He had to make no apology for the 
 desertion of his post, and he was ready to risk his life in its recovery. 
 His local experience and knowledge were very valuable, and his 
 comparative youth and recent admission to the service proved to be 
 no obstacle to his being admitted to the assemblies of Council. He 
 
COLONEL CLIVE AT MADRAS. 293 
 
 had, almost at once, begged to be allowed to visit Colonel Clive at 
 Fort St. David, being assured, from what he remembered of him in 
 the parlour in Lombard Street, not only of a kind reception, but of 
 infecting him with his own enthusiasm. Colonel Clive had, however, 
 been summoned fr«m his post, and lost no time in obeying the order. 
 He had heard, by the official communication, that one Mr. Ealph 
 Smithson, a junior officer in the service, had been sent to Madras 
 with the despatches from the Calcutta fleet, and though curious to 
 hear, from one who had been engaged in them, an account of the 
 recent transactions there, the mere name, as we may imagine, excited 
 no kind of interest. 
 
 But when Ralph Smithson — having ascertained the probable hour 
 of Colonel Olive's arrival at Madras, and the house where he was to 
 put up being nigh to that in which he was a guest — went thither 
 and claimed a private audience, the astonishment of the Colonel may 
 be better imagined than described, when the youth to whom he had 
 been introduced a year before as Ralph Darnell, entered the room 
 and respectfully tendered his salutation. 
 
 " Mr. Smithson ! " exclaimed the Colonel, looking at the card which 
 the native attendant had taken in, and then at Ralph — " Smithson ? 
 God bless me ! I never forget faces. I have seen you before, surely, 
 and if ever there was a Darnell countenance on earth, it is yours. 
 Who are you ? " 
 
 " I am indeed, sir, Ralph Darnell — the lad whom you saw in the 
 parlour of the office in Lombard Street — ^the lad you asked to accom- 
 pany you to India, and said there should be ' one Colonel Darnell at 
 least among the merchants. Ah, sir ! much has happened since then 
 — much, very much ; my name even is changed, and I have to ex- 
 plain this to you if you will kindly listen to me ; but we must not 
 be interrupted." 
 
 " Sit down — sit down," said the Colonel, kindly. " Let no one in 
 till I give permission," he said to the native attendant. " I have 
 private business with this gentleman." 
 
 " And your uncle, Mr. Darnell — he is well, I hope ? " 
 
 " I received a letter from him just before I left Fultah, sir, which 
 I will show you by-and-by," said Ralph. 
 
 " God bless me ! " continued Colonel Clive, " I can hardly believe 
 my eyes that I see you here. Yes, the same fresh colour, the same 
 quivering mouth and nostril. I well remember you, young gentle- 
 man ; I thought there was some good stuff in you then, and I am 
 seldom wrong in my judgments. Improved, too, by Jove ! since 
 then ; more manly, and a good deal of sadness in your face. What 
 has happened you ? Nay, be assured, and speak to me as you would 
 to a dear friend — to your uncle, Mr. Darnell, if he were here. There 
 is no man on earth I love more dearly, sir, than Roger Darnell." 
 
294 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 I think this speech gave more assurance than he would otherwise 
 have possessed to the young man, for the quivering mouth and nostril 
 which the Colonel had observed, were the results of more inward 
 emotion than Ralph could easily suppress, and he had well-nigh 
 broken down altogether ; but under the Colonel's kind manners and 
 genuine expressions of regard, Ralph began his story, and without 
 the suppression of any fact, or attempt at extenuation of his own 
 conduct, told it all — ^yes, humiliating as much of it was, told it all ; 
 and Colonel CUve felt, as he once more looked through the young 
 man, that there had been no reservation, while in the letters that 
 Ralph handed for his perusal, there was ample proof of his forgive- 
 ness by both his uncles. " I can say no more, sir," said Ralph, as 
 the Colonel handed him back the letters ; " you see how it is, and 
 why I am no longer Ralph Darnell, the boy you knew in Lombard 
 Street, but Ralph Smithson, at your service, sir, entirely, and longing 
 to serve under you, if you will take me now as I am — disgraced, but 
 forgiven." 
 
 " By Jove ! as strange a histoiy as ever I heard," said the Colonel. 
 " Most of us here who leave England to cut out our way in hfe, have 
 strange histories that are told only on deathbeds, for last instructions, 
 or when a man is gasping out his soul with a bullet hole in his 
 breast ; but here you and I sit with no such pressure upon either of 
 us, and you honour me with this confidence! I respect it, Mr. 
 Smithson ; you shall be Ralph Darnell no longer, nor tUl, as may 
 be, I have to salute you as Sir Ralph Darnell of Melcepeth. For 
 the present, you are better as you are ; and if you will accept Robert 
 Clive for your friend, and help him with your services, by G — , sir, 
 you shall never have reason to regret it." 
 
 Ralph Smithson took the hand frankly held out to him, and kissed 
 it fervently. I think the foolish fellow would even have dropped on 
 his knees, as he did to his uncle, on an occasion that we may re- 
 member, but he was prevented ; and I do not know that the Colonel 
 thought the worse of the young man for the action, nor for his wet 
 cheeks, which were glistening with fast falling tears. At last he had 
 found a friend, and like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land, 
 he felt he could shelter himself there. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Smithson," said the Colonel, "tell me about this 
 Calcutta business ; but you are not in the army— perhaps you did 
 not see much of it ? " 
 
 " I am not in the army, certainly," he replied; "but I fought at 
 Perrin's Redoubt ; I commanded a battery in the siege ; and I was 
 one of the last on the walls when the Fort was stormed." 
 
 " And you escaped, Ralph ? " 
 
 " Not entirely, sir. I had a sharp wound on my arm, and some 
 other hurts; but they are well long since," he added, modestly. 
 
COLONEL CLIVE AT MADRAS. 295 
 
 " And you were in the Black Hole and escaped ? " 
 
 " I was, sir." 
 
 " By Jove, a hero already ! Why, at your age, I hadn't done half 
 as much myself ; I congratulate you, sir. Now for some details : 
 I have a plan of the Port here ; will you explain it, and what was 
 done for the defence ? — though, indeed, little could be done with such 
 a place as that." 
 
 I think Ralph Smithson must have acquitted himself well under 
 the professional examination which followed, for the Colonel encour- 
 aged him from time to time, asked his opinion of the native troops, 
 and agreed with his young friend that, with the exception of the 
 Eohillas who stormed the Fort, the rest were very cowardly. In 
 short, the frankness and good sense with which the Colonel's ques- 
 tions were answered, and the evident local knowledge which Ralph 
 Smithson possessed, contributed tc^ raise him very considerably in 
 Colonel Clive's opinion. 
 
 " You have told all this to the Council, I presume, Mr. Smithson ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " No one ever asked me half as much as you have, sir," was the 
 reply, " and I only answered immaterial questions." 
 
 " Then come to the Council with me to-day, and they shall see the 
 stuff you are made of — good Darnell stuff, and no doubt about it ; 
 just what I expected." 
 
 " Ah, sir," cried Smithson, entreatingly, " do not forget the new 
 name ; my uncle is so well known that — " 
 
 " No fear of me, Ralph Smithson," replied the Colonel, laughing ; 
 " I will respect your secret and your confidence." 
 
 " The Council is waiting, sir ; they have sent twice, but master say 
 not open door," cried a servant without. 
 
 " Quite right, Ramasamy — let them wait. I'll lay my life. Smith- 
 son, that those old fogies don't settle anything for the next two 
 months, and after all won't desire to send me ; but I'll go, one way 
 or other, by G — ! " he cried, excitedly ; " Robert Clive has work cut 
 out for hirn there that no one else can do, or I'm much mistaken. 
 Yes, Mister Bussy, they wouldn't let me have a slap at you in the 
 Dekhan, but, by George ! Ralph, we'U be before him in Bengal, and 
 turn those cursed Frenchmen out." 
 
 Colonel Clive was right : the Council at Madras, as I have already 
 recorded, with grave history to support me, wasted two precious 
 months in preliminary discussions, and appointed him with inde- 
 pendent power after all. I think if Ralph Smithson would, he 
 might have received a military commission ; but this he refused ; 
 as he was, he would continue to be — an independent volunteer, 
 attached, with one Mr. Warren Hastings, to Colonel Clive only, to 
 render such aid as he coidd afford. 
 
296 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 So finally, on the 16th of October, a gallant fleet of ten ships 
 sailed from the Madras roads ; and after a weary passage, beating 
 against the north-east monsoon which had now set in, and delayed 
 their ariival more than a month, the expectants at Fultah, on the 
 20th December, as they still looked seaward with weary eyes often 
 cheated by sails on the river's horizon, saw at last the square top- 
 sails of His Gracious Majesty's men-of-war, which, as they reached the 
 roada, joined the long-stationary fleet decked with flags as became the 
 occasion, and with their yards manned. The salutes fired then, and 
 answered by the Admiral's ship, were, I think, the most memorable 
 and joyous that have ever since perhaps been fired on the waters of 
 the sacred river. 
 
 Then too, news spread far and fast, that a fleet of huge Feringi 
 ships of war, each carrying a hundred guns or more, had come to the 
 rescue of Calcutta ; and the native commander of the Fort there, as 
 every other local officer of the province, despatched expresses to 
 Moorshedabad to the same effect, that they were ready to die in the 
 Nawab's service, but, if he desired to preserve his conquest, he must 
 return to Calcutta with his whole army. Letters for the Prince him- 
 self, which were written from the English fleet, following the news 
 report — (though the native commandant of Calcutta dared not for- 
 ward them to his master) — ^proved plainly enough that a new vigour 
 had been infused into the English councils, of which he had no expe- 
 rience, for the language was not that of abject suppliants for favour, 
 but of haughty conquerors. Colonel Clive had not a thousand 
 English soldiers with him ; yet he was thinking it possible to rout 
 the Nawab's army of 50,000 men should it appear against him, and 
 was determined to exact retribution to the uttermost from a cruel 
 enemy who, in his moment of triumph, had shown no mercy. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 COLONEL CLI^VE AT CALCUTTA. 
 
 Nor did the leaders of the expedition await replies to these com- 
 munications. During his varied service in the peninsula of India, 
 Colonel Clive had already gained much experience of a political 
 character, and much practical knowledge of the morale of Indian 
 soldiery. He knew better than any one else present the necessity 
 for immediate and decisive action, and what effect a few hard blows 
 struck rapidly in succession would have upon native enemies, and 
 native friends too. Calcutta must be regained before any political 
 
COLONEL CLIVE AT CALCUTTA. 297 
 
 negotiation could ensue ; and, though two of the ships had not yet 
 arrived, and many men and materiel of war were in them that could 
 be ill spared, yet there was sufficient force present to overcome all 
 obstacles between the rendezvous of the fleet and Calcutta. In these 
 respects there seemed no difficulties that could not be overcome. 
 
 But it was by no means so easy a task to reconcile opinions of 
 parties into which men fell almost immediately ; and, after the habit 
 of Calcutta, the gentlemen of the fleet and army, with the civilians 
 of Bengal, took up different sides, and began to be jealous of each 
 other. Colonel Clive represented the political and military interests 
 of the Company. Admiral Watson, and the officers of the Eoyal 
 army, deluded by fantastic conceptions of huge amounts of prize- 
 money, and unlimited exercise of authority, conceived the Colonel 
 to be a common enemy, and held their own against him ; while the 
 gentlemen of the Factory, jealous of both, kept themselves aloof, or 
 sided with one or other, their own private quarrels and jealousies 
 being ever predominant. No wonder I find Colonel Clive writing to 
 his wife and to his friends, that " he wished he had never come to 
 Bengal at all." No wonder that, as he expressed himself to Ralph 
 Smithson, " he was already sick of the whole thing, and it might go 
 to the devil for all he cared about it." It was well he did care, and, 
 after a time, viewed with contempt the strivings for shares of prize- 
 money which was yet " in the clouds," or for petty commands which 
 were yet to be detailed ; and it seems to "me it was only the stubborn 
 resolution of the man that prevented those disasters which would 
 have blighted the character of the expedition, and rallied the sinking 
 spirits of the Nawab's commanders. To have remained at Fultah 
 would have been to ensure the efiects he dreaded. His own deter- 
 mination was never relaxed by any consideration ; and we can now 
 estimate the real value of the service done by Clive, when, in the 
 midst of these petty jealousies, strivings, heartburnings, and opposi- 
 tion, he suffered no personal vexation or interest to disturb his pur- 
 pose. So, in the first engagements with the enemy, when, after a 
 weary march, for which there was no occasion, and surprised by 
 a heavy body of troops from Calcutta, the detachment which had 
 attacked a small fort fell into confusion, Clive went ashore, rallied 
 the panic-stricken men, and led them to victory after his old fashion ; 
 and having gained their confidence, and that of the Royal officers 
 present, he perhaps cared very little about the rest. With him, too, 
 were some of his own Madras Sepoys — men who had fought with 
 him at Wandiwash and Arcot — men who held all Bengalese in 
 supreme contempt, and the gallant little fellows were ready to 
 follow their Colonel anywhere. 
 
 When Manikchund, the Governor of Calcutta, brought down two 
 thousand picked men to oppose the Feringis on this occasion, and 
 
298 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 boasted of the heads he would take back to make a pile of before the 
 Fort-gate against the Nawab's coming, he little expected to be met 
 with a ringing cheer from the 39th, the " Primus in Indis," and the 
 Madras Sepoys, as the Colonel led them on ; and so fell back in utter 
 confusion, and fled away. He could not save the Fort, and the im- 
 pression caused by his precipitate flight was that the English ships 
 contained thousands of men ; and it was certain that the reports of 
 the people of the country, which flew faster than the fugitives, fear- 
 fully exaggerated all realities. 
 
 As to the Fort, broadsides from English men-of-war, which had 
 never before been fired in those waters, were very terrible in the 
 sight of people who had hitherto seen no ships but the peaceful 
 merchant vessels of the Company on their trading voyages ; and as 
 ship after ship of the Royal squadron let go her anchor before the 
 little fort of Budge-Budge, and, as the sails were being furled aloft, 
 let fly broadside after broadside against its walls, sending stones, 
 bricks, and mud parapets flying about the ears of the garrison, it is 
 no wonder perhaps, that, when night fell, the terrified survivors of 
 the day crept quietly out of the place, and made the best of their 
 way northwards. 
 
 The voyage up the broad Hoogly was indeed more like a triumph- 
 ant naval procession than a warlike armament; and the fleet of 
 Royal ships, followed by the transports, all with flags flying and 
 drums beating at quarters, 'the red uniforms of the soldiery in the 
 waists, and the gay laced coats of the officers glancing from the 
 poops, must have appeared to the wonder-struck Hindus who lined 
 the banks as incarnations of supernatural power, whose might was 
 to be deprecated rather than opposed : and indeed resistance there 
 was none. The movements of the fleet depended mainly upon the 
 tide, and it swept on day after day majestically under easy sail, 
 passing towns and villages, mosques and temples, rice-fields, groves, 
 and jungle, in stately array. 
 
 A strange contrast was it in Ralph Smithson's mind with his 
 lonely sail up the river in the dear old Valiant, when all with which 
 he was now familiar was new to him. Then he was an unknown 
 and untried youth, whose highest ambition was to be a merchant ; 
 now, he had already achieved some military distinction. He was 
 looked up to by many of His Majesty's officers with respect, which 
 was increased and increasing by his position with Colonel Clive. 
 One who had borne himself right gallantly in the afiairs before 
 Calcutta, and who, as all allowed, had been one of the last to quit 
 the walls of the Fort in the attack upon it — who had evinced the 
 highest spirit at Budge-Budge, and who was not a " country officer " 
 —had already taken his place among the best of the Royal officers 
 present, and needed no further introduction to their exclusive 
 
COLONEL CLIVE AT CALCU TTA. 299 
 
 society ; and many a man envied, -while they all heartily congratu- 
 lated him on, the distinction he had gained. "We must remember 
 how young he still was ; but he had nevertheless reached that age 
 when decisive steps in life can best be taken and pursued with 
 ardour and enthusiasm. What were the desk, the huge wearisome 
 ledgers, the interminable columns of rupees, annas, and pie to be 
 added and checked, or the voluminous invoices and accounts of sales 
 and stock, now to him ? 
 
 " I began with them myself, Ralph," said the Colonel, as they in- 
 terchanged hearty greetings on the 1st January 1757, and wished 
 each other many happy years, " and have forsaken them for what 
 you see me — a poor man, where others have made their fortunes, and 
 gone home to enjoy them. But there's no glory in that. Come 
 with me, and whatever honour I can win, you shall have your share 
 of. I cannot indeed spare you, Kalph ; and I intend to write to 
 that grave old uncle of yours about the colonelship I talked to him 
 of, and he wUl come round to my way of thinking — see if he don't. 
 No, Ralph J 1756 sees the end of your attempt at being a merchant, 
 and 1757 begins it as a soldier, and in this no one shall gain- 
 say me." 
 
 It needed little persuasion to turn the young man ; and if any- 
 thing were needed, some gallant fellows serving with the 39th, 
 Coote, Rumbold, and others, seconded the Colonel heartily, for there 
 is an entry in R. S.'s journal of how his health was drunk with a 
 hearty cheer among the many toasts given at the New Year's dinner 
 on board the flagship ; but that " whatever his ultimate decision 
 might be, he was in no mind to accept a commission for the present, 
 or to surrender the liberty he enjoyed as a volunteer. " 
 
 Manikchund did not attempt to defend Calcutta; and as a few 
 broadsides rattled over the old walls next day, and were feebly 
 answered by the native garrison, and Colonel Clive, with some of his 
 well-tried Sepoys, landed, and opened fire from another quarter, the 
 garrison hung out a white flag, and surrendered the place. Then 
 boats from the squadron soon took off enough men to receive pos- 
 session of it, and the British ensign once more blew out proudly from 
 the old flagstaff. History relates what took place on this occasion, 
 and how Colonel Clive was denied admittance at first; and being 
 afterwards, as he considered, in command, the fiery old Admiral 
 threatened to open fire on him if he did not evacuate the place ; and 
 this and many other such instances of mutual defiance and jealousy 
 cause us now to wonder how anything was brought to a successful 
 issue unde*" these melancholy bickerings. 
 
 Next day, however, Mr. Watson was pleased to acknowledge the 
 Colonel's authority, and withdraw his objections as to the command 
 of the Fort; but though this dispute was past, I consider that 
 
300 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Colonel Clive must have felt himself otherwise upon a seat of thoma. 
 The gentlemen of the Factory had by no means attained their -whole 
 object in being restored to their Fort. The authority they had pos- 
 sessed was now in the hands of another who cared very little about 
 those former positions which the gentlemen had not had the courage 
 to defend, nor for their perpetual whine about losses and ruin. At 
 the same time, as representatives of the civil interests of the Company, 
 it was impossible for the haughty Colonel to ignore them altogether ; 
 and perforce he was obliged to listen to much he would rather not 
 hear, and to do much that he did not like. I do not by any means 
 feel myself bound to enter upon any details of these transactions. 
 They have as little to do with the scope of this history as those of 
 the Fultah society; and though I might write perhaps tolerably 
 correct pictures of this period, I am not of opinion that my readers 
 would care to have their time occupied by what Mr. Drake said, or 
 Mr. Holwell, or any of the gentlemen then busy quarrelling among 
 themselves — with Colonel Clive — or with the Admiral. 
 
 And I have the less to say to these matters, because, as we know, 
 Ralph Smithson's one friend was dead, and it does not appear that 
 he had ever cared much about any one else. There was no trace of 
 Mr. Wharton's grave now discernible — none by which any particular 
 pit among those dug on the 20th and 21st June could be recognised. 
 The pretty bungalow was a mass of shapeless, scorched walls, and 
 the garden where he used to walk with Julia, a tangled mass of 
 weeds — the walls broken down, and the walks and shrubberies torn 
 up by shot, and broken and destroyed by diggings for trenches. I 
 think, had both been present to welcome him, Ralph Smithson might 
 have stayed with them ; but he foresaw no prospect of pleasurable 
 residence there among the rest. He was already a stout partisan of 
 Mr. Clive's, and his sympathies were with the army and the distinc- 
 tion that was to be won. 
 
 For in their private conversations Mr. Clive was beginning to 
 shadow forth the beginning of the end. Baffled in England, when 
 troops were denied him for driving Bussy from the Dekhan, he had 
 accepted a minor position at Madras; but the spirit had chafed 
 within him at inaction there, and was little likely to be still, now 
 that there was opportunity of effecting in Bengal what had hitherto 
 been the dream of his life. He had been brought up at Madras in 
 active operations against the French. He had witnessed their 
 successful striving for political power. He was aware that if Bussy 
 could join Law at Pondicherry, and so reinforce the Nawab, their 
 combined forces might even prove too much for his own armament, 
 powerful as it was : and he hated them nationally and politically, as 
 a thorough Englishman of the time hated a Frenchman, and with all 
 the additional virus of the experience heretofore gained. 
 
THE NAWAFS TROUBLES. 301 
 
 Probably the gentlemen of the Factory desired nothing more than 
 a resumption of their old occupations ; and it was with a feeling of 
 pride absolutely glowing in his black face that our friend Don Gomez 
 da Silviera met his masters in the hall of the Factory, the day after 
 the Fort was taken, and delivered to them the keys of the private 
 safe, which contained the records of the settlement, and the invalu- 
 able books on which the recoveries of advances and debts for goods 
 sold were dependent ; and under the congratulations of native 
 merchants and bankers, no doubt sincere in many instances, the 
 work of the Factory began again. Had not enough been done? 
 Was it wise and politic to provoke the Nawab further? Could 
 anything more be effected except the recovery of losses? Colonel 
 Clive was, however, of opinion that his work had only begun, and 
 was little likely to be turned from his purpose by timid counsels, 
 which had only the recovery of these losses for their foundation. 
 The troops required supplies which Calcutta could ill afford, and the 
 garrison of Hoogly was boastful and defiant — but not for long. 
 That city was stormed and sacked in a few days more, its garrison 
 dispersed, and the native defenders of the province existed no longer. 
 Then also, by a strange chance, news of the declaration of war 
 between England and France reached Bengal, and was received with 
 an interest which I can feebly portray. My reader may imagine 
 Colonel Clive's exultation at an event by which his own aspirations 
 were no longer fettered, and the amazement of the Calcutta gentlemen 
 at this new complication of affairs. But there were others who 
 listened to these tidings, which poured fast, one upon another, into 
 the Prince's durbar at Moorshedabad ; and we had better, perhaps, 
 after having been so long tarrying with our own countrymen, inquire 
 how they affected him, and others concerned Etbout him. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE NAWAB'S TROUBLKS. 
 
 The place is the same as that in which, we may remember, when, 
 in his fit of fm-y, Suraj-oo-Doulah had caused the Derwesh to be 
 mutilated, and where the cries of terrible vengeance against the 
 English had resounded through the lofty hall of audience. Since 
 then, Calcutta had been taken, and for six months the conquest had 
 been undisturbed even by a rumour. The ships of the English lay 
 at the mouth of the river, but attempted no return, and the bankers, 
 who had been their fast friends in spite of their misfortunes, had 
 
302 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 almost begun to fear that they were gone for ever, and that the 
 transactions with them, which had been the source of steady and 
 increasing gain for many a year, were never to be renewed. Reports 
 from the Nawab's district-collectors and other fiscal agents began to 
 come in fast, that the revenue was languishing for want of support 
 by the English trade, and unless the Prince himself would direct 
 large advances to be made to supply the want of English capital, the 
 cultivation must still further languish. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the late victorious expedition seemed 
 likely not only to prove barren of results, but to induce a general 
 discontent which had not been foreseen. In place of untold wealth in 
 the Factory, the Nawab had only found a paltry sum, as we know, 
 and the piles of broadcloth and calico, of hardware and general 
 English goods, were useless to transport, and as useless for sale. 
 The Nawab's commander, Manikchund, could not represent the 
 English gentlemen, and Omichund and Jugget Seit and other Cal- 
 cutta merchants declined transactions in general or particular with 
 him. They were afraid to buy the plunder of the English. " Who 
 knows ? " the people said ; " they may come back, and then ? " The 
 Calcutta bankers had agents too at Madras, and these wrote in their 
 own cipher — an enigmatical language which it is diflBcult to imitate 
 — ^that an armament was being prepared there, in which great war- 
 ships would take a part, and many white soldiers would be sent ; 
 again that the ships had sailed. So each after his own fashion had 
 expected the English ; and those who had gained their bread by them, 
 or under whose protection they flourished and grew rich, ofiered 
 many a sacrifice to propitiate the gods, and many a vow of feeding 
 Brahmins, and of giving largesse to the poor, and thought their 
 prayers answered when Calcutta was taken, and the English expedi- 
 tion to Hoogly returned triumphant. 
 
 From the first day on which the Nawab — sitting there among his 
 parasites and courtiers, seeing for the hundreth time the horrible 
 scene of the Black Hole enacted before him, and the struggling, 
 writhing Feringis climbing iipon each other's backs fighting for 
 water, shrieking, blaspheming, praying, and seeming to die in horrible 
 contortions at the window-bars — heard the news of the arrival of the 
 King's fleet at Fultah, laughed in drunken merriment, and, mocking 
 the power of his enemies, told those around him that he had it from 
 his friends the French, that there were not ten thousand soldiers in 
 all England, and that not a man dared be sent, because the French 
 with a mighty army were about to invade the country of their 
 mutual enemy and destroy them all — from that day forward, I say, 
 letters came rapidly in succession ; and the royal news-writers 
 attached to the military posts seemed to vie with each other as to 
 who shoiild most forcibly describe in flowing Persian the vast naval 
 
THE NAWAB'S TROUBLES. 303 
 
 armament — the thousands of its guns — their terrible fire — and the 
 drunken ferocity of Feringi soldiers— as excuses for cowardice ; and 
 thus the events we already know of had been listened to with in- 
 creasing rage and gloom. It was in vain that minstrels sang or 
 women danced — it was in vain that coarse bufibons played their most 
 outrageous and indecent acts, or that astrologers consulted the stars, 
 and gave forth their dubious responses ; and when, on the evening I 
 speak of, a messenger rushed breathless into the hall, and, untying 
 Jus turban, gave to an attendant the despatch he had brought by ex- 
 press — the assembly present knew, as the Nawab read the paper 
 himself, and his countenance assumed a savage expression, that some 
 calamitous news had reached him ; and all waited in apprehension, 
 not unmingled with terror, for the result. 
 
 The letter was brief enough. Hoogly had been stormed and taken, 
 thousands of true believers had suffered martyrdom, and the Feringis 
 had sacked the town, carrying away lacs of treasure and property. 
 Would not the Nawab send an army to save the country and his 
 faithful people, and drive the accursed English back to their ships ? 
 Unless he did so, the English army would march on, and there was 
 no one to oppose it. 
 
 I think that, as the Nawab at last read aloud the letter he had 
 already twice perused, and laughed a hollow laugh, in which he 
 vainly tried to disguise his own vexation, a strange dread and fear 
 fell upon all who, craning over each other's necks, heard the fresh 
 news. It had been utterly incomprehensible how the few English- 
 men they remembered, the peaceful, patient merchants, could be 
 transformed suddenly into revengeful victorious warriors ; but there 
 was no doubt in the last news. They had not halted at Calcutta : 
 they were carrying, as was then believed, fort after fort, and city 
 after city, and could not be stayed : so all who listened remembered 
 the fearful act for which retribution was now being exacted : and 
 what would satisfy it ? 
 
 Who dare offer advice ? Not one, I believe, of that company of 
 holiday courtiers dared to have uttered a sound, for fear truly had 
 fallen upon their hearts — or worse than fear, treachery, was taking 
 up its abode there. In their master's present humour, who dare 
 speak ? 
 
 The Nawab glanced round on the dismayed countenances, and saw 
 no comfort. I will not look into his own heart, for there is nothing 
 pleasant there, nothing hopeful — only much hate, and desire of 
 bloody extermination. " Does no one speak ? " he cried at length. 
 " Cowards and faithless as ye all are, does no one speak a word of 
 comfort to your Prince ? " but still the silence continued, and its 
 effect, so rare and continuous, was almost awfiil. 
 
 " Nawab," at last cried the grim old Affghan chief whom we may 
 
304 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 remember, who rose and drew up his tall figure, now clad in a loose 
 suit of chain-mail, with a proud gesture, — " Nawab, when Calcutta 
 was stormed, who did it ? When the Feringis fell in scores, who 
 slew them ? Hast thou forgotten, or is it with thee as with many 
 another, that brave deeds are forgotten, and swords may rust in their 
 scabbards when present danger is past ? See, mine is as bright as 
 ever ! " and as he spoke he drew it flashing from its scabbard ; " but 
 it would be dim again in Feringi blood if thy heart is enough of a 
 man's to lead us on. As thou art, a woman were better — not one 
 who has lost his manhood in company with a Feringi wanton ! " 
 
 It was well that the fiery old man was surrounded by a strong 
 body of his clan, or perhaps he would never have left that assembly 
 alive. If Eastern piinces have for the most part to listen to empty 
 platitudes or gross flatteries, there are occasions on which disagree- 
 able truths are spoken in more than ordinarily forcible language, and 
 this was one of them. 
 
 " Treachery, treachery ! He has insulted the Prince ! hew him 
 down ! " cried a hundred voices, mingled with obscene oaths, and 
 many a weapon was unsheathed ; but the old warrior stood erect 
 and firm ; and his clansmen, rising and throwing their shields before 
 him, presented a phalanx before which the courtiers and eunuchs 
 quailed. There were matchlockmen on guard at the entrance, who 
 rushed into the court with Ughted matches ; but on whom were they 
 to fire ? friends and foes were intermingled, and inseparable. 
 
 " Peace ! " cried the Nawab, who had risen as the door to his 
 private apartments was opened, and the eunuch Juma tried to urge 
 him into it — " peace ! put down thy sword, Noor Khan ; this is no 
 place for wild brawling." 
 
 " We can slay him as he goes out, my Prince," whispered Juma, 
 " if thou wilt come away." 
 
 But Suraj-oo-Doulah did not fear him then ; he had no personal 
 fear — he was too strongly guarded. " Peace," he cried, shaking off 
 the negro. " Noor Khan, listen ! when I send for thee, wUt thou 
 come ? — as a friend and a trvisted and honoured servant, wUt thou 
 come ? " 
 
 " Send one known to thee and me for my safe-conduct," he said, 
 " and I will come ; not else, my lord," cried the old man — " not else. 
 Death, no servant of Allah fears, and of my life thou hast ever been 
 master ; but of my honour I am my own guardian. I salute you. 
 Prince, and pray permission to depart." 
 
 " Thou hast it — go," said the Nawab, "and be ready when 1 send 
 for thee," and he passed into the private rooms. " Where is she ? " 
 he asked of Juma, now an especial favourite. 
 
 " Within," was the reply ; " but wilt thou have his head to-night? 
 Speak the word, and I will bring it thee." 
 
THE NAWAB'S TROUBLES. 305 
 
 " I will tell thee presently." 
 
 " He instdted thee, my Prince," persisted the negro, doggedly, 
 " and should die that others may fear." 
 
 Die! Ho-w many had died? How many had suffered torture 
 and mutilation for alleged treachery, in caprice, or, in mad drunken 
 revels ? How many more would die ? and yet was he safe ? Yes ; 
 no insult that had ever been offered him was like that, rankling deep 
 down in his heart. Send her ! send Sozun ! Was she not in irons 
 in the vault ? and yet, if he did not, Noor Khan would not trust 
 him ; the Rohillas in his force would be in mutiny by the morning, 
 and who could quell them ? If they pleased, they might depose him, 
 tie him to the foot of an elephant, and — I think it was these 
 thoughts which passed like quick flashes through Suraj-oo-Doulah's 
 heart, as he stood irresolute for an instant in the chamber, which 
 caused him to shudder as if a cold blast had struck him, and which 
 were terrible to endure. I question whether he had any one to 
 whom he could turn now. 
 
 " Shall I send for Mohun Lall ? " asked the negro ; " his counsel 
 may be better than your slave's." 
 
 " Get thee to hell ! and Mohun Lall too," cried the Nawab, strik- 
 ing him. " Blood ! yes, more blood, he would say, as thou dost — 
 butcher as thou art." 
 
 " I could kill Noor Khan as I would a sheep," said the giant ; 
 " why should my lord be angry with me ? " 
 
 " But thou couldst not kill all his people, Juma ; and if they will not 
 fight for me, the Peringi will kill me," returned the Nawab. " No ; 
 bring her to me — ^her the singer. It must be," he muttered, " else — " 
 
 " Ah yes, I understand now," returned the man ; " give me thy 
 seal-ring. And if she will not come ? " 
 
 " You carried a shrieking woman once up a staircase," said the 
 Nawab, bitterly, " and can do it again." 
 
 " On my head and eyes be it," replied the eunuch — " I will not 
 fail._ When?" 
 
 " As soon as possible," was the reply. " I fear not that she should 
 see her," and he passed in. Anna was sitting at the door, and rose 
 respectfully. She was necessary to the Nawab, and he had loaded 
 her with gifts. To her the months that had passed had been as 
 pleasant as any she could remember of her long life. She had, after 
 her Portuguese Eastern fashion, accommodated herself to the strict 
 seclusion of the zenana, and she knew that intrigue or correspondence 
 without could end only in death ; so she had submitted to her fate. 
 Had her mistress done the same ? 
 
 It would have been impossible, and unnatural. The English girl 
 was not pure, but her impurity was as virgin snow before him into 
 whose power her wayward fate had thrown her. ;,She had lived — 
 
 u 
 
306 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 that was enough. She had sighed and prayed for death, but it did 
 not come ; and helpless, very helpless, she had resigned herself to 
 her fate. At first she had fallen into the same raving fever which 
 attacked so many others after the night of the 20th June, and had 
 recovered from it worn and wasted, and with her beauty gone ; and 
 for a long time, Anna, who never left her, thought she woidd not 
 recover ; but even that fatal gift had returned, and remained in some 
 sort. There were gardens in which she could walk, and in which 
 she spent most of her time ; but her mind was, I think, growing into 
 a kind of numb vacancy of submission, rather than conscious endur- 
 ance of her condition. 
 
 " Where is your mistress, the lady ? " asked the Nawab. 
 
 " Within, reading her book, my lord," was the reply, 
 
 " She is ever reading, and never speaks to me," he said, almost 
 sadly. " Dost thou know aught in which I could gratify her ? " 
 
 " My lord will pardon his slave. She frets after her people night 
 and day, and weeps. If she could hear of them, she would be thank- 
 ful," replied the woman. 
 
 " I have just received news of them," he said bitterly ; " come 
 and tell her." 
 
 Reading ! Ah yes ; in the pocket of the dress which Anna had 
 brought away, was the little prayer-book, out of which she had read 
 the psalms on that eve of massacre which we may remember, and she 
 had kept it lovingly ever since. The Nawab respected it as contain- 
 ing the words of Jesus of Nazareth, reverenced even by the most 
 bigoted of his priests — the only book, she had ; read sometimes in 
 vague dreaminess, sometimes in bitter but unavailing grief, some- 
 times in humble faith. He had asked JuUa Wharton to become a 
 Mahomedan ; but she had fallen into such deep misery at the 
 thought, that even he relented, and had troubled her no more. 
 The last words of the poor soldier, ejaculated so awfully in the 
 prison, had not been forgotten. She had searched for them and 
 found them, and had read the verses with streaming eyes and a 
 contrite heart. A Magdalen, praying and weeping once, had found 
 mercy before the Lord of life, and the blessed book told her it was 
 denied to none. So, as He who had sent the trial knew best, she 
 had lived, and prayed after a simple fashion of her own, which, 
 unknown before, had grown up in her heart. 
 
 Memories ! oh, many, many ! Very hard to endure at first, but 
 growing blunted by constant recurrence, and only occasionally caus- 
 ing misery. Even Anna forbore to speak of past times, and 
 avoided all allusion to them, for it was on recurrence to these sub- 
 jects that her poor mistress's spirit utterly refused comfort, and, 
 recovering after a while, grew again to be dull and dead. But this 
 scene could not be avoided. 
 
THE NAWAB'S TROUBLES. 307 
 
 " O dear, Missis,'' cried the servant as she entered the room sud- 
 denly, followed by the Nawab ; " my lord got news for you." 
 
 " What news ? " replied Julia sadly, putting down her book and 
 not noticing his entrance. 
 
 " He tell hisself," she said, " and I tell my lady." And the con- 
 versation continued through the interpreter. 
 
 " Your people are in Calcutta once more, lady," said the Nawab, 
 seating himself on his usual pile of cushions. 
 
 " And you have returned it to them ? O sir ! is this true ? " she 
 cried, looking up with a sudden rush of colour to her cheek, and a 
 flash of intelligence in her eyes which he had never seen before. 
 
 " They have taken it and slain my people," he said, with an im- 
 patient gesture ; " and it is too late now, for there is once more blood 
 between us. But could it have gained me thy love, lady, I had 
 offered it to thee long ago. Now it is too late." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Thou dost not care to hear of their victory over their enemy ? " 
 
 Ah, poor bleeding heart, it was throbbing fast now ! Her own 
 people — Ralph Smithson — would she ever be given up to them? 
 Should she see him once more ? She could hide herself away some- 
 where in her own land, and this hideous life would be a thing of the 
 past. "What a flood of thought rushed into her memory in an in- 
 stant ! " Send me to them, O Prince ! send me to them ? " she 
 said in the broken Hindi she had learned; " what am I to thee, or 
 thou to me ? " And she clasped her hands convulsively, and fell on 
 her knees before him, sobbing piteously. 
 
 " Send thee to them, lady ! " he cried, savagely ; " to them ? 
 Never ! Let it not come into thy dreams that I ever spared an 
 enemy ! They shall die as others died ; or I must die, and thou 
 with me ! Kaffirs ! I hate them to death, and beyond death to hell. 
 Take her away, Anna — she is mad. Take her away, lest I destroy 
 her for the beauty which unmans me. Protection of God ! I was 
 told in my own durbar to-day that I had lost my manhood for a 
 Feringi wanton ! Am I to endure insult for her ? Begone ! take 
 her away, for I am wellnigh mad myself to-night ! — ^Who is there ? " 
 
 As he spoke, Juma's burly form emerged from the stairhead, which 
 opened into the chamber, and, advancing with little ceremony, he 
 set down in the midst of them a woman he had thrown across his 
 shoulders. Irons on her legs clanked as the feet reached the ground, 
 and the figure sank down, as in a heap. 
 
 " Slave ! thou hast not slain her ? " cried the Nawab eagerly, 
 
 " No, no, she's well enough ; she would talk, and this was the 
 shortest way to manage such a girl," cried Juma, wiping his fore- 
 head, and departing as be had come. 
 
 Julia Wharton's memory had not failed her, and as the figure 
 
308 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 raised its head and looked round dreamily, the features of the 
 Affghan girl were fully revealed by the lamp-light. " Save me ! oh, 
 send me to my people ! " was all she could cry in her terrible sobbing, 
 as she bent forward to the prostrate figure. 
 
 But she was not heeded. Sozun seemed awaking from a stupor. 
 She was changed — much changed. The once ruddy cheek was white 
 and wan, the large brown eyes seemed increased in size, and had a 
 vacant expression, as she looked round her for a moment and shut 
 them again ; her once glorious figure was wasted, and her round white 
 arras grown thin and gaunt. 
 
 " Strike ! kill me at once — ^with one blow ! " she said, rising to her 
 knees, as she repeated the belief of her creed. " Strike ! I am ready 
 — now — ^now — why dost thou not strike ? " She evidently expected 
 death. 
 
 " It is thus brave men die," said the Nawab, with a sigh — " with- 
 out a tremor; and she is as brave. Look up, Sozun; thou art a 
 fool, as thou ever wast," he continued half kindly ; " look up, my 
 darling ! and fear not." 
 
 The girl did look up, and Julia "Wharton never forgot the glance 
 of scorn and defiance with which the bold eyes of the Afighan met 
 those of the man in whose hands both their destinies seemed placed. 
 
 "Why dost thou not kill me ? " she said ; " what hast thou to do 
 with me ? Is not the Feringi enough ? Art thou afraid ? " 
 
 " Silence ! " hissed the Nawab between his teeth, as he caught her 
 arm ; " do not provoke me to kill thee to-night, for truly devils have 
 possession of me, and I burn as with fire — the fire of that Feringi 
 witch. Away with ye ! " he cried to Anna ; " take her away ! I 
 would be alone. Begone ! " 
 
 "Come away, lady," whispered the servant hurriedly, dragging 
 Julia to her feet. " I not like him to-night 't all ; he mad or drunk. 
 Come away to your own room, an' lock the door." 
 
 And so they escaped. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 SOZUN AND HER PEOPLE. 
 
 " She is gone, Sozun ; look up once more as thou used to look on 
 one who hath done thee wrong. I have none but thee now — none 
 but thee ! " 
 
 " Thou wouldst not kill me ; why didst thou not strike as I knelt ? 
 Where is the slave who brought me ? The bitterness of death was 
 past then. Ah, my lord ! " 
 
 But not now : some renewed desire of life had come upon the girl. 
 
SOZUN AND HER PEOPLE. 309 
 
 as she sank down covering her face with her hands, with a choking at 
 her throat, over which her slender fingers moved nervovisly. The 
 bitterness, the excitement of near death, as it had seemed to her, had 
 passed away with the broken sentences she had gasped forth. 
 
 " Here is water ! drink, my beloved ! and once more speak to 
 me," said the Nawab ; and he filled a silver cup from a water jar and 
 held it to her lips. 
 
 Sozun drank slowly, for the oppression at her throat seemed that 
 of death ; and unable to sit up, she sank down again, after a few 
 attempts to swallow, in utter prostration. 
 
 Suraj-oo-Doulah was touched. If he had ever loved a being on 
 earth it was this girl — so fascinating to him in her beauty and so 
 indomitable in her spirit; and yet what a wreck he had made of 
 it all ! 
 
 " I have killed her ! — she is dead ! " he cried, frantically, dashing 
 his turban to the ground. " Ho, Juma ! Juma ! " 
 
 But there was no reply. Juma, as he thought, when he left the 
 chamber, had best let the tiger and tigress, as he called them in his 
 mind, fight out their quarrel together. His master's fancies were 
 naught to him — was he not the Nawab, and could not he do as he 
 pleased with his women ? No, Juma had retreated to his guard-room 
 for the present. 
 
 Some water poured hurriedly into her mouth and upon her face, 
 roused Sozun ; and, supporting herself upon her hand, she looked up. 
 The Nawab's arms were around her ; and a look of concern, alarm, 
 and grief on his face, such as was new to her, touched her heart in 
 spite of the wrongs she had endured from him. 
 
 " I have no one but thee, Sozun," he said — " none but thee, my 
 beloved ! Canst thou forgive my madness ? I have been mad, Sozun 
 — bewitched ; the sorcery of the Feringis is upon me ; but I fear 
 them not if thou art true. Thy destiny and mine are one — was it 
 not thus said, and was it not proved ? " 
 
 She sighed dreamily ; and as she moved, the irons on her legs 
 clanked. 
 
 " They have been there for six months," she said, pointing to them, 
 " and have eaten into my heart. I am no longer Sozun, but a thing 
 of the past — dead to all life, though I cannot die. Why didst thou 
 not slay me ? — ^it would have been so merciful ! " 
 
 I think if ever Suraj-oo-Doulah felt shame, it was when the girl 
 pointed to the irons on her legs and said they had eaten into her 
 heart. How those weary six months had passed, who could tell but 
 herself ? With what paroxysms of fierce anger at first, of revengeful 
 threats, of dull despair. Like her fellow-captive, she had been put away 
 in that vault out of sight of man, to live or to die as it might please 
 Allah ; but unlike her in all respects, save that they were women. 
 
310 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 At first the ravings of the Affghan girl shocked and terrified the 
 ■unfortunate Begum ; but we have already seen that Sozun could be 
 kind and generous. There was no detested rivalry now : only alike " 
 for each, a pallet-bed, coarse clothes, and a dreary fate. Feeling the 
 wrong of which she had been the instrument to an unoffending fellow- 
 woman, Sozun could not resist the influence of the gentle resignation 
 and the loving companionship of her once-fancied rival ; and, bowing 
 herself at last before her, besought her forgiveness, and vowed to her 
 truth and service such as she could render. This summons at last, 
 she thought, was the punishment of her life — first dishonour, then 
 triumph, then destruction. There remained but death to end all, and 
 the Affghan dancer would be forgotten, as a hundred others before 
 her. 
 
 Six months had the iron eaten into her heart. Did her country- 
 men know of her disgrace and her condition ? I think if they had 
 known they would have pulled down the palace stone by stone till 
 they found her, and who would have dared to oppose them ? But 
 the secrets of that zenana were as the secrets of the grave. Rumour 
 had it that the singer was not in favour, and those of her people who 
 had believed in her promises to lead an honourable life now shrugged 
 their shoulders and said, with a sneer, that " when her time came 
 she would be La favour again." 
 
 "Was it so ? As the arms which had once been to her most dear 
 were around her, and the voice tender and passionate by turns, as it 
 used to be, sounded in her ears, was there no temptation to yield to old 
 feelings ? She had not been woman if there were not — she had not 
 been the true loving woman she was at heart, if she were not ready 
 to forgive the injury he had done her. In her old spirit she would 
 have defied him — in her broken weakness the desire for revenge had 
 died away. If he would only let her go. She had vowed her vow 
 to the Lord's service, and would go forth to fulfil it. 
 
 " So long ! " said the Nawab, " and I did not think of thee : my 
 beloved, wilt thou forgive ? Put thy hand on my head," he sobbed 
 
 " on my head, and forgive me for what thou hast endured, and thou 
 
 mayst lead me where thou wilt. I was mad, Sozun — oh, I was mad ! " 
 
 "I forgive. Ah, my lord, let the good Allah forgive us all, for we 
 have sinned before Him. I forgive? nay, if thou wouldst have thy 
 slave say it, she will do so heartily. Let but these instruments of 
 disgrace be removed, ere I am fit to touch thy head." 
 
 "Nay, but for once, Sozun, before I call." 
 
 « As thou wilt," she said ; and, laying her hand upon his head 
 lightly, withdrew it instantly. "Thou art forgiven of me," she 
 continued — "may Allah forgive thee too." 
 
 Juma had resumed his post, and, entering as the Nawab called, 
 stood with his hands folded. 
 
SOZUN AND HER PEOPLE. 311 
 
 " Canst thou, remove these things, Juma ? " 
 
 " A woman could do it," he said, bending down to the girl as the 
 Nawab turned away from the sight, and breaking the rivets with a 
 wrench from his powerful fingers — " a woman could do it. Thy 
 people are uneasy," he whispered to Sozun—" beware ! " and so 
 went out. 
 
 They were once more alone. " Come to me, Sozun," said the 
 Nawab. " Art thou content now ? " 
 
 But she was silent. She had covered her face with her hands, and 
 was sobbing silently. 
 
 " Why dost thou doubt me, beloved ? " he cried, putting his arm 
 round her. " I am not changed ; and she, thy rival, is gone." 
 
 " Pardon thy slave," she said, coldly, withdrawing herself; " and 
 respect my vow to God, made when I was naught to thee." 
 
 " What vow, Sozun ? Art thou, too, distraught ? Have I to wia 
 thy love again as before ? What dost thou want ? Thy rival is gone, 
 and thou art here — what more ? Jewels, clothes, wealth — thou hast 
 them all ! " 
 
 " Look on me, my lord," she cried; "look on these wan features, 
 on this poor wasted body. Enough ! what has been, has been ; for, 
 before Allah and the Prophet, I have vowed that man's love can 
 never exist within me again. Ameen ! and Ameen ! I will serve 
 thee to death as thy slave ; but as — " 
 
 " Say it not — say it not, oh cruel ! " cried the Nawab, putting his 
 hand before her mouth. " May God and the Prophet forgive thee for 
 frightening me. Ah, yes ! thou art jealous still. She may not 
 remain here ; and she hath bewitched me. Ho, Juma ! " 
 
 " Begone ! " said Sozun to the negro, with some of her old spirit — 
 " thou art not wanted. What wouldst thou have done, O my lord, 
 with one so helpless as she ? Art thou afraid of her ? Swear to me 
 that thou will respect her henceforth, and Sozun wiU be true to 
 thee." 
 
 " I swear," he said, taking up his Koran and kissing it — " I swear 
 henceforth she will not be molested. Art thou content now ? " 
 
 " To serve thee and love thee ; but not as of old," she continued — 
 " that were sin. Enough that thou hast been generous." 
 
 Long did he plead earnestly, and, as it seemed even to her, truly ; 
 but we know enough of this girl's spirit to feel that the vow she had 
 made could not be broken. Once more, as she strove to reason with 
 her lord, the old beauty came into her face, and the cheeks glowed, 
 as she spoke in the figurative and seemingly inspired strain of a 
 devotee. It was in vain that he laid treasures, lands, estates, power, 
 at her feet — that he bowed himseK down and grovelled before her. 
 He could not change her. He might send her back to the cell — that 
 would be welcome ; but unhallowed love, now, could not be. He 
 
312 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 had heard of such devotees ; but was one so young, so glorious in her 
 beauty, to be surrendered ? 
 
 So in these struggles, pleadings, and often threats, on the one 
 hand, and the calmness of despair and fervour on the other, hours 
 passed. Suraj-oo-Doulah told her of the English advance, and as 
 again and again she had begged to lead her own people to victory, he 
 as often led her back to the subject on which she was inflexible. 
 Revenge and pity influenced him by turns; and had not the old 
 tenderness restrained him, I believe that that night Sozun had 
 never passed through greater trial or danger. Often had his hand 
 been upon his dagger-hilt — often it was half-drawn from its sheath to 
 strike her down as she refused, and even defied, his solicitations. In 
 her present spirit, dare he send her to Noor Khan ? It seemed im- 
 possible. The old man had forgotten perhaps ; but it was not so. 
 
 Midnight had passed, and the many noises without, in the palace, 
 in the streets of the town, on the river, had all ceased— except the 
 varied tones of theii' own voices, there was no other sound. Often, 
 indeed, long and paiaful silences had fallen on both, hard to be 
 broken. The usual music had played off the midnight watch ; and 
 when the noise of drums and cymbals, faintly repeated in the guard- 
 houses of the town, had ceased, there was silence again, more profound 
 and more striking. All at once there arose a confused murmur in 
 the courtyard below, a shuffling of feet as though of men in motion, 
 a huri-ying too and fro, and the eunuch Juma, accompanied by several 
 others, came suddenly in. 
 
 " The Eohillas are in motion," cried the slave; they are assembling 
 and mean evU. They have taken possession of the bazaar, and are 
 lining the houses with matchlockmen." 
 
 " I promised that I would send thee for Noor Khan's safe-conduct 
 to me," said the Nawab to Sozun, " and he thinks himself forgotten. 
 Thou must go, beloved, else there may be mischief." 
 
 " Does he know of these ? " she asked, pointing to the marks which 
 the rings had worn on her fair skin. 
 
 " I dare not tell him," was the reply. " He insulted me in the 
 durbar to-day ; he said before all that I had wasted my manhood on 
 a Feringi wanton ; and he believes that if I do not satisfy him, I 
 shall revenge myself" 
 
 "It was but the truth, my lord," cried the girl frankly, " and he 
 has saved thee. Let me go — yes, weak as I am, I can go to him. 
 He will trust me ; but can I trust thee to bear with his rough speech 
 and bitter humour ? " 
 
 " Bring him hither, and thou shalt see." 
 
 " And my lord will be saved. I know their humour, my Prince ; 
 and once more Sozun can save thy honour and her own. BismUla ! 
 I am ready," she cried, rising with a strength and enthusiasm to 
 
SOZUN AND HER PEOPLE. 313 
 
 wHich she had long been a stranger ; and passing out, she snatched a 
 blanket from an attendant, and hurried rapidly on. None opposed 
 her ; and as she proceeded, she saw a dense column of her country- 
 men assembled at the end of the broad street -which led up to the 
 palace court — their lighted matches glowing in the darkness, and 
 their drum beginning to beat, and she ran with aU the speed she was 
 capable of exerting. As she reached the column it was in movement, 
 and the old war-cry, to which she had leaped and bounded as she led 
 her countrymen to the storm of the English Fort, was once more raised. 
 
 " Hold ! " she cried in her own rough mountain tongue. " I am 
 Sozun. Where art thou, O my father ? " 
 
 " I am here, daughter," answered the strong voice of the old 
 warrior. " Why art thou come ? 
 
 " He has sent me to thee," she said. " Come and save him." 
 
 " Away with her I away with the harlot ! " cried a hundred strong 
 voices, which drowned her entreaties ; and as she passed from man 
 to man, kissing their hands and beseeching them with passionate 
 gestures, she was thrown off rudely by all. " Slay her 1 slay the 
 harlot who would betray her father," cried a powerful voice ; " why 
 should Affghans be dishonoured in her ? " and a man rushed forward 
 with his heavy sword uplifted, and would have cut her down had not 
 his arm been arrested. 
 
 " Peace ! " cried their old leader ; " if she is true, she shall live — 
 if she be false, let her die. Where hast thou been, daughter, since 
 thou wast with us in Calcutta ? " he continued briefly. " Speak 
 truly, for thou dost not fear death." 
 
 "I have not been with him, O my father," she said humbly; ''I 
 was in the dungeon of the palace." 
 
 " It is a lie — a lie ! " cried those around her ; " let her be slain ! " 
 
 " Peace ! " said the old man calmly. " Canst thou prove this, 
 Sozun?" 
 
 '' He will tell you if you ask him," she said ; " and look — here are 
 the marks of the irons." 
 
 Some men blew their matches, and held them down where she 
 pointed, and they were satisfied. The broad blackened rings round 
 her ankles, which showed scars of sores, were unmistakable. 
 
 " I was released this night," she said, " and have come to ye, my 
 brothers ; and I have a vow to God and the Prophet to lead the life 
 of a dervish henceforth. Slay me if ye will ; but I have told ye the 
 truth." 
 
 Then a hoarse murmur of approbation rose, and all who were near 
 the girl kissed her hands reverently : while the man who, in his 
 fierce enthusiasm, would have struck her down, prostrated himself 
 before her, and would not rise. " Aman ! Aman I " he cried, " be 
 merciful ! " 
 
314 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 He had been one of the foremost in the storming of Calcutta, and 
 had helped her up to the bastion. 
 
 "Thou art forgiven, Aimed Khan," she said, " if a girl's forgiveness 
 avails thee aught. Go — Sozun has not forgotten. And now, my father, 
 come ; I have promised him to bring thee, and there is no danger." 
 
 Then broke out passionate entreaties from his clansmen, who hung 
 around him. They would not let him go alone — all must accompany 
 him. But Noor Khan would not listen. Had he not promised to 
 go if Sozun were sent ? — and she was here. She took him by the 
 hand, and led him on unresistingly. 
 
 " I am here, Nawab," said the old man as he entered the private 
 room. "What wouldst thou with me?" The bright lamp-light 
 glanced from the chain-mail and steel helmet and gauntlets which the 
 chief wore ; his heavy sabre, with its richly inlaid handle, was in his 
 hand. Juma the negro, who stood behind his master, thought, per- 
 haps, that it was not so easy to slay him as a sheep. 
 
 " We are friends, Noor Khan," said the Nawab. " Hiou hast 
 nothing to complain of — hast thou ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said the chief, " but an idle life. I would rouse my 
 lord to action, and Affghan's have no such dainty words for thee as 
 these traitor Bengalees. The Feringis are taking thy country — wilt 
 thou not strike a blow for it ? Awake, my lord ! there are a thou- 
 sand of my people without, who took Calcutta once, and will take it 
 again. Be not afraid; she is hostage for us. Speak but a few 
 words to them, and Noor Khan will answer for every man." 
 
 " I dare not face them," said the Nawab ; " if they knew — " 
 
 " I have told them all, my lord," said Sozun, rising — she had sunk 
 down, weak and exhausted ; " my father knows all, and has again 
 saved me fi'om death." 
 
 " Poor child ! — poor child ! " said the Khan, stroking her head 
 kindly ; " henceforth devoted to God, who would harm thee ? Yes, 
 my lord, she will be safe with us. Come, speak to them from the 
 window — come, delay may be unwise, and my people are not safe 
 in delays ; tell them they will march to-morrow for Calcutta, and 
 they wUl be satisfied. Come — listen ; they are impatient children, 
 whom a kind word satisfies." 
 
 The eunuch advanced, and threw open the casement. The court- 
 yard now blazed with torches, and the barrels of a thousand 
 matchlocks glinted in the bright light, as men surged forward with 
 a strange clamour, shouting ; but all were silent when their leader 
 and the Nawab appeared, and a few words, which told them they 
 would march next day, as the advanced guard of the army, were 
 answered by the same rude shouts and cries. 
 
 " Take them away. Khan Sahib," said the N"awab ; " I like them 
 not in their present humour"; and I am weary, and would sleep." 
 
SOZUN AND HER PEOPL E. 315 
 
 " Let us depart, Sozun," said the old man. " Come, this is no place 
 for thee," he added, in their own tongue ; " I much mistrust yonder 
 savage. Come, else the Prince is not safe — they would not go hence 
 without thee or me." 
 
 " What dost thou say to her ? " cried the Nawab, suspiciously. 
 
 " That she is safest with me, and my lord without her," he replied, 
 respectfully but firmly. " Those without would not leave her with 
 thee now, and I would not answer for them if we were delayed. Go 
 thou before, Sozun ; I will follow thee." 
 
 " I shall not see thee again, Sozun," said the Nawab, sadly. " Is 
 it thus thou leavest me — alone ! " 
 
 Sozun thought she saw tears upon his face glistening in the torch- 
 light, and it might have been so ; the tone of his voice, too, touched 
 her, but there could be no hesitation now. " My lord will see his 
 poor slave often," she said, humbly bowing herself to the ground ; 
 " she cannot forget — many benefits. She will be with her father and 
 the Lord j but whenever there may be a service done in truth and 
 faith for her Prince, Sozun will not faU, even to death." 
 
 " Let me drive my dagger through his back," whispered the giant, 
 " now, as he goes down the stair. That he should take her away, 
 even from thy presence, O my lord 1 " 
 
 " No, no, let them go," was the reply ; " I dare not now, they 
 would tear me in pieces — listen ! " 
 
 The hoarse roar of the men below had arisen again as they 
 welcomed their chief and the girl he led by the hand ; and, placing 
 them in the midst, they moved on singing the war-cry, which, with 
 the hollow tramp of a thousand feet through the streets at that hour, 
 sounded wild and strange in the ears of peaceful citizens, and gradu- 
 ally died away in the distance. There was a report next day that 
 during the night the Affghans had mutinied for pay ; and when the 
 treasury was opened early, and the troops, receiving heavy donations, 
 began to march southwards, it was known that the second campaign 
 against the English had begun. 
 
 " Thou wilt remain here, Juma," said the Nawab, as his slave fell 
 to i-ubbing his feet as he lay down to rest. It was then that their 
 most confidential communications were interchanged. 
 
 " What have I to do, my lord ? " 
 
 " I had thought of takiag the lady with me," he replied, " but she 
 is better here ; when I am gone, do thou lead her below — she is 
 safest there." 
 
 " Good, my lord. What more ? my Prince will be fortunate, and 
 caj)ture others ! " 
 
 " If I am, Juma," he cried, rising up, and striking the pillow 
 sa-^'agely, " it is not Feringis, curse them all ! that I shall bring back, 
 but that girl from her clansmen. Let them but perish under the 
 
316 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Feringi fire ; and were she a thousand times a devotee, she shall be 
 mine again." 
 
 " Can my lord trust her with him ? " asked the eunuch, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 " To death — to death ! " he cried ; " the truest heart that ever beat 
 for me ; but I was mad, and have lost her, and am alone, for how 
 long — O Allah ! how long ? " and so, raving and dozing in uneasy 
 sleep by turns, the Nawab lay, and the negro watched. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE NAWAb's second VISIT TO THE GENTLEMEN OP 
 CALCUTTA. 
 
 Although the events of history cannot strictly be followed in this 
 narrative, it is necessary to allude to them occasionally, so as to give, 
 if no more, at least an outline of the motives which influenced the 
 several parties now contending for mastery in Bengal — the English, 
 the French, and the Nawab. The English movements we have 
 already followed. They had regained and locally re-established their 
 former position, and several communications had already passed 
 between them and Suraj-oo-Doulah ; but these had led to no result. 
 The tone of the English letters had been haughty and defiant, and 
 the Nawab was little inclined to submit to the terms demanded. 
 His honour, and the desire of his troops to be led against the English 
 invaders, which was daily more and more excited by the Mahomedan 
 preachers, hardly left him an alternative between accepting the 
 demands of the foreigners and the submitting to an unconditional 
 admission of his inferiority to exact better ; and it has been related 
 bow, under the exasperation of the last news he had received, his 
 hurried march to Calcutta began. He relied upon the assistance of 
 the French, and urged M. Law to join him with his forces, and to 
 make common cause against a mutual enemy ; for the news of the 
 opening of war between the European powers soon reached him. He 
 found the French, however, cautious and timid. M. Bussy was in no 
 condition to march across India to the aid of his countrymen in Bengal _ 
 as quickly as would be necessary to throw an overwhelming force into ' 
 the scale against the English ; and of themselves, the French could 
 not defend their settlement and at the same time join the Nawab 
 with men sufficient to make any impression. Feeling their weakness, 
 therefore, they proflFered a neutrality with the English, and negotiar 
 tions to this end were set on foot : while at the same time, though he 
 
THE NA WAB AGAIN AT CALCUTTA. 317 
 
 entertained tlie propositions until his way should appear clearer, 
 Colonel Clive renewed his proposals to the Nawab, in the hope, 
 perhaps, of gaining time or staying his march altogether. The 
 Nawab's army was reported to be fifty thousand men — the flower of 
 his troops, confi.dent of victory, and excited to the highest degree ; 
 and when the returns of the English troops were taken, the means of 
 meeting any such force in the field, or of even transporting supplies 
 or materiel of war away from the ships, seemed absolutely wanting. 
 It is no wonder, therefore, that with doubtful neutrality on the one 
 hand, which in the event of any reverse would inevitably be changed 
 to open war against him, and the march of a powerful army on the 
 other. Colonel Clive should have made one more proposal for peace, 
 and offered such terms to the Nawab as might prove acceptable. 
 
 He was not long, however, in suspense ; Suraj-oo-Doulah was in 
 no mood to listen to proposals which, modified as they were, still 
 presented many points of humiliation. Colonel Clive's messengers 
 were dismissed angrily, and the native army marched on unopposed, 
 and without delays reached Calcutta on the 3d of February. The 
 English flag was flying over the Old Fort, which was not changed ; 
 but the noble ships lying quietly at their anchorage, with double 
 tiers of guns projecting from their sides ; the white tents of, as it 
 appeared, a considerable army, and the new fortifications, were very 
 different objects from the few merchant ships which had dropped 
 away from the Fort before, and the miserable garrison of weak 
 Europeans and Portuguese which had in vain striven to defend it. 
 The army, however, had suffered no check, and the defiant attitude 
 of the English only excited them the more as they pressed into the 
 suburbs of Calcutta, and with more than ordinary military skill 
 took up positions by which all supplies to the English would be in- 
 tercepted ; and when in the afternoon a deputation from the gentle- 
 men of the Factory waited upon the ISTawab with remonstrances, 
 and requests to withdraw, they met with a haughty refusal, and 
 returned. 
 
 I can believe, when they came back and told of the heavy artillery 
 they had seen — of the immense bodies of well-armed men, horse and 
 foot, and the general splendour of the camp — of the demeanour of 
 the Nawab, and his uncivil dismissal of them, that many hearts 
 failed, and would have accepted any terms upon which the settle- 
 ment might hope for future peace ; but there was fortunately one 
 mind present which not only comprehended the nature of the crisis, 
 bnt the only way to meet it, and his decision was prompt. Hither- 
 to, when danger was afar off, and was even exaggerated by distance, 
 Clive had hesitated to thrust himself into contact with a remote and 
 difiicult contingency ; but with that danger doubtful no longer, and 
 present at his very door, the indomitable spirit of the man rose with 
 
318 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 tte emergency. Tlie Admiral, for the time sinking consideration of 
 all the old vexatious questions between them, gave such aid as he 
 could afford with a true sailor's energy ; and the naval contingent of 
 six hundred gallant tars which that night assembled on the plain 
 without the Fort, was a very substantial proof of it. 
 
 If we have lost sight of Mr. Smithson for some time, it is not 
 because that young gentleman had grown idle, or had relapsed into 
 the dull plodding life of the Factory ; on the contrary, he found his 
 new position full of absorbing interest, and the affectionate confi- 
 dence of Mr. Olive increasing daily : for there was no one to whom 
 he opened his views so unreservedly as to Ralph — no one with 
 whom he cared to discuss the tangled maze of political intrigue now 
 existent, better than with the clear-headed, resolute, young North- 
 umbrian gentleman. In him he found a spirit congenial to his 
 own — as ardent and as brave. It was surprising, perhaps, to find 
 how rapidly Ralph Smithson's mind had expanded under the excite- 
 ment of the period — how readily and astutely it grappled with the 
 difficulties of the momentous questions then pending, and how deep 
 was his sympathy with his leader and friend upon the embarrassing 
 claims upon his services ; while, on the one hand, the attitude of 
 Monsieur Bussy, alike menacing Bengal and Madras, and ready to 
 strike in either direction, caused Madras to be anxious for his return ; 
 and on the other, the helplessness of the Bengal Council, with 
 Mr. Drake at its head, rendered such a measure impossible till the 
 interests of the English nation in Bengal should be confirmed beyond 
 any possibility of future disturbance. When, therefore, the envoys 
 returned from the Nawab's durbar on that memorable evening of the 
 3d Febniary 1757, aud Ralph Smithson heard with enthusiasm, 
 common to all who were to take a part in it, that the native camp 
 was to be attacked that night, he rejoiced that one more opportunity 
 would be afforded him for earning the distinction he had more than 
 ever grown to covet. Heretofore, what he had done, what he had 
 been able to do, had been more the result of accident than design ; 
 but that was all changed. He had no military rank, it was true ; 
 but a volunteer such as he was, was too valuable to be overlooked, 
 and his request to be actively employed met with an instant and 
 flattering acceptance. 
 
 " Of course, my dear boy — of course. You didn't think I should 
 leave you out, did you ? " said Mr. Clive, as the various officers to 
 be engaged had received their instructions, and had left him to make 
 the necessary preparations. " You know the ground, Ralph ? " 
 
 " Every yard of it, sir, for miles round the town. I can lead the 
 column anywhere you please. I have. not been idle all day, and 
 have been watching the enemy as their troops took up positions, and 
 thought them secure ones." 
 
THE NAWAB AGAIN AT CALCUTTA. 319 
 
 " And you have seen their guns, Ralph — what are they ? " 
 
 " I know where they are to a yard, sir ; but what they are I can- 
 not tell you. They seem, however, to be a strong battery, with 
 some heavy pieces." 
 
 " Then you must take us at once upon them. If we can spike the 
 whole of them — and we must do it — there is no fear for the rest. A 
 native army which has lost its guns is at best a disorderly rabble. 
 But do you know the troops ? Are there any of your bhie-coated 
 friends among them ? " 
 
 " They are with the guns, sir ; and they are the only fellows you 
 need care about," was the reply. " They will fight, too, if they are 
 led as they were before by that girl." 
 
 " What girl, Ralph ? What ! A woman in the enemy's camp ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir. There are curious stories abroad about her. 
 Some say she's a favourite of the Nawab's, whom he sends on any 
 desperate service because of some prophecy about her that she is to 
 take Calcutta ; others that she is a prophetess of the tribe — Affghans, 
 sir, they call them, or Rohillas — who leads them with a marvellous 
 bravery. Once — " 
 
 " Once, Ralph ? Speak out, man. Why do you hesitate ? " 
 
 " It does not matter now, sir," he replied ; " but I have seen her 
 as I never wish to see her again, brave as she was, and I hope I may 
 not meet her to-night, that's all." 
 
 I think it crossed Colonel Olive's mind for a moment that his 
 young friend might have been beguiled into some strange love affair 
 with the native prophetess, or whatever she might be ; but it was 
 dismissed in a moment. There was no tender expression on Ralph 
 Smithson's face ; on the contrary, a knittiag of the brow and a 
 quivering of the nostril and lip, which told of other scenes than 
 love. 
 
 " I will tell you, sir, perhaps, some day how it was," continued 
 Ralph, after a pause ; " I never hear of her that I do not associate 
 that poor creature Julia Wharton with her ; and I am certain if ever 
 we hear aught of her, it will be through this girl. I should not 
 have thought of her, but my servant, who is an excellent spy, hath 
 been through the camp all day, and told me he was sure he had seen 
 the girl among the Rohillas, crying to them wildly, pointing to the 
 Fort, and beating her breast." 
 
 " Phe - e - ew," whistled the Colonel ; " then we shall have those 
 fellows at lis first, and so much the better. If they are the stay of 
 the Nawab's army, the more they are cut up the better. Now I 
 remember, the worst charges I have ever seen by Indian soldiers, 
 have been when some mad or drunken fakeer led them on shouting 
 an incantation, or whatever it might be ; and I had to kill such a 
 fellow once myself on the breach at Arcot. Bah 1 A devil, sir, by 
 
320 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Jove ! But a girl ? well, I only hope I may not come across her, 
 that's all — nor you either." 
 
 " I hope not, sir. Now, i£ you will tell me what to do, I will go 
 and see after the men." 
 
 " Nothing but what I told you, Ralph : lead us right at the guns ; 
 we shall catch the fellows asleep, I daresay ; if not, we must make 
 the best of it. Just before we start, I shall call for volunteers of 
 both the services for you ; I daresay you will have a hundred, and 
 well do I know ' Ralph Darnell ' will not disappoint me. Go, get 
 some sleep yourself. If you are ready by three in the morning it 
 will do. I shall turn in myself, for people's heads and bodies can't 
 be too fresh for such matters. Is there anything I can do, Ralph, 
 in case — ? " 
 
 " No, sir, nothing ; all my papers are in my desk, and those afiairs 
 were arranged long ago." 
 
 " So much the better — I am glad to hear it," was the reply, and 
 for the time they parted. 
 
 Ralph Smithson could not, however, sleep. Suppose the Affghan 
 gii'l were to urge her clansmen to attempt a night attack — it was 
 said to be a favourite mode of Rohilla warfare — and lead the men, 
 as she had done before, with reckless bravery, much confusion might 
 be the result. His servant met him at his tent, and pressed him to 
 take rest, but he would not. " Come with me, Cassim," he said ; " we 
 will go forward and see if all be quiet. And you saw her in the 
 camp ? " 
 
 " I am sure it was she," he said — "the same face, fair and ruddy 
 — I could not mistake it. She is a fakeer, sir, now ; for I saw a 
 green turban on her head, and a green dress, and strings of beads 
 about her neck. She was standing on a gun-carriage, preaching in 
 the Rohilla tongue to her people, and though I could not understand 
 a word, I could see what she meant ; and when she had done, the 
 men gathered wildly about her and kissed her feet." 
 
 Strange and mysterious creature, thought Ralph Smithson, as the 
 old scene came back on his memory : the wild fight, her attitude 
 over the dead, her evident anxiety in regard to the concealment of 
 Julia Wharton, and her disappearance behind the Nawab's palankeen 
 — who and what could she be? The customs of natives of India 
 were little known at that period, and the wildest stories of magic 
 and paganism were readily believed. Could she be one of these 
 straiigo magicians ? He sat down on his camp-chair outside the tent, 
 and, as he lit a pipe, fell to thinking. " Cassim," he cried at length, 
 " couldst thou lead me to the place now ? " 
 
 Cassim was a wiry little Madras Mussulman, who had been taken 
 into Ralph Smithson's service before he went to Madras, and had 
 returned thence with him. Very difierent in character was he from 
 
THE NA WAB AGAIN AT CALCUTTA. 32 1 
 
 the timid, lazy, Bengali servants who attended the Factory. Half 
 servant, half soldier, had he not been too short altogether, he would 
 now have been bearing a musket among Colonel Olive's Sepoys, in 
 whose regiment he had been born. He looked at his master from 
 head to foot, as if to see whether he were sober or not. 
 
 " Do you wish it, sir ? there may be danger," he said. 
 
 " Not if we are careful, I think. Come, perhaps I know the way 
 myself, but we had best be sure." 
 
 " Tie this scarf round your head, and throw my black blanket over 
 your head, sir, and there will be no danger ; but as you are, with that 
 hat, we should be known. Let me tie it." 
 
 Cassim's waistband became an excellent turban, and the black 
 blanket covered as much of Ealph Smithson's figure as was needful. 
 " That is good, sir," said Cassim ; " no one cou^ know you in the 
 dark, only you are so tall and I so little. Come, we shall see some 
 fun perhaps, and if we have to fight, I can use a sword as well as 
 you." 
 
 So they went on. There was no moon, but the stars shone very 
 bright and clear, and their light sufiiced to show the ground clearly, 
 which was wet with the heavy dew. The night was very cold, 
 almost frosty, and in the native camps men had lighted fires, the 
 smoke of which hung low in the air, and was bright from the blaze 
 beneath them. It seemed like a canopy of cloud stretching in a semi- 
 circle round the back of the city, and marked the place where the 
 Nawab's troops rested. Cassim led on without speaking a word, 
 past some purlieus of the native town, where nothing was stirring but 
 dogs and jackals prowling about. On the side of the British camp 
 all was still ; a lantern here and there tied in a ship's rigging, or a 
 lamp in the stern of a native boat, was the only sign of life. In the 
 native camp there was an endless drumming and blowing of horns 
 and trumpets ; but this ceased suddenly, and all was quiet. 
 
 " The Nawab is gone to sleep," said Cassim — " tired, perhaps. I 
 know the way to his tent, too, sir." 
 
 " Don't talk," replied his master. " Get on fast — ^it is farther 
 than I thought." 
 
 " We can get round the comer right upon them presently," said 
 the servant, " if you like to be near them." 
 
 " As near as you can," was the reply in a whisper ; and as Cassim 
 began to crawl on his hands and knees through some low bushes, 
 Ralph Smithson did the same. It was not unlike some of the old 
 night-work at Melcepeth, long ago ! And as they reached the edge 
 of the fringe of bushes, the whole scene before them was strikingly 
 beautiful. 
 
 Stretched over the flat plain, here and there broken by date-palms 
 and bushes, were the innumerable tents of the host. Some, large 
 
322 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 pavilions, enclosed in outer walls of cotton canvas ; others of more 
 humble pretensions, which sheltered a few soldiers; while a few 
 spears, or poles, or matchlocks tied together, and a sheet or carpet 
 thrown over them, protected the sleepers from the heavy dew. Here 
 and there were groups of elephants snorting and blowing as they 
 munched the succulent bulrushes cut for them during the day or 
 threw trunkfuls of water over their backs ; gentle tinklings of 
 camel bells, and an occasional hoarse low of draught oxen, mingled 
 with other sounds, the hum of voices, and the thousand undistinguish- 
 able murmurs of an immense mass of people : but it was on the scene 
 immediately in their front, and hardly fifty yards distant, that the 
 attention of Ralph Smithson was instantly riveted. 
 
 Before him were the heavy guns and their clumsy carriages and 
 tumbrils, ranged in a long row, apparently ready for action ; a slight 
 trench had been begun before them, but discontinued ; the white 
 oxen which had dragged them, and some elephants, were tethered 
 in the rear, and little screens of carpets and sheets had been made 
 over the guns to shelter men who slept beneath them. Before the 
 battery were a number of the Afighans sitting round a huge fire, which 
 sent up crackling flames as dry thorns were thrown on it, and one of 
 the men was singing in a strong rough voice, while another beat a 
 small hand-drum in time with the song. Presently it ceased, and 
 there was a hurried consultation among them, and some laughter, 
 and several of the men went away ; while more faggots were thrown 
 on the fire, and a merry blaze went high into the air, lighting up 
 every bronzed bearded face, and sparkling on helmet and matchlock. 
 Then those who had gone returned, leading a slight figure in a green- 
 coloured tunic and turban, and a heavy necklace of wooden beads 
 about its shoulders, holding a small lute in its. hands. Those about 
 the fire made way for it respectfully, some stooping down to touch 
 its feet, while others spread a saddle-cloth or carpet to which it was 
 led. There was no doubt now, for the firelight was full and clear, 
 and the Afighan girl was before him. She struck a few notes as a 
 prelude, and one of the richest female voices to which he had ever 
 listened, began to sing a low but plaintive ditty, which had an 
 inexpressible charm ; some of her audience wept, and some flung 
 their arms wildly about. When she changed the melody to what 
 seemed a song of war, the excitement was irrepressible — naked 
 swords flashed in the light, and some of the men rose, clashed their 
 shields, and made fierce gyrations, as if fighting. Then, as a softer 
 strain followed, the wild listeners sank down, hung their heads, and 
 seemed to weep. 
 
 " Come, sir, we are too long here,'' said Cassim, — "Come away.'' 
 Ralph Smithson could have sat there for hours, but delay was 
 impossible ; never afterwards did he forget the mellow voice, the 
 
ITS RESULT. 323 
 
 wild melodies of that strange music, which, with the tinkling of the 
 little lute, grew fainter and fainter as he retraced his steps. Yes, 
 he could now lead on his volunteers without fail : but who was she ? 
 Ah ! he would soon know. 
 
 CHAPTER LI I. 
 
 ITS RESULT — FEBRUARY 3, 1757. 
 
 The noise in the native camp gradually died away, and the bright 
 line of smoke canopy which had hung low over it, had altogether 
 paled, or was minglmg with the heavy grey fog which, as the night 
 advanced, rose from the river and spread over the plain and town ; 
 now and then, whenever dry thorns and faggots were thrown upon 
 watchfires, a light glimmered in the sky for a brief space, and again 
 faded into gloom ; but these were few, and the quiet which prevailed 
 proved that, for the most part, the Nawab's great army slept. 
 
 Forty thousand stout soldiers, not wanting in individual courage, 
 and of such temper as those of whom the victorious native armies of 
 England have since been made, and have proved invincible among 
 their countrymen — well provided with artillery, well paid, well fed, 
 well armed, after their own fashion, with sabre and shield, match- 
 lock and spear, deadly weapons in stout hands ; horse and foot, there 
 were they, forty thousand men : while advancing on this perilous 
 enterprise against them were not more than a thousand English 
 soldiers and sailors, with a few others to carry powder and ball, and 
 drag field-pieces, for Carriages there were none — slender means, one 
 would think, to win a victory. And yet I believe that, from the 
 gallant gentleman who, as the night was advancing to its close, 
 dressed himself carefully, then knelt down and prayed God to help 
 the cause of his country — committing also one very dear to His care 
 — to the meanest soldier or sailor among whom he went from rank 
 to rank, saying a few cheering words, there was not one then present 
 who did not believe himself to be a host, and looked upon the work 
 to be done as a mere morning's amusement. I do not think that 
 one feeling of the risk of failure ever entered the mind of any one; 
 and yet, if there had been a check. Messieurs the French at Chan- 
 demagore would have been ready enough to give up their profiered 
 neutrality ; and between them and the Nawab's army, Mr. Olive 
 might have fared badly enough. 
 
 But Mr. Olive had no such apprehension ; and when he went with 
 Ralph Smithson, Major Kilpatrick, Mr. Ooote, Mr. Rumbold, and 
 other officers, to the head of the column, warned the men against 
 
324 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 straggling, and then called out in a cheery voice, " Yolunteers for 
 an advanced guard ! " I think the whole column was stirred, and 
 would have rushed towards him, had not stem discipline forbidden 
 any such movement. As it was, of soldiers and sailors, nearly a 
 hundred men had recovered arms, and, under officers of their own 
 services, were given over to Ralph Smithson to lead ; and with a 
 muffled but hearty cheer, the intrepid band set out. 
 
 The fog had now thickened much, and, besides being dank and 
 wet, had settled down low to the earth, and but little could be 
 seen of anything around. The men's voices even were muffled by 
 it, and indeed few cared to speak with a mighty combat before them, 
 to which they were fast advancing, and absolute silence had been 
 enjoined on all. So there was only heard the tramp of the men, the 
 faint rumbling of the gun wheels, as the sailors, holding the drag- 
 ropes, pulled them along, and low whisperings here and there 
 between comrades. Had not, perhaps, the faithful little Cassim, 
 now accoutred for fight with a sword and shield, stridden by his 
 master, even Ralph Smithson might have been puzzled to lead the 
 column as he had desired ; but Caasim's instinct and keen perception 
 of the localities proved of eminent use ; and as the dawn was break- 
 ing, and objects began to be seen looming large and indistinct in the 
 thick haze, the column reached the bushes whence, only a few hours 
 before, Ralph Smithson and his companion had looked upon the scene 
 which has already been described. As it proved afterwards, it was 
 not the point desired by Mr. Clive, but there was no hesitation now. 
 
 " This is the place, sir," said Ralph Smithson, in a whisper ; 
 "there are the guns — we have them, for no one stirs." Indeed 
 there was a quiet stillness then all over the camp, and except a few 
 indistinct murmurs, there were no signs of the vast host before 
 them. 
 
 " Spike every gun, my men ! " cried Mr. Clive ; " and now, On, 
 gentlemen ! charge in the King's name ! Hurrah ! " Then the 
 force sprang on with a ringing cheer, and the grim work of death 
 began. The foremost files of the 39th were among the RohUlas ere 
 the sleeping forms could well arouse themselves, or comprehend what 
 had occurred ; and though many fell by bayonet and cutlass, yet 
 others rallied ; and their old chief's voice, and one which thrilled 
 through Ralph Smitlison's heart, as he pressed on striking down 
 those who opposed him, were clearly heard above the din and 
 clamour which now arose on all sides. If he could only capture 
 her ! But little could be distinguished ; and now, increased by the 
 smoke of the Nawab's guns, which were being wildly fired, the fog 
 seemed to grow thicker and thicker. Again and again was the 
 woman's shrill cry heard, and as Ralph Smithson, followed by a 
 party of men, dashed after it among the guns, hewing down the 
 
ITS RESULT. 325 
 
 artillerymen and spiking the pieces, he felt, from whom he could 
 not see, a rain of heavy blows descend on his ill-protected head and 
 shoulders, and at the same time a sharp stinging pain in his leg, and, 
 staggering on a few paces, he fell to the earth insensible. 
 
 Ralph Smithson's fall had not been noticed ; for the little Cassim, 
 missing him in the mtlie, had attached himself to Colonel Olive, and 
 as the first obstacle was passed, he cried in English which could be 
 well understood, " I know Nawab's tent — come on — come on ! " and 
 so the column, dealing death as it went, and producing the wildest 
 confusion, whirled onwards. 
 
 For some time — how long he knew not, but it was now broad 
 daylight, and the sun's pale beams were struggling through the mist 
 — Ralph Smithson's swoon continued. When he became conscious, 
 and tried to raise himself up, his head was dizzy and confused, and 
 his face covered with blood j and when he strove to move his 
 wounded leg and arm, which were exquisitely painful, he utterly 
 failed to rise, and again fell back. " Oh for a cup of water ! " he 
 thought, and could have cried out, but who could have heard 
 around him ? The silence was almost that of death, and except 
 an occasional groan from a dying soldier, there was no sign of life. 
 The oxen had broken their tethers and had scampered off, elephants 
 had disappeared, and there was nothing left but the black guns, 
 through which wreaths of heavy mist were sweeping before the 
 slight morning breeze, and the dead lying among them, as it seemed 
 to be, in heaps ; blue-coated men, with faces almost as fair as the 
 English soldiers and sailors who had died with them. Away in 
 the distance, the clamour of war, the roar of men's voices, musketry, 
 and occasional cannon-shots, were heard confusedly. " They have 
 left me to die," groaned the poor fellow in his misery. " Oh that 
 I were with them ! Oh that some one might return to help me ! " 
 but indeed he was conscious of very little, and, exhausted by loss 
 of blood and the pain of his wounds, he sank back again into 
 insensibility. 
 
 AVhen he woke, it was from excess of pain. He felt some rough 
 hands dragging him by the hurt arm from under the gun-wheel, 
 against which he had fallen, and, as a momentary consciousness 
 returned, it was only, as he thought, to breathe an incoherent 
 prayer ere he died. Several of the Rohillas were standing over 
 him, and one of them had raised a long, dull, keen-edged knife to 
 despatch him j but ere it could be used, he heard the shrill scream 
 of a woman, who bounded to his side, and, seizing the arm of the 
 man who held the knife, wrested it from him, and flung it away. 
 
 " It is he ! " she cried — " the Feringi who spared me ; I knew he 
 was here, and ye shall none of ye harm him. He is mine ! " and she 
 sat down by Ralph Smithson and strove to raise his head, at the 
 
326 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 same time pouring some water from a long-necked gourd into his 
 mouth, and wiping away the blood about his eyes with her scarf. 
 
 " He shall not live ! " cried another of the men, advancing with a 
 fierce gesture; "the Feringis have slain hundreds of our brothers, 
 and he must die. Away with ye, Sozun ! this is no place for the 
 like of thee. Go ! — leave men to men." 
 
 " I go not, Ahmed," she said, calmly ; " I owe this poor life to 
 him, as thou knowest. Dost thou not remember the youth ? Look ! 
 He spared us both." 
 
 " By Allah and the Prophet ! it's the same," exclaimed the man. 
 " Yes, he spared thee, and he should be a brother to us. Stay, some 
 of you, and help," he cried aloud. Other men were now crowding 
 up, and those of their comrades who still breathed were being rapidly 
 carried oflF by twos and threes together, and thus several men came 
 to the place. 
 
 "Dost thou imderstand me well ? " asked Sozun of Ralph ; " fear 
 not, thou art with friends, and art safe. O Allah, most merciful ! 
 can I repay that debt ? Drink more water, sir ; there — ^plenty — as 
 much as thou canst; or hast thou any of the Feringi wine with 
 thee?" 
 
 Ralph remembered his flask full of generous Madeira, which Cassim 
 had filled, and insisted on his putting in his pocket. " It is here," 
 he said, faintly, and Sozun took it out, and held it to his lips. How 
 grateful it was ! How that first mouthful seemed to send the blood 
 once more coursing through his veins. He tried even to sit up, but 
 Sozun would not permit him. 
 
 " Shabash ! " cried the Rohilla — " well done ! — that's what makes 
 the Feringis so valiant : now, lady, lift him up ; let me carry him." 
 
 " Not so," said the girl — " make a litter for him ; he is very badly 
 hurt." 
 
 In a few moments two loading-rods were fastened to the ends of a 
 coarse black blanket, and Ahmed and others advanced to take him 
 up. It was in vain that Ralph tried to resist, and appealed to his 
 protectress ; she would not hear him. 
 
 " You would have died in an hour, when the sun came upon your 
 head ; be thankful to God who sent me to your aid, as I am that I 
 found you. You are safe with us, O Feringi, and Noor Khan will 
 be a father to you, as he is to me. Take him up," she continued to 
 the men, " and do not shake him as ye go." 
 
 Her orders were instantly obeyed. Utterly helpless as he was, 
 Ralph was in no condition to resist, and felt himself carried at a 
 swift pace through the almost deserted camp, the fair Afighan girl 
 walking and running by his side, cheering him with friendly assurances. 
 
 All this time Mr. Olive had fought his way through the camp. 
 The fog had misled him ; and, as it cleared away, he found himself 
 
ITS RESULT. 327 
 
 opposed to a fresh body of the Eohillas, and men of Oude and Behar, 
 and for a time the fight was doubtful. How Mr. Clive himself 
 escaped that day he knew not ; but, though losing two guns, and 
 upwards of two hundred of his small force, he had attained his 
 object. The Nawab himself was soon in precipitate flight ; and his 
 army, lacking spirit to turn on the little English battalion, hiuried 
 after him, so Calcutta was once more free ! But Ralph Smithson, 
 with many another brave fellow, was missing ; and though the whole 
 plain, the place of the first charge, the track across the camp, and 
 wherever the fighting had been sharpest, were thoroughly searched 
 by parties who went for the dead, and by the distracted Cassim, no 
 trace could be found of his body. It seemed little likely that one 
 Englishman would be carried ofF, when so many wounded men had 
 been unmolested. " My poor Ralph," thought the colonel, " now all 
 your life's trouble is ended, and at last there's no heir to Melcepeth 
 Castle, or to the bank. Ah ! they will grieve bitterly and unavail- 
 ingly now, but none more keenly than I — not one. What can I 
 write to Roger Darnell ? Well, thank God ! I can say that Ralph 
 died, as I hope to die, doing his duty." 
 
 I may here remark, and with great truth, that the loss of the poor 
 fellow was deeply felt by all his friends ; and it was noticed that, for 
 many days, Mr. Clive was moody and restless, refusing society, and 
 sending men and spies in every possible direction in hope of news of 
 his young friend ; but none came. And if any ship had been going 
 to England, he would have written to Roger Darnell that his nephew 
 had died in the fight of the 3d February. 
 
 But we know very well that Ralph was not dead, though sorely 
 hurt — very sorely indeed. When the men set him down, he had a 
 very confused notion of where he was ; but under the care applied to 
 him, he was soon partially relieved. The place he had been taken to 
 was a village a few miles from Calcutta, which formed one of the 
 new outposts of the Nawab's army, held by the Rohillas. For 
 shelter, there was a shed near a Mahomedan cemetery, overshadowed 
 by a huge banian-tree, in which, upon a village bed covered by a; 
 soft mattress, and over him a padded quilt, he rested easily. Old 
 Noor Khan, and those who remained of the clan, had assembled by 
 evening, and Ralph was an object of great curiosity and interest to 
 them all. Among men used to a warlike life, the dressing of wounds 
 was an easy task ; and there was a native surgeon attached to them 
 who took Ralph in hand, cut a bullet out of his left leg, which had 
 not gone quite through, sewed up a heavy sabre wound in his neck 
 and shoulder, fomented the bruises on his head, and set his right arm, 
 which had been fractured. Ralph remembered how he had been 
 suddenly beset by several men, and beaten down ; and it seemed 
 only wonderful how he had escaped with life. 
 
338 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Day and night the girl watched by him, or only left him for her 
 place to be taken by one of the men. She rarely spoke to him, and 
 allowed none to do so. Perhaps for a time he was delirious, for he 
 was conscious of much fever ; but the cooling drinks given to him, 
 and skilful treatment, could not fail of acting upon a constitution 
 naturally hardy and vigorous. With the English camp it was 
 impossible to communicate. He passed for an Affghan ; for his 
 English clothes were removed, and the blue dress of the tribe was 
 given to him. When the Nawab's camp moved on, he was carried 
 in a litter, and he supposed he should be taken to the capital. He 
 had no power to write. Peace, they told him, was concluded ; the 
 English were to return to Cossim Bazar; Mr. Watts was to be 
 re-established as agent, and if he arrived there, a return to the fleet 
 could be easily managed. Under these circumstances, therefore, we 
 may believe that Ralph Smithson gave himself up to the luxury of 
 getting weU ; and it would have been unnatural if the affectionate 
 care of the strange and beautiful Affghan girl had not been returned 
 with an increasiag interest. 
 
 For many days she would not allow him to speak ; but when the 
 fever was past—when, lifted from his bed, he was allowed to recline 
 on soft cushions, and could even sit up — the girl sang to him, amused 
 him with tales, and though he could not frequently follow all her 
 rapid speech, ordinary conversation was easily understood and replied 
 to. Prom time to time Ralph strove to lead her to speak of JuUa 
 Wharton, but the topic was evaded when others were present, or 
 only the general report, that she had been carried away, admitted. 
 
 One day, however, they were alone. His bed had been laid under 
 the shadow of a mango-tree, in a grove where the men were 
 encamped, and in the heat of noon all were asleep. Sozun had been 
 singing one of her low crooning songs to her little lute, and he had 
 been listening dreamily, but could not sleep. I believe little was 
 wanting then for Ralph Smithson to have told the girl he loved her, 
 and to have asked her to share his life. Many an Englishman had 
 done the same, and lived happily ; and who at home cared for him 
 now ? Perhaps, as he gazed at her, when the tender blue Darnell 
 eyes filled with tears, and love was playing in them, she imderstood 
 him. 
 
 " Ah no ! " she said, laying her hand upon his heart calmly, and 
 even solemnly. "I am thy sister, sir, now, and I have many 
 brethren since I made my vow, and put on these holy garments. 
 Thou art one too, and every needy, wounded creature of God whom 
 Sozun can succour. To this, sir, I have vowed my life before the 
 Lord. So it is merciful not to tempt one whose love is dead. I 
 think I see thy heart, loving and generous ; but, brother, it cannot 
 be. Mine hath been a hard, shameless lifej and such as vhou 
 
ITS RESULT. 329 
 
 snouldst mate with must be pure as snow. Even she, the English 
 lady, hath endured misery, and would turn from thee with shame as 
 I do. Listen, I could not tell thee before, but no one is near us now, 
 and I will tell my own story and hers, whom I tried to save and 
 failed." And it was with a vivid interest that he fpllowed her 
 strange narrative of Julia "Wharton's fate. 
 
 " Cannot we save her, Sozun," he asked, when he heard all, " when 
 we arrive there, and I am strong and well ? " 
 
 " I fear not," replied Sozun. " Had Nasir been at his post, we 
 might have depended upon him ; but he, too, is in irons, and there is 
 no hope of him. When thy people make another treaty, let them 
 demand her, and hide her shame ; but even in this there must be 
 care. Thou dost not know him, sir \ he might tell Juma to kill her 
 rather than give her up. But what is her life to thee ? Didst thou 
 love her ? She is very beautiful. 
 
 " Never, but as a sister," he answered, " whom I would rescue 
 from shame and miseiy." 
 
 " Yes, hereafter thou mayst save her, but not now. Meanwhile 
 she is well, with one of the most precious of God's creatures, the 
 Begum, whom she will grow to love, and who will care more for the 
 poor Feriiagi woman than she did for me, her enemy. And yet," 
 she continued, with enthusiasm, " when he put me in irons, and 
 sent me to share her lonely life, I was a shameless wanton with 
 a hardened heart, and now I bless Allah that he hath permitted one 
 such as I to do his service. Ah, sir, such a one as that angel should 
 be thy wife — so pure, so beautiful, and so gentle. Listen ! that 
 coward Prince's good destiny was but for a year ; the Derwesh said 
 so by the planets, and he was right. Now men begin to say that the 
 destiny of your people wUl follow his without a check, and that of 
 all Hind ye will be the kings. His power is already on the wane. 
 Many are discontented. Even my own people talk of a service 
 without honour, and would go elsewhere. Wait till the 3'ear of the 
 Derwesh is past, and she may be thine. I, Sozun, would give her to 
 thee. Dost thou believe in the planets — in destiny ? " 
 
 " No," replied Ralph, smiling ; " our people think prophecies 
 by the stars foolishness ; but they believe in the will of God, and 
 that is why I am here." 
 
 " It is the same — the same ! " cried the girl, wildly, clapping her 
 hands ; " I could tell thee — but not yet — not yet ! Wait, and thou 
 wilt believe, even as I do, when the end comes." 
 
330 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 FREE ! 
 
 But notwithstanding all Sozun's care, and that of the rough but 
 affectionate people among whom he was, Ralph's recovery was but 
 slow. His arm long continued stiff and numb, and his leg did not 
 heal so kindly as the Indian doctor had hoped ; nor was it till, of its 
 own accord, a piece of the woollen cloth of his gaiter came out, that 
 there were favourable symptoms. The Rohillas seemed to be moved 
 from place to place about the country, and never to the capital. 
 They did not appear contented, and often spoke among themselves of 
 leaving the Nawab's service, and joining the Emperor, whose servants 
 they properly were. Noor Khan, the chief, had been to Moorshed- 
 abad, and had returned ill-satisfied. Although the RohUlas had 
 saved the army when Clive attacked it, no honour had been offered 
 to him J and he could see that the Nawab had never forgiven the free 
 speech of the night we may remember, nor the protection of Sozun, 
 of whom, had it not been for her countrymen, whom he dare not 
 attack, he would ere this have obtained forcible possession. Living 
 as he was among natives entirely, and treated as an honoured guest 
 with confidence, it was impossible but that Ralph should become 
 aware of much that was passing ; and he did not perhaps think it 
 extraordinary when Noor Khan, the doctor, and several others were 
 sitting round him one day, Sozun being absent, that the Nawab's 
 condvict was much discussed, and his treachery, cruelty, and in- 
 capacity freely commented upon. It is quite certain that Ralph 
 Smithson made no secret of his opinion, nor of that of Colonel Clive. 
 He had seen enough of diplomatic passages to feel assured that there 
 was mutual suspicion between the parties, and that each was pre- 
 paring, when it was possible, to break through all engagements and 
 strive for the mastery. The Nawab, they said, was grown gloomy 
 and intractable; all his true friends were falling away from him. 
 His mother used her entreaties in vain that he should make friends 
 of his father's friends, and not waste their goodwill in intrigues with 
 other powers, which were sure of detection. There was not a night 
 now that he was not taken out of the durbar intoxicated. At 
 Calcutta some of the Portuguese and Armenian merchants had 
 supplied him with strong sweet wine, which he drank to excess. 
 Even his eunuchs and servants were growing very fearful of him, 
 and were flogged, put in irons, or tortured, in every variety of caprice, 
 or fury of passion. 
 
 Very often, when they were together, Ralph strove to lead Sozun 
 
FREE! 331 
 
 to the subject of the Nawab, but in vain. She had been his slave, 
 was stUl his slave, and her life was his sacrifice, she would say. She 
 might be able to help him even now if he would respect her vow ; 
 but it was evident she dared not trust him, and seeing that she only 
 wept when he was mentioned, Ralph ceased to urge her on the 
 subject. But, knowing how valuable information would be to Mr. 
 Clive, he encouraged talk by others, and, to say the truth, heard a 
 good deal of the general discontent, of the possibility of revolution, 
 but above all, of the strange new prophecy about the English, of 
 which he was often told. The people among whom he was, were, if 
 anything, because more ignorant, more superstitious than others. 
 Yet there were some who read the Koran, and one in particular, 
 whom men consulted for lucky days, who perfonned priestly offices, 
 and marshalled them at prayers. He had heard of the astrological 
 combinations, and, after his rude fashion, tested them himself, and 
 told Ralph they all believed the Feringis would be kings soon ; and 
 indeed everywhere the hundred years to come of Peringi rule were 
 ringing through the land. 
 
 Once, too, Sozun accompanied the chief to the capital. " He will 
 die," she said. " My master must die when his time comes, but I 
 will see him before then. I cannot help him ; his fate is in the 
 Lord's hands ; but I can at least see him and kiss his feet. Let me 
 go," she said to Ralph, who in vain tried to dissuade her ; " I am in 
 no danger with my people, and I wUl bring thee news of Julia." It 
 was an easy name to pronounce, and Sozun had learned it — and 
 she went. 
 
 She was long away — more than a month, and Ralph Smithson had 
 passed a weary time without her. He was now recovering fast ; the 
 wounds were healing kindly, and his strength was recovering in spite 
 of the hot weather ; but it was a dreary time nevertheless, and he 
 sadly missed the pleasant companionship, the unceasing, untiring 
 attendance, and the bright beauty of the girl. There was no strain 
 on his mind when she was with him ; and the perpetual and gentle 
 ministering to his wants, without effort or officious zeal — the almost 
 instinctive anticipation of every wish — ^had been hard to part with, 
 and was gratefully remembered ; and when he saw her dear bright 
 face again, he was overjoyed and thankful. 
 
 She had much to tell him, for she had seen Julia. In one of the 
 moments of the Nawab's caprice, Nasir, the eunuch, often threatened 
 with death, had been released, and in his stead Juma was imprisoned. 
 She had made herself known to Nasir, and, having disguised herself, 
 had been taken to the underground apartments, and had seen Julia, 
 
 " They are happy," she said, " she and my beloved mistress. Julia 
 is very pale, like a lUy, for no sun reaches her, and but little light ; 
 yet she is cool there this hot weather, and reads her book, in which 
 
332 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 are the words of the holy Jesus. Look, she wrote a verse which I 
 have kept as a talisman. I shall ever keep it, and here it is ; tell 
 me what it means. She could not translate it, nor could Anna." 
 
 Ralph Smithson opened the paper wonderingly. It was a fly-leaf 
 torn from her prayer-book, and the writing was stiff and cramped, 
 but here is what was written : — 
 
 " They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that now goeth on 
 his way weeping, and beareth good seed, shall doubtless come again 
 with joy." 
 
 " She said you would not have forgotten the verses. What 
 are they ? " 
 
 "Nor have I," said Ralph. "They are like a blessed message 
 from heaven. Listen to what they mean. Canst thou remember 
 them ? " 
 
 " Surely — do I not remember a hundred songs of which I do not 
 understand a word ? Teach me these words daily, and I will learn 
 ihem. Not as a parrot, Ralph," she added, smiling — " I know the 
 neaning — but with ra^ heart. Yes ; she is quiet and happy, and 
 ooks only for deliverance when God wills it. I told her of you, and 
 ihe knows you will deliver her, and all she could send you was 
 .his." 
 
 It was a lock of her brown glossy hair. " And Anna," continued 
 Sozun, " told me her love went with it. Dost thou love her, then ? 
 Once—" 
 
 " Once I said she was my sister, and you believed me, Sozun," he 
 replied. " I say it again, and need not swear it." 
 
 " I do believe thee ; and hadst thou seen them both as they sat 
 together on the bed when I left, and the sun's rays were shining 
 through the little window just before it set — ^the only time it can 
 sliine there, as well I know — when the glory of the light shone 
 around her head like the crown of a houri of Paradise — of the two 
 thou wouldst have chosen my dear mistress. I have told her where 
 thou art, for we are faithful, we three women — one in heart and 
 mind — and of those who have sown in tears, and hope to reap in joy. 
 . . . His destiny ? It draweth nigh, Ralph, very nigh. How it 
 is to be accomplished who can tell ? I went to the durbar as one of 
 the soldiers with Noor Khan, with my head and face tied up. Had 
 he been a man I would have stayed and kissed his feet. I saw only 
 a thing with rolling bloodshot eyes, supported in his seat by others, 
 slavering, cursing, ^nd drinkurg. Ah, sir ! it was a sore sight, and 
 I could not bear it. Then I asked Nasir to take me at night to hira, 
 with my holy vestment on, which all men venerate, for they are my 
 £ rave-clothes, but he refused. ' Dost thou again wish to be as thou 
 I sed to be ? ' he said. ' Hath he not sworn to carry thee off? and 
 y ould he respect these garments for a moment ? Tell Noor Khan to 
 
_ FREE! 333 
 
 beware ! If he were dead, lie thinks he dare attack thy people, 
 or they would not care for thee, . and he could once more buy thee 
 for money ; but no one cares to harm the old man, and Allah 
 protects thee ! ' All this, and more, he told me. Ah, Ralph ! it 
 is hideous altogether — and this is one whom I have caressed 
 and loved — ay, whom I love still, and, if it would save him, 
 would give my life for. It were better we were all gone hence. 
 My countrymen, the Abdallees, they say, are advancing from Delhi, 
 and whether we go to meet them or remain here to receive them, 
 is all that has to be decided. I heard that the army is assem- 
 bling on the river to meet your people ; but he dare not trust mine, 
 and what will he do without them ? Now we have spoken long, and 
 thou art weary ; and I have not seen the wounds, nor seen thee 
 walk, O dear brother ! and they tell me thou art strong." 
 
 " Stronger indeed, Sozun — look ; " and he rose up. " I can walk 
 as well as ever, and my leg healed at once after the cloth came out of 
 the wound. My arm is weak and numb yet, but they rub it daily, 
 and it is getting strong. I shall soon be well again — quite well. 
 Why should I not go to Mr. "Watts, at the Factory ? I can ride — " 
 
 " Art thou weary of us, Ralph ? " she said, bursting into tears. 
 " But forgive me ; when they think it right to send thee, Sozun will 
 not weep — no, not a tear. Wbat must be done, must be done — and 
 thou wilt not forget me — ^never ? " 
 
 Ralph Smithson never said a truer word, I think, than when, a 
 few days afterwards, he held her to his heart, for he would not be 
 denied this, and, kissing her fervently on the forehead, told her he 
 could not forget, nor even repay her afiection, so strange, so true, 
 and so disinterested. 
 
 " It is not the last time," she said, almost gaily. " Something tells 
 me that we shall meet again, and then it will be the last time. Go 
 in peace now, and the blessing of the Lord and His Prophet, and of 
 Jesus and His holy Mother, be upon thee and thine." 
 
 A few days' travel by night, escorted by a party of the faithful 
 fellows who had so long tended him, brought Ralph Smithson to 
 the Factory at Cossim Bazar ; and as his servants announced to 
 Mr. "Watts the arrival of an English gentleman — ^for Ralph had put 
 on his English clothes under a tree as he neared his destination — 
 that worthy individual threw on a dressing-gown, and hurried out to 
 receive him. " Some one Mr. Clive has sent, no doubt," he said to 
 himself. " He would not trust to letters. Who can it be ? " And 
 I think that Mr. Watts hardly believed the evidence of his senses 
 when Ralph Smithson advanced towards him and said — 
 
 " Have you forgotten me, Mr. Watts ? I am one you used to 
 know — Ralph Smithson." 
 
 " Mr. Smithson ! — God bless my soul, Ralph Smithson in life I 
 
334 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 We have mourned you dead, sir, long since. Where have you been 
 all this time, without a word to any of us ? Ah ! this will be joy- 
 ful news to Mr. CUve — very joyful indeed ! — for he hath not been 
 himself since you left. Come, rest yourself. I have much to hear, 
 I think, and of strange interest ; and who are these ? " 
 
 " The good fellows to whom, under Providence, I owe my life and 
 recovery from some desperate wounds, sir. And I shall need to draw 
 upon you, for they must not go away empty-handed." 
 
 " As much as you please, sir. It will be paid right joyfully. Let 
 me but order them what they require, and I will rejoin you directly. 
 Go in and lie down. Even now I see you are limping." 
 
 " My leg' is stiff riding a long march," said Ralph, " but it will 
 soon recover. I am quite well now, and my wounds healed." 
 
 Well, indeed ! for he looked strong and rosy as ever, but he was 
 thin and gaunt, and disguised by a bushy beard ; and as he lay down 
 on the comfoiiable sofa in Mr. Watts' sitting-room, he felt a sense 
 of quiet security to which he had long been a stranger, and from his 
 heart thanked God for it. 
 
 •* And you have heard no news, Mr. Smithson ? nothing of what 
 your friend Mr. Clive hath been doing ? Strange that even native 
 reports should not have reached you ! " said Mr. Watts, as he 
 returned. 
 
 " None,'' replied Ralph. " We have been at a distance, and the 
 people I was with were only interested by the Nawab's doings. I 
 suppose Mr. CUve is at Calcutta ? " 
 
 "Ah, yes! I know," said Mr. Watts quickly, "theNawab sus- 
 pects these Rohillas, and has kept them out of the way ; but I think 
 we are sure of Noor Khan among the rest." 
 
 " How do you tnean, Mr. Watts ? " 
 
 " Well, it is a long story, but one you must hear as soon as you 
 are rested. Come in, put on some light clothes, and go to sleep ; 
 when you wake I will tell you all, for we are on the eve of a strange 
 crisis, Mr. Smithson ; but I will spare you now. Here is a cup of 
 tea for you, of which you will be the better, I am sure." 
 
 It was refreshing indeed ; and when the sweet sleep which fell 
 upon him, almost as his head touched the pillow, was ended, " he 
 arose," as Mr. Watts said when he saw him again, " a new man." 
 
 And in the evening — when the Rohillas had been dismissed with 
 a letter of true thanks to Noor Khan — ^which, inspired by the occa- 
 sion, Mr. Watts' moonshee wrote in the choicest Persian — a loving 
 message to Sozmi, and their waistbands full of rupees, and they 
 had all kissed Ralph's hands, and embraced him after their homely 
 but affectionate manner — Mr. Watts told Ralph Smithson the story 
 of the English progress after the affaix- before Calcutta and the 
 Nawab's retreat. 
 
FREE ! 335 
 
 "We could not trust the Nawab," he said, "as you very well 
 know, Mr. Smithson; but danger seemed imminent, and Mr. Clive 
 thought us too weak then to bring on a general action, which, indeed, 
 the Admiral strongly urged him to fight ; but Mr. GUve could see 
 farther than the Admiral, and he was right, though some blamed 
 him. No matter, sir : we made a treaty with Suraj-oo-Doulah ; and 
 as he promised compensation to the gentlemen of the Factory, and 
 even an improvement on our old position, Mr. Drake and the others 
 were quite satisfied. But Mr. Clive was not, sir — no, by Jove ! 
 nothing would satisfy him but routing the French out of Bengal ; 
 and he hath recently taken their Factory, sir — taken it gloriously. 
 The gallant old Admiral took up the ships, and though the land 
 forces had done most part of the work, the army and the navy 
 between them finished the matter, and on the 23d of AprU, sir, the 
 dear old flag was flying on Monsieur Crapaud's flagstaff ! " 
 
 " This takes away my breath, Mr. "Watts. What a glorious thing 
 to do ! Oh that I had been with him ! " 
 
 " I have no doubt Mr. Clive will be sorry that you were not, Mr. 
 Smithson, and there's no helping that now ; but listen, there is much 
 more to tell you. The people have long been discontented with this 
 Nawab, and they wish for peace and quiet, which he will never give 
 them. They desire to put him aside and set up another : we desire 
 it too, sir, for we are as weary of all this uncertainty as they are, 
 and there is no safety here but in that course. I myself am in no 
 small danger from day to day. At one time I am flattered and 
 praised, and the English axe all in all. Then, sir, I am insulted 
 and reproached, and threatened to be impaled. But I am not in 
 that miscreant's power, Mr. Smithson, and if my life be of any use 
 to my country, God, sir, wiU take care of it, as I humbly trust. 
 One day the Nawab writes to the Emperor that he has destroyed 
 the Feringis; another, messengers go on to M. Bussy, who is 
 in the Circars, to urge him to come on, and M. Law is with the 
 Nawab, and urges this as a last chance for his country's superiority 
 over us. 
 
 " But it won't do, sir — it won't do," he contiaued, after having 
 taken breath ; " we have him fast, sir, for his troops are discon- 
 tented, the bankers are discontented, his very eunuchs are discon- 
 tented, and his poor wife, who hath many friends, is groaning in a 
 dungeon. So we have determined, all of us, to raise Meer Jaffier, 
 who married his sister, and is one of the Royal house, to the royal 
 seat, and we only wait Mr. dive's movement to efiect it. Of our- 
 selves, you see, we could do nothing; but, with the army and the 
 people on our side, we can, under God's help, assist them and our- 
 selves at the same time, and attain a greater position than ever 
 we had before. Our costly expenses and our losses wUl be paid, 
 
336 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 and there will be treasure enough to reward the army and the navy 
 amply." 
 
 " And when is this to be, Mr. Watts ? Surely you are not safe 
 — I had better remain with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can take good care of myself," was the stout reply ; " and 
 my native friends, juggut Seit and many others, will get me away 
 when the time comes. No, sir, the Colonel wUl want you more than 
 me ; and I must send you off — this very night, too — if possible. 
 You must take the despatches I have for him, and tell him to hurry 
 on. He will be at Cutwah, I am sure, if he have not advanced. 
 Meer Jaffier was to meet him there, but I fear he dare not take the 
 plunge. It is we — it is Mr. Olive, sir, God bless him ! — that must 
 show the way. All I fear is, that Omichund — you remember him, 
 Mr. Smithson — may betray us at last, as he hath often threatened, 
 and would do to-morrow if he could get as much from the Nawab as 
 he expects from us ; but I think," he added, with a wink, " that Mr. 
 Olive has satisfied him, though the deed he holds will prove to be so 
 much waste paper. The old fox ; he would serve 'us a scurvy trick, 
 sir, if he could, and we can only check his rascality. 'Tis as pretty 
 a game of chess, sir, as ever was played, and one that will be famous 
 in history, I think ; but Omichund risks too much, Mr. Smithson, 
 for he knows that if he did cheat Mr. Olive he would be hung up as 
 high as Haman. I am ready to start at a moment's notice : all the 
 treasure and valuables have been sent on : but you must precede me 
 and make the best of your way. I have promised the boatmen five 
 hundred rupees if they take you safely, and they'll do it. Now, I 
 pray you, excuse me while I make up Mr. Olive's packets. By 
 midnight you shall start, and in a few days you will be safe among 
 our people. The Nawab's army is assembling at Plassey ; but it's 
 no use, Mr. Smithson — they won't fight as they did at Calcutta, 
 and Mr. Olive will thrash them easily. Now, sir, you must take 
 care of yourself. I will not be long." 
 
 Mr. Watts was as good as his word. After a pleasant evening, in 
 which he heard details of all the varying intrigues, and the moves 
 and counter moves, as Mr. Watts called them, on the political chess- 
 board, Ralph Smithson was conducted to the boat which was ready 
 for his reception. He found that a native servant, abundance of 
 suijplies, and a comfortable bed, had been- provided for him; and, 
 bidding his host farewell, was soon bounding over the wavelets of 
 the broad river, before a hot but freshening breeze. 
 
THE E VE OF PLASSE Y. 337 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE EVE OF PLASSE Y. 
 
 I MUST pass over the happy meeting with Mr. Clive and many an old 
 friend — it can he imagined perhaps better than described j and the 
 joy of Cassim as he once more beheld his master's bronzed and 
 bearded face was boundless. It is not easy to portray emotions 
 ■which, at the same moment, have varied effects upon so many dif- 
 ferent people. Strange to relate, Ralph Smithson's appearance was, 
 after all, no sudden surprise, for Mr. Watts had arrived in camp a 
 few hours before him. On the morning of the night on which Ralph 
 left his hospitable host, Mr. "Watts found he could no longer remain 
 at the Factory. The Nawab, suspicious and evil-minded, had sus- 
 pected treachery, and was determined to revenge himself on one, at 
 least, of the supposed authors of it. Dark hints had fallen from 
 Omichund. Meer Jaffier, the commander of his army, had attended 
 the durbar that night with a stronger escort than was consistent 
 with etiquette, and Juggut Seit the banker was reserved, if not 
 uncivil. The Nawab drank hard, but the stronger liquor he took 
 seemed to have no effect upon him, except to aggravate his savage 
 humour ; and he had sworn a frantic oath, that in the morning he 
 would see one Feringi, whom he hated, writhing in agony, impaled 
 upon a stake in the market-place, and had given orders for Mr. 
 Watts to be brought before him manacled. I might write of this 
 frightful scene, but I refuse to defile these pages with a record of 
 horrible oaths and curses, and fierce despair ; or of drunken raving 
 in which the mutilated Derwesh, with a host of tortured victims, 
 seemed to surround the miserable wretch and mock him with fearful 
 cries. None of his attendants ever forgot the scene ; nor how, with- 
 out one friend left to him, Suraj-oo-Doulah cried frantically for the 
 lost Sozun — fl.ung his turban on the ground — and shrieked for her 
 to come to him. But Mr. Watts, as we know, had many friends ; 
 and the order given regarding him passed in a whisper from one to 
 another till it reached the Seit, who, apprehending real danger, sent 
 down his best boat to the Factory with a crew on whom he could 
 depend, and urged Mr. Watts to fly ; and as the day broke that good 
 gentleman was safe, speeding before the wind which had carried on 
 Ralph Smithson only a few hours before. Where or how they passed 
 each other they never knew, but when Mr. Watts reached the camp 
 safely, he soon told the tale he had heard to the wondering ears of his 
 countrymen; and it was only a few hoiu-s afterwards that Ralph 
 himself appeared, and was received with cheers and welcomes which 
 made ample amends for all his sufferings. This was on the 14th of 
 
 Y 
 
338 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 June ; and on the 20th — that sad anniversary — I think that one very 
 grateful and now humble heart sent up many an earnest prayer and 
 thanksgiving to Him who, through all waywardness and trial, had 
 brought him so far on his life's journey in safety, as he remembered the 
 horrible prison of Calcutta, and those who had died there a year ago. 
 
 How different was it now ! The missing ships had reached Cal- 
 cutta, which had been left strong enough to meet any possible attack. 
 The fleet was there, and the brave old Admiral who had shortly 
 before written to the Nawab, " that he would raise such a flame upon 
 the Ganges as all its waters should not quench." A flame indeed ! 
 a gallant army, three thousand devoted hearts, was marching up the 
 river bank in array, such as the people there had never seen before, 
 and a fleet of boats kept them company. There was no delay now. 
 Mr. Clive saw what was in his power, and hastened to do it ; and 
 yet, when on the 21st he had reached a point at which he must cross 
 the great river, and flght that battle on which the fate not only of 
 Bengal but of all India depended for the future, Ralph Smithson, as 
 many another, wondered perhaps at a temporary indecision, which 
 has become a record in the memorable history of that campaign ; and 
 when Mr. Clive re-entered his tent, flung himself on his couch, and 
 told his young friend how he had voted at the council of war, a feel- 
 ing of bitter disappointment came over the young man, and he turned 
 away to hide his tears. 
 
 " We cannot fail, sir — we cannot fail," he cried. " Oh, Mr. Clive, 
 if you had heard only what I have heard from the people themselves, 
 you would not — ^you could not hesitate. God is with us, sir, and for 
 the honour of England, I, humble as I am, beseech you to go on. If 
 Robert Clive turned back now, what would they say in England ? 
 Better, sir, that you had not done so much, than fail now, at your 
 greatest need, to do more." 
 
 " I cannot answer you now, Ralph," he replied, sadly — " not now. 
 Leave me to myself for a while. In this matter no one must share 
 what I now feel. Dear to me as you are, I must be alone." 
 
 Ralph Smithson left him, and went out of the tent. It was pitched 
 on a high bank of the noble stream, and he sat down beneath a tree 
 growing there, and looked over to the opposite shore with wistful 
 eyes. " May he be firm and resolute ! " he cried from his heart ; 
 " may there be no deed of shame for posterity to record ! " Behind 
 him was the camp alive with merry noise and bustle ; the arms were 
 piled before the white tents, the bayonets sparkling in the sun, and 
 the men lounging carelessly about, or gathered into groups singing — 
 the sturdy Telingas, the active, hardy Mahrattas, so far from their 
 dear western mountains, looking over the sacred river which it had 
 been their envied fate to see. How many a tale of it would be told 
 amidst the rocky crags and deep jungles of Maharashtra, when the 
 
THE E VE OF PLASSE V. 339 
 
 gallant Bombay Sepoys should return ! Bengal tad no native army 
 then, and it was with men as foreign to the spot they were on, as 
 those from dear old England, that the work was to be done. 
 
 There had been a storm a few days before, and in crashing peals of 
 thunder, and torrents of rain, the south-west monsoon had opened. 
 Now, the sky was mottled with fleecy clouds, which sailed north- 
 wards before the soft west wind ; the fierce heat had passed away, 
 and over the grassy plain the new herbage was already springing up, 
 clothing it in a tender and vivid green. The river was calm and still, 
 flowing with its silent majestic current, and groups of bathers were 
 plashing in the sacred water, or praying in adoration of its holiness. 
 Beyond was a fair level country, palm-trees and mango groves, with 
 fields of corn and rice, mingled with the deep green of the indigo ; 
 and villages of brown thatched huts, and here and there the white 
 pinnacle of a Hindu temple, or the dome of a Mahomedan mosque, 
 nestled among the giant trees, showed the abodes of men. Boats 
 flitted to and fro, with heavy sails set, or, with the low musical chant 
 of rowers, sped down the stream more rapidly. There was no sign 
 of resistance beyond. With his glass, Ralph Smithson could see 
 files of women passing to and from the river with heavy water-jars, 
 and the ploughs and oxen of the farmers busy in the moistened fields. 
 Sometimes the faint lowing of cattle, or the fainter echo of a call 
 from one man to another, reached his ear ; but for all he could see to 
 the contrary, the presence of the English host seemed to be unnoticed 
 and uncared for. I think he had fallen into a dreamy state — review- 
 ing old times and scenes perhaps, with the sough of Melcepeth woods, 
 and the low murmur of Coquet, sounding in his memory. It might 
 be such a day as this 21st of June at the dear old castle, and Con- 
 stance and Grover and his beloved uncle walking on the terrace, 
 perhaps thinking and talking of him: should he ever see them again ? 
 
 " What ! musing, Balph Darnell ? " — Mr. Clive always called him 
 Darnell when they were alone — " of home, I'll warrant. Ah, boy ! 
 this is a bigger stream than old Coquet, and I will give thee a penny 
 for thy thoughts." 
 
 The tone was merry and confident, and Ralph, who had not heard 
 his Colonel's approach, rose at once and looked into his eyes. How 
 well he knew, and rejoiced to see, the old expression of confidence 
 and defiance mingled. How well he remembered it when they 
 separated before the fight at Calcutta. " Thank God ! " he cried j 
 " it is as I hoped, and you are once more yourself." 
 
 " Yes, Ralph, we shall be over there to-morrow, please the Lord ! " 
 he replied, pointing to the shore beyond ; " and then those fellows 
 at Plassey may look to themselves. Why did I doubt ? And yet it 
 is better as it is ; better I should do in a calm spirit what we have to 
 do, than in a hasty mood which hath often — too often — led me into 
 
340 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 eiTor and danger, pi'ccipitate this inevitable crisis. Listen, Ralph ! 
 For years past this crisis hath been shaping itself in my mind, and 
 ever present. I have felt myself urged on, impelled by an irresistible 
 force. It seems to me as if I had often hung back, refused to obey 
 its commands, and yet, after a struggle, made a bolder leap than ever. 
 You are quick-witted, and have heard some of my — my — ^ravings, 
 perhaps, Ralph, you thought them ; but did you see beyond them ? " 
 
 " I knew you would have the French beaten out of Bengal, and 
 would not rest till it was done," said Smithson, blimtly ; " and you 
 did not hesitate about that." 
 
 " Yes, I did," returned Clive, quickly. " Had I followed up the 
 Nawab on the 4th of February, he would have left me his guns and 
 fled. Had I attacked the French then, we should have beaten them 
 as we did afterwards ; and yet I drivelled with that d — d Calcutta 
 Council ; but I am free of that now, my boy. Listen, Ralph ! do you 
 know why ? " 
 
 " I cannot conceive, sir — ^it was not like you." 
 
 " Ah ! so there is one that believed in me. Listen ! To no mortal 
 have I breathed what I am going to tell you now. It may savour 
 of folly, of bombast, of raving madness ; but, by God ! who will do it, 
 it is true. Why did I hesitate ? Because, Ralph, this movement 
 cannot stop here. Once our territorial power begins, it must grow. 
 State after state, prince after prince, must disappear before us — before 
 the might of England and her civilising power. To-morrow these 
 native hosts will fly. I shall march on to take possession of a king- 
 dom worth millions of treasure ; and I, Robert Clive, the son of a 
 poor lawyer of Market-Drayton, shall give it away to another, to be 
 used for my country's good. Dare he who will receive it refuse to do 
 what I dictate ? Impossibla Therefore he is but our Yiceroy, to be 
 fashioned and directed as we please. Wby, Ralph, 'tis a bigger 
 kingdom than England, and will be as rich ; and what I begin is but 
 the beginning of the end. Others more daring than I, and more 
 fortunate, will follow me, and our flag shall not only fly from side to 
 side of India, but these people will be our subjects. Yes — I too 
 have heard of the prophecy which they told thee of, and I believe 
 it. For a hundred years ? Nay, that will be but a speck in the 
 long glorious future. I am no parson, Ralph, as thou knowest well, 
 and should be a bad hand at preaching from a text, and this is the 
 only one I have ever tried to preach from " — and he touched his 
 sword — " but can we circumscribe the power of the Most High ? I 
 believe, Ralph" — and he took off his hat reverently — "that I, 
 Robert Clive, am one humble instrument, to whose hand is com- 
 mitted the beginning of the end, and who can say when that may be ? 
 That's what came into my mind when I drivelled and temporised 
 with the Calcutta Council and the Nawab — ^that's what I waa 
 
THE EVE OF PLASSEY. 341 
 
 ttinking when I recorded my opinion to-day that "we should not fight ; 
 and when I bade you go away just now, it was to think whether it 
 were not a delusion of the foul fiend — and faith I believe it was ! 
 The council of war wouldn't fight, but Robert Clive will, and, with 
 God's help, gain a glorious victory. Listen to the cheers now ! I 
 did but tell Mr. Walsh to go and say I had chafiged my mind, and 
 we should cross at daylight — and hark ! the news has spread, and 
 listen — hurrah for King George ! Let Mister Bussy look to himself. 
 We shall have money enough to equip armies, and we will rout him 
 out of the Ciroars, and stop his d — d plotting and contriving. I told 
 them at the India House I would do all this — I must do it. But one 
 might as well have talked to their money bags. Nor could I knock 
 a spark of enthusiasm into that stately uncle of thine; but he shall 
 hear of Plassey, sir — of Plassey ! — and if that doesn't stir his heart 
 within him, by Jove ! I'll give him up. Come ! we are wasting time. 
 Get ye away to Kilpatrick ; I will go to Coote and the 39th myself. 
 Tell him to get every boat moored to-night, and be ready to cross at 
 dawn. But, Ralph, I'U not hear of your coming on with us j you are 
 weak, and have had enough of punishment." 
 
 " Oh, Colonel ! Oh, Mr. Clive ! you would not order me to stay ! 
 indeed, sir, I am strong — quite strong now. This last week and 
 good cheer hath set me up. I never was heartier, nor have I a pain 
 or ache anywhere." 
 
 " You can't use your arm yet, my boy ; and it would be hard for 
 a Darnell to keep out of the fray." 
 
 " Can't I, sir ? Look here ! " — and, stooping down, he seized a 
 heavy dead branch that lay there, and whirled it about his head, so 
 that it whistled in the air. 
 
 " Nay," said the Colonel, laughing, " if that's your weakness, I say 
 no more. Come, in Heaven's name, and may it keep us safe." 
 
 I think no nobler picture, or one of more interesting histoi-ic truth, 
 could be painted than the passage of the joyous English force over 
 the Ganges the next morning; when, as the sun rose, hot and 
 brilliant, before them out of the early mist, its Kght rested upon the 
 red uniforms and glittering bayonets, the sparkling river, the crowds 
 of strangely -shaped native boats, and the rich, lovely country around. 
 As boatload after boatload put off — first the English soldiers, with 
 ringing, hearty cheers ; then the Sepoys, with their Hindoo cries of 
 " Jey Gunga Mata ! Clive Sahib Bahadur ke jey ! " — Victory to 
 Mother Ganges ! "Victory to the brave Mr. Clive ! — and the hoarse 
 " Deen ! Deen ! Sabit Jung Bahadur ka futteh ! " of the Mussul- 
 mans, commingling, formed a scene of exciting exultation, such as 
 no one present ever saw again, or ever forgot. Why, in our national 
 palace of Westminster, is not this glorious scene fitly commemorated ? 
 Is there one in the annals of our country which has been followed by 
 
342 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 more momentous results to ourselves and to the millions we now 
 govern ? 
 
 By four o'clock the army had crossed, and the troops were formed 
 in column. It was eighteen miles to Plassey, and it was one in the 
 morning of the 23d June when they arrived before it, and rested 
 under a grove, which formed, as it were, a fortified position, because 
 of the high earthen mound which the original planter of the orchard 
 had raised up as a boundary ; and when pickets were thrown out, 
 the wearied men lay down to rest. 
 
 Almost within cannon-shot was the fortified camp of the enemy. 
 Had there been resolution enough then to have attacked the English, 
 weary as they were when they arrived, perhaps the result might have 
 been very. different; but no one moved. The shrill horns and drums 
 played during the night, and the torches borne by bodies of men 
 traversing the camp, the neighing of horses, and trumpetings and 
 roars of elephants, came fresh and clear on the night wind, and the 
 bright smoke hung over all, as it had done at Calcutta. 
 
 Ralph Smithson could not rest. He had spread a native blanket 
 for Clive, who lay down and slept profoundly ; and to while away 
 the time he took Cassim with him, and went to a picket, which, 
 having a field-piece, and a few sailors to guard it, overlooked a good 
 deal of the enemy's camp. The officer in command, wrapped in a 
 cloak, was asleep ; but several of the men were awake, and double 
 sentries, pacing, with the usual roll of sailors, up and down before 
 them. In reply to their challenge, " Mr. Smithson ! " and the parole 
 was sufficient. 
 
 " Mr. Smithson ! " cried one of the sentries, advancing ; " ye'U no' 
 forget Drrever, surr, an' the Black Hole ? Ye savit him, ye ken, 
 surr, under the Lorrd. Bide a wee, surr, yon. A'll be relieved 
 directly, an' a'd just like to speak a word wi' your honour." 
 
 " I am glad to hear your voice again, Drever," said Ealph. " I'm 
 not going away. You must not speak while you are on sentry." 
 
 " A' kens that, surr," was the reply. And the men resumed their 
 walk. 
 
 Presently they were relieved, and Drever came and lay down near 
 B>alph. 
 
 " How strange it is that we have never met, Drever, since that 
 night." 
 
 " Ou ay, surr ; but it wuz the Lorrd's will, ye ken, that sent ye 
 till me agin — jist the Lorrd's will. When a' got doon till the ships, 
 a' took a bad fever, Mr. Smithson, like yersel', an' a' wuz in the 
 hospital when ye went to Madras. Then when ye comed back a'd 
 volunteered into the Kent, surr ; a' wuz not comfortable aboord the 
 merchantman, an' they rated me A.B., surr, an' sae a've missed ye. 
 A' struve sair, surr, to get ashore wi' the men on the thurrd o' Feb- 
 
THE E VE OF PLASSE Y. 343 
 
 ruary bit they wudna take me. I was vary weak, suit, still, an' the 
 best went. An' often a'd think of comin' and speakin' till ye, surr, 
 and tellin' ye ma thanks, surr, for a' ye did that nicht; but the 
 Lorrd heerd what I had to say aboot a' that an' the puir leddy, suit. 
 Did ye hear o' her, when ye was wounded amang the blacks ? " 
 
 " I hope we shall recover her, Drever. It would be strange if we 
 all met at Calcutta to talk over that night." 
 
 " Eh, surr, but it 'id be the Lorrd's mercy. But a' sha'n't sey it, 
 surr — a've gotten my message, a' think j and it's just that a' wanted 
 to tell ye of." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Ralph ; " you're tired. Lie down and sleep, 
 and you wont think of this." 
 
 " It's no' that a'm feered o' deith, surr ; for, like yersel', and niair 
 nor yersel', a've been face to face wi' him too often," he replied with 
 a sad smUe, " an' a'm quite willing, if it's to be. Bit, all the same, 
 Mr. Smithson, a' never felt sae face to face wi' deith, an' sae near it 
 for sure, surr, as a' did when a' corned up here this nicht. A' tou'd 
 Jack there the same, and he laughed at mey, and sed a' wuz an auld 
 fule — and sae a' is, Mr. Smithson; but ye won't laugh at mey." 
 
 Smithson had heard of such presentiments, and the sailor's per- 
 sistence and calmness had something strange and awful in it. " No, 
 Drever, I won't laugh at you, but we are all in the Lord's hands. 
 Do you remember what the man cried out in the prison ? I have 
 not forgotten it." 
 
 " Nor I, Mr. Smithson ; that text has been wi' me nicht and day. 
 A' can't read, surr, bit the parson on board minded it, and towd me 
 it wuz a' richt. An' a'U nae trubble ye, surr, mair noo ; but ance 
 before, a' axed ye aboot sendin' ma things to ma people — they're in 
 Berwick, surr ; an' there'll be some prize-money, they say, comin' till 
 uz, an' a'thegither there'll be some guineas for a sister a' have there, 
 or her children maybe. Her name's Mary, and she wuz marreyed 
 upon a man — John Darling, they ca'ad him, surr, an' he's weel 
 kenn'd in thae parts ; an' there's what's been aboot ray neck, surr, 
 this mony a year, that'll gae wi' a', surr." 
 
 " Some love-token, I daresay," thought Ralph. " Well, Drever, I'll 
 do all you wish, if needs be ; but don't be downcast. Go to sleep." 
 
 " Na, na, surr ; a'm nae feered, surr — only reddy ; and sae gude- 
 nicht, Mr. Smithson ; a'm tired, an' a'll sleep, maybe. Ye'd better 
 rest yersel'." Smithson saw him lie down, and in a few moments he 
 was snoring loudly. 
 
 For a time Ralph sat and watched, but there was no sign of move- 
 ment in the enemy's camp, and at last he lay down. Presently sleep 
 came heavily upon him, nor did he wake till the first cannon-shot 
 fired on the •23d crashed through a tree above him, and the battle of 
 Plassey had begun. 
 
344 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE BATTLE AND THE SECKET, 
 
 But tte excellent position taken up by the little army was proof 
 against cannon-shot ; and, to say the truth, whether by design or 
 from unskilfulness, most of the cannon-balls sang over it harmlessly, 
 or at best crashed among the tops of the thick mango-trees. Below 
 them, soldiers, sailors, and sepoys rested in the shade, ate their cold 
 salt junk and biscuit, or parched pease or rice and sugar; and now, 
 entirely recovered from their fatigue, burned for the order to advance 
 against the enemy as ardently as they had on the plain of Calcutta ; 
 but they were held in hand wisely till the time should come. 
 
 On the other side, the ITawab had arisen at his usual hour, and 
 performed his morning prayer, with those assembled outside his tent. 
 He was haggard, and had slept little. The night before had been 
 passed till after midnight in the old drunken orgies, and the mimes 
 and buffoons cried lustUy for largesse, as 'they again represented the 
 tragedy of the Black Hole, the windows and the scenes and contriv- 
 ances for which had been brought on an elephant from the palace. 
 This was a public representation ; for hundreds of officers and men 
 had sat with him in the tent open to the camp, and witnessed the 
 sight. " No more of this foolery," he had said to those about him ; 
 " when we take them all to-morrow, we will set stakes in a row, and 
 impale Sabit Jung, and Watts, Kilpatrick, and Coote, and all the 
 Feringi heroes upon them, and see some real amusement, and then 
 we will blow them away from guns, and have peace in the land." I 
 think from what they saw that night in the camp, of hideous profli- 
 gacy, buffoonery, and cruelty mingled, the French gentlemen present 
 were ashamed of their protector and ally, and had a mind to give 
 themselves up to a generous enemy — it might be their turn next. 
 
 When the guns opened on the English camp, after the morning 
 prayer, the Nawab had mounted an elephant, and seemed to wish to 
 lead on his army. He had said he would ; but he had missed a word 
 in his prayer — he had not had the evil eye taken off him — the royal 
 astrologer was not to be found — and so he hung back. It was not 
 strange that he did not see the Moulvee who daily expounded the 
 stars, nor the Brahmin Josee, of Plassey, who had been summoned to 
 the astrological council. They had compared notes the day before, 
 and dared not tell the Nawab that nothing lucky appeared for him, 
 but much the contrary. Nor dared they tell him of that curious 
 astrological combination in which men believed tiU the 23d June 
 1857, and which has had no small effect upon what was to happen 
 in the interim. Nor could the Nawab see his face in the jar of oil 
 
THE BATTLE AND THE SECRET. 345 
 
 that was brought him — it was thick and cloudy. I think, therefore, 
 when these combinations of gloomy foreboding occurred, that, in 
 spite of the messages which came up every moment of hundreds of 
 Feringis being slain by the cannon, which continued to thunder 
 away for some hours, Suraj-oo-Doulah was not content. 
 
 " Bring me their heads ! " he would cry aloud — " a thousand 
 rupees, a shieldful of rupees for every head ! An estate for life to 
 him who kills Clive ! " 
 
 At that time Mr. Clive was taking another quiet sleep in a hunt- 
 ing pavilion in the grove, for he was in no hurry to advance, and 
 was not attacked. He well knew the Nawab's custom of sleep at 
 noon, and he and Ealph Smithson and Mr. Coote had concocted a 
 pretty plan of dashing out on the enemy's camp as soon as it was 
 quiet, and so routing it. One gentleman who, thinking he had 
 found a rare opportunity to charge, began an attack of his own, was 
 recalled, and roughly enough reprimanded. Perhaps Mr. Clive was 
 waiting to be joined by Meer Jaffier ere he advanced ; and large 
 bodies of horse, which were careering about, with which that noble- 
 man was known to be, were objects of suspicion all the morning. 
 Some had even charged, but the black cavalry, as the men called 
 them, went to the right-about pretty shaiply, and fled away when a 
 few rounds of shot and grape feU among them, and some officers fell, 
 and some score of saddles were emptied. Ralph Smithson saw no 
 Rohillas : Sozun therefore was not there. Every moment, as he, 
 with others, looked over the bank, he expected to see a rush of his 
 old blue-coated friends, or to hear the quick monotonous beat of 
 their kettledrum, with their terrible war-cry, as they threw them- 
 selves recklessly against the position. But they never appeared ; 
 and, except a few stray shots, there was at noon the old strange 
 sOence, and Suraj-oo-Doulah slept. 
 
 Then in his turn, Mr. Clive arose refreshed, and repairing to the 
 bank, gave a few orders, which were at once carried out. As he 
 used to say afterwards, " he sent his first compliments to his friends 
 the Messieurs," some forty of whom were posted with guns on a 
 knoU ; but it does not appear by the record that these gentlemen 
 had much stomach for close acquaintance with bayonets and boarding- 
 pikes, and so cried for quarter, which was given ; and as a similar 
 party of men had been sent to an angle of the native camp, which 
 was incontinently stormed, and they entered the entrenchment with 
 the soldiers whom they had driven back, a general flight began, and 
 was vigorously maintained. 
 
 Then Colonel CUve led out his main body, and charged up, 
 shouting fer King George, and " if there had been a doubt in any of 
 the fellows' minds," as he would say, " by George ! sir, they made 
 'em up so sharp, that though we followed 'em six miles, and killed 
 
346 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 what we could, ttey had the heels of us, and we got all their forty 
 pieces of cannon, and their stores, and hackeries, and tents, and gun- 
 bullocks. In short, sir, we were set up altogether, without paying a 
 penny for any of it, and, by God's mercy, lost but few men after all." 
 
 Presently, too, a message came from Meer Jafl&er — whom, not 
 very well knowing friends from foes, they had not allowed to 
 approach — that he would wait upon the " Colonel Sahib " in the 
 evening if he might; and a gracious answer having 4Deen accorded 
 thereto, our brave Colonel and the other gentlemen did what' they 
 could to stay plundering and to rout the enemy. Does it not, how- 
 ever, seem wonderful, that when that small host appeared on the 
 bank, some at least of the thirty-five thousand foot, and fifteen 
 thousand horse, every man of which was as good as his own sepoys, 
 did not turn on Mr. Clive, and try to save their honour ? — or that a 
 few horsemen did not rally about their Prince, and bear him away 
 with a show of deliberation and respect ? Had he not pampered 
 them all, and bestowed ample largesse upon them ? Had they not 
 vaunted of the heads they would bring him ? — ^and yet there was not 
 one who went nigh him ! 
 
 Not one ! As the Nawab, dismounting from the elephant, went 
 into his tent, there was nothing to show of the victory he heard of^ — 
 not even one white-faced prisoner ! " The Nawab is sleeping !— 
 Kham6sh ! — silence ! " was passed through the camp. Did he think 
 Clive would wait while he slept ? He ate a slight meal and lay 
 down, but he could not sleep. Juma was once more there, kneeling 
 beside him, kneading his master's legs and arms, while another 
 rubbed his feet. 
 
 " All is strangely quiet," said the Nawab. " Even the English 
 are not firing. Have they fled ? " 
 
 "My lord's enemies dare not fire while he sleeps. It was the 
 same when Calcutta was taken. They respected my Prince's rest, as 
 they do now," was the reply. " Inshalla ! my lord will see a pile of 
 heads before evening" — and the "Please God" was echoed by all 
 present. 
 
 The Nawab sighed as he turned wearily. After all, he was too 
 anxious to sleep, or, if he dozed at all, it was fitfully ; stai-ting up at 
 every distant shot, and shivering as if at some inward fear so greatly, 
 that Juma threw a shawl over him, hot as it was, and saw him drag 
 it over his head and cower down beneath its folds. Even that did 
 not spare what was to follow. Suddenly there broke forth a 
 spattering fire of matchlocks, and two guns were fired in quick 
 succession ; then came sound of a heavy volley fired at once — 
 another, and another, followed by a ringing cheer. He knew the 
 sound of old, and it struck chill at his heart, as it has at the hearts 
 of many another before and since in that land. Again he started 
 
THE B ATTLE AND THE SECRET. 347 
 
 up, and as lie sat there with, open mouth and staring eyes, one 
 rushed into the tent, which it had been death otherwise to approach, 
 and cried, in a voice of terror — 
 
 " Fly, O Prince ! — the Feringis are upon us ! Save thyself ! — ^not 
 a man stands, and there is treachery ! — ^treachery ! Fly, ere they are 
 upon the tent ! " 
 
 " He would kill me ! — Olive would impale me ! " cried the wretched 
 being. " Save me, Juma ! — Sidi — Sadoc — where are ye ? " 
 
 All had abandoned him already. Twisting a scarf hastily round 
 his head, and a shawl round his waist, Suraj-oo-Doulah fled out into 
 the camp. A camel-rider, who had arrived with a message from the 
 palace, was just about to mount. He saw his Prince, and stood 
 aside respectfully. " Take the camel," he said, putting the nose-rope 
 into his hand ; " he is fast and sure ', he will go at speed, and my 
 lord might carry a cup of water in his hand without spilling a 
 drop. Quick ! — the Feringis are yonder. Look ! " 
 
 There was no need to look. Suraj-oo-Doulah threw himself upon 
 the beast, settled his feet in the stirrups as it rose heavily, and in a 
 moment sped away faster than a horse could gallop. 
 
 " Please, sir, said a sailor, advancing with a bloody cutlass in his 
 hand, touching his cap, " I think you're Mr. Smithson, as Drever was 
 speaking to last night at the picket, aren't you, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am Mr. Smithson. What do you want ? — be quick, and 
 don't stop me now. Can't Drever wait ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, don't hurry on. He's badly hit in the breast, and 
 we've laid him under a bush yonder. He's asking for you, and says 
 you promised him. I don't think, sir, he'll live more nor a few 
 minutes, so I made bold to stop and ax your honour ; and if you'd 
 only come to the poor chap, sir, it'd be a comfort to him — its some- 
 thing on his mind, sir — and I'm his comrade, Mr. Smithson ; but it's 
 you he wants. He won't tell me what it is. Stay by him till I 
 fetch the doctor. Maybe I shouldn't hear — " 
 
 Ralph Smithson had turned when the sailor had accosted him, 
 and heard the rest of his speech as a sort of accompaniment, as he 
 walked in the direction pointed out. He was much shocked by the 
 news, and the old sailor's request came instantly to his mind. There 
 was no doubt of the truth. The white pinched face, the blue lips, and 
 scarcely a stain of blood on the shirt, told an unmistakable tale of 
 death, not far oflF. 
 
 " Drever, my poor fellow ! " said Ralph, kneeling down by him, 
 " I am sorry to see you thus." 
 
 The dying man opened his eyes faintly, and grasped the young 
 man's hand. 
 
 " Ay, surr ; a' tou'd ye sae — last nicht the Lord was nigh me, an' 
 a' sed, a' Bed, O ma Lord ! a'm reddy to come, ye ken ; an' a'm goin', 
 
348 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 surr — goin' noo ; a' was sure it wud be sae, and a' tou'd Jack here. 
 Dinna greet, Jack, ma lad, ye'll ha'e to come ane day yersel', an' a' 
 wish ye then as weel as a'am noo. Deed, surr, an' a'm in no pain — 
 only fleein' awey, an' the bluid's chokin' me ; but a'll tell ye a' a' ken 
 o' this here, an' ye'll mind it, surr, for the Darnells' sake ; them's 
 gran' folk in ma ain dear coiujtry, surr — the Barmit, Surr Geoffrey, 
 an' a' surr. Will ye gi'e me some water, Jack ? " 
 
 Darnells ! The name rang in the ear of the listener like the sound 
 of a great trumpet. What did the man lying there know about the 
 Darnells ? was that thing, hanging at the man's heart, dabbled with 
 his blood — " Drink, Drever ! " he cried eagerly, holding his flask to 
 the mouth of the dying man — " drink, for God's sake ! I am a 
 Darnell^I am Ealph Darnell." 
 
 " Ay, it's gude stuff, surr, sure, an' it's givin' me mair strength. 
 Lift me up a wee, surr. What did ye say ? Some one sed Darnell ! " 
 he cried, wildly ; " wha sed that ? " • 
 
 "I said it, Drever — look at me." 
 
 Ralph's eyes were brimming with tears, and his nostril and lip 
 were quivering in the agitation which possessed him. 
 
 " Eh, surr ! a' mind noo. A' thocht sae wanst afore, when we was 
 amang the deid ; but I went off into a dwa'm, surr, an' it passed 
 away. Was Henry Darnell yer faither ? " 
 
 " He was — he was ! " cried the young man, eagerly. " Oh, if you 
 know — O God ! give him but life to tell me ! " 
 
 " A'll tell ye a' I know, surr ; but a'm bad, surr — just bad, an' it's 
 a sair tale — the Lord help me to tell it. We wuz at Warkworth, ye 
 ken ; it's mony a year syne, surr, noo — nae matter — an' Mister Henry, 
 he sezs to me ane fine summer day — ' Drever,' sezs he, ' we'll tak' 
 the lassie a braw sail the day ' — that's Miss Grracie, ye ken, surr — 
 Grracie Smithson they caa'd her ; an' she cam' on boord the lugger, 
 surr — bonnie and beautiful she wuz; an' we sailed awey, an' they 
 landed at a place nigh till Lamberton Pike, an' went ashore, an' cam' 
 back, they sed, man and wife. Bit the lassie, surr," he continued 
 after a pause, "frretted sair, Mr. Smithson, an' sed she'd been 
 marryet by no parson, surr, an' nae God's words had been prayed 
 ower hurr, and she flyted an' worried sair, and sat on the deck a' 
 nicht ; an' it wsis a braw, warm, summer nicht — a' mind that weel — 
 an' nae wind. An' in the morn', we wuz nigh the Fam Islands. 
 Did ye iver see the Farn ? Eh my ! bit she grreeted sair, surr. An' 
 she sez, ' Henry, my darlin', is there no church nigh ? There's Bam- 
 borough, will ye no gang till it, an' will ye no tak' your Gracie ? ' 
 An' Mister Henry, surr, he put aboot the boat and tried hard, but 
 the tide was running strong agin hurr, an' we couldna mak' way, 
 surr, an' a' pit the helm up, an' we ran in to a place they ca' North 
 Sunderland j a few bit cabins there wuz there ; and they got a light 
 
THE BATTLE AND THE SECRET. 349 
 
 cart frae ane Rrobert Arrmstrrong — a wild chap lie wuz — an' Mister 
 Henry, surr, said they'd gae away to a place they ca' Luckur — a wee 
 bit churchie there is there, an' a' mind it weel — an' a' seed them nae 
 mair till the evenin' ; and when they cam' back, the light o' luve was 
 in hurr bonnie een, and she showed me the paper. Eh, surr ! bit 
 a'm goin' fast ; can ye no gi'e may a drap mair ? " 
 
 Ralph Smithson's hand was trembling violently as he put the flask 
 once more to the man's mouth, and poured in the wine, which could 
 hardly be swallowed now, 
 
 " It's no much mair, surr, as a' has to say," continued "Drever, now 
 very feebly. " ' We'll go over the water, Gi-acie,' sez Mister Henry ; 
 an' we sailed away stri-aight for Holland, an' they lived there a year 
 maybe, and a bairn was borrn, and the mither flyted sair for hame : 
 an' Mister Henry an' she went back, an' left it wi' Smithson, for they 
 couldna live wi' him, an' sae they left Warkworth. An' when we 
 got nigh back, a terrible squall took uz — we had aal sail set — an' the 
 lugger, surr, she went over on her side afore we could loose the 
 sheets, an' a' I seed, surr, was the sweet bonnie face at the companion, 
 an' the wee silk bag in her hand, an' she cryin' oot ; an' God help 
 me ! but a' niver has lost that white face since ; whiles it comes up 
 till me, an' I hear the sair cry ; bit the waves drownded it, an' I 
 niver seed hurr nae mair — nae mair. 
 
 " A' wuz a fine lad to swim, Mr. Smithson, an' a' soon got oot o' 
 the swirrl, and lookit aboot mey, an' a' seed a wee little rreid bag 
 floatin' — a' had seed it afore, surr ; for when she'd thiak naebody'd 
 be lookin', she'd tak it oot an' kiss it, an' pit it away at hurr heart 
 agin — an' a' made a grab at it, an' caught it, an' a' minded to tak' it 
 to auld Smithson or the puir auld mither ; bit a' niver got there, 
 surr, niver mair — niver mair ! A' wuz pressed aboord a Dutch 
 Indiaman, an' sent to the Injies, and sae years ha'e past an' it's — it's 
 — ^in the bag, surr, aboot mey neck — " 
 
 " Darnell ! " he cried, after a choking pause — " Darnell ! Ye sed 
 ye wuz a Darnell ! Will ye gi'e what's here to — to— the barrnit ? 
 Lorrd save me ! are ye the child ? Eh ! bit that's Mister Harry's ain 
 face. Mister — Harry — " and the sufferer fell back as a torrent of 
 blood gushed from his mouth. 
 
 Ralph. Smithson could not speak ; he held up the fainting head, 
 and saw the dim eyes were fast glazing in death, and he bent down 
 his ear to catch the last dying words. 
 
 " The man ... in the prison . , . surr, the man, he 
 said — he said . . . ' He that goeth on his ' ... si dinna 
 mind it noo ; would ye . . ." 
 
 " ' He that goeth on his way weeping, and beareth good seed, shall 
 doubtless come again with joy,' " said Ralph devoutly, with a tremb- 
 ling voice. 
 
350 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Ay — wi' joy, wi' joy ; but there's anither — anither — ' Them that 
 
 " ' They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.' " 
 
 " Ay, that's it . . . that's it : whar are ye, surr — ^nigh mey ? 
 that's it ! an' a' thank ... a' thank . . . the Lorrd ! " 
 
 It' was the last feeble effort, and, with a few slight struggles, the 
 head soon after sank back on Ralph's shoulder, into its last awful 
 sleep. When he looked round he was alone, and the tumult of the 
 fight passing on into the far distance ; but the bag, which had lain so 
 long at the poor sailor's heart, was in his hand ; what would it 
 reveal ? Reverently he closed the eyes of the dead, and, kneeling 
 there by the body, thanked God for a spirit gone to its rest in peace, 
 and prayed for help to guide him in the dim future. 
 
 " I am afraid, Mr. Smithson, I'm too late. Ah, I see he's gone, 
 poor fellow," said a naval surgeon who came up with the sailor. " I 
 could have done nothing." 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. 
 
 " I certify that Henry Dwmell and Grace Smithson were married by 
 me this day. 
 
 " Jeremiah Johnston, Glerk. 
 " LnoKEB, \ith Juhj 1734." 
 
 This was what met Ralph Smithson's eyes as he watched, with a 
 beating heart, Mr. CHve open the bag of which he had so strangely 
 become possessed. Poor Drever had traly kept it safely. There had 
 been a cover of canvas smeared with pitch sewn over it, and this 
 again was protected by oilskin. As both were removed, the little 
 red bag came out, stained with salt water, but fresh in colour : the 
 same red bag which his poor mother had taken from her heart and 
 held in her hand at the cabin door when the lugger was sinking 
 under hei", and she was seen "nae mair." Ralph had sought Mr. 
 Clive directly, but it was not till they returned to the tent in camp 
 late in the evening, that the precious packet could be opened. Ralph 
 had no friend but this one to whom he could trust his secret, if 
 indeed this disclosed any, and till the cover was removed, perhaps 
 Mr. Olive might have doubted that he had to see anything important. 
 When, however, Ralph had withdrawn the sUk bag from its cover, 
 and strove with trembling fingers, and eyes blinded with tears, to 
 untie the knot in the cord which was drawn tightly over the mouth — 
 
PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. 351 
 
 the Colonel, I think, forgot the great victory he had gained, and felt 
 his eyes prick as if tears were coining into them. 
 
 " Let me try, Ralph," he said kindly, " I'm cooler than you. 
 There, that's loose : ah ! another bag — and sewn up too ! " 
 
 A little white satin bag, and the word "Henry" marked on it 
 with red silk in neat sampler-stitch. The white satin was yellow 
 with age, and stained with the colour of the rep silk ; but the letters 
 were as clear as the day they had been worked. 
 
 "Very carefully and minutely did Mr. Clive cut the stitches which 
 had closed the mouth of the bag, and drew from it a paper, yellow 
 also, and stained, and with the ink run and blurred by the salt water, 
 but still quite legible ; and as he opened it out, smoothing it gently 
 on the table with his hand, he read what I have written at the 
 beginning of this chapter. 
 
 " Thank God ! " cried Ralph, with a great sigh of relief, as he 
 heard the words — I think he dared not look at them yet. " Oh, sir, 
 my poor mother was married ! Thank God ! and I'm not — I'm 
 not—" 
 
 " And you're heir of Melcepeth, Ralph, and so God bless you ! 
 Why, 'tis a romance ! you and that poor fellow — 'Gad ! I must 
 drink your health, by Jove ! " And so he did, pouring out half a 
 tumbler of old Madeira and draining it off. 
 
 Was it true — ^was this paper ever true, or was it only another of 
 the hideous delusions and mockeries of his life ? I do not think the 
 young man's feelings could assume any definite form, as, taking the 
 paper Mr. Clive handed to him, he in turn read that simple record. 
 " Is it true ? " he said aloud, dreamily, passing his hand across his 
 eyes. 
 
 " True, Ralph ! of course it's true ; there's the parson's signature 
 — and a bold rough hand it is ; simply writ enough, too, by Jove ! 
 by some Puritan parson. Jeremiah ! why it smells of a snuffle, by 
 Gad ! After all, what does a man want more than that I, M., took 
 thee, N. ; and faith I believe that my wife has gotten no more proof 
 of me. But stay, this must be certified, and we must not delay 
 about that ; who knows who might not say thou hadst invented it ? 
 Faith ! any d — d lawyer might say what he pleased — get me some 
 paper ;" and Mr. Clive wrote in his neat, clear hand — 
 
 " /, Robert Clive, Colonel, do hereby certify that the marriage certi- 
 ficate of Hemry Da/mell and Grace Smithson, signed Jeremiah Johnston, 
 Clerk, was found in a bag wpon the body of John Br ever, A.B., of his 
 Majesty's ship Kent, killed this day in action at Plassey, in Bengal, as 
 witness my hand this twenty-third day of Jwne Vlbl." 
 
 "There, Ralph, I think thatwiH satisfy the cunningest pettifogger 
 
352 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 in London, and I'll get Walsli to witness it — lie needn't know what 
 it's about. Now put up those things, for there's no saying who may 
 come in ; and don't be a goose, Ealph — why, thou'i-t shaking as if 
 thou hadst an ague fit — here, drink this " — and in truth the generous 
 wine did good service. 
 
 " I'll replace all just as they were," he said, as he looked reverently 
 upon the precious relics, " and I won't open them till — till — " 
 
 " Till you get to Roger DameE again, and take steps to have the 
 certificate proved at Luoker — Lucker ! where is it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know it well, sir — a little bit of a church not far from 
 Bamborough." 
 
 " And the sooner you get there the better. By George ! you're 
 just the fellow to take home the despatches, and we'll give you a pro- 
 visional commission as captain as soon as possible — no one has earned 
 reward better ; and I won't have the responsibility of keeping you a 
 day longer than I can help. Mind you don't lose that thing." 
 
 " Indeed I won't, sir — I'll keep it about my neck just as it is, till 
 I can show it to my uncle ; and oh, sir, if you will only let me go ! 
 if I hadn't got this I would never have left you." 
 
 " I am sure you wouldn't, Ralph — but hush ! here is Mr. Walsh. 
 Please to sign this as witness that it is my hand," said the Colonel to 
 that gentleman — " it is not necessary you should know the contents 
 — 'tis a private matter of my own." 
 
 When he had signed the paper, Mr. Walsh said, " Somebody had 
 better go on to the Factory and the city, sir ; Meer Jaffier tells me 
 he will send some horsemen on whom he can depend ; and indeed, 
 sir, 'tis only the having to receive the offerings of the army that delays 
 him." 
 
 " I think you had better go yourself, Walsh — and here is Smithson, 
 who will perhaps go with you — it'll do you good," he whispered, 
 " and you may save that poor creature." 
 
 Perhaps it was only the agitation caused by what we know to have 
 happened, which had left Ralph Smithson's faculties in a state of 
 utter confusion and amazement, in which hopes, fears, prayers, and 
 memories were strangely confused — which had caused him to forget, 
 for those few hours, the fate of her in whom he was so deeply inte- 
 rested ; and with the victory, the first thought had been how she 
 could be saved. Would he be permitted to go on, in advance ? and 
 thus the offer of his friend was gratefully accepted. 
 
 " Make your preparations, then," said the Colonel, " and start as 
 soon as you can ; you had best ride by night, and come to me for 
 last orders ; " and the young men, who had already contracted a 
 strong intimacy, left the tent joyfully together, and were soon ready. 
 Their native servants could accompany them mounted, the last orders 
 to have the treasury protected were given, and before Meer Jaffier 
 
PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. 353 
 
 and his cortege had arrived in camp, the heavy escort he had sent, 
 led by the two friends and a guide from Plassey, were ah-eady some 
 miles on their journey. 
 
 "When the miserable Suraj-oo-Doulah fled from his tent as Colonel 
 Clive was storming through his camp, he had no companion. The 
 camel-rider who had given his good beast to his master, tried to catch 
 another to follow him, but in vain ; and among the crowd of fugi- 
 tives who fled by the road track, over fields, and dispersed among 
 the surrounding villages, the Nawab found no companion, and de- 
 sired none. Whom could he trust now ? It were better to conceal 
 himself; if he were discovered and seized, he well knew his fate, and 
 shuddered at the prospect of what it would be. If he could only 
 escape to Lucknow, to Delhi, to M. Bussy in the Circars — he might 
 enlist partisans, and try the fortune of war ; but were his brother- 
 in-law to seize him, not even his mother could save him. " Would 
 he were dead ! — would he had never been born ! " the good old Begum 
 used to cry, as she heard of new instances of cruelty and profligacy ; 
 "what miserable fate is mine that my womb bore him ! " and all 
 these waUings were repeated to him, and he had many a time cursed 
 her by whom they had been uttered. 
 
 No, he dared not go to her, nor could she protect him if he did. 
 He dared not trust a eunuch or a servant--not one. His wife ! 
 Ah ! she would mock him and exult over his fall j it was her turn 
 now. The Englishwoman ! Let her go ; he had no anger against 
 one so helpless. Her people would protect her. So, in the desola- 
 tion of his ride that night — now stumbling through muddy rivulets, 
 now wandering in the fields to avoid stragglers, now trusting to the 
 instinct of his beast, which, unguided, pressed on the beaten track — 
 the only being he remembered in whom he could trust was Sozun. 
 She it was alone of all who coidd help him to escape ; but she was 
 gone far away, he believed. He had not heard of her for months 
 past, and she was little likely to come nigh him now. He could only 
 measure the thoughts of others by his own. Had he an enemy in 
 his power, would he not crush him? Could he secure Clive, or 
 Meer Jafiier, or the Seit, would they be alive an hour ? 
 
 I do not think these were pleasant thoughts to the young man in 
 his wild ride from Plassey to Moorshedabad that night ; but he could 
 not shake them off, and before morning broke the weary beast knelt 
 down in the courtyard of the palace, and the Nawab, dismounting, 
 let him go. He was himself utterly wearied ; his limbs throbbed 
 and ached at the unwonted exertion of that night's ride, in which 
 nothing but the certainty of instant death, should he be taken, had 
 sustained him. Oh that he could rest ! There was no one at the 
 guard-ijpom except an old woman, who swept it daily, and he saw 
 
 z 
 
354 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 her crouching over a fire in the corner ; but he avoided her and went 
 in. Once, as a servant passed before him, he sat down, and huddled 
 upon the ground lest he should be observed ; then again rising, he 
 went towards the eunuch's guard-room, where there was a light 
 burning, and, raising himself on his tiptoes, looked through the arab- 
 esque tracery of the window. At first the guard-room appeared 
 empty ; but as the lamp flared up before a breath of wind, he saw 
 Nasir sitting upon the floor, his head bent upon his knees in his 
 usual attitude of watching, and drawing his dagger, he entered. 
 Nasir was slight and feeble — from him at least there was no treachery 
 to be feared. The man heard the step, rose, and took up the naked sword 
 which lay before him, and perhaps would have struck, but his master's 
 cry, " It is I, Nasir ! — do not strike," stayed the uplifted weapon. 
 
 " It is I," he continued — " save me ! I am alone and helpless," 
 and the Nawab sank on the ground. 
 
 Perhaps for an instant, as the weapon was again raised, memories 
 of wrongs and insults endured, rushed through the man's heart, and 
 urged a blow for which a new Nawab would give ample reward ; but 
 with them came the feeling of devotion to one who, wayward as he 
 was, had at least spared his life at Calcutta, and he flung down the 
 weapon, and tried to raise his master. " She is here," he said ; 
 " and I am watching her — Sozun, the fakeerni, is here." 
 
 Soznn ! There was safety in the very name, and the wretched 
 man heard it with a cry of joy. 
 
 She was sitting at the window, we may remember, looking into 
 the black void of gloom before her — ^for there were heavy clouds and 
 no light — not, as before, decked in gorgeous raiment and jewels ; but 
 in the humble grave-clothes she always wore now, and the strings of 
 heavy beads about her neck, out of which she had loosed one, which 
 was passing rapidly through her fingers. No one had heard yet of 
 the result of the fight for certain, though rumours had arrived late 
 in the afternoon. Juggut Seit had not been improvident. As the 
 English drums were beating through the camp at Plassey, a carrier- 
 pigeon had been thrown up from the camp bazaar, and had reached 
 the city before evening, whereupon the great banker had only set 
 additional guards, and closed his house more completely ; but faint 
 rumours — how come no one could tell — began to be breathed about, 
 and the guards about the palace, except those over the Treasury, went 
 their way one by one and hid themselves tUl it shoidd be known what 
 master they were to serve. It was about this time that the boat 
 which had brought Sozun from the Rohilla camp above the city 
 rowed under the palace, and, bidding the men wait her orders, she 
 went on into its courts. No one noticed her or stopped her, and of 
 all the hosts of servants she found but Nasir, and bade him watch, 
 and he had done so, as his master found him, without stirring. 
 
PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. 355 
 
 Sozuri feared the -worst. For some days past the event had hardly 
 been doubtful. Noor Khan and her countrymen -were indifferent 
 as to the issue. They could at least again travel -westwards, and, 
 mercenaries as they were by profession, obtain service. If Suraj-oo- 
 Doulah -were defeated, and the English desired them to stay, they had 
 at least a friend in Ralph Smithson. When she sa-w the desolation 
 of the palace, her first care was for the Begum, and to the wondering 
 ears of the lonely women she told the tale of desertion and coming 
 evil. The door of the underground apartments was not shut, and 
 the women might have walked forth unimpeded ; but they did not 
 stir. They dared not encounter the risk, and so stayed on ; but I 
 can imagine how Julia Wharton grew pale and flushed by turns, and 
 how with beating hearts the two women sat together all that night 
 listening to every sound, and from time to time sent Anna as far as 
 she dared to go to gain intelligence. 
 
 " You will not see me again, mother," Sozun had said to the 
 Begum, " till I have placed him safe beyond his enemies, if iudeed 
 he come at all. If not, I will not leave you again ; I will share 
 your fate." 
 
 So they had watched all that night, where thousands of voices 
 were wont to take up the hackneyed cry of adulation, " May long 
 life and wealth increase ! " till the Nawab came in stealthily like a 
 thief, and cried out in a faltering voice — " Sozun, O Sozun ! I die — 
 I die ! Do thou protect me, else they will kill me. Even now they 
 foUow. Listen ! " and so threw himself down beside her, utterly 
 exhausted. 
 
 Sozun did not hesitate ; there was no time for rest, for food, for 
 collecting money or jewels, except some which were in a casket in 
 the room ; or for dallying with the grim fate which she knew pur- 
 sued him. " Come," she cried, seizing his hand — " come, else it will 
 be too late, and I cannot save thee. Come — Food ! Is food better 
 than life ? Rest ! WUl not sleep lead thee to the stake, or to be 
 dragged at the ele'phant's foot ? Come ! No — not thou, Nasir ; 
 stay with them. If the Feringis come, take them to her, and say I 
 sent thee. Guard the place with thy life. Come ' " she cried, fran- 
 tically, placing her head upon the Nawab's feet as he pleaded for 
 rest " Listen to the shouts — they have the news in the Bazar." 
 
 Between them they dragged the almost unconscious man to his 
 feet, and hurried him down the private stair, along the court, and 
 to the window above the boat which Sozun had left moored at the 
 river bank. " Are ye ready ? " she cried to the men. 
 
 " Ready," they answered. " We waited but for thee ; but it will 
 blow hard — can ye not stay ? " 
 
 Stay! and the shouting became wilder! "Push off," she cried, 
 as she helped the Prince down from the window and lead him on 
 
356 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 board, where, staggering into the little cabin, he flung himself upon 
 the carpets she had provided, and groaned aloud. Then she spread 
 a blanket over him and retreated to the prow of the vessel, watching 
 the white foam dash from its sides, as with its broad sail set it sped 
 on before the fresh west wind towards the great main branch of the 
 Ganges. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 As the night passed — little, indeed, had remained of it — ^the boat 
 sped on ; and as the waves curled before the prow falling off in 
 sheets of foam, still Sozun sat and watched. Occasionally she heard 
 the querulous cry of the Nawab as he called her name, begged for a 
 softer place to rest on, or for food. "What wish of his had ever been 
 ungratified ? What luxury ever denied him, or become impossible 
 of attainment ? Here dry bread would have been delicious. She 
 did not, however, trust him alone, and would not go to him. 
 
 Day broke, and the waves curled higher and higher, as the boat 
 rolled before the freshening gale. There was a sense of freedom in 
 the position of the girl, as she sat on the high prow watching the 
 porpoises chasing each other round and round the vessel, and plung- 
 ing into the foam it cast aside, and a consciousness of daring which 
 infused a new spirit into her heart. If she could only take him 
 away in safety, far far beyond his bitter enemies, she would have 
 done her duty. If, Ya-Allah Kureem ! if only that, then no matter 
 what followed herself — some cell of a fakeer, or a tree, or an old 
 tomb by the river bank ; or her lute and the charity of men wandering 
 to visit holy shrines, and so pass on to her own land and be forgotten, 
 and there forget the fierce excitement of her life. 
 
 Another querulous cry from her companion could not be resisted, 
 and she went to him. Ah ! what a face she saw — so broken, so 
 haggard, so wan, with bloodshot eyes and uncombed hair, cowering 
 beneath the coarse black blanket one of the boatmen had thrown 
 over him. " Get to shore," he moaned, piteously ; " O Sozun, I die ! 
 — ^what matter if they kill me ! " 
 
 " Silence," she said, in a whisper ; " I dare not come near thee — 
 silence, else they may hear. I cannot trust them. The boat rolls, 
 can we get to the shore ? " she asked of the steersman. 
 
 " If you please, lady ; but it is a fine wind, and we could get very 
 far if you did not stop," was the reply. 
 
 " My lord is ill," she replied. " Is not that a fakeer's habitation ? " 
 
DESTINY. 357 
 
 "It is," said tlie man, witli a reverential gesture; "a holy man, 
 whom we all worship, lives there. He tells us of fair winds and 
 blesses the boats ; and all we give him he spends in charity. Yes, 
 we can bear up and go there ; " and so, bracing up the sail, the boat 
 heeled over to the wind and reached the shore quickly. 
 
 There was a small hut there, built of reeds and thatched with rice- 
 straw, by the side of which were a few rude water-jars. Beside the 
 hut rose a huge banian-tree — one of those glorious monarchs over 
 which the revolutions of ages have passed, marking only the growth 
 of its giant proportions. Its gaunt white arms, flung abroad to the 
 sky, groaned and creaked as the long pendant roots swung to and fro, 
 quivering in the rising gale, and its foliage rustled with a hoarse 
 murmur. As the prow of the boat touched the shore, a gaunt figure, 
 stooping low, emerged from the hut, naked, except a cloth wrapped 
 round his loins, and a tattered black blanket thrown hastily about 
 his shoulders. The man seemed a living skeleton, wasted by illness 
 or perpetual vigils — one of those fearful objects which, in the guise of 
 religious devotees, are sometimes seen and never forgotten. 
 
 The figure advanced to the boat and cried with a harsh hollow 
 voice, " What do women here ? Begone, daughter ! — ^you have a 
 fair wind — begone, and touch me not ! " 
 
 " Bawa ! " cried one of the boatmen, throwing him a rope, " be 
 merciful — there is one ill in the cabin, and we will rest but for an 
 hour : fasten the rope — ^be quick ! " 
 
 " He took the rope and tied the end to a bush as Sozun sprang on 
 shore, and the boat swung round in calmer water. " Only for a 
 while, father," she said, as she bent down and kissed his feet — " only 
 for a while, and we will go on again when it is calmer." 
 
 " Who art thou," he cried, " with so fair a face, that weareth the 
 grave-clothes of God's chosen ? Come, in His name !" 
 
 " What thou seest," she said, meekly — " one who desires to live 
 and die in a place like this. I am hungry — ^wilt thou give me to 
 eat?" 
 
 " And who is with thee ? A man, they said ? " 
 
 "A helpless man," she said, " who is ill and faint with hunger." 
 
 " Wait ! " said the fakeer ; " the meal is out, and 'tis time I went 
 to the village for more. Can he not go thither ? " 
 
 " It is fai-," she said, " and we will wait. He cotdd not walk so 
 far — ^he is weak." 
 
 " Wait, then," he replied — " the gale is rising ; bring him to the 
 hut — he can rest there ; " and, taking up a staff and wallet which lay 
 on the ground, he strode away across the fields. 
 
 " Sozun, Sozun," cried the Nawab, " take me out of this place ! it 
 reels under me, and I am giddy and faint." 
 
 What should she do ? If any one saw him he might be known, 
 
358 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 and would be lost ; but again, as she hesitated, the despairing cry- 
 came from the boat, and she saw him striving on hands and knees 
 to crawl out of the wretched cabin through which the chill gale was 
 blowing in fiercer gusts every moment, mingling with the hoarse 
 cries of the boatmen busy fastening another rope to the bank. 
 
 " Help him ! " she exclaimed, descending to the boat ; and two of 
 the men, taking him up, carried him to her. 
 
 " Thou art cold," she said, " but there are the blankets, and the 
 old man said we might shelter thee within. Come, he has gone for 
 food, and we must wait." 
 
 There was a rude bed in the hut. The boatmen brought up a^ 
 carpet and covering, and the miserable Nawab lay down and sank 
 beneath it, cowering at the blast, which whistled through the reed 
 walls of the poor dwelling. "Do not leave me, Sozun," he said 
 piteously ; " whom have I now but thee ? " 
 
 " I will not leave thee," she replied, drawing the blanket more 
 closely about him. " He will return soon with food — sleep, we are 
 safe here j " and she sat there by him sUently. How long, she did 
 not know. Time is slow in passing in any great need ; but he 
 seemed to sleep — ^that was enough. 
 
 Suddenly the door of the hut was darkened, and the gaunt figure 
 stooped and entered. "I have brought food, daughter," he cried, 
 " ready to be eaten. Let him sit up and eat." 
 
 As the hoarse tones of the old man's voice reached the ear of the 
 Nawab, Sozun saw him cower more deeply under the covering above 
 him, trembling violently. In another moment, as if it had stifled 
 him, he threw it aside and sat up with a face in which horror and 
 fear were frightfully combined. " The Derwesh ! " he shrieked. 
 " Oh save me ! — Oh save me ! Mercy, mercy ! " 
 
 " Dohai Feringi ! " cried the Derwesh, at once seizing the shiver- 
 ing man with an iron grasp. "Dohai Feringi! Suraj-oo-Doulah ! 
 dost thou remember this ? " and he tore down his matted hair, 
 which spread itself over his gaunt shoulders. " Dost thou remem- 
 ber these ? " and raising his hair alternately on both sides, he 
 showed the white cicatrices of his mutilation. " Dost thou remem- 
 ber the durbar and the Derwesh ? I am he ! " 
 
 The Nawab struggled to free himself, but what was his power to 
 resist those lean, nervous fingers, clutching his throat ? 
 
 " KaflSr ! " cried the Derwesh between his closed teeth, " be still, 
 else I will strangle thee. Allah hath given thee into my hand, and 
 will do justice ! Thy days of iniquity are full, and thou shalt die ; 
 but not by my hand. " Ho ! without ! who are there ? " he cried 
 to several men, who, attracted to the spot by the arrival of the 
 boat, were talking to the boatmen. "Come in quickly, and bind 
 him — ^bind him fast ! " 
 
^__^ DESTINY. 359 
 
 As he spoke, several men crowded in, and in an instant Suraj-oo- 
 Doulah was bound tightly with a tnrban, and lay on the bed as if dead. 
 
 " You have killed him ! " cried Sozun, who had vainly endeavoured 
 io wrest away the hands of the Derwesh. " Oh, spare him ! let hitn 
 go if he be alive — in the name of the Most Merciful." 
 
 " Peace ! " cried the Derwesh, " oh shameless ! Thou in the garb 
 of holy saints, to be in his company ! Bind her, friends j she is one 
 of his wantons. Let them die together ! " 
 
 " "We have bound him fast," cried one of the sturdy villagers — 
 " fast enough. Who is he, Bawa ? " 
 
 " Who is he ? The tyrant ; he who hath robbed ye of your sisters — 
 ■who hath ground ye to poverty by his extortions — whom the Feringis 
 pursue, and for whom ye will receive plenteous reward at the city." 
 
 " The Nawab ! " cried the men, starting back with amazement. 
 
 " Ay, the Nawab, friends — look at him ! Very different is he 
 now from when these ears were laid before him in his power of 
 evil. Look at him — do ye doubt? Away with him — away with 
 him ! Take him up — I will accompany ye to the durbar ; the 
 Feringis will do me justice. Dohai Feringi ! " 
 
 " Away with them ! We will do your bidding, Baba," cried a 
 burly fellow, taking up the Nawab as he would a child, and passing 
 out. " Bring on the woman, some of ye." 
 
 " I will not run away — I will follow him," said Sozun, sobbing 
 piteously. " I am but a weak woman. Loose my arms, for they 
 hurt me sorely." 
 
 " Well, it's no matter about a woman, said one of the men, good- 
 naturedly, loosing her bonds. " Come with us, quick ! see, they are 
 already far off." And when they went out of the hut she saw the 
 men bearing the almost lifeless body of the Nawab across the fields 
 to the village, and the Derwesh striding before them flinging his 
 ftrms into the air, while the wild cry of " Dohai Feringi ! justice, 
 O Feringi ! " came fitfully through the roar of the wind in the 
 tree above her. 
 
 " It is his fate," she said, " but I will not desert him. Lead on," 
 »nd she followed with a heavy heart, weeping. 
 
 About the same time that morning, Ealph Smithson and his com- 
 panion reached the city. They had ridden all night, and as the day 
 broke, the fresh air and rising breeze had refreshed them, and the 
 horses they rode stepped out at a brisk pace. " We shall soon be 
 there," said the leader of the escort, " and my lords can do as they 
 please then ; they are our protectors, and we are ready to serve our 
 master's friends faithfully." It caused both the young men to 
 marvel much, as they conversed together, how men they believed 
 enemies yesterday, could be so soon changed into devoted sei-vants ; 
 but the Jemadar of horse was no deceiver. The gentlemen had been 
 
360 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 committed to his care ; tte English were their deliverers from much 
 tyranny and disquiet ; and as the cavalcade passed along, grey- 
 bearded men met them at villages, offered flowers and milk, and 
 bowed before them as conquerors. 
 
 As to Ralph Smithsori, I should fail utterly were I to attempt to 
 depict his feelings that day. All the uncertainty which had hung 
 over him hitherto had passed away as in a dream, and was already 
 fading before the glorious reality which had dawned upon him. Once 
 more he could take his place among his own people : and his thoughts 
 painted rapidly bright pictures of the joy of his uncles, of dear Con- 
 stance's and Grover's sweet congratulations, and of his grandfather's 
 joy and comfort in his declining years. Ah, it was almost too much 
 .to believe true. Then to rescue Julia Wharton from her wretched 
 condition would be an act of mercy and happiness fitting for such a 
 day, when not a cloud rested upon him. 
 
 " The first thing we have to do is to see after the Treasury, Mr. 
 Smithson ; you will remember the colonel's orders ? These fellows 
 appear very faithful, and we will put them there as a guard. I only 
 hope we may be in time to prevent plundering. What do you think. 
 Jemadar Sahib ? is the Treasury safe ? " 
 
 " My lord need not fear," said the man. " You see we have 
 passed no one, and no one has gone before us ; all our people will 
 collect round the new Nawab at once, and there is no fear. The 
 guard over the Treasury is one of hereditary soldiers, who only 
 know the head of the state and their own duties. If Suraj-oo- 
 Doulah were to ask them for ten rupees to-day, he would not get 
 it. But you will soon see ; there is the city. Look ! there are 
 the' minarets, and the Nawab's palace." 
 
 " Will the Nawab, Suraj-oo-Doulah, be there ? " asked Ralph 
 Smithson. " If so, he may oppose our entrance, and we must take 
 him if we can." 
 
 " Suraj-oo-Doulah will be mad if he has tarried there," said the 
 man ; " and if even he be there, no one will resist. I know Nasir, 
 the eunuch ; he will let you in. But there are women there," con- 
 tinued the man, doubtingly — " they should be honourably treated." 
 
 " Their honour is our own — they are our sisters and mothers," said 
 Mr. Walsh. "Is it not so, Smithson? Tell him so." 
 
 " They are indeed," was the reply. " Pear not, sir ; we have no 
 war against women : but there is one there who must come away." 
 
 " Ah ! yes," replied the man — " one of your own people, sir. I 
 had been afraid to mention her ; and we have all pitied her sad fate. 
 I thank God she will be among ye once more." 
 
 And thus conversing, the time and distance were soon passed ; and 
 the friends and their escort — traversing the streets of the city with 
 some difficulty through the crowds of joyous people, who welcomed 
 
DESTINY. 361 
 
 them with, shouts, and threw over them garlands of flowers — drew 
 rein in the outer court of the palace. No one was there ; and the 
 native ofiicer, dismounting with them, went on to the eunuch's 
 guard-room, and, calling to him by name, Nasir answered the sum- 
 mons, and came out. 
 
 " She told me to wait here, and take you to her," said the man, 
 humbly ; " I am ready to obey my lord's orders, if you are he who 
 should come." 
 
 " She ! Who ? " 
 
 " Sozun, the Affghan girl," he replied ; " she was here at night, 
 but she left with the ISTawab when he fled." 
 
 " I can't go with you, Smithson," said Mr. Walsh ; " I must see 
 after the Treasury at once. It is close by they say ; you will find 
 me there." 
 
 " Lead on,'' said Ralph to the eunnch, as his companion left him ; 
 and I may be believed when I write that his heart was beating very 
 wildly. 
 
 Since the Nawab had left the palace for Plassey, the two women 
 in the chambers underground had taken little rest. Different feel- 
 ings agitated each ; both might be freed, and yet how differently ! 
 So long as the ITawab lived and was in power, both were hopeless, 
 and the dreary days of the hot weather, without employment, with- 
 out change, had been passed wearily by Julia Wharton. The Begum's 
 occupation of embroidery was taken up by her, and this was helped 
 out by chess, and whatever else could be resorted to to pass time ; 
 but after all those were weary days — very weary ; and yet she thanked 
 God it was not as it had used to be, wheii treasures were laid at her feet 
 only to be spurned — a hideous time, over the remembrance of which 
 many a shudder passed. It was strange, however, how the women 
 grew to each other by a common misfortune, and affecting, too, to see 
 the little indulgences the Begum denied herself, so that her companion 
 might be happy ; or if she ailed aught, how lovingly she was tended 
 by her. If Julia could have learned more of her beautiful com- 
 panion's language, their intercourse would have led to more active 
 sympathy ; but Anna had after all to be the general interpreter, and 
 I fear her rendering of the graceful, courtly Hiadee of the Begum on 
 the one hand, and the vigorous English of the Englishwoman on the 
 other, did not help either much. 
 
 What would the issue be ? — would her countrymen be victorious ? 
 I believe Julia Wharton never doubted that for a moment ; and 
 when they heard that the English were at last at Plassey, her joy was 
 unbounded. " You will see my people — ^my brave, beautiful people," 
 she said, " and will love them ; and when Sozun came so strangely 
 and told Julia how Ralph Smithson had been saved by her, had gone 
 to Olive, and was with him — how, as she thought, he would surely 
 
362 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 come and deliver her himself, as she should tell Nasir he ■would — I 
 am sure the poor soul was wellnigh distraught at the joy which seemed 
 so near, and yet might be so cruelly blighted. That night the women 
 slept not ; they sat with their arms twined round each other on their 
 carpet scarcely speaking a word, and sending Anna as often as they 
 dared for news ; but none came. There seemed a strange stillness in 
 the palace, for which they could not account, till Sozun appeared 
 once more and told them every one had left, and that she dared only 
 remain till daylight, and so they only grew the more and more 
 anxious. 
 
 Then Nasir came again and said the Nawab had been defeated, 
 and the English were following him. He had arrived and gone away 
 in Sozun's boat, and the thankfulness of both those hearts was poured 
 forth in prayer. What might not the tyrant have done had any fit 
 of rage possessed him ? But we know, though they did not then, 
 that he was already sunk too low for that j and Nasir again left 
 them, and said he would watch outside till morning — and they were 
 once more alone. 
 
 Day broke, and its dull light came slowly through the grated 
 windows of the vault ; still no one visited them, not even Nasir. 
 Should he fail after all, and leave them like the others ? Julia 
 could not rest. Every morning for hours she had paced that chamber, 
 and now her movements were rapid and capricious. She drew the 
 bed to the wall, mounted on it, and tried to look out : but all she 
 could see or hear was the grey sky, with clouds hurrying over it, and 
 the murmur of the trees ; and again she descended, sat down, rose, 
 listened, and held her hand to her heart to stUl its beating. The 
 Nawab was defeated, and the English were following — that at least 
 she understood. Oh, there was no doubt they would come ! 
 
 " You should be patient, sister," said the Begum. " If it is the 
 will of God, they will come. Sit down and rest." 
 
 Kest ! — impossible. She would soon hear a bugle-call — the dear 
 old drums and fifes playing a merry English tune, and the cheers of 
 the men as they marched through the town. Kest ! When the 
 cries began in earnest, the roar of the people greeting her friends 
 penetrated that chamber ! How could she rest ? Then came a dull 
 tramp of horse, and sounds of native welcomes, of troops calKng to 
 each other in the court, and confused murmurs. 
 
 " It must be Meer ' Jaffier," cried the Begum, with exultation ; 
 " and I shall go to my mother. My mother ! — to see her with these 
 weary eyes — O Beneficent !" 
 
 Presently, as they listened, they heard steps descending the stair. 
 There were two sounds ; one, the habitual shuffle of Nasir, which 
 they knew so well, the other, the strong tread of a heavy nailed 
 boot, Julia tried to spring to the door, but she could not; she felt 
 
THE NAWAB'S LAST MARCH. 363 
 
 sick and faint from excitement, and crouched down. Then the door 
 opened, and Nasir said, " They are here, my lord ;" and a tall figure 
 advanced, holding out its hands in the gloom, but did not speak. 
 
 " Ralph ! — Ealph Smithson !" cried Julia, rising and throwing 
 herself on his neck. " My saviour ! — my — " 
 
 She could say no more. He felt her panting against him and 
 trying to swallow, and he held her to his heart more closely. 
 
 " Julia, you are saved ! — saved !" he cried. " Let us thank God 
 for this." And they knelt down together. 
 
 " And this is she of whom Sozun told me ?" he said, as they arose. 
 " Lady, I thank thee for all thy kindness to her : but for thee she 
 had died." 
 
 " Nay, but not me, sir. Thank Him who hath watched over us 
 both." 
 
 The voice was inexpressibly sweet and low, and as Ralph Smith- 
 son's eyes grew more accustomed to the light, it was difficult for him 
 to remove them from a face in which so much beauty, resignation, 
 and tenderness were combined. 
 
 " Come," he said, " not here — not here, would I see you. Come 
 up into the blessed light of day, both of you. There is no reserve 
 before me lady. Am I not her brother ?" And they followed him. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIIt 
 
 THE NAWAB's last MARCH. 
 
 " I AM not fit to look on ; you must loathe me, Ralph," said Julia 
 Wharton, as they reached the light, open apartment to which the 
 eunuch led them, and she turned away from him with a gesture of 
 despair. " May God pardon me, for I was very helpless. Can I be 
 forgiven ?" 
 
 She was pale from long confinement, but perhaps more beautiful 
 than ever ; and the strange Mahomedan costume in which she was 
 dressed, increased, if possible, the peculiar charm of her features, 
 while it displayed her graceful figure to the greatest advantage. 
 Her health, strange to say, had been good ; and except in the 
 delicate pallor of her face, there were no traces of the weary life she 
 had passed. Once before, he remembered to have seen the same 
 expression on her features, when, in her terror and jealousy, she had 
 thrown herself on her knees before him, and besought him to aid 
 her. 
 
 " Forgiven, Julia ?" he replied. " Ah, yes ! there is no bound to 
 
364 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 forgiveness prayed for and entreated as yon have besought in your 
 misery and need. And He hath heard your cry. See ! I never 
 expected to meet you again, but you are here, and have a happy life, 
 I trust, before you." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no !" she sobbed ; " never, never — never again. All 
 I trust is, that one so polluted may be allowed to hide a^ray in some 
 quiet nook of England, and be forgotten." 
 
 "■ Have you any friends — any relations ?" 
 
 "Yes," she said; "but I could not expect them to receive me. 
 Oh ! not now, Ralph. I sometimes used to pray for death, and she 
 yonder, my more than sister, used to rebuke me, and say my words 
 were evil. She used to tell me to submit to my fate, and bear it 
 patiently, because it was God's will; and if bright days came I 
 should be grateful, and if misery, still He was great and merciful. 
 O Ralph ! I, a Christian woman, have had more blessed teaching 
 from her than I ever had from my own people. I did not know, 
 till I began to understand her, that her faith rested upon our 
 common Father's mercy and pity like our own ; and I fear, while I 
 could not express my own thoughts, that my poor servant's attempts 
 to convey them were little better. Can you thank the Begum for 
 me ? Have you enough knowledge of her language ?" 
 
 I believe that Ralph did his best. He had at least acquired a 
 fluent tongue if not a learned one, and in this respect his temporary 
 seclusion among the Rohillas had been of incalculable advantage to 
 him. As he had used to speak with Sozun, so he could speak with 
 the lady before him ; and I think, after the first shyness had been 
 broken, that he even became eloquent as he detailed Julia's grati- 
 tude, and assured her of Colonel dive's, and the thanks of all his 
 countrymen, for her affectionate care. 
 
 " Noor-ool-Nissa ! " — "A light of beauty" indeed. Scarcely 
 eighteen perhaps, fair in face, and with a lithe gracefulness of 
 figure, the lady before him was more lovely than he could have 
 believed a native of India to be. There was no colour in her face, 
 which resulted, perhaps, from her long residence in a darkened 
 room ; but in its rich creamy tints her skin was like ivory, and 
 her dark-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and sweet mouth left nothing 
 to be desired. Sozun was beautiful, but her wUd excitable features 
 had no charm like these, which had been despised and thrown aside 
 ere their full beauty had been developed. 
 
 " No, no — ^no more," she said, as a faint blush spread itself over 
 her cheek and forehead at Ralph's passionate encomiums; "my 
 lord's estimation of my poor services is too great, and she has 
 cheered me in our loneliness as much as — as — No matter, sir 
 — may she be as happy among her people as I shall be among 
 mine, I have many loving kinsfolk, and my husband's dear mother 
 
THE NA WAB'S LAST MARCH. 365 
 
 will protect me till, perhaps — his heart may be softened. Of all 
 this, sir, you will be the author, and till her death — Noor-ool-N^Lssa 
 will be grateful. Every night a lamp will be lighted in your name, 
 and before it she will pray for your prosperity and my sister's. Ah, 
 sir ! how can I part with her ? " 
 
 " Not yet — not yet," cried Julia in her broken tongue ; " till I leave 
 this, I will not go from you. Ralph ! is she not beautiful ! " 
 
 Julia had crept beside the lady, and thrown her white arms 
 around her. The Begum's cheek rested upon one which was about 
 her neck, and she seemed to nestle there, while tears, though she 
 smiled and patted Julia's face, were fast falling from her eyes. 
 
 " To be free," she said — " to see the heavenly sky once more, to 
 breathe the air, to hear men's voices, to look over the broad river 
 and the open country, to see the trees and flowers ! — ah, sister ! 
 these seem to me like scenes in the garden of Paradise, where the 
 houris dwell for ever ministering to the just, who rise in the judg- 
 ment and pass into bliss; and are we, so long buried in a living 
 grave, and, under God, raised thence by him, your brother, ever 
 to forget what he hath done ? I am no flatterer, sir ; but through 
 these weary months, since she was sent to me, I have heard of that 
 night of horror in Calcutta, and prayed I might see him who had 
 saved her. Enough for me that this hath been granted, and that I 
 can go into my seclusion with the memory of the face of one so 
 brave and constant lying at my heart." 
 
 I think Ralph Smith son would wilUngly have lingered in that 
 sweet company, but there was much to be done which he could not 
 neglect. By this time some of the women-servants had returned to 
 the palace ; a suite of rooms in the private apartments was hastily 
 fitted up, and for the present Julia and the Begum would remain 
 together, till the necessary arrangements could be completed for 
 both. Of the Ifawab there was no news ; and it was not possible 
 they could experience trouble on his account. 
 
 Ralph found that Mr. Watts had followed them, and was already 
 taking charge of the Treasury. He was well known in the city, and 
 confidence was at once established. The revolution was in fact com- 
 plete ; and the presence of a few British officers prevented those 
 scenes of licence, bloodshed, and revenge which would otherwise 
 have ensued. Did they ever forget the superb breakfast which the 
 head steward of the Nawab's kitchen set before them in solemn 
 exercise of his office, and which their servants seemed weary of 
 carrying in? or did they ever eat a meal with heartier appetite 
 than in that pleasant garden pavUion by the river? And when 
 Colonel Clive followed two days later, marching up leisurely with 
 the troops, and entered the city in triumph, with the horns, pipes, 
 gongs, and drums of native music sounding, and the dear English 
 
366 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 drums and fifes and bugles rising clear above all tlie din, and play- 
 ing many a merry old-fashioned tune — when the people hung about 
 him, covering him with wreaths of jessamiae fiowers and shouting 
 " Victory ! " — ^when he saw the exQpeding richness of the city, the 
 beauty of the buildings, and the evident joy of the people of all 
 classes — he, too, thought that what he had been fighting for was 
 no longer a doubtful myth, but a noble, heart-stirring reality. He 
 walked through vaults full of gold and silver coin ; treasure-chests 
 were opened before him, and the torchlight flashed from caskets of 
 precious diamonds and pearls ; while piles of gorgeous shawls, fabrics 
 of cloths of gold and silver, were more than could be counted. Had 
 he chosen to take all, he might have done so ; and in after times, 
 when in England his countrymen accused him of venality and 
 rapacity, he bade them remember these scenes, and wonder — as he 
 did himself — at his moderation. 
 
 Need I pause to describe ceremonials ? I think not. How Meer 
 Jaffier refused to seat himself on the royal seat till Mr. Clive took him 
 by the hand and led him there — how the great banker Juggut Seit 
 entertained the English officers, and troops of dancers and singers 
 performed before them ; and even the old mummers, who now en- 
 acted the battle of Plassey, aad showed how their former patron the 
 Nawab ran away, and the victorious English followed. Or how the 
 banker Omichund came to ask for his percentage on the plunder, 
 and showed a white deed of promise on the part of Mr. Clive and 
 other great contracting parties, and was told it was false, and he was 
 to have nothing : when, as the chronicle has it, *' his face became 
 livid with rage, and he went home raving, and so remained till he 
 died." I think if I told all this I might weary you, my patient 
 reader, who hath kept company with me so long. I have purposely 
 not led you into that maze of political intrigue in which Mr. Clive, 
 as it seemed just to him then, met stratagem by stratagem, deceit by 
 deceit, and thought all justifiable against combinations which, pro- 
 fessing truth, he knew to be hollow and treacherous. Our country- 
 men in India have since learned better morality ; and that, among 
 all Asiatic people, an open, honest, direct course is not only the 
 surest, but the only one which their subtle minds cannot compre- 
 hend or oppose, and which of itself defeats all crooked designs. 
 
 I have naught to do with Mr. Olive's justification ; and I cannot 
 comprehend how so noble a mind or so brave a man should have 
 feared this one viper which chance had cast in his path. I say I 
 have nothing to do with these State matters j they are far beyond 
 the humble capacity of this tale, and have been writ in imperishable 
 history long ago. I only hope there is enough of interest remaining 
 in my own peculiar people, and to them I must return ; in particular, 
 to the miserable wretch who had been a prince, and whom, abject 
 
THE NA WAB'S LAST MAR CH. 367 
 
 and terror-stricken after his capture, feeling that hope was already- 
 dead — we left with the rough villagers of poor, being borne across 
 
 their corn-fields, with the old Derwesh striding before him, shrieking 
 " Dohai Peringi ! Dohai Feringi ! " tiU he was hoarse. 
 
 Perhaps if the village elders, when he was brought to them, and 
 in his abject terror besought their compassion, had had their own 
 way, I think, timorous as they were, and weighing the chances of 
 the Nawab's escape from his pitiless adversaries and restoration to 
 his late power, they would have released him. Had this been done, 
 he might have found his way to his friend Monsieur Law, who, with 
 some Frenchmen and native soldiers of an ally, was marching down 
 the Ganges bank to make a diversion against Mr. Clive; but this 
 was not fated to be. One had mounted guard over the Nawab who 
 could not be defied, and would not be cajoled — whose worst pas- 
 sions of revenge had rendered him alike deaf to entreaty and to 
 greed of gain. Once only did the elders plead for the wretch before 
 them. 
 
 " Listen to him, Seyn ! " said one of the village council, who 
 was a rich Mahomedan farmer, to the Derwesh. " He promises a 
 mosque ; he will endow it with lands. He will build it where thy 
 hut is, and there shall be a serai for weary travellers to rest in. He 
 wiU make thee chief of the charity, and thou shalt dispense his 
 bounty, and find a resting-place for thy life. He will make thee 
 wealthy. He will make thee amends for— " 
 
 " Perish his gold ! " cried the old man, fiercely interrupting the 
 speaker. " Let the earth hide it, as it will hide him soon, who is a 
 shame to God's creatures. Was he charitable when, as God's agent 
 on earth, he sat on the seat of judgment ? Was he kind to the 
 aged, helpless Derwesh whom he invited to his court ? Wag he 
 merciful ? As he did, so let be unto him. Dohai Feringi ! Dohai 
 Feringi ! Let the English do justice on him — not L Let them be 
 judges between us, not ye who fear him. Have ye known what I 
 suffered ? Never yet have I told ye. Look ! I had ears once, and 
 he took them. I say," and his voice rose to a scream as he unwound 
 his matted hair, " I had ears ! Look ye — are there any now ? Blood 
 for blood ! Hath not the Holy Prophet said it ? Away with him ! 
 Dohai Feringi ! away with him ! Away with him and his wanton 
 to death ! " 
 
 " Brothers — ^friends — ^pity. Be merciful to me — your Prince ! " 
 cried the Nawab. " Be merciful to me and let me go. Let me 
 go ! Who dare refuse me ? — me and mine ! Would ye do murder 
 on one who has never harmed ye ? Would ye listen to the raving of 
 a mad fanatic ? Would ye slay your master ? Would ye give him 
 up to his enemies ? See, there are jewels. She has them ; take 
 them, they are precious. Oh, sirs ! by your mothers, by your chil- 
 
368 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 dren, do not this wrong. Let me go ! Oh, mothers ! by your sons 
 — I too have a mother — let me go to her ! " 
 
 He was appealing, with piteous cries and gestures, now to the men 
 and now to the women, and not without effect. Many of the latter 
 broke into the hysterical sobbing common to the lower orders of 
 women everywhere, who, forgetting facts, grow excited under such 
 appeals to their sympathy. " He has a mother," some said ; " why 
 should he die ? The Feringis will hang him. He must die if he be 
 given to them." Perhaps if there had been delay, there would have 
 been reaction in his favour, and it seemed that the issue lay on a 
 moment. The Derwesh saw the danger, and sprang to the Nawab's 
 side, snatched a dagger from the waistband of one of the village 
 guards, and held it to the Nawab's heart. 
 
 " I will strike," he said, " if ye hesitate. I swear by God, I will 
 strike ! He shall not escape me. He or I ! — Beware ! " 
 
 " Hold him ! Take the knife from him ! " cried many of the 
 women and some of the men, with a strange clamour ; and one burly 
 fellow advanced as if he would essay to do so. 
 
 " I said beware ! " cried the Derwesh, drawing up his tall gaimt 
 form, about which the long matted locks of hair, before tied round 
 his head, were streaming. " I said beware ! If you stir," he con- 
 tinued to the man who had stepped forward, " not only shall he die, 
 but my blood will be on your heads, and on your children's— on 
 yovir mothers', and on your wives'. My spirit will haunt you ! 
 Wherever you go my blood shall cry out against you ! In your 
 fields, in your houses, by your beds, ye shall hear the old man's cry 
 — Dohai Feringi ! — shrieking in the storm blast and in the thunder; 
 and ye will remember ye denied him the Feringi's justica Beware ! 
 my blood is upon you ! " and as he spoke he drew the knife sharply 
 across his breast, and the blood streamed out over his naked body. 
 
 Then women shrieked and wept, and beat their breasts ; and the 
 men prostrated themselves, Moslim and Hindu alike, before the 
 terrible fanatic. " Ciu-se us not," they cried ; " take him away. 
 As ye list with him ; but spare us and our children, and let not thy 
 blood be on us and ours." 
 
 The Derwesh made no reply ; he only pointed to the wound he 
 had inflicted upon himself ; and while he held down Suraj-oo-Doulah 
 with one hand, raised the other as if to stab him. "Away with 
 him ! away with him ! " rose a shout in which there seemed no 
 dissent. No one heard the piteous cries of the wretch who, tremb- 
 ling and gasping at the imminent thought of death, was grovelling at 
 the old man's feet, clasping his knees, and being spurned away like 
 a dog. 
 
 " Coward ! " he criedj " if thou art to die, bear thy fate like a man. 
 She, thy wanton there, would have more courage. Swear to me," he 
 
THE NA WAB'S LAST MARCH. 369 
 
 coatinued to some of the young men of the village, who had brought 
 up a rude bed-litter, " that ye will guard him safely, and with your 
 lives. Swear on my blood ! " 
 
 " We swear ! " cried fifty hoarse voices, but there was little need 
 now ; there was no chance of check to the new excitement. " Away 
 with him ! " was the shout from old and young. " Take him to the 
 Feringi ; take him to Meer Jaffier." 
 
 " I was burned by his orders," cried one hag ; " for they said I 
 was a witch. Look at the marks. The hot iron seared me in the 
 market-place, and the smoke of my flesh went up as a witness against 
 him. I cursed him, and see what he has come to." 
 
 " Let him go to death ! " screamed another woman, who rushed 
 forward with frantic gestures ; " did he not seize two of my daugh- 
 ters, and destroy them in the zenana ? Where are they ? Where 
 are my children — ^my jewels — my darlings ? What hast thou done 
 with them ? Oh, friends, ask him what became of them. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! " she laughed wildly, " he took them to be his wantons, and they 
 are dead — Dohai Feringi ! " 
 
 " Dohai Feringi ! " echoed the Derwesh ; " thou shalt have justice, 
 mother. Come with me and see it — come and see him die, as I 
 shall ! " 
 
 The litter had come up, borne by four stout fellows — a rude bed- 
 stead with bamboos tied to the corners, and a strong pole to carry 
 it by. There was a rough, unkempt pony for the Derwesh, another 
 for Sozun ; and without further parley the Nawab, bound as he was, 
 was taken up and put upon the litter. Some one flung over him a 
 tattered blanket, which partly covered him as he lay groaning and 
 shivering with fear. There was no hope now — none. He must go 
 to death. All his own people would be relentless ; but Clive might 
 — might have mercy. Mercy ? and the memory of the agonies of 
 the English prison at his heart, and the horrible deaths of his mur- 
 dered countrymen to avenge ! Mercy from him ? No — there was 
 no mercy anywhere now. The men who ran by the side of his litter 
 jeered and mocked him with grotesque salaams ; and, as he implored 
 them to loosen his arms, taunted him with the tortures he had in- 
 flicted upon many a victim, and let him lie. 
 
 A mad procession ! Ere one village had been passed, they heard 
 at the next that the Nawab was coming. The Nawab's " Suwari," 
 as it was called in mockery — the Nawab's retinue ! What a retinue 
 it was for one who, a few days before, had ridden to Plassey on an 
 elephant with housings of velvet and cloth-of-gold, surrounded by 
 the pomp of royalty and the gorgeous military display of an Eastern 
 army ! Before all, ridiug a gaunt horse, which some had substituted 
 for the pony, naked, except his waist-cloth, with his matted hair 
 streaming over his face and down his back — -the blood still oozing 
 
 2 a 
 
370 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 from the -wound he had inflicted on himself, and for which he seemed 
 to have no concern — rode the old Derwesh, brandishing his bright 
 steel trident, and shouting in his shrill harsh voice, " Dohai Peringi ! 
 Come and see, O ye faithful, the justice of the Nazarenes ! Come ! — 
 delay not ! — a tyrant ^d his wanton going to death ! Come and 
 see ! — come and see — a ' coward die ! ' Dohai Feringi ! " 
 
 Near where he had resided, the old man was known and vener- 
 ated ; but, as the strange travellers passed on, it seemed that the 
 excitement only grew the stronger. No tarrying for meat or drink 
 — no tarrying for change of bearers. Men jostled each other for 
 the privilege of putting their shoulders under the pole of the litter, 
 and the few village guards had swelled to hundreds, and were 
 increasing. Men left their ploughs and looms, their shops and 
 trades, and hastUy snatching up the household sword and shield, 
 or spear and matchlock, still hurried on, and joined the hoarse cry, 
 " Dohai Ftringi ! Dohai Feringi ! " 
 
 As to Suraj-oo-Doulah himself, I hardly think I can be expected 
 to say much of him. Men in his position, with a certain and 
 horrible death staring them in the face, may think upon it, if they 
 be brave and self-reliant. If not, they are numb with terror. They 
 cannot realise what is to come. The faculty of thought for any 
 definite purpose is dead ; and though the body lives, a corpse 
 might as well be spoken to as a living creature in such a plight. 
 Such was the Nawab in" his last march. When there was a trifling 
 delay at any village, Sozun would sometimes go to him, try to rouse 
 him, take him a cup of water or mUk, or a oake of bread, which 
 some charitable housewife had ofiered her in the name of God and 
 the Prophet. He who had been pampered in luxury loathed the 
 coarse food ofiered to him. Water was his only cry, and he drank 
 it greedily. He seemed to understand nothing. He could only 
 complain that his bonds hurt him; that it was cold, and he 
 shivered ; or that the sun burned him : and he flung himself 
 about violently on his rude bed, or, raising himself up, implored, 
 in accents of abject enti'eaty, those nearest to him to despatch him 
 — to release him — " he would go away — he would harm no one — • 
 he would never return. By their children — by their mothers — for 
 the love of Allah — let his life be spared. What had he done ? Was 
 there no pity ? " 
 
 Who pitied him ? No one, except the poor Afighan girl, hurried 
 along with him to the same death, as she believed, which awaited 
 him, and that would be welcome to her. She had done her duty ; 
 and sinner as she was, could remember and repeat the holy English 
 words which B,alj)h Smithson had taught her. So the night passed. 
 There was no staying to rest or to sleep. The wild procession 
 hurried on by the glare of torchlight, waking whole villages from 
 
HOME WARDS. 371 
 
 their slumbers, and passing them like a hideous nightmare — a 
 rabble rout of demons, as it were — polluting the peaceful night 
 with shouts and execrations. 
 
 As they neared the capital next day, the crowd which followed 
 the litter, marched with it or preceded it, increased mightily. As 
 before, men fought with each other as to who should be its bearers, 
 and those who carried it were from time to time jostled out of their 
 places to make room for others. The litter heaved and surged 
 among them ; but they went on with wUd rushes which increased 
 in speed — a torrent of men and women, howling, shrieking, scream- 
 ing with frantic laughter — which, if by night it was indistinct and 
 horrible, had now grown into a grotesque but dreadful reality. As 
 the old Derwesh still shouted his cry of " Dohai Feringi ! " he was 
 answered by ringing yells of " Feringi ke jey ! Victory to the Eng- 
 lish ! Clive Sahib ke Futteh ! Victory to Olive ! Victory to Meer 
 Jaffier ! Death to the Nawab ! " mingled with the shrUl hootings 
 of boys, and the screams of withered hags, who, running tUl they 
 were out of breath, spat at the wretched creature as he lay writhing 
 and cowering under his blanket, beat their withered breasts, and 
 howled the death-wail in his ears. I only wonder that, coward as 
 the man was, he lived through the horror of his last dreadful march, 
 or reached Moorshedabad at all ; but he did reach it. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX 
 
 HO ME WARDS. 
 
 Meer Jappiee had arrived, and the city was busy. The streets 
 were choked with people from the country ; dealers had spread 
 out their wares, and singers and buffoons were perambulating the 
 streets singing ballads of Clive and the battle of Plassey, and good- 
 humour prevailed. Clive might arrive that evening, and house- 
 holders were setting out earthen cups on the terraces and balus- 
 trades of their houses, and filling them with oil for the illumination. 
 Flower-sellers were stringing garlands of jessamine, and sweetmeat- 
 venders were hawking parched rice or pease for hungry sightseers. 
 Suddenly there arose a wild cry, as it were of shouts from the out- 
 skirts of the town. Some said the Nawab had returned with an 
 army, and fled away ; others thought Clive had come : and before 
 any one had time to reflect, the strange procession passed by like a 
 whirlwind, led by the Derwesh, cantering on in front on his tall 
 bony horse, shouting, " Clear the way — clear the way ! Dohai 
 
372 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Feringi!" and tossing his arms wildly into the air. Hard on 
 his heels followed the mob of village folk, some armed to the teeth, 
 some with long bamboos, clubs with heavy iron rings, or stout 
 quarter-staves, encircling the litter, and the pony which carried 
 Sozun, led now at a rapid trot. " To the palace — to the .palace — 
 to Meer Jaffier!" was now the cry. No one dare oppose this 
 torrent ; but what was that in the midst of it ? None knew then ; 
 and when it had gone by, those who remained were told that the 
 Nawab, Suraj-oo-Doulah, was gone before them to his death. 
 
 "To the palace! to the palace! Dohai Feringi!" was heard by 
 Ralph Smithson and Mr. Watts as they stood in the court, and 
 asked vainly for explanation. A few moments afterwards, the 
 Derwesh trotted into the gate, standing up in his stirrups, and 
 whirling his steel trident above his head, while his cry never ceased 
 and was followed by the rabble who bore the Nawab. 
 
 "Are you Clive?" asked the breathless Derwesh, whose mouth 
 was dry and parched, his lips speckled with foam, and his eyes glow- 
 ing red and fierce from among his matted locks. " Are you Clive ? " 
 he asked of each, as his eye glanced from the one to the other. " I 
 have brought the Nawab, and I demand justice— justice from the 
 English!" The man was fearful to look upon, and both shrank 
 back involuntarily. 
 
 "I am not Clive, I am Mr. Watts : what justice can I do for 
 thee ? " 
 
 " For this,'' cried the Derwesh, lifting his hair from his ears, and 
 showing the white scars of his mutUation. " Justice for this ! Can 
 he disfigure a servant of the Most High God and live ? Kill him ! " 
 
 " I cannot kill him, Bawa Sahib," said Mr. Watts, gravely ; but I 
 will see to his safety. Let Meer Jaffier deal with him." 
 
 And that wretch, crouching on the bed which had been set down, 
 rocking himself to and fro, bowing down his head, for he was still 
 pinioned, crying, " Mr. Watts ! O Mr. Watts ! — save me — save 
 me ! they will kill me : take all my money — all my jewels, and let 
 me go ! Mr. Watts, by your mother, by Jesus of Nazareth and 
 His mother Mary — " that was the Nawab ! that Suraj-oo-Doulah ! 
 Bah ! he was a sickening sight ; and Ralph Smithson, who had been 
 fascinated for a moment, turned away his head and spat out his dis- 
 gust. Some guards had come from the gate, and Mr. Watts was 
 giving orders to them. 
 
 " Sahib, Sahib, this is another — kill her ! " cried a burly villager 
 armed to the teeth, dragging along a weary pony covered with 
 sweat, on which a woman was seated. " Shall I dash out her 
 brains ? ' and he whirled his iron-bound club round his finger and 
 thumb, causing it to whistle through the air, as he plucked away the 
 scarf with which Sozun had tied up her face with the other. 
 
HOMEWARDS. 373 
 
 " Sozun ! " cried Ralph, pushing away the man and a crowd of 
 others, " why art thou here ? " 
 
 " O hrother, God hath again sent thee to me," she said, stretching 
 out her arms to him ; "I tried to save him, but it was not to be." 
 
 " Come," he replied, and he led away the pony out of the wonder- 
 ing people, " Julia and the Begum are safe : they will tend thee — 
 come ; " and they passed on into an inner court, no one following 
 them. A few more moments, and the girl was at rest in loving arms. 
 
 The villagers followed them with staring eyes, till they were lost 
 to view. " She is one of the Feringis," said the man who, a moment 
 before, would have dashed out her brains with his club. " Did ye" 
 not see how white she was ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes," said another, " there was a story that a Feringi woman 
 had been brought from Calcutta, and that is she ! we ought to get a 
 reward for her. Come and ask." 
 
 " Not I," said the first speaker ; " who knows but she might have 
 us blown away from guns? I shall go home. Come away, these 
 Feringis are devils if provoked — come, let us follow the Derwesh 
 and the Nawab." 
 
 We need not follow them to the last dread scene of all, which was 
 not long delayed. The Derwesh never left his captive ; and when 
 that afternoon the dread messengers of death came to the miserable 
 man and did their oflSce, he stood by, and recited the prayers for the 
 dying. They said of him afterwards, that he dipped his fingers in 
 the warm blood of his enemy, and put them to his ears ; bound up 
 his matted hair over them, and afterwards the weird figure of the 
 old man disappeared from the city, and was never more seen. 
 
 When the Begum was removed from the palace to the house of her 
 husband's mother — the dear old lady, whose interest in the English 
 is matter of history — she took Sozun with her. Strong as the girl 
 had been, the fearful trial and fatigue of the Nawab's last march, as 
 the people called it in mockery, had broken her down, and long rest 
 and care were needful. When Julia Wharton had to depart — and 
 that event was not long delayed — I question which of the three 
 women was in the bitterest grief. Had she desired it, the Nawab's 
 mother would have given her a free home for life, free to come and 
 go after the manner of her people; but it is needless to say this 
 could not be : there were yet ties in England, and in India that one 
 horrible memory which would haunt her all her life. 
 
 Before JuUa Wharton left the city, Ralph Smithson had engaged 
 her passage to England. She was now very rich, for under the 
 success of Mr. Wharton's speculations, and the full compensation 
 for all public and private losses, which was paid by the new Nawab, 
 the settlement upon her was largely increased; and I think had 
 she chosen to stay in Calcutta, what she had undergone would have 
 
374 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 proved no obstacle to honourable proposals. On one point, however, 
 she was uniformly silent. She never spoke of her English anteced- 
 ents, nor did Ralph Smithson attempt to discover them, or lead her 
 to speak of them ; whatever they might be, was a mystery which 
 were better, perhaps, left at rest. Her desire to leave India was 
 genuine, and Ralph could gather that it was in England only that 
 she looked for any chance of happiness in her future life. 
 
 The Valiant was lying at Calcutta, and Captain Sorafton offered 
 his best cabin to Mrs. Wharton when she reached the Factory ; but 
 Ralph had written to him that he was coming down with despatches 
 for England, and, full or empty, the good ship was to sail with them 
 — and when the captain showed this letter to Mrs. Wharton, she 
 gratefully declined the cabin, and took one in another ship on the 
 point of sailing. When Ralph arrived a few days later, he found 
 she had gone, and a letter explained the motive in a way which we 
 can perhaps understand. It contained also another packet which, 
 Julia wrote, was not to be opened till he himself was at sea, and 
 " she trusted to his honour for this." 
 
 There were other letters too awaiting him from his old corre- 
 spondents ; and I have to make a few extracts from Mr. Roger Dar- 
 nell's, because they concern the course of this history ; but there was 
 none from Sybil, nor from Mistress Grover. 
 
 " Of your investments/' wrote Mr. Darnell, " I have nought but 
 good news to give you ; and Mr. Sanders will satisfy you more par- 
 ticularly on this point by the accounts-current and bills of sale. For 
 the present, and till we hear of the result of Mr. CHve's expedition, 
 I consider it most advisable to keep the proceeds in hand, for which 
 you will receive the customary interest. I have no fear but that 
 Mr. Clive wiU exact compensation for all losses, and secure our in- 
 terests for the future. 
 
 " And now, dear Ralph, I have news to give which will cause you 
 much concern. Poor Mrs. Morton, of whose illness I advised you, 
 died soon after I wrote, and her daughter and the old servant left 
 their house and disappeared. I regret to say I have been quite 
 unable to trace them : and though the annuity which her mother 
 enjoyed died out with her, yet your instructions had provided amply 
 for her support, and I need hardly say that my own desires would 
 have led me to make a suitable settlement upon her. But I am 
 quite hopeless about the poor girl. I only trust she hath retired to 
 some quiet place in the North, or may have married ; but to the last 
 she utterly rejected Mr. Forster, and the thought sometimes crosses 
 my mind, that it may have been to escape from his pertinacity that 
 she hath hid herself away. I trust, however, to hear of her after all, 
 and if so, I will not fail to write directly. 
 
 " Your beautiful cousin Constance will, I hear, make a very happy 
 
HOMEWARDS. 375 
 
 and suitable match. The eldest son. of th& Earl of Whin^orongh, 
 Viscount Granton, saw her at an assize ball at Newcastle, and is 
 now an accepted suitor. He is come of age, hath a fine independent 
 property, and we are all bound to rejoice at Constance's prospects. 
 We hear he is very handsome, hath a kindly disposition, is none of 
 your town rakes, and, in short, all is at last as it should be for her 
 and your uncle, who is beside himself with joy, and hath written me 
 several mad letters. Peed tells me he is drawing up the settlements, 
 so I suppose they will soon be married. 
 
 " Your own afiairs, my dear boy, are still as uncertain as ever. 
 We have no success in our inquiries. The people who keep 
 Lamberton Pike are changed, and no trace even of that marriage is 
 discoverable. Why did not your father avow it ? Scotch marriage 
 as it was, most likely it would have been legal there, and we could 
 have managed the rest. But as the homely saying is, ' It's no use 
 crying after spilt milk,' and I think you will have seen that the 
 affair is hopeless now, and will have learned to bear your lot with 
 fortitude, and with that complete trust in God which hath hitherto 
 sustained you in all those dreadful perils of which you have written. 
 
 "Have you been able to trace poor Mrs. Wharton? or have you 
 any knowledge of who she was ? Her property is now very consider- 
 able, perhaps £50,000 or more ; what to do with it we do not know, 
 and there is money for his children besides. Alas ! alas ! it is alto- 
 gether a miserable story. 
 
 " Your old friend and crony, Mr. Elliot, is at last in the King's 
 Bench, and being in distress, and helped by some friends, I have 
 made bold to send him fifty pounds on your account, which you will 
 not grudge. He was in nowise cognisant of, or concerned in, that 
 affair, and in spite of extravagance, is a gentleman. I don't think 
 you can now feel any grudge against him on the score of Constance, 
 so if I may give him another fifty, or even a hundred, I shall be 
 glad." 
 
 Constance engaged ! Sybil Morton gone ! Alas ! I think this 
 letter was but cold comfort to Kalph, as he read it with a swelling 
 heart. Of Constance, for a long time past, he had given up all 
 hope. It would have been absurd to entertain any; but I should 
 be wrong if I did not suppose, nay, feel very sure, that the sweet 
 image of Sybil Morton, whom absence had even made more dear, 
 was lying deeper and dearer in his heart. His only comfort was, 
 that he was going home, where his rights would at least be 
 established, and he would search England through to find her. 
 Why had not Mr. Darnell traced her from the old house ? Why 
 had his own letter of warning miscarried ? — but it was too late 
 now. Wilson at least would be sure to know of her — or Selwyn ? 
 So when the worthy Don Gomez, and many other friends, bade 
 
376 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 him a cheerful adieu on the quarterdeck of the Taliant, and the 
 merry song of the sailors heaving the anchor rang in his ears, his 
 spirit rose again from its depression higher and higher, as the good 
 ship once more bounded onwards to dear England, and the fruition 
 of his hopes. 
 
 " Give this letter to your worthy uncle, Ralph," said Mr. Olive, 
 as he had bade him farewell (it was that dated 4th July 1757, which 
 is seen in Mr. Darnell's picture). " I have writ him all he will care 
 to know about our aifairs ; and though he and I don't exactly agree 
 in all matters, I think he will allow that this hath been a glorious 
 victory. Tell them all, Ralph, that I think, work, and live only 
 for the glory of England, and that this victory is but a step to a 
 dominion at which the world shall marvel hereafter — the thin end 
 of the wedge, which I will drive as far as I can, and which others 
 will drive home. Tell them all this, if my motives are questioned, 
 as they will be ; but I fear no ill consequences, Ralph. My own 
 heart, under God, who rules all, tells me it is for the best ; and 
 though the end may be stayed, it cannot alter. What will India 
 Be in a hundred years, ay, and in a hundred years after that ? I 
 think I can see ; but people would call Robert Olive mad were he 
 to tell it. Farewell, my dear boy ! When you are successful, 
 believe me, no friend you ever had or will have will rejoice more 
 sincerely than I shall ; and if England is dull, come to me again, 
 baronet-elect as you may be — for there is honour, glory, ay, and 
 wealth too, if you desire it, to be won in Robert Olive's company." 
 
 END OF PART FOUKTn. 
 
PAET FIFTH. 
 
PART FIFTH. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 WHAT MES. WHARTON WROTE. 
 
 " Often as I have longed to do so, I have never darea to tell yoii, 
 Ralph Smithson, what I have been, and why I came to India. I 
 had no business to trouble you with a sad history. I had no right 
 to draw you into any confidence. I have fancied — often fancied — 
 while you lived with us, that you had some secret of your own ; for, 
 as well as I can remember, not one word of your family ever escaped 
 you ; and that kind of reserve, except for some reason, is not usual 
 in a foreign land. If you had made a confidant of me, I should 
 infallibly have made one of you ; but it is better as it is — far better. 
 There was one of whom I should have made one if he had lived ; 
 but for reasons that you know well, Ralph, there was a veil between 
 us till the last few hours of a life which, if it had been continued, 
 would have been a source of grateful happiness and love to me. 
 
 " But it is very different now. I need your council and assistance : 
 and one who, at the risk of his own life, protected mine through that 
 fearful night, and who hurried on through an enemy's country from 
 Plassey to save me, will not refuse it. I purposely declined to sail 
 in the Valiant with you because I would not have my sad history 
 trouble you more than the knowledge of it will cause you. I could 
 not have borne to discuss it with you ; and after what is past, I am 
 better alone — alone for many months — to live out what I have 
 undergone, if that be possible, ere I meet my people again. Our 
 good friends in Calcutta might not, perhaps, have spared us either ; 
 and after all, you will reach home before me, for the Valiant will 
 sail faster than we shall. 
 
 " How often, as I have looked at you when you little suspected 
 me, have I thought I had seen you before, somewhere that I could 
 not remember — a faint vision, an illusion of remembrance, which 
 seemed to belong to a different world — a different state of existence, 
 imtraceable and unreal. Ah ! often have I yearned to test it by the 
 
380 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 question which I put now : Do you remember George Elliot ? were 
 you ever his friend ? 
 
 " But I dare not, for had you acknowledged you knew him, I 
 could not have concealed the rest, and I was then a married woman, 
 sworn to love another. I shall not know for many months how this 
 question can be answered : but, as I think upon it, my thought 
 becomes stronger that you were sometimes one of his companions, 
 and yet — I may be dreaming. 
 
 " George Elliot ! If you know him, you wUl allow how fascinat- 
 ing he was — how rare a combination of manly beauty and grace he 
 possessed. If you do not know him, you may beKeve me now, and 
 acknowledge hereafter that I was right. I loved George Elliot ; I 
 love him still. In my first days of marriage — in the horrible prison 
 — in — No matter; I have never ceased to love him, except for 
 that brief time when I grew into confidence and happiness with my 
 husband, which, if it had continued, would have established an erring, 
 wayward, passionate mind on a firm basis, that would have resisted 
 temptation. Since I have been free, I know not whether it be right 
 or wrong, but my heart has gone back to its old place ; and had I 
 died in that horrible palace by myself, my last wishes, that I had 
 written in my prayer-book, would have told you, had you ever 
 received it, what message should be delivered to him, and you would 
 have known, as you do now, that I loved him. 
 
 " My real name was Hyde, and I am of a good family ; but my 
 father died soon after my mother, and left us, two sisters and a 
 brother, to the care of his brother, my uncle Charles. Ah ! what a 
 life it was. My uncle had a passion for the theatre, and neglected 
 his business sadly. Finally he took to the stage as a profession; 
 and, if he is alive, is now an actor with Mr. Garrick. We — my 
 sister and I — were left to pick up what education we could, and my 
 uncle's great ambition was that we should become actresses. He had 
 us taught singing by an Italian master, and perhaps I should have 
 succeeded. Richard, my brother, went to America as a ensign in 
 the army, and soon died there, and so we were left to our uncle's 
 mere}''. 
 
 " It was a fearful life. He was seldom quite sober latterly, and 
 ill-treated us as far as coarse abuse and evU society could carry him ; 
 while again he was at times tender and affectionate, desiring only 
 our settlement in life, — a strange inconsistency, in which cruelty 
 — brutality I should rather call it — prevailed. My sister Isabella 
 was a proud, haughty, selfish girl, who could ill brook this treat- 
 ment, and when our uncle was playing at York, was courted by, 
 and engaged to, a rich farmer and grazier with whom she became 
 acquainted, and married him, in spite of my uncle, for she was of 
 
WHAT MRS. WHARTON WROTE. 381 
 
 " We went to Newcastle, and it was there I first saw George 
 Elliot. He was a young squire, witli an ample fortune, and he was 
 admitted behind the scenes as a privileged person. He noticed me, 
 followed me, and got introduced to my uncle. • He renewed the ac- 
 quaintance in London, and visited us, as did many other gallants, on 
 an honourable footing. I grew to love George Elliot ; to me he was 
 tender and respectful always. I often used to think, God forgive 
 me ! that my uncle was ready to sell me to the highest bidder, and I 
 clung to George, not as a brother, but as to the only thing I had left, 
 to love or protect me. He knew all my trials, all my danger, and 
 came to know them better as time passed. Oh, how I loved him ! 
 
 " There was another man who pursued me with fearful persistence ; 
 a man of the city, a merchant, middle-aged, profligate and wealthy. 
 I hated him. His hideous person, his mind, his wealth, were equally 
 horrible. They were not so, however, to my uncle, to whom a large 
 sum was offered for his consent. I need not weary you with a re- 
 cital of how my uncle pleaded, stormed, raved, and was alike unsuc- 
 cessful — or how I told George Elliot that I had resisted, and intended 
 to resist. I believe I was mad — I believed when the time came that 
 I could no longer avert the misery with which I was threatened — 
 that I could trust myself to George's honour, and be safe. Else why 
 was he so true, so respectful to me ? I had not a friend to whom I 
 could resort. Mrs. Woffington or Mrs. Olive would but have laughed 
 at me. I alone trusted George ; and for good or evil I could think 
 of him only, night and day. 
 
 " Night and day ! Oh, Mr. Smithson, I pray you may never be 
 so tempted. Men are strong, and bear : or, if they fall, the world 
 cares nothing ; it is not grieved — only God. Ah ! I thought not of 
 Him then, — never. I only saw my own misery. I only believed in 
 George Elliot ; to all else I was blind and deaf. He saw my misery, 
 which he shared ; but he dared not marry me openly. He proposed 
 a private elopement, and, trusting in him, I consented. We were to 
 go to the border and be married — in what manner I knew not, nor 
 cared, so that he were mine, and I was delivered from the dreadful 
 fate with which I was threatened. 
 
 " I do not know how, I never learned : and all that followed, as 
 to where my uncle got intelligence of what had happened, is even 
 now a strange, duU, confusion in my mind. We left London one 
 night, while he was playing at the theatre with Mr. Garrick, and I 
 trusted myself to George. I am sure he would not have deceived 
 me, but we were pursued. The chase broke down near Barnet, and 
 as we sat there uncertain what to do, my uncle and some of his 
 friends came up on horseback. There was a scuffle, a clashing of 
 swords, and I fainted. When I recovered George was gone, a chaise 
 was ready, and I was taken back and locked up. I never saw him 
 
382 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 again. Whetlier lie was wounded or not I could never ascertain. 
 I had no friend — not one. 
 
 " My uncle was furious. The man who had persecuted me no 
 longer appeared ; that chance was lost, and I was reproached with 
 vile conduct of which I was innocent. Plead how I would, my 
 uncle could never be persuaded but that I had been living a dis- 
 honourable life, and of that I should have no more. He had a 
 cousin in Calcutta, who was married, and as soon as a passage could 
 be provided in a ship about to sail, I was sent to him. Nothing of 
 my story was known. My uncle wrote that he found it impossible 
 to provide for me, and from my youth and beauty the theatre was 
 not a place for me, nor actresses and actors fit companions for an 
 orphan girl. They believed this, and were kind to me, and so I lived 
 with them till Mr. Wharton proposed for me, and I accepted him. 
 Before you arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence left Calcutta with their 
 children ; and with them I am sure of a home. Of my sister I have 
 had no news whatever. She has taken her own road in life, and, 
 selfish as she always was, has followed it. I daresay she believed 
 that I had become vile, and was glad I had been sent away. 
 
 " This is all my story, Ralph. Simple enough to tell, but contain- 
 ing within it more misery than I can write, or you would care to 
 read. I repeat, somewhere or other, in George Elliot's company, I 
 remember to have seen you. This cannot be a dream, though, if I 
 am wrong, you will think it one. If it be not a dream, and you 
 know him — I may never meet him, for the hideous past has placed a 
 gulf between us — but you may be able to tell him that in all her 
 trial Julia Hyde never forgot him. 
 
 " And now I have written this, I am minded to destroy it. Why, 
 indeed, should I have written it at all ? Only, as I have said, for 
 my strange thought about you, which as time passed did but grow 
 stronger. When you took me out of that dark vault into the light of 
 day, and I saw you after that long sad absence, I could hardly restrain 
 my emotion. But forgive me, Ralph — forgive a weak woman, so 
 tried as I have been, and for the future so hopeless. It is a relief to 
 me to have told you all, and to no one on earth but you has it ever 
 been revealed." 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 SYBIL mortok's history. 
 
 My readers know already, from Mr. Roger Darnell's letter, that 
 Mrs. Morton had died, and that Sybil could not be traced. That 
 letter had been written on "Christmas Eve 1756, like a preceding 
 
SYBIL MORTON'S HISTORY. 383 
 
 one that ■we may remember of the previous year, and there had been 
 intermediate letters, for Mr. Roger Darnell wrote regularly every 
 quarter to his nephew; but as none of these documents contain any- 
 thing relevant to the course of this history, and are for the most part 
 of a mercantile character, interspersed with some political reflections, 
 I have not thought it necessary to aUude to them. Mr. Darnell did 
 not ordinarily trouble himself with family gossip, and it was only 
 on rare occasions that he entered into such topics as I have re- 
 corded. I have always thought it strange that Ralph himself did 
 not write oftener to SybU, his dear true friend, as he loved to think 
 her still ; but at the young man's heart lay no real exciting effect 
 of love. He could not have leaped from the violent ardour of his 
 adoration of Constance, into a similar condition of mind for Sybil. 
 That he loved her with a brotherly affection we know; and from 
 the effect of his last visit to her, we may have thought that a 
 deeper feeling had already begun. I think not, however. The 
 young man's behaviour on that occasion was but the overflow of a 
 wounded heart, guilty too, and ashamed ; and, touched by a sympathy 
 which could not be mistaken, no wonder that he could not control 
 himself. "When he reflected afterwards upon Sybil, I think he felt 
 conscious that she might, probably would, come to know what had 
 happened : and, if so, she would not write to him, and he did not 
 feel disposed to persist in a correspondence which, as his letter had 
 not been answered, might be unwelcome, particularly to Mrs. 
 Morton. For all this, the image of the loving beautiful girl would 
 often rise in his heart, and live there; and when he heard that 
 Forster was rejected, I can fancy that he made a shrewd guess at 
 the cause, and there was time enough for future consideration. 
 
 On the other side, there had been no doubt perhaps, but much 
 grief. Sybil and Mrs. Morton never knew the exact truth; but 
 women will talk, and in one of her visits to Mr. Sanders's sisters, 
 Mrs. Morton had been told in a mysterious manner by the youngest, 
 with whom she interchanged pleasant confidences, that "something 
 had occurred to render Mr. Ralph's longer continuance in the office 
 impossible, and he had been sent to the Factory in Calcutta." It 
 was an unpleasant subject to Mr. Darnell, and Miss Sanders exacted 
 a promise from the old lady not to repeat what she had told her. 
 " It's all for the best, my dear, you know," she said, " and he'U make 
 a fortune very soon ; but he couldn't stay here, and indeed, ma'am, 
 you know he was a wild lad ; " and Mrs. Morton could not deny that, 
 having, as we know, had more proofs of it than the good Miss 
 Sanders was aware of. 
 
 To India ! This then was the separation at which Ralph had 
 more than hinted when he left Sybil, and said he should work out 
 his own way in life. '' He might have told me," she thought. " Could 
 
384 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 he not trust me ? " We kaow, however, what had happened, and 
 how he could not tell her; and so I am, perhaps, right in my 
 conjecture as to why he only once wrote to her. Can we believe in 
 that tone of arrogance in Ralph's mind which said, " I am sure she 
 win never forget me ; " and how, leaving her to the future contingen- 
 cies of years and circumstances, he felt happy when he heard that 
 Forster was refused, and grieved when she had disappeared ? 
 
 Ah, poor Sybil ! What a life it had been of sorrow, struggle, and 
 hope, these months of trial and gnef ! If she had had Ralph by her, 
 all these last declining days of her dear mother would have been 
 endurable in his strength and sympathy. Gradually Mrs. Morton 
 had drooped and died. She had no particular ailment ; and all the 
 doctor could say was, that her strength was to be kept up ; and poor 
 old Nanny's brains were racked in vain for savoury jellies, nice 
 broths, and beef-tea. But all was of no use — she grew weaker and 
 weaker, and so died. 
 
 Mr. Forster was not long in finding out that Ralph was gone. 
 Mr. Wilson, who acted as scout, told him that Mr. Darnell had 
 traced what had happened as far as Ralph was concerned, and sent 
 him away. There was no reason to suppose he would ever return, 
 and there was certainly no suspicion excited as to who were concerned 
 — none at least in his own direction. There was no search even ; 
 and I am not sure, when Ralph's disappearance and Sir Geofeey's 
 wound were coupled together, that, after a time, the gossips of 
 London did not shrug their shoulders and say, the Darnells were a 
 violent family at all times, and there must have been a family 
 quarrel. So Mr. Forster, when his wound was healed, and Mr. 
 Selwyn, appeared in the gay world once more, and followed their 
 usual avocations independently, or as it might happen. 
 
 Of George Elliot's pleasant company they were deprived by one 
 of His Majesty's officers, with a certain paper in his hand, which 
 need not be specified, who requested his company tUl payment should 
 be arranged of a sum recorded ; and as Mr. Elliot was, as he 
 expressed it, "run dry," and had not even the means of being 
 squeezed — often successful in a sponging-house — ^left in him, he had 
 gone into winter quarters, which were unusually hard bound, in 
 His Gracious Majesty's Fleet, and was not likely to emerge from 
 thence for some time to come. 
 
 So there beiag no one in the way, Mr. Forster recommenced his 
 suit for SybU, and I have no doubt that much of his intercourse with 
 her and her mother was for a long time of a very respectful character, 
 and by that he had secured Mrs. Morton's interest, and also Nanny's. 
 Many a crown had he judiciously adminstered to the faithful old 
 woman. Many a time had Nanny and her mistress discussed the 
 matter; and Nanny's opinion, "that he was jest a weelfaurred canny 
 
SYBIL MORTON'S HISTORY. 385 
 
 gentleman, wi' a sweet voice, and blythe for Miss Sybil," met favour 
 in the old lady's heart. More than favour, indeed, when Mr. Forster 
 made a formal proposal, and was accepted so far as Mrs. Morton and 
 Nanny were concerned ; and when Mrs. Morton found herself fast 
 declining — " It would so satisfy me, my darling Sybil," she would 
 say, " I should feel such a load taken from my heart, if I knew 
 before I died that you were safe for your world's life. This annuity 
 dies with me — and oh, Sybil ! the world's a drear place for one so 
 fair as thou art, and so helpless." 
 
 So it was already, so it would be in future, but for one dim ray 
 which sparkled afar off amidst the gloom of distance — Ralph would 
 not desert her, her mother would live, and she could not love 
 Forster. 
 
 Why not ? He was, as Nanny called him, "jest a gran' man, wi' 
 nane of yer hobbledehoy fancies and wild dooin's like Mister Eraafe. 
 Wasna Rraafe her ain bairn, an' she had tou'd him sae mony a time 
 till his face, an' 'ud tell him agin ; bit he was no a body to marry a 
 fine lassie like Miss Sybil, wha'd need somebody to pit her up, and 
 keep her up ; and wha better than a true Forster ?" 
 
 But even this did not prevail, nor Forster 's tender manner, for he 
 could be tender — nor his grace, for he could be graceful — nor his 
 accomplishments, for he had these ; and during long residence in 
 foreign courts had become a far more accomplished musician and 
 scholar than his absent friend. It is hard to say why Sybil, who 
 sang with him to please her mother, who read Dante and Boccaccio 
 with him to improve her accent, who habitually spoke French with 
 him, for her mother preferred that language to her own in familiar 
 conversation — it is hard, I say, to account for the obduracy he had 
 to encounter, for the positive terror with which Sybil received the 
 slightest advance to love, and her earnest entreaties that they might 
 be friends — friends only for her mother's sake. 
 
 We know why all this was ; how the true, faithful, loving heart, 
 growing stronger and more faithfal under trial and absence, climg 
 to Ralph Darnell's memory with a steadfast but sad persistence. 
 Then the news of the Black Hole came, and Mrs. Morton died. 
 It so happened that there were but a few days between the two — 
 a crisis of misery which it was hard to bear up against. There was 
 no sign of Ralph's safety. For many months afterwards it was 
 indifferently known in England who had died and who were saved, 
 and even had Sybil seen the name of Ralph Smithson among those 
 who survived, it is not possible that she could have recognised it. 
 I believe also that Mr. Forster thought him dead. He and Mr. 
 Selwyn often visited George Elliot in the Fleet, and Wilson came 
 there also, who volunteered to get news ; and what he did get from 
 Mr Peed and Mr. Sanders, to whom he ventured to apply, confirmed 
 
 2b 
 
386 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 suspicion. They had no news of Ealph. Mr. Wharton was dead, 
 and it was but too probable that Ealph Darnell had also perished, 
 either in the fighting or in what followed. 
 
 When Mr. Forster heard this as truth which could not be doubted, 
 and laid it before Sybil herself, praying to be accepted — not then, 
 presently : that he would watch over her till she pleased to end his 
 suspense — ^that he would not urge her as to time, only if she would 
 obey her dear mother's last wishes, breathed to her, to Nanny, and 
 to himself, and consent, he would be satisfied. Surely he might 
 hope ? I think, after her earnest, piteous refusal, her pleading to 
 be left in peace, that the man's mind then turned to its old savage 
 humour, and he swore what he could not have fairly, be would have 
 as best he might get it. 
 
 Perhaps he let drop some hints of this to Nanny ; perhaps her 
 instinct had led her to fear a man who, as her *' bonnie lambie " had 
 become more helpless, had changed in manner, and hinted at exact- 
 ing as a right, what he had once pleaded for as a favour. Perhaps 
 it was the evident fact that, as the annuity had ceased, they must 
 work for their bread ; they must give up the house : that, or all 
 combined, may haye induced them to do ■N^^hat they did. It is true, 
 Mr. Darnell, who had attended Mrs. Morton's funeral, and defrayed 
 all its expenses, insisted on paying a quarter's pension in advance ; 
 promised Mrs. Darnell should visit Sybil ; had also promised help in 
 future ; and would have given it very cheerfully — but Mrs, Roger 
 never made her appearance. 
 
 Thank God ! she had done with Ralph Darnell for eyer ; and 
 " there is not the slightest occasion, my dear," as she said to Lady 
 Warrington, " for me to interfere for that young person, who has 
 been educated for a governess, and is quite well able to shift fpr 
 herself." So Mrs. Roger was one of those who passed by on the 
 other side, when this poor bleeding heart was lying night after 
 night trembling, praying, and crying, " Ralph ! Ralph ! only one 
 word from you, my darling — only one word, and I woidd go to you, 
 were it to the world's end if you live, or would die where you have 
 died," and might have been kept from harm by a motherly heart, 
 and power to protect her, if — But I have no right to sit in judg- 
 ment ; and Mrs. Roger was the best judge, " whether," as she said, 
 "a young person, who had kept company with a character like 
 Ralph Darnell, and was even supposed to love him, was fit company 
 for her daughters ! " 
 
 Why did not Sybil write to Constance ? Was she still hurt and 
 jealous? There was one who would, as a dear, dear sister, have 
 welcomed her, and Mistress Grover would have been more than a 
 second mother. No, only to escape now, and hide herself away till 
 he came ; and it was one day after Forster had called to plead again. 
 
SYBIL MORTON'S HISTORY. 387 
 
 ■with the old effect and result, and as he went out had said some- 
 thing to Nanny -which she " dare not repeat," she continued — " Ay, 
 they had better gang, and maybe Mistress Janet Rrobson had rooms 
 she ken'd of, whar douce north-country lawyer folk cam' to be nigh 
 the Innes of Court ; an' they couldna keep the hoose, and were 
 frrighted to be alane in't o' nichts, and Forster wad niver find 'em 
 cot — ^niver ; an' they'd plenty of money for a year and mair \ an' a' 
 the stuff in the house wad sell for a gude bit siller, and maybe Janet 
 Rrobson 'ud tak it a' at a fair valiation, an' they'd be weel there ; 
 an' it was jist a quiet neuk " — ^that Sybil's eyes and face lighted up 
 as if by iaspiration, and she put her hand to the dear old woman's 
 mouth and stopped it, and cried, '* O Nanny, darling, now— =now— 
 come now. Don't stay a moment. OJi, he may come again ! and — 
 and — and — oh, come ! " 
 
 So they locked up the house, and went to Mistress Robson, who 
 lived in Queen Street, by Lincoln's Inn Fields, in a coach ; and the 
 kind north-country womap, who had brayed many a male lodger in 
 her time, and was well to do in her calling, tgok the beautiful sob- 
 bing girl to her heart, and patted her we| face as it lay on her 
 shoulder, and bade her " fear nape, for she ha4 the best of kind 
 north folk livin' -with her, an' she copld depen' qn all o' them." 
 Thenceforth Sybil never returned to tjie old house by the river : 
 for Mistress Robson £|,nd Na^nny got away the best of the furniture, 
 and set out two rooms wi^t it, ^md sold what was not wanted, so 
 that a good sum was a,dded to what was already in store. Then 
 they felt secure, and found the house quiet and well-ordered j and 
 Nanny soon saw the bright old " licht blinkin' in her deaa? bonpie 
 chUdie's eyes again," and the old occupations renewed. Nor was 
 there any want ; for SybU's work gained high prices, and she could 
 never finish enough of the lovely embroidery which was ordered 
 by Mr. Price and other fashionable men mercers, for whom she 
 worked. 
 
 We can conceive, however, that Mr. Forster was by no means 
 satisfied with this arrangement. When he went next to the old 
 house by the river, he found it shut, and bills in the window, adver- 
 tising that it was to be let. No doubt he stormed at the door, and 
 looked up in vain at the closed shutters, till a woman put her head 
 out of a window near, and told him they were gone who had lived 
 there — gone many days. " No, she knew nothing of them, nor did 
 the butcher, or baker, or the waterman, know anything either." They 
 had gone, thai was aU, " and the beautiful kind young lady was sore 
 missed." 
 
 Sore missed truly, and apparently without hope. From that time, 
 John Forster's life was not an enviable one. His gloomy, revengeful 
 character bade defiance to all gentler thoughts ; he would have been 
 
388 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 kind and honest with SybU, had she been but reasonable. Oh the 
 misery of life without her ! the dread thoughts of revenge at her 
 desertion, which took possession of him day and night, urging him on 
 to violence — ^to death even — himself or her, or both, he cared not. I 
 am in no humour to follow these ; nor his curses and wild despair. 
 Such a companion as Mr. Selwyn was not likely to put better 
 thotights into his mind ; and even he was shocked by what he saw 
 daily and hourly — a deeper sinking into the mire and slough of hate- 
 ful jealousy, and a brooding over its misery, such as he could not 
 comprehend. 
 
 " Gad," he said, one evening after Forster, vainly trying to drown 
 his thoughts in wine, broke out into execrations at Sybil's perfidy, 
 " this wUl never do, Forster ; thou'lt die, man. If thou must have 
 the wench, take her in the devil's name, and have done with her." 
 
 Take her ! Yes, that was what Mr. Forster had long made up his 
 mind to do ; but how to find her ? Even Wilson, who knew every- 
 thing, had failed utterly to trace the fugitives, and had given up the 
 task. 
 
 How often had dear old Nanny laid injunctions upon her " bonnie 
 baimie " never to go out by herself ; never to risk the streets alone. 
 But one day, a bright cold morning in November, an urgent mes- 
 sage came from Mr. Price, that a certain satin waistcoat for my Lord 
 March was wanted that day, and was to be sent. It was ready. 
 Nanny was out, was going to Covent Garden, she had said ; and 
 when she woitld return was uncertain. Mr. Price's messenger could 
 not return to the shop — ^he had other errands to do. " Master he'll 
 be very glad to see you. Miss," he said, " and perhaps you'll take it 
 yourself ? It is but a step to the Strand." 
 
 Why should she not go ? No one would notice her ; she would be 
 back directly; and so, tying a thick black veil over her hat, and 
 putting on a long warm shawl, she tied up the parcel carefully and 
 went her way. No one noticed her ; she reached Mr. Price's safely, 
 and having received his thanks for the beauty of the work, a hand- 
 some payment, and material for more embroidery, she hastened back 
 by the road she had come, and reached home, as she felt, unobserved ; 
 refreshed and inspirited too by her brisk walk, of which she told 
 Nanny with saucy triumph. 
 
 But she had scarcely left the tailor's a moment, when Mr. Selwyn 
 and Mr. Forster, who were sauntering up the Strand, attracted by 
 the beauty of the gay flowers which seemed to sparkle on the white 
 satin lying on the counter, turned into the shop : and by Forster the 
 work was instantly recognised. He knew the pattern — ^he had 
 helped Sybil to draw it ; and a flush of grim joy entered his heart. 
 " I have her now," he thought, — " she cannot escape me." 
 
 " A beautiful bit of work that, gentlemen, isn't it ? " said the bland 
 
SYBIL MORTON'S HISTOR Y. 389 
 
 tailor, taking it up and holding it to the light ; " no such other in 
 London. My Lord March will cut a pretty figure with it on the 
 Mall to-morrow." 
 
 " Gad ! I'd like such a thing myself, Price," said Mr. Selwyn ; 
 " could you get me one ? " Mr. Selwyn would have worn my Lord 
 March's old clothes if he could have got them. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied the obsequious mercer — " certainly ; but 
 it's costly, sir — costly." 
 
 " Oh, damn the cost ! I'll pay you beforehand if you like. Who 
 did it ? — How much d'ye want ? " cries Selwyn in a breath. 
 
 " A young lady, Mr. Selwyn ; you can't get things like that from 
 common people. A young lady, sir, whom I have known a long 
 time, who works for me. Twenty guineas, sir, is the price, and cheap 
 too." 
 
 " By Jove ! a lot of money ; now, if you'll give me her address, I'll 
 give you the coin," and he shook a heavy purse in the air. " If not, 
 I'll be d— d if I do. Ain't I right, John." 
 
 "Quite right," was the husky reply, for in truth Mr. Forster's 
 heart was beating wildly enough. 
 
 Mr. Price hesitated, but the chink of the gold was too much for 
 him. He had a bill to settle, and gentlemen were not free of money 
 just then. " Well, sir, I'll tell you, but she's none of yvwr sort," he 
 said, with a wink. " And I'll depend on your honour, sir, not to 
 molest her ; but if you could recommend her, Mr. Selwyn, she'd be 
 thankful. Let me see ; Simkins," he cried to a young man writing 
 up account-books within, " what's Miss Morton's address ? " 
 
 " No. 14 Little Queen Street," replied the man, looking up for an 
 instant, and then going on with his work. 
 
 I think if he had known what the weight of those words were, 
 they had never been spoken ; but they were precious to the ears that 
 heard them. 
 
 " Well, it's a bargain," said Mr. Selwyn, " here's the coin — all 
 honourable, you know, with a lady — and get the work done as soon 
 as you can ; there's a good fellow ! Come, Jack ! " 
 
 " Phe-e-ew ! " whistled Mr. Selwyn ; " now tell me. Jack, art 
 thou not fit to go on thy knees before me? Hadst thou ever 
 a friend so cunning of device as I ? To the devil with all thy 
 megrims. Thou shalt have the wench. Chaise and four, posters, 
 and all the relays on the old road warned and ready. By Jove, but 
 thou'rt a lucky dog ! But listen, Jack ; I'll have all honest, and it's 
 on condition it is so I'll help thee ; no other, upon my soul and 
 honour, and that's flat. Wilt thou give me this promise — wilt thou 
 swear it ? " 
 
 " Upon my honour, Selwyn — upon my honour ! I need not to 
 swear." 
 
390 HALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " No, no occasion, Jack. I'm satisfied, when once thou hast given 
 a promise, thou'lt never fail, as I know in that d — d Darnell business. 
 "So-^ how will it be ? Gretna Green of course — Scotch marriage. I 
 take this woman to be my wife — good as any parson patter — a 
 few tears, then smiles ; and, by Gad ! thou'rt the happiest man in 
 England, and George Selwyn the next, thinking of thee ! " 
 
 How these confederates watched No. 14 Little Queen Street, how 
 the place was beset, how Nanny's hours of going out were noted, 
 and how one evening, later in the winter, a man came to the door, 
 said he had a special message from Mr. Price, and it was to be de- 
 livered to none but Miss Morton herself — need hardly be told more 
 clearly, were I to write a volume to describe what was done : but as 
 Sybil came there, wondering what was wanted, and was dragged out 
 of the street door, a shawl thrown over her head,, and a chaise with 
 four horses dashed up at the same moment, and she was forcibly put 
 into it — she fainted with the shock, and recovered — only to find 
 Forster sitting beside her, and the carriage proceeding at full speed. 
 
 There was no triumph or disrespect in his voice, nor in the words 
 he spoke. " You have forced me, Sybil, to do this," he said — " I 
 could not live without you. I will guard you now to my life's end, 
 faithfully and truly, but I cannot go back." 
 
 Such events could not happen in these days with A 40 or E 29 
 looking round every corner. There were no day policemen then in 
 London : and the watchmen would not come on duty for several 
 hours. When she was decoyed out, there was hardly any one iu the 
 street. " What's that ? " cried a woman passing. " Poor thing ! 
 What are they doing to her ? " 
 
 " It's only a couple going to Gretna Green to be married," said 
 Mr. Selwyn. " Good luck to them ! that's all ; she is a spunky lass 
 to go, isn't she ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the woman, dropping a curtsy when she saw Mr. 
 Selwyn's laced coat ; " that she is, and I wish her good luck, as 
 you do." 
 
 No one else had noticed what had happened. Mrs. Eobson was 
 out with Nanny, and they had stayed with a friend for " a cup of 
 tea." No one knew the rooms were empty, and the precious treasure 
 away. Ah, poor Nanny ! how to her life's end she bewailed that 
 " cup of tea," I need hardly tell ; and, for the present, when they got 
 home, the women raved inconsolably. 
 
 The relays were sure : not at inns or in towns, but by roadsides 
 and field-gates known to Mr. Forster. Many such a journey had he 
 taken in " the cause," which should defy detection. On the box sat 
 a confident who watched Sybil if Forster were absent ; and in ob- 
 scure villages, or lonely wayside alehouses, they got refreshments. 
 When they reached their destination, Forster went through the cere- 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 391 
 
 mony, gave a liberal bribe to the functionary, took the certificate, 
 and, by Scotch border law, Sybil was his. Then the chaise turned 
 from the main road, along dreary moorlands ; and, as evening fell, 
 it stopped at a lonely peel or border castle ; lights appeared in the 
 windo-w-s, and an elderly -woman, attended by other servants, met the 
 carriage respectfully. 
 
 " Ye're welcome home, Mister John," she said, " an' you too, mem. 
 Eh ! but she's a bonnie lady, surr ! " 
 
 " I'm not his wife ! I'm not his wife ! " Sybil shrieked wildly ; 
 they were almost the first words she had spoken. " Oh save me, if 
 you have any pity ! " 
 
 " What nonsense, Sybil ! " he cried, taking her in his arms, and 
 carrying her into the house unresistingly. " For your own sake, my 
 darling," he continued soothingly, " for your honour, for mine, do 
 not resist your fate ; dear old Nanny wiU be here in a few days, and 
 till she comes you must be patient." 
 
 Nor did Forster molest her. Bad as I believe the man to have 
 been, he had for this one helpless being an afiection which resisted 
 the evU pleadings of his heart. He seldom saw her but at meals, 
 and his housekeeper, Mrs. Armstrong, entertained SybU with stories 
 of the old Forsters and the rough border country. In regard to 
 Nanny Keene, Forster was as good as his word ; she arrived in a few 
 days, and took possession of her " ain sweet childie," with a thankful 
 heart that Sybil was safe, " an' for guid or ill," she said, when she 
 had heard all, " like a' the world, for sorrow and joy, ma sweetie, a' 
 believe ye're his wife afore God an' man, an' a' the lawyers ixi 
 Scotland couldna free him frae you, nor ye frae him ; and it wuz yer 
 ain dear mither's wish, ye ken weel, so ye'll no gang agen it nae mair." 
 
 But even the special pleading of the dear old servant could not 
 satisfy Sybil ; she felt outraged, stunned, helpless, and hopeless. To 
 whom could she appeal ? We know there was none ; and when, to 
 satisfy her conscience, Mr. Forster proposed they should be married 
 by special licence, she felt as if his respect for her had proved his 
 truth, and La her despair she consented. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 BOGEB DARNELL AND COMPANY — DECEMBER 15, 1757. 
 
 We are in the old office once more, and see little change as we look 
 about us. The grand old pictures hang on the walls in all the glory 
 of their mellowing colours, and those generations of Darnells seem to 
 look down more lovingly on their descendant as time passes, and 
 
392 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 more earnestly than ever give him their approval as he looks up at 
 them. Eoger Darnell is scarcely changed ia the two years which 
 have passed over him : his figure is the same — the fresh florid 
 colour, the scarlet nostril, the keen eye, and the full ruddy lip, are 
 none of them faded, nor have his habits altered. As on the first 
 occasion that we saw him, he has changed his wig and his shoes, set 
 out his papers, and is sitting before the warm fire toasting his hand- 
 some legs, and every now and then holding out his hands to the blaze 
 and rubbing them gently. But he does not set to work : and all 
 that pile of correspondence which Mr. Sanders has placed there must 
 wait. I think he must be anxious, for every now and then he raises 
 his head and turns his ear to the door as if to listen, then pulls out his 
 watch, and after a hurried glance puts it back again iato his fob, and 
 falls to rubbing his calves and warming his hands once more. " It's 
 past eleven," he said, " and the boat ought to have been up by this 
 time ; Gad, I wonder what he'll be like after all that has happened ; " 
 and so he waited, thinking over many things that had fallen out 
 in two years — on the wealth he had accumulated, on his fortunate 
 speculations with Ralph's investments, on Mr. Wharton and his 
 concerns ; on his daughter, perhaps, on Constance's marriage with 
 Viscount Granton ; and on poor Sybil's disappearance. " Ah ! that 
 will vex him — the boy was so fond of her, and perhaps I was to 
 blame in letting such a creature out of my sight," he murmured to 
 himself ; " who'd ha' thought of her making off in that queer fashion ? 
 Well, well, it can't be helped, and he'll find her if he wants her. I'd 
 rather, however, it was Dolly's chance, for he's a fine fellow, and 
 they'll make a hero of him, by George ! they will, and he'll deserve 
 it. I wonder if he'll be up to-day, though I don't think he'll spare 
 horse-flesh if he's in the humour I take him to be. I wouldn't — 
 I can't settle to anything, Sanders," he said, as that good gentleman 
 opened the door, and looked in with a letter in his hand. " Don't 
 bring me business, for goodness' sake." 
 
 " It's only from Brown & Marshall, sir, about that saltpetre, and 
 it can wait. I think we had as well sell, Mr. Darnell." 
 
 " Oh yes, sell, Sanders, by all means. By Jove ! I've never told 
 you, and, faith ! I hardly know whether I'm on my head or my 
 heels." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Mr. Darnell ? " 
 
 " The matter ! why, there's the Valiant in the Downs, and Ralph 
 on board with Mr. Olive's private despatches — and he may be here 
 any minute. Read his note. I got it this morning early from 
 Portsmouth." 
 
 " God bless the boy ! " cried Mr. Sanders, exultingly, as he read a 
 hurried note from Ralph. " Why, it takes my breath away to hear 
 this." 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 393 
 
 " So it did mine, sir, and my brains too, I think, else you stoiild 
 have heard it long before. What's that ? By George ! it's Ralph," 
 and he rushed to the window to see a chaise and four, with the 
 horses steaming in the frosty air, stop at the hall door, and a tall 
 figure wrapped in a cloak aUght from it, shaking hands with the 
 porter violently. " It's him !— it's Ralph ! " cried Mr. Darnell, and 
 before he could get back to his chair, a strong hurried step traversed 
 the ofl5.ce — the door was thrown open — and with a cry of " O my 
 dear uncle ! " Ralph was in the arms wide-stretched to receive him. 
 
 I am sure neither of them could speak for some moments, and 
 Ralph's hand, slid round his uncle, met a hearty loving grasp from 
 Mr. Sanders ; and so they stood together, silently and with grateful 
 hearts, and honest tears in their eyes. 
 
 " Let's have a look at thee," said Mr. Darnell, as he held Ralph 
 from him. " Why, God bless me ! how thou'i-t grown and improved ! 
 India has made a man of thee — ^hasn't it, Sanders ? Another good 
 hug, Ralph, and I shall believe I have thee, at last," and the embrace 
 was closer than before. 
 
 " At last, dear uncle ! " said Ralph, with a great joyous sob — " at 
 last, and I thank God ! " 
 
 " So do I, my boy," returned Mr. Darnell, blowing his nose sonor- 
 ously and wiping his eyes — " so do I." 
 
 " I could not rest, uncle," said Ralph, " after I wrote a hurried 
 note by a boatman. You got it ? 
 
 " 'Faith, it was the first thing that was put into my hand this 
 morning, Ralph ; and, as I told Sanders, I've no notion how I got 
 here or what I did, but I suspect my lady thought I was crazed ; 
 and here thou art, my boy, and I'm so happy ! — oh ! so happy, 
 Ralph. Sit down, sit down, Mr. Sanders. Stay, here's a guinea 
 apiece for the postboys — give it them, Sanders, to drink Ralph's 
 health." 
 
 " They've got enough already, uncle. I haven't spared money, with 
 these papers in my pocket, I assure you." 
 
 " I choose to give it, Ralph," said his uncle, with his own peremp- 
 tory humour, " and it's naught to thee. Come, boy, sit down. God 
 bless me ! how shall I ever contain what I have to hear ? What's 
 the news, lad ; and how's Mr. Olive ? " 
 
 " We have won a great victory, sir, and you'U read Mr. Olive's 
 account of it yourself. That horrible miscreant, the Nawab, didn't 
 fight much, and Mr. Olive beat him at Plassey, and another Nawab's 
 set up, and the old one's dead ; and, by Jove ! sir, Mr. Olive's Nawab 
 of Bengal, and can do as he pleases. That's my news, sir — isn't it 
 glorious ? We're home first, after all, and Scrafton's been carrying 
 on till he's not a spar left, and beaten everything, and run clean 
 through the French cruisers and all." 
 
394 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Of course he would, Ralph— of course ; and we shall have the 
 Tower guns firing such a salute before evening as London hath not 
 heard for many a day. Oh that glorious fellow ! " 
 
 " Mr. CHve, sir ? — ay he is glorious, and nothing can stop him 
 now," cried Ralph, exultingly. " Why, sir, he's beaten Monsieur 
 Crapaud out of Bengal, clean ; and he wont stop their neither ! " 
 
 " Mr. Ralph may be hungry, sir, and I've ordered some luncheon 
 up-stairs. Won't you come ? " said Mr. Sanders. 
 
 " Ay, lad, let's drink thy health. Champagne, Sanders ! — nothing 
 less for his Majesty's messenger. By George ! he ought to knight 
 thee, Ralph. Come along," and he put his arm round the young 
 man and drew him on lovingly, and proudly too, as they passed 
 through the office, the clerks crowding about their old companion, 
 wondering at his erect military bearing, and ofiering their hands. 
 No old grudges or jealousies now. Ralph greeted them all kindly 
 and heartily, and so the gentlemen passed up stairs. There the dear 
 old ladies kissed him, and put him on their best sofa, and they all 
 stood round him ; and if tears stood in their eyes, I can't, for one, 
 blame them for their fond emotion. 
 
 And by the time lunch was finished, and the party had drained 
 honest bumpers of the glorious old wine to Ralph's health and to Mr. 
 Clive's, and were in a state of joy such as I cannot pretend to de- 
 scribe, Mr. Darnell's coach had come, and Ralph had to change his 
 travelling suit for better garments in which to visit the Minister; 
 and when he returned, dressed as became him for the occasion, there 
 was a shout from the gentlemen, and so many flattering speeches 
 from the dear old ladies, at his handsome appearance, that Ralph's 
 cheeks burned again, as well they might. So also, as they went 
 down-stairs, they found the old hall full — clerks, porters, warehouse- 
 men, were all assembled ; and Mr. Sanders having told all of the 
 news, and how Ralph had fought through the battles in Bengal, 
 there was set up such a cheer — such cheers, I believe, as the old 
 place had never heard before. 
 
 " Remember, dear uncle," said Ralph in some embarrassment, as 
 they had nearly reached the Secretary of State's office, " that I am 
 not Ralph Darnell now, but Captain Smithson, mentioned in these 
 despatches, and you must be careful of that." 
 
 I think this simple speech was a sore stab to the worthy merchant, 
 who could not speak for some minutes. " Ah, yes — I remember it 
 all now, Ralph," he said at length. " Thou hadst best tell thine own 
 story ; I should but mar it, and we will talk over old times presently." 
 
 And very modestly and clearly was the whole story given to the 
 celebrated man who heard it, and with a strange thrill too, as he 
 looked upon one who had survived the horrible Black Hole, and who 
 had borne his part with honour in Plassey's victory. 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 395 
 
 " I stall lay these important despatches before his Majesty at once, 
 sir," he said, " and take his commands in regard to you. Where am 
 I to find you ? " 
 
 " With me, sir," replied Mr. Darnell ; " my nephew knows no 
 other home while he is in England. 
 
 " You are fortunate, Mr. Darnell, to possess such a relation. I 
 can but glance over these documents, but I perceive that Captain 
 Smithson's name is mentioned in the highest terms ; and you must 
 excuse me if I leave you, for I cannot delay this glorious news, at 
 once so wonderful and so unexpected. You wUl hear the Tower 
 guns presently." 
 
 "I see," said his uncle, as they returned to the City, "there is 
 nothing for it but to let you be Ralph Smithson to the officials for 
 the present ; but among ourselves, I never shall know or use any 
 name but your own." 
 
 " And if I could take it with honour," cried Ealph, " I wouldn't 
 allow the other to exist for a day. Nay, I am on fire, sir, to prove 
 — to prove — " 
 
 " To prove what, Ealph ? " exclaimed his uncle, eagerly bending 
 forward. " My dear boy, what ? " and Ralph could see how Mr. 
 Darnell was trembling. 
 
 " To prove I am Ealph Darnell, your dear brother's son, and that 
 my — ^my mother was — was — married." 
 
 This came out with a great gulp ; and Mr. Darnell listened to his 
 nephew with such amazement that he could not speak. 
 
 " Married ! " he cried at length, slapping his thigh violently. 
 " Thou'rt not dreaming ? " 
 
 " No, sir," returned Ealph, " it's no dream, I thought it was one 
 once J but it's all here " — and he opened the ruffles of his shirt to 
 show the little bag round his neck — " and I've never parted with it ; 
 and Colonel Clive's certificate, given on Plassey battle-field, is along 
 with it. I'll— rU— open it, sir." 
 
 " No, no, Ealph — not here ; wait — ^wait till we get home. Lord, 
 if it be true — if it be true ! who can fathom Thy mysteries ? " and 
 as he took ofi" his hat reverently, Ealph could see his uncle's Ups 
 moving in prayer, and the tears welling up in his misty eyes. And 
 so they drove to the mansion in Bloomsbury Square ; and as the 
 door was thrown open, his aunt and his cousins met the returned 
 prodigal according to their own peculiar fashions. I believe Mrs. 
 Roger so far relaxed that, though she looked away, she held up her 
 cheek for a kiss, such as should be received by one like her, and I'm 
 quite sure that Ealph's heart did not prompt more ; nor indeed more 
 to his elder cousin, who shrank back from the handsome young 
 soldier wearing his gracious Majesty's uniform. But it was quite 
 a difierent matter with DoUy, who, with tears streaming from her 
 
396 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 eyes, could not contain herself, and fell upon Ms neck sobbing, and 
 perhaps got more than one kiss, as did her younger sisters who hung 
 about Ralph as the whole party marched up stairs. 
 
 " We've a good deal to say to each other, Anne," said Mr. Darnell 
 to his wife as he was dressing, " and I would like to have it out alone 
 as soon as may be after dinner. Well, what do you think of your 
 scampish nephew now ? " 
 
 " He's improved, certainly," replied the lady, bridling ; " but I'm 
 quite sure he's as forward as ever ; the way he kissed Dorotliy 
 was — " 
 
 " By Jove ! and he might kiss her to the end of his days," cries 
 her husband. " As to you and your daughter, I'll be d — d if I know 
 how he kissed you at all ; I wouldn't have touched either of you, I'll 
 be—" 
 
 " You need not swear, Mr. Darnell ; what you are pleased to say 
 is quite affronting enough without an oath. I say the young man's 
 improved, as far as outward appearance goes ; but as to his heart — 
 if the Lord's grace — " 
 
 " Well, be as civil as you can, Anne — that's all. I don't suppose 
 he will give you much trouble." 
 
 " Is he to stay here, Mr. Darnell ? because — because — " 
 
 " Because what ? " cried her husband, turning round sharply, with 
 the ends of his cravat in his hand. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," says the lady, not admiring her lord's eyes. 
 '• Only I hope he'll conform to our habits and — " 
 
 " He'll do as he likes, madam. By George ! a poor fellow, who's 
 been twice woimded in action, and has escaped massacre — hideous 
 massacre, ma'am — to be — to be — Damme, ma'am, he shall do as 
 he likes." And Mrs. Darnell thought once more that discretion was 
 the better part of valour, and was silent. 
 
 Perhaps neither Mr. Darnell nor Ralph had much appetite for 
 dinner. Had they not eaten a capital lunch ? We know what was 
 lying at both their hearts, and how slowly dinner must have passed. 
 So when Grimes had left, Mrs. Darnell made a formal curtsy to 
 Ralph, and said to her flock, " Come, my dears," and rose ; and 
 Ralph whispered to Dolly, who was fit to cry, " I'll tell you all 
 about India by-and-by ; " and they went away, and the men were 
 alone. 
 
 " I thought she'd never go, Ralph," said his uncle. " But come, 
 don't keep me in suspense ; I'm sick with this excitement. And he 
 filled a large glass with Burgundy, drank it off, and pushed the 
 bottle to Ralph. 
 
 " No, thank you, sir ; I'd rather be cool." And, taking the bag 
 from his neck, he proceeded deliberately to cut open the covers one 
 by one. Perhaps his hand did not tremble so much as it did when , 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 397 
 
 in Plassey grove, only a few months ago, Colonel Olive unripped 
 what lie could not hold ; but I am by no means sure that it was 
 steady. 
 
 "This is the last, uncle; don't be impatient," he said, sadly. 
 " Look ! here's my father's name embroidered over the silk — Henry. " 
 
 " Quick — quick, lad ! " cried Mr Darnell, almost gasping, as he 
 leaned over the table. " I see — I see ! but the paper — the paper ! " 
 
 " Look ! uncle, they are both here." 
 
 We know what he saw, or ought to have seen; but even that 
 strong Darnell — the man who dealt with vast combinations of worldly 
 transactions, mercantile and political, without a change of muscle — 
 seemed to be at once helpless as a child ; and his hand, holding the 
 two papers, dropped heavily on the table. 
 
 " TJncle — dear uncle! " cried Ralph starting up ; " you are not ill ?" 
 
 " No, boy, not ill — not ill ; but that paper brings back many a 
 bitter thought. So — I am better now," and he took up the papers 
 one by one, and read them. 
 
 " Is it true, uncle ? Is it true ? " gasped Ralph, for his uncle's 
 face had not moved a muscle. 
 
 " Who can say ? " he said, with a great sigh — " who can say ? " 
 and was silent again, staring blankly across the room. 
 
 " Oh, uncle ! " cried Ralph, " you don't think it's true — I am sure 
 you don't ; and I'll, tear it up, and no one'U know but you and me ; 
 and I'll go back to India, and you will forget all about it. Give it 
 me." 
 
 " Who can say ? " said Mr. Darnell, absently, in a hoarse whisper ; 
 " and there's Constance maiTied, and all to be undone. God ! Is 
 this true?" 
 
 " Uncle — uncle, you did not tell me that, you didn't indeed," cried 
 Ralph. " Oh, give it me ! What's the use of a fellow like me 
 coming home to trouble you all ? I'll tear it up now before you, 
 and I'll never, never say one word about it to any one — upon my 
 honour. You kept my secret before, and you'll keep this. Sooner 
 than hurt Constance, I'd — " 
 
 " Tear it, Ralph ! for shame ! What put that into thy brain ? " 
 cried his uncle, recovering. " Tear it ! — God help me ! but you shall 
 have such right as man's justice can give. No — ^it was but for a 
 moment, boy, that I was confused. I, Roger Darnell, with God's 
 help, will see you in your just place ; nor would Constance, nor your 
 uncle Geoffi-ey, for a moment— ;/o>' a moment, think of disputing your 
 right. But they can't make you Sir Ralph Darnell of Melcepeth. 
 It's the law only can do that, and I'll not sleep till I begin it ; " and 
 he got up and rang the bell. " The coach round directly," he said 
 to the servant; and filling another glass as the man shut the door, 
 
 I drink to thy truth, Ralph, and to thy right, and may God help it ! 
 
398 RALPH DARNELL^ 
 
 We will go to Peed now — I know where to find Hig. Come, for a 
 cup of tea, and keep thine own counsel. Tell the girls about the 
 Black Hole, if you like — anything to pass the time ; but if I were 
 you, I'd rather face Suraj-oo-Doulah's cavalry than those women. 
 Hark ! there are the guns — hurrah ! ' 
 
 But Ralph was steady, and bore himself well in the drawing-room. 
 The enthusiasm with which his uncle had thrown himself into the 
 matter, and his prompt decision, dissipated the fear which had 
 gathered about him, and his wondering audience heard what we know 
 of with tears and shudderings. Even Mrs. Darnell relented, and 
 cried too ; and admitted to herself that the young man's heart seemed 
 to be touched — as indeed it was, and very deeply. At home among 
 them all again — ^familiar streets, faces, souiids, with honour and dis- 
 tinction awaiting him, and but two years had passed — could it be 
 otherwise than touched ? 
 
 I need not go over the same subject again with Mr. Peed. That 
 worthy gentleman's ruffles were as white, his hands as spotless, his 
 snuff-box as full, as ever. It seemed only yesterday that Ralph had 
 seen him, as he went into the parlour in Lombard Street-— as he 
 heard the will read. Perhaps Mr. Peed suspected how it had been 
 lost ; but when Ralph came in His Majesty's uniform to Qiieen 
 Square with Mr. Darnell, as an apparition, and he knew how the 
 glorious news for which the Tower guns had fired had been brought 
 — he looked upon Mr. Ralph Darnell in a very different light from 
 the nullius Jilius of whom he had had legal experience. Mr. Peed 
 was alone, drinking his claret and eating his walnuts, as the gentle- 
 men entered ; and they were not long, you may be sure, in coming 
 to the point. Despite of his professional etiquette, the production of 
 the certificate staggered the worthy little man. " He had never — no, 
 not in all his experience — ^heard of such a case. Only to think of 
 how it was found ! But, sir. Colonel Clive was right ; but for his 
 attestation, the paper would have been open to the gravest suspicion 
 — legally, of course, sir," and he bowed to Ralph. "I don't see how 
 we could have proceeded. Now, sir, this must be proved, and I 
 would recommend instant action. No delay at all, sir ; we must set 
 to work at once." 
 
 " Certainly, Peed ; there can be no delay," said Mr. Darnell ; 
 "and that'^ why I've come to you out of hours." 
 
 " I'm never ' out of hours ' to a client, Mr. Darnell," said the law- 
 yer, brushing away his snuff — " never ; midnight would have been 
 just the same. Curious enough, too, Wilson's in the house, getting 
 up some papers. He's just dined with me. — ^Wilson ! " he cried, 
 rising and putting his head into another door which he opened, " come 
 here. When can you leave London ? " 
 
 " Now, sir, if you like ; I've my coat in the hall. Your servant 
 
ROGER DARNELL AND COMPANY. 3 99 
 
 Mr. Darnell. My God ! " he exclaimed, starting back, " it's not 
 Ealpt Darnell ? " 
 
 " The same, Mr. Wilson," said Ralph, advancing ; " and glad to 
 see you again." 
 
 " Now I understand," said "Wilson ; " and I -was right after all." 
 
 " As you always are, Wilson. Now listen ; you have to go with 
 Mr. — Captain — Darnell here, to prove this certificate of marriage. 
 He knows the place, and you must make an extract from the church 
 register, and have it witnessed j that register must be found sir." 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Peed, I see what's to be done. Mr. Darnell and 
 I will arrange it, if he'U give me a seat home." 
 
 " Go at once," said Mr. Peed ; " Jenkins will finish the papers." 
 
 And so the three gentlemen returned to Bloomsbury Square. 
 
 " And I may quite depend upon you, Mr. Wilson, in this matter ? " 
 said Mr. Darnell. 
 
 " You trusted me in a more delicate one once before, sir," said Mr. 
 Wilson, with a sly look, ** and were not deceived." 
 
 " You ! God bless me ! how ? " cried Mr. DarnelL 
 
 " Wait a moment a,nd you shall see," was the reply, and he went 
 into the hall. While the two sat wondering what he could mean, a 
 figure with a white beard, q, slouched hat, and a long coat, entered 
 limping. 
 
 " How niosh per sheijt, Mishter Damil ? How mosh per shent ? " 
 it said, with a strong Jewish accent. 
 
 '• Ah, my friend, I know you now ! " cried Mr. Darnell, laughing 
 heartily ; *' as you were true in that niatter, so be in this, and your 
 reward will be greater." 
 
 " What matter, uncle ? " cried Ralph. 
 
 " Nothing to you now," was the reply ; and when Mr. Wilson 
 had departed, and they found the ladies had gone to bed, Mr. Darnell 
 yawned wearily. *' Enough for to-day, Ralph," he said ; " come 
 to bed." 
 
 We may believe it had been a trying day to both, and now that 
 the excitement was past, Ralph was very weary. I think if Mrs. 
 Darnell could have looked in at the door as Ralph knelt down beside 
 his bed before he went to sleep, and heard what he murmured to 
 One who is ever listening, even she might have owned that his heart 
 was touched, and grateful too. 
 
400 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 ON THE TEACK. 
 
 I DO not tHnk I need to follow minutely the details of the few days 
 in London which intervened between Ralph's arrival and the day 
 of his departure for the north. Every hour seemed an age to the 
 young man : but there were councils at the India House to be 
 attended : there were visits to His Majesty's Secretary of State, 
 and official business to be transacted at the Privy Council Board : 
 and there was also an audience of His Majesty to be gone through, 
 wherein Ralph was not, to be sure, knighted, but all was said to 
 Captain Smithson of a complimentary character that could be 
 desired, and a promise graciously given that the provisional rank 
 conferred by Colonel Clive and the Council at Calcutta should be 
 confirmed. I am not at all sure, however, that the Council in 
 Leadenhall Street were prepared for what some of them, even 
 already, were pleased to term the efiects of Mr. Clive's personal 
 ambition and greed of gain; nor were their minds at all able to 
 grasp the probable contingencies of his policy. They refused to 
 look upon the transactions with Omichund and Meer Jaffier as 
 honourable or creditable; and as these opinions spread abroad, a 
 great many persons adopted them, and thus a hot reception was 
 being prepared for Mr. Clive whenever he might return, and when, 
 among others, the mild Mr. Cowper was to write about him in 
 bitter words of satire like these — 
 
 ' A despot big with power obtained by wealth, 
 And that obtained by rapine and by stealth ; 
 With Asiatic vices stored thy mind 
 But left their virtues and thine own behind, 
 And having tracked thy soul, brought home the fee 
 To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ! ' 
 
 Well, those things had to follow ; and for the present we have no 
 connection with them whatever. We only know that Ralph ,could 
 see little to dim his hero's lustre, and wherever he went, or was 
 called upon for an opinion (he was ever too modest to venture one 
 himself), he spoke with an enthusiasm which was infectious, and a 
 conviction which, even from one so young, carried great weight, 
 that heretofore there had been no general in India like Clive ; no 
 one with any true political comprehension, no one who, with the 
 decision and firmness necessary, could have carried the British 
 interests through a crisis which, if not met in the spirit it had 
 been met in, would have proved, instead of a splendid triumph, a 
 national degradation. I repeat, I have nothing to do with the 
 
ON THE TRACK. 401 
 
 public opinion of the time; liistory has faithfully given all those 
 events, and posterity has judged, and will judge, as it thinks fit, 
 in regard to them. 
 
 But I know that Ralph chafed at the delay. He had a mind 
 to have gone to see Elliot, but the Renown, in which was Mrs. 
 Wharton, had not arrived, and perhaps for himself Mr. Elliot had 
 no particular interest ; but he sent him a bUl for a hundred pounds, 
 and begged his acceptance of it in memory of old times, and I am 
 sure George EUiot was too glad to think the good-natured donor 
 had not forgotten him, to quarrel about receiving his assistance as 
 a loan, as Ralph wrote, if he would not take it as a gift. 
 
 In truth, Ralph was a rich man ; his investments had had lucky 
 sales ; he had lived a quiet life in Calcutta, and his share of the 
 proceeds at Moorshedabad, besides a large donation for special 
 services which the Council voted him, altogether swelled his 
 amount in the books to a heavy sum. Mr. Sanders insisted upon 
 giving in an exact account of the stewardship of Roger Darnell 
 and Company, and the balance was a very different one to what we 
 can remember on a former occasi«n when we looked into the books, 
 for a total of £19,827, 3s. ijd., which Mr. Sanders displayed in 
 triumph, was indeed satisfactory. 
 
 " I don't let it lie here in deposit, Ralph," he said, " but invest 
 it in Company's stock, which gives 12J per cent, per year ; and till 
 you return to India, there's no occasion to disturb it." 
 
 I have said all this, because, between Mr. Roger Darnell's earnest 
 pleadings that he would at least eat a Christmas dinner with them, 
 and his engagements, there was no resource but to stay over the 
 25th. Perhaps that Christmas dinner was not a very merry one ; 
 but it was with a bright anticipation of success, of fervent hope that 
 his future position might be established, that he took his seat in the 
 York stage-coach on the next morning — Mr. Wilson being opposite 
 to him ; and the lumbering vehicle pursued its slow but steady 
 journey. What could Mr. Darnell say but God bless him ! as he 
 bade him farewell? As to the women, none of them knew why 
 Ralph was going northwards, except only to see his uncle and Con- 
 stance; but Dolly's soft blue eyes told tales, I fear, more plainly 
 than Ralph was prepared for; and on her account, if no other, 
 perhaps the young man was glad to leave the mansion in Blooms- 
 bury Square, which, in spite of his uncle and Dorothy, chUled him 
 by its unbending formaKty. 
 
 So at last York was passed, and Newcastle, and at Alnwick they 
 had but three stages to Belford, where Ralph, who knew the country, 
 proposed they should put up. There was a good, quiet inn there, 
 and they would be comfortable. Mr. Wilson cotdd make allowance 
 for the variable humour of his companion, which now reached a con- 
 
 2c 
 
402 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 dition of impatience or of wild excitement, and was again depressed. 
 Into the object of the journey, Wilson absolutely refused to enter, as 
 also into answers to inquiries after old friends. Forster, he said, had 
 disappeared ; so had Selwyn ; and indeed he himself had much with- 
 drawn from gay life, and was too glad he had been able to do so, to 
 risk aught in it again. Mr. Peed had given him a small share in the 
 business, and he had no lack of clients on his own account. 
 
 As they passed the bridge at Felton, and the sound of the brawl- 
 ing Coquet, now a deep brown and speckled with white foam, came 
 to them, and Ralph looked up the river with misty eyes, to where 
 the rich woods of Melcepeth covered the banks, and the white 
 smoke rose from the chimneys of the dear old castle high into the 
 calm frosty air — Mr. Wilson guessed what that place might be, for 
 bis companion could not speak. There were too many sweet and 
 bitter memories mingling together to attempt vent for them in 
 words, and he did the best he could to divert the attention of the 
 other passengers from his companion's emotion. Nor had they far 
 to travel now : Alnwick was passed, and with the evening sun 
 sparkHng from the Hall windows, and the vane over the tall church- 
 spire, and clothing the heavy woods about it with a mellow glory, 
 the pretty little town of Belford was reached. 
 
 It was too late that afternoon to do more than iaform the clergy- 
 man of Lucker of their proposed visit next day. Mr. Wilson wrote 
 on the part of Peed, Peed, & Brisbane, and Mr. Clerk would under- 
 stand that the registers were required for a legal inquiry. This note 
 was sent by a boy on the inn pony to Bamborough, where Mr. Clerk, 
 the clergyman, lived, and returned with a reply that he would be 
 ready in Lucker Church at eleven the following day, glad to afford 
 any information in his power. Mr. Wilson that night slept in 
 perfect unconsciousness, which the long day's jolting and confine- 
 ment, and a tumbler of stiff brandy-punch, had helped to bring 
 about ; but if his appearance was to be taken as proof, I do not 
 think Ralph had had like good fortune. When he came down to 
 breakfast, he was pale, and seemed as weary as when he reached 
 Belford the day before. He had scarcely, indeed, slept a wink; 
 and we know enough of his nervous cast of mind to believe, that 
 what no physical danger or responsibility could at all affect him in, 
 had in the present instance affected him very differently. He must 
 be legitimate, or the contrary ; that was a broad fact staring him in 
 the face, never absent for a moment from his mind, and insupport- 
 able now the crisis had come so near. I think Ralph could have 
 quarrelled with Mr. Wilson for the breakfast he ate, which the 
 north-country landlord had served up with a profusion unknown to 
 London innkeepers. Every mouthful seemed but to prolong instead 
 of reduce the capability of consumption : and when Ralph could stay 
 
ON THE TRACK. 403 
 
 no longer, he went out, and walked about before the inn door, where 
 he was joined by the landlord. 
 
 " Will ye be wantin' onythin', Captain ? " asked the host. " YeVe 
 eaten bit a puir breekfest, surr. Tired, perhaps ? Eh my ! bit it's 
 a lang wey till London." 
 
 •' I'll be better presently, when I've had a walk, thank you," said 
 Halph, wishing to get rid of him. 
 
 " Ay, surr, the lad's reddy to gang wi' ye. Ye'll jist go on straicht 
 afore ye, till ye come tiU a lane on yer left hand, that'U tak ye by 
 Mr. Forster's of Adderstone : an' if ye follow that, ye'll be seyn at 
 Luckur, surr; an', comin' back, ye may like to see Twizell Dean, 
 surr — ^that's Mister Selby's, ye ken. It's a fine place." 
 
 " Do you remember a clergyman of the name of Johnston there — 
 at Lucker, some years ago ? " asked Ealph abruptly, in. a tone in- 
 tended to be indifferent, but which trembled more than he could 
 disguise. 
 
 " Jonsin, surr, Jonsin ? Na, a' canna sey that a' dey. Stop, a'U 
 ax ma missis, surr ; there's naebody like wimen furr mindin' places 
 an' times. If a' sez to ma wife, What dey wuz it as we went till — " 
 
 '' Please ask her," said Ralph, with a slight gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Jane! come here till the Captain. Hey's axed mey if a Mr. 
 Jonsin wuz ever parson o' Luckur Church, an' a' canna remember 
 jist—" 
 
 "Jonstin?" cried the woman, dropping a smart curtsy to the 
 well-dressed young man as she came forward ; " na, there never wuz 
 no parsin at Luckur caa'd that. There's been Steward, an' Cooke, 
 an' Furlong, an' now there's Clerk ; but niver no Johnstin, surr. 
 It's a poor place that Luckur, Captain, an' they's glad to get oot 
 on't, them as comes. Na, there niver wuz none Jonsin, surr — 
 niver that a' mind, an' a'm better nor forty year old, an' niver wuz 
 oot o' they parts. A' wuz borm at WarerJord, an' that's nigher 
 Luckur than Belford, surr." 
 
 " It must have been some stranger, I daresay ; biit we'U soon see," 
 thought KalpL " I thought you were never coming, WUson ; let's 
 be off I can't wait — ^reaUy I can't ; " and they strode away together, 
 the frosty earth crackling under their boots, 
 
 " That lad's no richt, Rrichard," said the landlady to her lord, as 
 they watched the two figures. " That'll be some lawyer wark, an' 
 nae gude comin' o't. There's that in that laddie's braw een that a'd 
 no care to sey in ma lad's. Eh my ! bit there's mair trubble in the 
 warld nor we ken o' ; an' the Lord be merciful ! " 
 
 "Amen !^' said the man. " He's a fine lad that, tho', and meybe 
 a'd dee na harrm if a'd tak the spring-cart doon to Luckur, and see 
 for them eggs they promised at the ' Hoose ; ' an' they'd ha' some at 
 Adderstone tey, mebbe." 
 
404 RALPH DARNELL. , 
 
 " Let 'em get on," said the woman. " It's a guid ttocht, an' ye'U 
 jist ask Janet Arrmstrong about the hams she was t' gie us, and them 
 sides o' bakin." 
 
 " A' rycht," he replied, going to the stables. " A' mind." 
 
 Lucker Church — a poor little place then, and not much improved 
 now — stands on a knoll above the road, with no pretension to appear- 
 ance inside or out. A comfortable modern parsonage in the Eliza^- 
 bethan style, is a great contrast to the church itself, which has only 
 a certain antiquity to recommend it. It is near the centre of the 
 small hamlet, close to the bank of the Warren, a brook which, hav- 
 ing dashed foaming down Twizell Dean from the moors above, follows 
 a quiet course through fields and meadows to the sea. In summer 
 time, when the fine ash-trees by the stream are clothed with rich 
 foliage, and the brook runs on with a gentle hum and muionur, and 
 the gurgling splash of the trout can be heard under the alders, Lucker 
 has a certain quiet, rustic beauty, and such, no doubt, it had that 
 day when Henry Darnell and Grace Smithson drove up in the light 
 cart, and — Wait, O reader ! I have no long suspense for you now. 
 
 The landlord's directions had been perfectly explicit. Mr. 
 Wilson and Ralph reached the blacksmith's shop at the comer of 
 the lane, where it turned off from the highroad — ^it is still there — 
 and, dismissing the lad to his destination of Warenford, they went 
 on past Adderstone gates, and as they dipped the brow of an 
 undulation in the ground, the little hamlet of Lucker was before 
 them. How well Ralph remembered it ! How many a lovely 
 trout had he not caught in the little river, when his uncle. Sir 
 Geoffrey, long ago, used to pay an annual visit to the Forsters of 
 Adderstone ! 
 
 The men had hardly spoken since they left Belford, and the pace 
 at which Ralph walked was not an easy one for the London clerk to 
 keep up with ; but he did his best. 
 
 "I often wonder what's become of Forster," said Mr. Wilson. 
 "I can't trace him. Forster of Adderstone — do they belong to 
 him ? " 
 
 " The names are different," said Ralph, " But come on — come 
 on. You'll see Lucker directly. Now I remember every foot of 
 the way — come.'' I think he could have run, so intense was his 
 motion, as he hurried on faster than ever. " See ! there it is — 
 and the old church — and the great farm-house in the trees — come ! " 
 
 It was not far, and as they neared the church they saw Mr. 
 Clerk, the clergyman, with another person, standing on the knoll by 
 the belfry, and hats were taken off and courteous salutes exchanged. 
 Mr. Wilson was spokesman, and they proceeded in to the little vestry. 
 Cold and chill as the church was, it struck heavily to the heart of 
 Ralph Darnell as he looked round the bare walls and homely pewa 
 
ON THE TRACK. 405 
 
 of the place. He shivered as he entered, and took off his hat 
 reverently. 
 
 "I am an agent — clerk — of Peed, Peed, & Brisbane, of London," 
 said Mr. Wilson, by way of opening. ^ 
 
 " So I see, sir, by the note you wrote me yesterday. What can I 
 do for you ? " asked Mr. Clerk, civilly. 
 
 " We wish to prove a certificate of marriage, of which this is a 
 copy," said Mr. Wilson, handing him a paper. " We can show the 
 original if necessary." 
 
 Mr. Clerk took the copy. " I know the names," he said, 
 " specified in this paper — Henry Darnell and Grace Smithson. I 
 have heard of them ; but this I do not know — Jeremiah Johnston. 
 There never was an incumbent here of that name. But stay, some 
 one else may have officiated. A private marriage, perhaps, by 
 licence." 
 
 " If so, it would be registered," said Mr. Wilson, decidedly, 
 
 " Of course — of course, sir ; and here are the books, and the date 
 is—? " 
 
 " The 14th of July 1734," replied Mr. WUson precisely. 
 
 "Very good; now we shaU see. 1720 to 1750 — this is the book. 
 Not many registers, you see, sir, in our little church, but what there 
 are have been carefully set down." 
 
 " Ay, surr," observed the clerk, " nae doot o' that. Johnstin ! " 
 he continued to himself, biting his nails — " Johnstin ! A' mind no 
 minister — no, nor curate o' that name in these parts." 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Ralph, grinding the iron heel of his boot on the 
 floor. " Don't interrupt us ! " and the man hung back timorously. 
 
 " 1730 — 31 — 32 — 33 — 34," continued the clergyman, turning over 
 the pages. " Ah ! we have it now, January, February — ^no entries. 
 March, AprU, May, June, July. Now, sir, this is the page. John 
 Reed and Mary WTiite, 9th ; James Eobson and JaneDarUng, 16th. 
 No, sir, it's not here. There is no such marriage in the register. 
 There must be some mistake — perhaps in the copy. Have you the 
 original ? Can you let me see it ? " 
 
 Mr. Wilson turned to Ralph, who, with trembling hands, was 
 tearing at his shirt-ruffles, and at the bag. Who was to open it 
 now? 
 
 " Give it me, sir," said Mr. WUson in a whisper. " For God's 
 sake, don't tremble so — ^he'U suspect. Wait a moment, Mr. Clerk. 
 This has been kept with much care, as you see, but you shall have it 
 directly. Hold these, Captain Smithson," and he handed the covers 
 one by one to Ralph, as he opened them with his penknife. How 
 well we know them now, and the last with Henry sewn upon it ! 
 
 " Here, sir, compare the two. You'll see there's no error in the 
 draft," said Mr. Wilson. 
 
406 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " A' kno's tiat writin'," exclaimed the clerk, who had craned for- 
 ward. "A' kno's ... in a moment, surr," and he darted out of the 
 vestry. 
 
 " It's no use, Mr. Wilson," said the clergyman, with a deep sigh, 
 as he examined the stained and blurred document with profound 
 interest — " no use. I wonder such a paper ever deceived any one. 
 It's in the last degree informal, and there are no witnesses. I hope 
 you're not personally interested in this, but only as a matter of 
 business. You, as a lawyer, sir, can have but one opinion. Well, 
 Richard, what's this ? " he continued, as the cleA returned. 
 
 " It's his writin', surr. Ye'U mind the letters, surr. Look ! " 
 and he handed several old copybooks to the clergyman. " Them's 
 mine, surr, whin I was bein' teached to write, an' that's his writin', 
 the villain ! " 
 
 There was no question : that of the copybooks and the certificate 
 tallied exactly. 
 
 " Whose ? " cried Ralph, in a hollow, wretched voice. " Speak, 
 man ! before God, in the house of God, speak the truth ! " 
 
 " John Armstrong's," said the man, " an' a'll sweer till it afore 
 the altar, the villain — " 
 
 " Villaia ! " cried the clergyman. " What do you know of him ? " 
 
 " He kept a little school here, Mr. Clerk, when I wuz a lad, and 
 some o' uz went till it. There's mony a ane aboot Luckur as can 
 speak to that writin' besides mey. Villain ! yes, surr — smuggler, 
 robber, Jacobite — what ye Uke ! Wasn't he out in the '45, an' 
 hanged an' a' ? Not even his black lies aboot Surr Geoffrey Darnell 
 could save him. Stop, surr, there's ma mither — she'd likely kno' 
 aboot this black bizness, a'm thinkin'. He lived there, in that 
 hoose hard by the church, surr, did Armstrong. But stop — ma 
 mither"!! remembir, I daresay, better nor mey — " 
 
 " Look to your friend," said the clergyman, kindly, to Mr. Wilson, 
 " This scene appears to agitate him." 
 
 Never in his life, accustomed to deathbed scenes, where poor 
 possessors of world's riches were vainly trying to gasp out a few 
 intelligible words as to their disposal — ^never with criminals, vainly 
 struggling against overwhelming evidence — had John Wilson seen 
 such a face as that. " Some wine, sir, if you wouldn't see him die. 
 Quick ! Mr. Darnell ! — Ralph ! Oh, don't take on so ! Drink this." 
 
 There was sacramental wine in a cupboard, and Mr. Clerk hastily 
 pom-ed some into one of the cups and held it out, and Ralph drank 
 it mechanically. " One of the tried of the Lord," he murmured. 
 " May it strengthen him body and soul, O merciful Father ! " 
 
 "I cannot bear it, Wilson," said the poor fellow, gasping; "yet 
 I will hear the worst to the end. Let the woman speak when she 
 comes." • ^ 
 
ON THE TRACK. 407 
 
 " A' mind it weel, gentlemen," said the old dame, when she had 
 seated herself, and a sip of the wine had been given her ; " weel — 
 rycht weel. We wuz a' oot in the hayfields, an' naebody here but 
 Armstrong, the schulemester. We heerd, lang after it wuz, that a 
 man an' a womin had gane intill the church wi' him, an' wuz married 
 by him : an' a' remember as weel as if it wuz yesterday, that Arm- 
 strong, when we a' com'd hame, wuz tellin' Jeremy Simpson — he 
 wuz the clerk then — that he'd had a deal o' trouble to find the key, 
 an' a gentleman an' lady had com'd jest to see the church, and gon'd 
 awey. There's plenty mair, surr, that kno's o' this bit mey ; bit 
 a'm tellin' the truth, surrj an' they said it wuz that wild Harry 
 Darnell an'—" 
 
 " Before God ! is it the truth, woman ? " cried Ralph, with a 
 quivering face, and interrupting her. 
 
 " Before the Lord, an' before the holy breed an' wine that I've 
 drunk, I'm telHn' nae lee, gentlemen ! " she answered solemnly. 
 " There's no—" 
 
 " Stop ! " said the woman, interrupting Mr. Wilson. " It wuz 
 sed after mony a day, them folk had come from Lamberton to 
 North Sunderland in a boat, an' sae come here. Maybe ye'd heer 
 o' them at Lamberton Pike, maybe — " 
 
 " Let vis go^come away, Wilson— come," said Ralph, huskUy. 
 " If this treachery — for treachery it has been — relates to you, sir," 
 said the clergyman, laying his hand tenderly on Ralph's arm, " I 
 can but offer you my sympathy — that of a poor servant of the Lord 
 who has had his trials too. Try, sir, to bear this heavy wound 
 calmly, and as a Christian man should in his life's warfare; for 
 what saith the holy Psalmist ? — ' He that goeth on his way weep- 
 ing, and beareth good seed, shall doubtless come again with joy.' " 
 WTiy of all others should he have chosen that text ? — who could say ? 
 " Amen ! " said Ralph, solemnly. " Before that altar my dear 
 mother knelt, believing one true who knelt by her, but who was 
 false — and a ruffian read God's words over her. I will but kiss the 
 place, sir, alone — it is holy to me," and he went out of the room 
 into the church. They saw him reverently kneel down on the 
 altar steps and pray : then after a whUe he rose and came to them 
 again, calmer, but with a stern expression on his face, which John 
 Wilson had never seen before. 
 
 " I am ready," he said — " let us go. I know the worst now, and 
 it matters little for the future." 
 <' And these ? " asked Mr. Wilson. 
 
 " They are precious relics of her," he said — " of her who was true 
 — not of him who was false — and they shall lie at my heart till I 
 die ; " and he folded them up and put them away as they had been 
 since Plassey, and went out. 
 
408 RALPH D ARNELL. 
 
 " What a noble fellow ! " whispered Mr. Clerk, mping his eyes— 
 "a true soldier of the Lord. I think this is not his first trial." _ 
 
 "He has had some bitter experiences," returned Mr. "Wilson. 
 " He was in the Black Hole of Calcutta, and has fought with Mr. 
 Clive." 
 
 " And there is no hope in this matter ? " 
 
 " None," said Mr. Wilson, as they followed Ralph, — " none what- 
 ever, No legal firm in England could lay this case before counsel. 
 No, sir, it's a sad business j but there's no hope, and we thank you 
 all the same for your courtesy. Don't we, Captain Smithson ? " and 
 Ralph bowed. 
 
 " I thought you said — I thought he was a Darnell," whispered 
 the clergyman. 
 
 " Not now, I thiuk, nor henceforth, sir," was Mr. Wilson's reply, 
 " or I'm much mistaken." 
 
 It was well the landlord had driven down his cart to Lucker. 
 " He would walk home," he said, and gave the reins to Mr. Wilson. 
 I do not think Ralph could have walked back, but he would leave 
 no stone unturned that gave the slightest chance of success. They 
 took a chaise to Berwick and Lamberton, but we need not follow 
 them, for they sought for proof in vain. If the marriage before 
 God's altar was false, what hope was there that one at a turnpike 
 gate would be truer ? Who remembered the hasty marriages of 
 twenty-two years ago, or kept registers of half of them? It was 
 enough to most who came there to " tak' a loup ower Lamberton 
 Pike." Some old torn greasy registers were shown; but the pike- 
 keeper of Henry Darnell and Grace Smithson's time had been 
 changed, and was dead long ago. Ralph found some of Drever's 
 family in Berwick, and told them how he had died, and what 
 money was coming to them ; but the rest was all a blank ; and on 
 the third day Ralph and Mr. Wilson abandoned further search, and 
 returned to Belford. As Ralph wrote the details to his uncle Roger 
 with a heavy heart, and Mr. Wilson made his official report to his 
 principal, there was at least this assurance to Ralph, that the secret 
 was known only to those few, and they would be faithful. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 CKAIG PEEL. 
 
 As long as any excitement of search or chance of discovering wit- 
 nesses — even of the Scotch marriage if there had been one — ^remained, 
 Ralph had borne up bravely, and with far greater mental resolution than 
 
CRAIG PEEL. 409 
 
 Mr. Wilson had expected. Tliat gentleman, was too ■well experienced 
 in the ordinary actions and emotions of the human mind to expect 
 that Ralph would not suffer some revulsion of the strain to which he 
 had been subjected since his arrival in England ; and all the stories 
 he remembered of illnesses at lonely inns, and the possible prospect 
 of having to nurse a patient with brain fever for many days, com- 
 bined to induce very unpleasant forebodings. I feel certain that 
 Mr. Wilson had some such dread at his heart when, on the morning 
 after their return from Berwick, Ralph pushed away his plate at the 
 breakfast table, and leaning back in his chair, looking hot and 
 feverish, sat covering his face with his hands, and when the cloth had 
 been removed, laid his head on the table wearily, and ia the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit, groaned aloud — " Oh that I had never left India ! 
 Oh that I had never come home ! " 
 
 " Eor shame, Mr. Darnell ! " said Wilson, sharply enough ; " you 
 have done your duty, and could not possibly have done more. If 
 you had sent this paper to your uncle, or to Mr. Peed, and we had 
 written what you yourself have heard and seen, how you would have 
 blamed yourself for not coming home ! With what a bed of thorns 
 would you not have provided yourself ! — regrets, suspicions of us, 
 fancies that we had neglected this or that, and a thousand such mor- 
 bid ideas. Bless me ! if you are so cast down, now that you have 
 seen with your own eyes and heard with your own ears, what would 
 you have been there ? and who'd have pitied you ? So I say, for 
 shame, Mr. Darnell, that those kind words of Mr. Clerk's — " 
 
 " Captain Smithson for the future ! " cried Ralph, rising suddenly, 
 and turning to Mr. Wilson with flashing eyes. 
 
 " By all means, Captain Smithson," replied Wilson, coolly. " By 
 Jove ! there's some sense in that. It's as that you have to live your 
 life — not as Ralph Darnell ; and if you'll only think, as you did 
 yesterday when we gave up at Berwick, you will not turn your back 
 on the world because your father — " 
 
 " Let him answer to God himself for what he did," cried the young 
 man. " I only remember my mother's faith and trust — " 
 
 " And imitate them, my dear fellow," continued his companion. 
 " I'm not used to preaching, goodness knows ; but what I heard 
 yesterday seemed to fall nearer my heart than any sermon / ever 
 heard, and I shall not forget it. If, out of all this trouble, joy comes 
 to you in the end, you'll have the satisfaction of having worked for 
 it — earned it ; and to my fancy that's better than all the baronetcies 
 that ever were inherited. You don't think that now ; but you will 
 think it, and remember that John Wilson told you so. Now, what 
 are we to do ? I don't like to leave you alone, and yet Peed will be 
 anxious, and you have to go to Melcepeth." 
 
 " Are you here, Mr. Henry ? " asked a brisk voice, followed by a 
 
410 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 florid, good-natured looking face, which peeped into the parlour. 
 " Beg your pardon, gentlemen," he continued ; " but I thought the 
 landlord was here, and I want him." 
 
 " Won't you sit down, sir ? " said Mr. "Wilson, rising and pushing 
 a chair to the stranger, at the same time ringing the bell. " I dare- 
 say Mr. Henry will come back directly. Tell your master he's 
 wanted," he added to the servant who presented herself. 
 
 " Master's jeest gane doon the toon," said the girl, curtsying ; 
 " but I'll let him knaa', Mr. Embleton, ye're wantin' him. Is't ony 
 thing varra particular, surr ? A'll rrin mysel'." 
 
 " Yes, Janey, my lass ; tell him there's a messenger over from Mr. 
 Forster's of Craig Peel, and Mrs. Forster's taken UJ, and I've to ride 
 as fast as I can, and I want his mare. Tell him to come as fast as 
 ever he can," he bawled after her, as she ran out. 
 
 " I'm the doctor here, gentlemen," he continued, " and have sharp 
 summonses at times. I'm only glad this wasn't at night. Forster 
 might as well have sent to Gibson at Wooler ; but she won't trust 
 anybody but me, it seems. Poor thing ! poor thing ! I fear it'll go 
 hard with her." 
 
 " Mr. Forster ? " said "Wilson, looking hard at Ralph — " I knew 
 a Mr. Forster once in London, and have lost sight of him this year 
 past. "We heard he had settled down for good in the north, with 
 a wife. "What is the name of his place ? " 
 
 " Craig Peel," said the surgeon — " an old border castle, about 
 twenty miles off." 
 
 " Craig Peel ! — that was Forster's place. I've heard him often 
 mention it," cried Ralph, with sudden amazement. " "We were to 
 have gone there if — if — no matter. And Mrs. Forster, sir, may I — 
 may I ask if you know her ? Is she a fair girl, hardly eighteen 
 yet, with — " 
 
 " She is very beautiful, sir. I can almost excuse Forster for run- 
 ning away with her," replied the doctor. 
 
 " He used to be in London a good deal ? " asked "Wilson. 
 
 " Always," returned Mr. Embleton, " until this maiTiage. Since 
 then he has stayed at home pretty regularly ? " 
 
 " It's the same," cried Ralph. " Is he a friend of yours ? " 
 
 " Not of mine," returned the doctor, coldly. I don't think Mr. 
 Forster has any friends; none hereabouts, certainly. He is too 
 Jacobite for us, gentlemen. I fancy we had enough of that in the 
 '45 ; but people say Mr. Forster is as active an agent as ever, and 
 I can't say he's liked for it. But his wife, sir, is an angel — poor 
 thing ! poor thing ! " 
 
 "Do you know who she was?" asked Ralph, with a trembling 
 voice. " I think — that is, I — " 
 
 " Oh, yes, her old servant, Nanny Keene, told me all about her. 
 
CRAIG PEEL. 411 
 
 She was a daughter of Morton's of Birdhope, poor fellow, who suf- 
 fered. Sybil Morton, she was — " 
 
 "She was a dear friend of mine. I knew her from childhood," 
 said Ralph, with much emotion. " Have you any objection to my 
 accompanying you ? I should be so thankful if you would let me." 
 
 " None whatever," said the surgeon ; " but if what the man says 
 is true, I fear you won't see her ; as it is, the child may be born 
 before I get there. Now,- Henry, the mare. Sharp ! that's a good 
 fellow ; and this gentleman will ride with me — you can give him the 
 chesnut." 
 
 " And I also, if you can mount me well," said Wilson, as the 
 landlord went out to order the horses. " How curious, Ralph — how 
 very strange, isn't it ? " 
 
 " This is some mystery that we shall soon learn,'' he replied. " I 
 was repining and fretting only just now, and see what has followed. 
 O SybL, my darling, if I but meet you again ! " 
 
 If there had been one thing more than another which could have 
 diverted the thoughts of his own misery, and taught Ralph submis- 
 sion, it was the sudden knowledge which had reached him so strangely 
 in regard to Sybil Morton. This, then, was the solution of Mr. 
 Darnell's mystery, which had also defied his own scrutiny in London, 
 a search which he had intended to resume. Now it was aU clear. 
 But was hers a real marriage, or was it a tale of treachery like that 
 he had unravelled ? I think he ground his teeth at the thought, as 
 he again addressed Mr. Embleton : — 
 
 " You said, sir. Miss Morton was married ? You see, sir, I have 
 been abroad for the last two years, and have not heard, and that must be 
 my apology for asking the question. Mrs. Morton, I knew, was dead." 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied the doctor, "she's married fast enough. They 
 were married by licence in Wooler Church, and I was present. As 
 you knew Miss Morton, I may tell you that she did not admire the 
 Scotch marriage; and indeed that's how I came to know her, for 
 Forster sent for me when she was so distracted. Hysteria of the 
 worst kind had set in, and if old Nanny hadn't helped me — ^you 
 know Nanny, of course : she's a character — I should have made but 
 a poor hand of the case. She did more than I, and honest marriage 
 did the rest." 
 
 " Thank God it was so ! " said Ralph. 
 
 " Well," returned the doctor, curtly. " I don't know that there's 
 much to be thankful for, after all ; but you'll see for yourself, Mr. — 
 a — a — " 
 
 " Captain Smithson, sir, at your service," said Ralph, taking off 
 bis hat. 
 
 "God bless me! Captain Smithson, who brought home Mr. 
 Olive's despatches ? " 
 
412 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " The same, sir, at your service." 
 
 "An honour I little expected," said the doctor, making a pro- 
 found bow and oflFering his hand. " We must not wait now, and I 
 will tell you what I know of this matter as we ride along. A painful 
 subject in some respects — very, very painful. But if the child lives, 
 she may be more reconciled ; it may be a bond of union between 
 them, and the poor thing will have it to care for." 
 
 They mounted in the inn-yard, and, led by Mr. Embleton, soon 
 reached the brow of the ridge above Belford, and took the direction 
 of Jedburgh. As the valley of the Till opened before them, it was 
 truly a dreary prospect. Then, vast tracts of moorlands were unen- 
 closed, the roads over them being little better than footpaths. To 
 the west, Cheviot was crowned with snow, and looked ghastly white 
 against the deep grey of the sky. Between were the woods of 
 Chillingham, and farmhouses and hamlets dotted- here and there over 
 the sad-coloured landscape. Away to the south, waves over waves 
 of moorland, brown heather and snow-patches alternating, with the 
 woods of Twizell Dean and Adderstone intermingled between them 
 and the lowland cultivation. Eastward the eye followed the sea-line 
 to the noble Castle of Bamborough, standing up grandly from its 
 basalt foundation, and thence to Holy Island and the rugged, iron- 
 bound coast of Tantallon, till in the far distance northwards, Berwick 
 Law loomed mistily in the haze. In summer a glorious panorama 
 indeed; in winter hardly less beautiful, but of a wild character 
 which saddens more than exalts. 
 
 " And that's Wooler Church, where Miss Morton was married," 
 said Mr. Embleton — "you see the spire. We shall not go by it, but 
 keep to the right, across the moors." 
 
 " He — Mr. Forster, has been kind to her, I hope ? " said Ealph, as 
 he pressed to the doctor's side. 
 
 « Yes — after his fashion — ^very. I believe he adores her, but I 
 often think more after the fashion of a wild beast — Hke a bull of 
 Chillingham Park, ready to fly at any one — than a Christian gentle- 
 men. Good God ! " he exclaimed, suddenly, " what would he be if 
 she died ! " and so dashing his spurs into his horse's flaiiks, rode on 
 at the utmost speed the ground would allow of, without speaking 
 more than words of caution in their progress. 
 
 I do not think Captain Smithson's thoughts were in a very col- 
 lected state during the ride. Physically it was most enjoyable — the 
 rapid pace ; the clear, calm, frosty air, served to dispel much of his 
 gloom ; but there were old memories of Sybil which troubled him, 
 and as to her present condition there was much uncertainty. Mr. 
 Embleton was not explicit. " If the child lived, it might be a bond 
 of union between them," he hoped. Of the rest he could judge pretty 
 clearly, Sybil had been abducted, had well nigh died, and had sub- 
 
CRAIG PEEL. 413 
 
 mitted to marriage. No — ste could not have loved Forster — yet he 
 had been true ; and another, with one who loved him, false — false as 
 hell ! he to whom he owed his life — ^false. I think the turn his re- 
 flections had taken would have led him again into the moody frame 
 of mind on which Wilson had rallied him, when, as they descended 
 the brow of a small eminence, Mr. Embleton pointed to an object 
 before them — " By Jove ! they're watching for us ; don't you see there's 
 some one on the tower waving a flag ? Quick, gentlemen ! follow 
 me," he cried, and he urged his smoking horse down the path and 
 galloped on. 
 
 On a knoll, a spur of the moorland, round the end of which a small 
 streamlet wound, sparkling in the sun, stood a tall grey buUding, 
 with a peaked roof of red tiles, crowned by a stack of chimneys, the 
 smoke of which went straight up into the still air. It consisted of 
 several storeys, and the walls were pierced with small windows, from 
 the glass of which the sun's rays were reflected with bright gleams. 
 Round the foot of the building were, as they appeared, outworks, 
 covered in as dwelling-places, or perhaps stables, and a gate, as if for 
 defence, closed the whole. At two corners of the upper storey were 
 projecting round turaets, from one of the windows of which the 
 white flag which had caught the doctor's eye was being waved with- 
 out intermission. A few straggling fir-trees stood near the gate, and 
 there seemed to be a spot like a garden near them. All else was 
 brown moorland around ; but in the valley below, there were a few 
 small cottages, and enclosed fields belonging to them. In his life, 
 Captain Smithson had never beheld any scene more dreary or deso- 
 late, and he rode on with a strange, sad foreboding. As they reached 
 the entrance-gate Mr. Embleton threw himself from his horse, which 
 was caught by a boy, and, giving his own to another as he dismounted, 
 the young man followed him. 
 
 " How is she ? how is she ? " cried Mr. Embleton ; " where's Mrs. 
 Forster?" 
 
 " A'm feered ye're too late, doctor," said an elderly woman, who 
 was sobbing, and wiping her eyes with her apron. " Couldna ye ha'e 
 cum' sooner, surr ? " 
 
 " God bless me ! " he replied , " no ! I've ridden at speed nearly. 
 I wasn't a quarter of an hour at Belford before I started. Where is 
 she ? — v/here is Mrs. Forster ? " 
 
 " Puir leddy ! Ob, the puir wee lambie ! " cried the woman. " A' 
 couldn't bear it, surr, an' a' cam' oot. She was cryin' for ane Rraafe 
 Darnell, surr ; and the mester, surr, he was jist rroutin' an' swearin'." 
 
 " D — n him ! " cried the doctor fiercely ; " let me go on ! " and 
 Ralph and he entered the door of the castle together. There was a 
 small low hall, and a stair leading up from it to the storeys above. 
 Mr. Embleton did not hesitate. Throwing his heavy cloak to the 
 
414 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ground, as did B^alph, he darted up two steps at a bound. " What, 
 Nanny," he cried, "what's all this? How ia she? — Don't be a 
 fool ! " 
 
 " Ma God ! " cried the woman, holding out her hands in a par- 
 oxysm of terror, " it's him ! it's Master Kraaf e cum frae the deid till 
 her ! Dinna ye sey him ? — theer, theer — ahint ye ! " and she sank 
 down on the stone stair bereft of sense. 
 
 " Hold her up, Captain Smithson ; she's just an ' auld fule.' Who's 
 Master Ralph ? Keep her quiet tUl I get in — ^the old jade ! " 
 
 It was impossible ; Ealph only waited till he had raised the dear 
 old form from the stair, kissed her face, and said, " I'm Ralph, Nanny 
 dear ; don't you know me ? Where is she — Sybil ? " 
 
 " Then the Lorrd's sent ye till her in her deith, that denied ye till 
 her when she was livin'," replied Nanny, in amazement which she 
 could not repress. " Oh, ma bairnie ! there's a sair sight for ye yon. 
 Na, na, she'll niver see ye mair — ^niver mair. Come and sey.' 
 
 It was but a few steps more, and he reached a corridor into which 
 several rooms opened. One was ajar, and, preceded by Nanny, who 
 led him in, he entered. Mr. Embleton was feeling a hand stretched 
 out over the counterpane, then the throat and breast, of a figure 
 lying there in death, and shaking his head. There was no doubt of 
 it — ihe pale, pinched face, the glazed eyes, the drooped jaw, the sweet 
 calm repose before him, was Death. " O Sybil ! O my darling ! " 
 was all he could utter, as he bowed his head over what remained of 
 Sybil Morton. 
 
 " She's gone ! poor thing ! poor thing ! " said Mr, Embleton, 
 wiping his eyes ; " but I could not have saved her." 
 
 " Who spoke ? who said, my darling ? who's that ? Ralph 
 Darnell ? " cried Mr. Forster, advancing from the end of the room 
 with hurried steps ; " what brings you here ? — ^what insult is this, 
 sir, to intrude unbidden into a death-chamber — begone ! " 
 
 Ralph could only point to the sweet face before him — ^he could 
 not speak. 
 
 " Begone, sir ! " cried the wretched man ; " she raved of you — she 
 loved you ! Look at her ; the memory of you killed her. Begone, I 
 say ; leave her to me — you've no right to her." 
 
 " Be quiet, Mr. Forster," said the doctor, advancing, " Be quiet 
 before her ! before the dead ! Peace, sir, it is a holy presence." 
 
 " It is hell ! " cried the man, throwing himself on Ralph Darnell 
 fiercely, and striking him heavily on the face. " If you're a man, 
 come out and answer that ! If you're a coward, I'U kill you where 
 you stand ! " And he drew a sword he had snatched from a corner. 
 
 I believe Ralph was very reckless then, and in a dangerous 
 humour. The presence of the dead — of that sweet Sybil lying 
 there in her holy death — rather increased than subdued the fierce 
 
CRAIG PEEL. 415 
 
 passion which, rose within him at the sudden and unexpected assault. 
 We must remember that gentlemen wore swords by their sides then, 
 and used them freely on slighter provocation than a blow. 
 
 " Come, sir," he cried, as the doctor was vainly endeavouring to 
 hold the infuriated Mr. Porster's arm; "may God do the right 
 between us ! I will not avoid you ! " 
 
 " Gentlemen ! Horrible ! This is horrible, Mr. Forster ! ia your 
 own house, with your dead wife lying here. Stop, in God's name ! " 
 
 But he might as well have spok^ to the air. The two men were 
 hurrying down the stair iuto the courtyard, and he followed them, 
 crying out. Mr. Wilson was stUl waiting there. 
 
 " See, it's all fair, Wilson," said Ralph, unsheathing his sword. 
 " He has struck me, and it's his doing, not mine. Look ! " and he 
 hastily wiped some blood from his lips. 
 
 " Can't we stay this — some other time, Mr. Forster ? " said Wilson, 
 stopping him. 
 
 " Tou ! " was the reply ; " another devil come to torment me. 
 Begone ! let me at him ! Hold off, or, by , I will stab you ! " 
 
 But Mr. Wilson was a powerful man, and he and the doctor 
 wrenched Mr. Forster's sword from his hand, and held him pant- 
 ing and foaming at the mouth, cursing furiously; while Nanny 
 Keene, with her arms round B,alph, was crying out to her master, 
 " Ye shall na' kill him, ye fausse reivin' loon ! ye shall na' kill ma 
 bairnie that the Lorrd's gi'en mey. Haud him fast, surrs ! — Wha's 
 yon ? Eh, look ! " 
 
 "In the King's name," said a grave-looking person none had ob- 
 served, who, with several stout fellows, well armed, entered the gate 
 — " in the King's name, I arrest you, John Forster, on a charge of 
 highway robbery and murder. Give him to me, gentlemen ; I'm 
 well known to you, Mr. Embleton, and here's the warrant." 
 
 Forster seemed sobered in an instant as he held out his hands 
 mechanically for the handcuffs to be put upon him. " My wife's 
 dead, Mr. Reed," he said — "just dead ; have you no pity? " 
 
 " Deed ! then, Mr. Forster, I'm sorry to hear it — vara sorry, sir ; 
 but this is nane o' my doin', an' the law maun ha'e its coorse ; a' can 
 do nothin' o' mysel', an' it's no baUish matt«r, ye ken vara weel, 
 doctor." 
 
 " If you'll take bail, ReeJ, I'll give you anything you like," said 
 Mr. Embleton. 
 
 " And I, sir, cried Ralph, " I bear him no Ul-will ; Forster, let 
 me be bail for you — anything, Mr. Reed, one, five thousand pounds, 
 sir, if you require it." 
 
 " Impossible," said the constable, shaking his head ; " this is not 
 the only charge, I fear, against Mr. Forster, there's treason tae — 
 and I must do my duty, gentlemen." 
 
416 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Then may God help me," said the miserable man, bowing his 
 head ; " it's just — it's just, though I did no murder. I'll make no 
 resistance, Eeed — I am ready. Only, if you'd let me have one look 
 at her — one look, the last. O Mr. Darnell ! O Ealph ! can you-for- 
 give me ? I thank God I did not kill you, unprepared as you are ; 
 yet I had nearly done it. May I see her, Mr. Reed ? " 
 
 The constable was a feeling man in spite of his calling ; he was 
 wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. " Ay, surr, but we canna 
 be lang, ye ken ; we're to get^o Wooler afore evenin', an' a' must be 
 wi' ye. Come two of ye," he said to his men, " wi' Mister Forster," 
 and they took him in ; none cared to follow ; let him say what he 
 had to say before the pure saint lying there, and be gone. He was 
 not long away, and they stood together silently in the courtyard tUl 
 he returned. 
 
 " I kissed her," he said, calmly. " I kissed her child, and it lives ; 
 that is enough. Do not leave her, Mr. Darnell, now, till — tUl — ^you 
 know what I mean — in Wooler Churchyard, where her people lie ; 
 she always said that. . . . "Will you take her child, sir? I 
 have no one — no, not one liviug, to whom I could trust it — only you 
 and Nanny. There is only this old ruin," he continued, looking up, 
 " and what you see about it, left, of all we had — we Forsters ; but 
 there's enough in the house for all expenses, if . . . you will do 
 this, Darnell, for me ? I — I have no friends." 
 
 " I will, Forster," said Ralph : " before God and these gentlemen 
 present, I will do my duty to her and to the chUd, if He spares it." 
 
 " And will you forgive me, Ralph ? One who must soon die begs 
 this. I have done you grievous evil in my life — can you forget it ? 
 Yes, she forgave me too." 
 
 " I forgive you freely, as I hope to be forgiven," replied Ralph, 
 giving his hand frankly. "O Mr. Forster, you should not have 
 thoughts of the past ; it is the future that must concern you." 
 
 " I know that, sir, and I thank you. Come, Mr. Reed, we lose 
 time," and they went out of the gate ; a led horse was waiting, on 
 which he was helped, and a rough cloak thrown over him ; and, 
 guarded by the men, with heavy carbines across their saddles, the 
 little party went on. 
 
 « O ma bairnie, ma own sweet laddie, what's sent ye this gate the 
 day ? " said Nanny, with streaming eyes. " O hinnie, an' she strruve 
 sair for ye, an' niver forgetted ye— an' telled me. ... ma 
 darlin', if I wuz to talk to ye for tin year a'd niver tell ye a' ! Come 
 till her, our ain wee pet, that's at rest frrae that wicked man wi'— 
 the Lorrd. Come awey and see the childie — the wee bit bairrnie 
 that God's sent ye. Eh ! bit it's a bonnie thing 1 come away 1 " 
 
 "We must stay here to-night, Mr. Wilson," said the doctor; "it's 
 too late to tempt the moors ; there's plenty of stables for the horses, 
 
CRAIG PEEL. 417 
 
 and the hoiisekeeper will give us what she has to eat. So, John 
 Forster ! mnrder and highway robbery and treason — that's aU, is it ?" 
 
 "Not the first, I fear," said Mr. Wilson; "there were queer 
 stories about him when he disappeared from London." 
 
 "Ay, when he carried off Sybil Morton," returned the doctor; 
 " did you know him then ? " 
 
 " A little, sir — like other men one meets about town, that's all ; 
 but I always suspected him." 
 
 " So did I, Mr. WUson, and not a little either ; " and they went 
 on conversing, till the housekeeper came and said, " the parlour wuz 
 reddy, and wadna they tak' some dinner ; it wuz jist hamely, but she 
 Ladna' expeckit gran' folk." 
 
 And all this time Ralph was sitting by the dead, and Nanny had 
 put the infant into his arms, and was telling him how it was bom ; 
 how the poor mother — met by Forster after one of his mysterious 
 absences — had been pushed rudely away, and cursed ; how she had 
 been taken iU, and the child was born; how she had suddenly 
 begun to sink, and died with Ralph's name upon her lips — a sad tale, 
 O reader, told with streaming eyes and many a bitter sob. Let us 
 pass it by ; all that avails nothing now. But still the child slept 
 quietly, and Ralph looked from the living to the dead, in the hope 
 that she died in, and which, wonderingly but humbly, he believed 
 now ; for again and again, from that dread night of the 20th June 
 1756, through all Plassey, and Lucker Church — the solemn, beautiful 
 verse we know seemed to follow him with a holy sound, as if sung 
 by angels. 
 
 So he stayed at Craig Peel with Wilson, and the good doctor 
 went to Wooler about the funeral, and in a few days a humble 
 hearse, such as was used in the country, came to the Peel, and many 
 followed it on horseback to the churchyard, where what it bore was 
 laid at rest. Only one word was graven on the headstone — " Sybil" 
 - — and no date ; that was enough to mark the place for the few who 
 cared to know where the beautiful girl lay in her eternal rest. 
 
 The child throve, and it was a new tie to life for Nanny. The 
 Peel was given up to the sheriff, with what money there was — a 
 large sum — in the house. Ralph would not use it, and Nanny from 
 the first said, " Dinna touch it. Mister Rraafe ; it's no canny — it's 
 jist blood-money, ye ken ; and the shirraa '11 pit it intill the sey if he 
 likes, and mair the better." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Henry gave hospit^le shelter to the little party 
 when it arrived at Belford, and Nanny and Mrs. Forster's baby 
 became at once objects of the highest wonder and interest to the 
 good people there. " They had nivir seen the likes o' the bairn- 
 jest like a wee cherub it wuz ; " and even the doctor's good wife 
 wondered at its beauty, and declared it to be certain to live. 
 
 2d 
 
418 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " Surely she will have it— keep it for me, my dear darling Grover," 
 thought Ralph, " now she has lost Constance ; but I won't take it to 
 Melcepeth till I see her," he said confidentially to Nanny ; " Mrs. 
 Henry must take care of ye." 
 
 " Ay, that a' will, Captin, wi' a' my heart," said Mrs. Henry, who 
 rejoiced in the arrangement. " They'll be safe wi' uz till ye send 
 for them, an' Rrichard '11 tak' them till ye." 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 MELCEPETH QNCE MOEE. 
 
 A RIDE of twenty-five or thirty miles was a small matter in days 
 when gentlemen who travelled were accustomed to do much of 
 their journeys on horseback. Mr. Henry's announcement that he 
 "couldna git places in the stage at Belford for sorne days" was 
 welcome news to the gentlemen, who much preferred riding ; and 
 they had been able to send on their portmanteaus to Pelton on the 
 Coquet, from whence any light cart could take them to Melcepeth 
 Castle. So far all was pleasant enough, and the weather was 
 glorious— ^bright, clear days, with a heavy rime at night, which 
 hung on the grass and the hedges, and sparkled in countless 
 spangles in the sun — enpugh frost to keep the road dry and hard, 
 and yet not more than the sun could thaw sufficiently for the 
 horses to travel swiftly and pleasantly. " Good-bye, doctor ; good- 
 bye, Mr. Henry!" "An' a' wish ye a pleasant ride, gentlemen" 
 — and they were gone ; Eind old Nannie, with the " wee bit bairnie " 
 in her arms, and a buxom young woman standing by her, was look- 
 ing out of the window, and trying to raise the chUd to look at the 
 receding figures. 
 
 " Ye canna sey him, ma lambie ; but the Lorrd '11 mak' thee the 
 joy of his puir young life yet, an' ye'U bey a braw laddie yersel', ma 
 preshus, an' Hke yer ain puir mammie ; " and she buried her f ^ce in 
 the child's breast to hide the tears that would come. 
 
 " Eh, mem, bit ye shudna greet," said the young nurse ; " it's no 
 canny, Mistress Keene. Ye'll seyn sey him agin, nivir fear. An' 
 the castle's jest a gran' place, A' seyd it ance; for John Harbottle, 
 hay's the butler, mem, an' liey's ma mither's furrst cozin, ye kep.." 
 
 But we have no concern with this pleasant nursery gossip. The 
 two men have put their horses into a round trot, and were speeding 
 fast on their way. They pass the blacksmith's shop at the corner 
 of the lane leading to Adderstone, down which Ralph looks with a 
 sort of shiver passing through him; then they pass Twizell gates, 
 and look up the Dean and its hanging woods, and Mr. Selby's old- 
 
MELCEPETH ONCE MORE. 419 
 
 faisMoned snug manor-house then standing ; and they splash through 
 the brook at Warenford, and mount the hill at a good paee — and so 
 forward. I do not think Ralph was a very communicative com- 
 panion that day, and Mr. Wilson did not interrupt his thoughts. 
 How would his dear old uncle receive him, and Constance, and 
 dearest Grover — and his grandfather? How often had he been 
 tempted to go south at once, and biH them farewell from London ; 
 and how often had not a better thought come into his mind that 
 that would be a cowardly thing to do ? Was he not forgiven ? — 
 had not he written to his uncle as he arrived in London, and that 
 letter had been forwarded with one from himself by Mr. Roger 
 Darnell. Posts were not rapid in those days; but he knew he 
 would be looked for — and so he was. 
 
 Perhaps I need hardly go back so far as the day when that letter 
 reached Sir Geoffrey, or tell how it was received. Such retrospects 
 are useless matters when one has to press on one's way. " I cannot 
 tell when I shall arrive, and there will be no more time to write, 
 dear Grover," Ralph had said in his note to her ; " only prepare my 
 uncle and Constance for my coming. I humbly hope they may be 
 kind and have forgiven the past ; but if not, I shall go to my grand- 
 father after I have seen them, I write this, of course, in strict con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " Kind ? — forgiven ? Oh, Ralph, to doubt it ! " said Mistress 
 Grover as, retreating to her own parlour, she read the letter which 
 she durst not open at the breakfast table, and was there joined by 
 Constance, who knew what it was. I think if the two women, as 
 with their heads close together they read this letter, writ in the 
 strong manly hand of their young soldier, cried over it, with hearts 
 full of old memories-^and yet not so old after all — they did so with 
 thankful hearts that their prodigal was come back. As to the old 
 baronet, I can't pretend to describe his condition. The Viscount, 
 his son-in-law, gave him up entirely ; and if he had not been a fine, 
 generous young fellow, might have fallen jealous of Ralph ; for what 
 with the baronet's fidgets— fhis sending down to Felton two or three 
 times a day to see if luggage had not arrived, and Constance and 
 Grover's fussiness about the " Blue Room," and the bed, and fires, 
 and airing of sheets — the said room being now at full stove-heat, 
 the feather beds close to the fire, and the blankets hung to toast 
 upon stands : " It's for the captain frae Injy," says the housemaid 
 to her helpmate, as she turned the pillows by the fire, "an' the 
 mistress an' my leddy seys as they'll nivir be het enough ; sae ye'U 
 pit on mair coal, Mary, an' plenty : and if it gits low, a'll jist pull 
 yer lugs, ye skeert daft huzzie ye — a' wull." 
 
 But though the stove-heat continued at its highest, and Harbottle 
 looked wistfully at the goodly row of bottles which stood in the 
 
420 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 garde-vins below the sideboard, and declared to Mistress Darling, 
 the housekeeper, that it " wuz jest a shame to move them bottles of 
 port out o' the warrm saadust, it wuz ; " and the baronet fumed and 
 fidgeted, and Mistress Grover and Constance were silent and anxious; 
 and the Viscount, finding no good of any one, as he said, spent his 
 days in the woods shooting woodcocks, and beat the fields for part- 
 ridges, and the moor for grouse, and accumulated more game than 
 Melcepeth Castle could possibly eat in a month — I say all these not- 
 withstanding, Ralph did not come : and we know why. I think he 
 might, perhaps, have written a line from Belford ; but he did not 
 then wish his errand to be known, If he had succeeded, he would 
 have taken the papers to his uncle apd laid them before him ; when 
 he failed, he could not tell his uncla of bis brother's treachery — that 
 brother who, in spite of all differences, was loyed in death. So he 
 did not write, and all in Melcepeth were grieved 3,nd anxious at the 
 delay, not of many days, as we know, but days seem growing inter- 
 minable when they are such as these. 
 
 Yes, the luggage was at the village inn, and Ralph was alone. 
 As Mr. Wilson had passed through Alnwick, he found he could 
 get on by the stage direct to London, and he judged, rightly perhaps, 
 that he should be de trap at Melcepeth ; so he bade Ralph good-bye, 
 and waited for the coach, while Ralph rode on. 
 
 Did any one ever quite make up their mind what they should say 
 at meeting beloved ones after absence ? I daresay many have tried 
 to do so, and succeeded as badly as Ralph did, and I can fancy that 
 the more he thought, and the nearer he got to Melcepeth, the more 
 confused was his brain ; and the speeches, and matter of them, had 
 become as blurred and confused as his sight was misty, when the 
 roar of the river, the sigh of the woods, the old cooings of the 
 cushats, and cawings of the rooks, blended together in music he 
 had never forgotten — ^no, not even when he was fighting for water 
 at the bars of the Black Hole, and Julia Wharton was clinging to 
 his knees. 
 
 The park gates were shut : but as he rang, a well-known figure 
 came to open them, and dropped a respectful curtsy — as to a 
 stranger. Ralph asked after the family. 
 
 " Yes, surr, ma leddy's at hame," she said, " an' the barr'nitt. 
 Ye'll gae streyt on, surr ; ye canna miss the wey.'' 
 
 Miss the way ! — no, not now. 
 
 " Janet," said Ralph, bending down from his horse as the woman 
 turned the gate — " Janet, hoo's a' wi' ye ? Ye ha'e forgotten mey, 
 a'm thinkin'." 
 
 His old accent had come back on him irresistibly since he had 
 returned to his own country, and he often used it instinctively. 
 
 " Masturr Rraafe ! Oh, ma bairn ! Oh, ma bairnie ! " and she 
 
MELCEPETH ONCE MORE. 421 
 
 flung her arms round the young man and kissed his bronzed cheeks 
 and ruddy lips, while her fingers wandered about his neck, his hair, 
 his hands — and she could not speak. 
 
 " Yes, Janet, your ain baimie." She had been his nurse, and 
 was married to the gamekeeper. " Yer ain, ain childie, that's 
 never — " 
 
 " Mine — mine ! bit all no keep ye, hinnie — awa' wi' ye, and come 
 back by-au'-by. Yer uncle's been twice here the day, an' he'd ha'e 
 gotten a fit o' the goot if ye hadna come — awa' wi' ye." 
 
 What followed ? I do not think Ralph could ever tell, when he 
 found himself in the old castle hall, fast locked in. his uncle's arms, 
 and trying to slip down to his feet to kneel there ; and Grover and 
 Constance hanging over him, and a noble-looking, manly young 
 fellow looking on from behind with a pleasant smUe, and the 
 Baronet crying out — " God bless the boy ! how he's improved ! 
 "Welcome, Ralph ! — welcome home ! " His uncle Roger's welcome 
 had been a loving one too, as we know, but not like this. It was 
 not one to his home, and if there was a place in the world which he 
 could call home, this was it. 
 
 " And what have I done to be excluded ? " cried the young 
 Viscount, coming forward to the group. 
 
 " My husband, Ralph," said Constance, blushing to the roots of 
 her hair, and the two men's hands were locked in a hearty grasp. 
 
 What more, dear reader, can I make intelligible to you of this 
 happy reunion, where all sorrow, danger, trial, misery, were for the 
 present merged into quiet happiness ? I think meetings are of tener 
 sadder than partings. In the one there is hope to be fulfilled, which 
 often fails ; in the other, hope has been too often fulfilled, and there 
 remains no more to look to. But it was not so in this case. We 
 remember Ralph's last partings with those he most loved — his last 
 sight of that group under the hedge, with the footman holding a 
 dim lantern over them, and when the white face of ids uncie, and x,ue 
 broad stream of blood over his shirt and waistcoat, scared him away. 
 Now ? Why, his uncle was not a day older, in appearance, nor 
 Grover. But Constance ? Well, she sat soon after, in the summer, 
 to Mr. Reynolds, and I have already told you of her picture ; but 
 in all his life Ralph had never seen a more lovely combination of 
 grace and power than Constance Viscountess Granton, nor indeed had 
 many others. 
 
 So he rested at Melcepeth, and grew into his old home once more. 
 What cared he for London in comparison ? And Mr. Smithsoii 
 came to him, and heard all. The old man was not disappointed ; he 
 had made up his mind to the truth long ago ; but when the precious 
 relics of the dead were taken to him, at Warkworth, by his grandson, 
 he placed them in the chair where his wife had died, which was 
 
422 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 never used, and knelt down before it, and in his broken voice told 
 both mother and child to look on " what he'd gotten, and he knaa'd 
 a' noo, an' it was gude ia His sight : an' he wuz reddy to cum till 
 'em when the Lorrd had dun' wi' him on errth ; " then he rose calm 
 and clear in his mind, and heard all his grandson had done, and his 
 plans for the future, and thought them good. 
 
 Did the Baronet and Grover think them good ? 
 
 Not at first ; as they were gradually spoken to Sir Geoffrey, he 
 moaned at the prospect. " My own boy, no matter what he is, if he 
 can't be my heir, he can be my child. I've no child now, and 
 Conny will go, and then " — and so the old man moaned and wept. 
 Or at times a spark of the old fire would come out. " He didn't 
 
 care a for Colonel Olive ! Why should his boy go to that infernal 
 
 country ? Hadn't he money enough for all of them ? he hadn't 
 expenses now, and he'd even given up the harriers. Oonstance didn't 
 want the estate, and what was the good of it unless the baronetcy 
 went with it ? " 
 
 And to all this Oonstance added her entreaties personally, and 
 through her husband, between whom and Ralph a brotherly kind- 
 ness had sprung up. I think the young man envied Ralph the 
 honourable scars he could show, and grew fearfully excited by 
 Ralph's glowing descriptions of the gorgeous East, the ambition of 
 those who strove there for dominion, and the fearful ordeals he had 
 passed through. He did not wonder at Ralph's determination, and 
 in the end convinced Oonstance he was right. How could he settle 
 in England? Not as a Darnell of Melcepeth. Whom could he 
 marry ? Not one his equal in what ought to have been his birth. 
 Ah, yes, it is a vexed question : and if we are more tolerant of it 
 now, or careless, than our great-great-grandfathers were, we cannot 
 but feel that Ralph was right. Nor was it many days before Sybil 
 Morton's child was sent for and held close to the hearts of Mrs. 
 Grover and Constance. Ralph told its sad history to his uncle, and 
 there was never a doubt on the subject of his adoption. Dear 
 Grover ! she took the infant to her heart, and the boy grew there ; 
 grew, and flourished, and twined round it. Such as Ralph had been, 
 was this little helpless creature, but with no mystery to clog its 
 steps in life ; and as to Nanny, I do not think there ever ruled in her 
 peculiar kingdom, which was a suite of three rooms at the end of the 
 south wing, a more loving but despotic empress than she was. 
 
 Going ? Yes, he must go ; but he was in no hurry, and the pre- 
 paration for another long severance was very gradual. Ralph had 
 no concealments ; he had made up his mind, and he kept that 
 resolution constantly before them all. What could he do in England ? 
 In India there was future service for his country ; a noble leader, 
 and a crowd of struggling princes and peoples, among whom he 
 
MELCEPETH ONCE MORE. 423 
 
 might have his portion of usefulness. I say, as he spoke of all this 
 with a generous enthusiasm, and an eloquence which none of his 
 hearers could withstand, they grew to know what India was ; and 
 why, in comparison with the tame prospect of an English country 
 life, or the daily cares of a merchant's office, the splendour of that 
 land, and the free exercise of an honourable ambition, could not be 
 withstood. 
 
 I do not think at this present that Ralph Darnell had a care. 
 Mrs. "Wharton had arrived, and had written to him. Her relatives 
 had received her kindly, and she found her fortune far more con- 
 siderable than she had supposed. She wrote in painful distress at the 
 prospect of being discovered by George Elliot. What could she say 
 to him ? How explain her life ? Perhaps he had forgotten her, and 
 so on. Ah ! it was a flimsy covering enough for a poor aching heart, 
 which, however tried, had never been Mse to its first love ; and when 
 Ealph showed the letter to Grover — he daren't tell Constance — that 
 good motherly soul asked why they should not be happy ? and Ralph 
 would not err in telling her where George Elliot was. " I daresay 
 he's a different man now," she said, " after a year of the Fleet ; " and 
 indeed he was. " Why shouldn't they have their chance in life by 
 and-by? they're both old enough to know their own minds." So 
 Ralph thought too, when he wrote to Julia that George was in the 
 Fleet, and that Mr. Braithwaite, a respectable attorney of Morpeth, 
 who knew his property, said it was not irredeemable. 
 
 As long as winter lasted, there were grouse and woodcock to shoot ; 
 and as the spring opened, buds, and flowers, and leaves, and prim- 
 roses clothed the banks of beautiful Coqiiet. The fresh sea salmon 
 came up, and the two friends killed many a one, and many a lusty 
 trout together. Then Constance had to go awhile to her new home, 
 and the baronet and Mistress Grover were to go too ; but there was 
 no fear for the little Ralph, who throve, and chuckled, and crowed as 
 his foster-mother gave him into Ralph's arms, and bade him bless 
 him ere he went forth to his life's work, as she said again and again 
 that she'd never leave him ; and years proved that devotion which 
 bad never yet faUed. 
 
 Why should I linger at the dear old place, with all its memories 
 clinging to me? One glorious day in June, when the river was 
 sparkling, and the soft warm sunlight was playing over the rich 
 woods and waving meadows, and the old music of the birds, mingling 
 with the murmur of the stream, was soothing every rebellious thought 
 and softening all regret, the little procession of coaches started from 
 the hall-door, and went on its way. Come with it, O my patient 
 reader ! and bear with me to the end. Why should I tell you of 
 farewells which would cause pain, when hope, with a grave but benign 
 aspect, beckons us on ? 
 
424 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 OUTWAKD BOUND. 
 
 Ralph had ■written to his uncle Roger soon after he arrived at 
 Melcepeth. He only allowed Mr. "Wilson time to arrive in London, 
 and submit his professional report to Mr. Peed, before he wrote an 
 elaborate letter confirming all that Mr. Wilson had recorded, and 
 Ralph knew his uncle would have perused that report before his 
 letter could reach. I think he had found it on the whole easier to 
 speak to his uncle Geofirey, who had had no hope, and to whom the dis- 
 covery of the false certificate was, after all, only a confirmation of 
 what he expected, than to write to Mr. Roger Darnell on a subject 
 which had raised greater hopes than that gentleman chose to acknow- 
 ledge to his nephew. " At last," he had thought, " there would be 
 one Darnell to succeed both ; and for the present Ralph would not 
 refuse a partnership in the house. Yes, he should be managing 
 partner ; and he and Sanders should do as they liked with the lidia 
 iiusiness, which they both understood much better than he. Then, 
 when, in the course of nature, Geofirey died, and he followed, there 
 would be one to represent the old family both as baronet and mer- 
 chant, and Ralph would have made enough to increase the dignity 
 of the baronetcy very largely. If Ralph liked Dolly, he should have 
 her ; " but I think Mr. Darnell had old-fashioned doubts about the 
 advisability of cousinly marriages, and doubts too as to whether his 
 nephew cared enough about her to ofier his hand. This, however, 
 was a point of minor importance altogether. His girls were assured 
 of handsome settlements, and would be sure to marry well whenever 
 their time cama Till Mr. Wilson's return, therefore, I am afraid the 
 great merchant indulged, after an unusual fashion to so practical a 
 mind, in building castles in the air; and when Mr. Peed, by his 
 professional declaration, tumbled them ruthlessly about his ears, and 
 poor Ralph's melancholy letter followed to complete the ruin — Mr. 
 Roger Darnell fell into a state of depression and anxiety of which in 
 his life heretofore he had had no experience. To whom could he turn 
 for consolation ? Not to his wife, where he should have met it had 
 she been other than she was. If she did not positively rejoice, she 
 at least comforted herself in the opinion that for all that had hap- 
 pened she for one was thankful. She had had no hope of any such 
 results as Mr. Darnell had chosen to anticipate. The antecedents of 
 Mr. Henry Darnell had quite forbidden such in her mind. But I 
 need not tollow this ; it cannot in the least degree alter or modify 
 what existed, and to which her husband had to submit. 
 
 But there was still one point to which the merchant clung even 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 425 
 
 more closely. If his nephew could not be the baronet, and in his 
 turn head of the family, he could at least be head of the house when 
 he himself was gone. He had had enough of business ; he could and 
 would retire in his favour ; if not at once, at least when Ralph should 
 settle down to the work, and take his place in the parlour. Yes, all 
 this could be arranged ; and Mr. Peed was called into council in 
 private, and received instructions as to the drawing up of a certain 
 deed of partnership which was to decide the point. I say, after 
 having done this, and perused the rough draft of that settlement, a 
 feeling of contentment again possessed Mr. Darnell. If it were not 
 all that he had desired, he must be thankful he was able to make it 
 what it was, and so he put the draft among his private papers, and 
 having written such consolation to Ralph as he could find words to 
 express, he anxiously waited his arrival from Granton Towers, where 
 Ralph had gone. 
 
 That was altogether a different place from Melcepeth. The Right 
 Honourable the Earl of Whinborough was condescending, and, in the 
 main, meant to be kind ; but he was not Sir Geoffrey nor Mr. Roger. 
 Ralph's history was known, and we know pretty well what that sig- 
 nified. The young Viscount was pained at the reserve with which 
 his mother and sistei-s treated the young man, and poor Constance 
 was much distressed ; but what could they do ? As to Sir Geoffrey, 
 he was altogether out of place ; he longed to be back at Melcepeth 
 with Grover and the baby, in whose development he took the greatest 
 interest. He knew no one. The Midland squires who came to the 
 stately entertainments at the Towers were not of his sort at all. He 
 could not follow Midlandshire politics, nor local allusions or interests. 
 In his own country he was a leading character, and every one had 
 deference to his age and local experience. Here, who cared for the 
 old Northumbrian baronet among the crowds of dukes, and lords, and 
 their ladies, who came ? He was not sorry he had come, for he saw 
 his beautiful Constance receiving, ay, exacting, the homage due to 
 her. And he rejoiced at that, and the affection of the fine young 
 fellow to whom she was united ; but that was all. He had at least 
 fulfilled his promise to Constance that he'd stand by her till she took 
 her place among the grandees ; and there was not .the least occasion 
 for him to stay a moment longer than the period of one month, 
 which he had promised. Then all were to break up. Constance 
 and her husband were to go to their own beautiful seat in Hereford- 
 shire, nigh to the Welsh mountains. Sir Geoffrey would return to 
 Melcepeth after he had seen them settled at Graydon Court, and 
 might certainly pay an occasional visit there, but that to the Towers 
 was the first and the last. 
 
 A month more— could Ralph wait ? "0 Ralph, you'll stay over 
 that time, and come with us, won't you ? And we'll be so quiet 
 
426 RALPH D ARNELL. 
 
 and happy at Graydon. Eichard says it's not unlike Melcepeth, 
 and there's plenty of fishing : and you can do just as you like when 
 all this ceremony is over." 
 
 Such was Constance's appeal to her cousin. He had been all she 
 could have desired. She Jiad often felt the poor fellow's eyes were 
 following her with a grave, sad aspect ; but from the first he had 
 been so considerate, so afiectionate, so guarded in all that he had 
 said and done, that the apprehension with which she had regarded 
 his coming to Melcepeth had passed away, and he was to her only 
 that dear dear brother she had wished him to be. I do not mean to 
 say that Ralph had not had his struggle about going there, and for a 
 while about staying ; and I should not pretend, knowing his disposi- 
 tion, that he had not to fight a good fight against past remembrances, 
 which would come up. But he had won the victory : and Mistress 
 Grover, who had been very anxious on the subject, had rejoiced on 
 her knees in her chamber, that strength had come where there had 
 been weakness, and that Ralph was safe. 
 
 If Richard Viscount Granton had beefl anything but what he was, 
 I don't know that Ralph's conquest of himself would have been so 
 easy ; but in him there was nothing left to be desired. He had won 
 Constance's love and given his own without reservation. There was 
 perfect confidence and harmony between them, and as Ralph lived 
 on at Melcepeth, resigning himself to this conviction, telling Grover 
 of it in his own quiet fashion, and believing in it more and more 
 every day, he grew to rejoice that his darling cousin had been raised 
 to her proper standing in the world ; and now that he knew what he 
 was in reality, he shuddered at what, had she submitted to his love 
 in London, would now be her position. Ah yes, through all that, 
 hard as he had thought it, rebellious as his heart had been, he could 
 now see and feel how he had been guided — how she, motherless girl 
 as she was, had been shielded. 
 
 " No, Conny, dear," he replied to her entreaties, " it's no use, the 
 parting must come sooner or later, and it had better be at once. I 
 could not leave you at Melcepeth : but this is a half-way house, and 
 I have no part in it. I know all you would say and do ; but going 
 with you and Richard and my uncle to Graydon, would be but the 
 old thing over again, and I could not bear it — indeed I could not. 
 Let me go to my work : the Valiant is to sail soon, and I shall be 
 happy with Scrafton ; and, if it please God, I will come back to you 
 all by-and-by ; " and she felt, as her husband told her also, that Ralph 
 was right, and when he had stayed a week at the Towers, he left 
 them, 
 
 I have no occasion to tell of the arguments between Mr. Roger 
 and Ralph which ensued after he returned to London, nor of the 
 manner in which Mr. Darnell felt the ground slip from under him ; 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 427 
 
 and how he was driven from position to position by his now unselfish 
 nephew. As whom could Ralph become head of the house ? OiE- 
 cially, and in India, he was Captain Smithson. He could not, and 
 would not, take the name of Darnell, to which he had no legitimate 
 right. He could not take the position to which he was invited ; 
 but as Kalph Smithson he had won some distinction, and might, he 
 thought, win more. Mr. Sanders thought so too : he for one, could 
 enter into Ralph's feelings and see the necessity of his determination. 
 It was an honourable one — it was a glorious thing — ^to work out 
 one's own lot in life, and never to flinch from it till it was fulfilled. 
 Ralph had never had better health in his life than when he was in 
 India, and he had not the excuse, which Mr. Sanders was obliged to 
 admit, that he could not live there. 
 
 In the face of these facts, what would be the use of going over Mr. 
 Darnell's ground again and again, O my reader ? I could make 
 neither one side nor the other plainer if I did. I don't mean to say 
 that if Ralph had established his mother's marriage he would not 
 have entered into one or other of his uncle's views ; but as it was, he 
 felt England was no place for him — this feeling was growing upon 
 him stronger and stronger every day. Letters which followed him 
 from Mr. Clive, from young Warren Hastings, now agent at Moor- 
 shedabad, showed him what was to be done, and that men were 
 wanted to the work. There was a letter from Mr. Clive, too, to 
 Roger Darnell, in which he wrote, " that, since Plassey, he had often 
 thought over that certificate, and the more he thought the more 
 suspicion came into his mind : and if there was any doubt about 
 Ralph's position, he ougM not to keep him in a false one ; that he 
 would be no true friend if he did, but only one seeking a selfish ia- 
 dulgence of a morbid afiection. He himself felt certain of Ralph's 
 advancement, and he was sure that would be hereafter a far greater 
 source of comfort to his friend than anything short of the Baronetcy 
 of Melcepeth." 
 
 In fine, and greatly influenced by Mr, Clive's letter, of which 
 there was much more than I care to transcribe, Roger Darnell gave 
 in with as good a grace as he could ; and when he had been driven 
 from his last position — they were in the office parlour then — Mr. 
 Darnell took the draft deed of partnership from his desk and said, — 
 
 " Well, then, as there's no use in this, Ralph, and I agree with 
 thee now, hard as it's been to think thee right, I'd better tear it 
 up ; " and he was about to do so. 
 
 " Stay, dear uncle," said Ralph, " you may do a great good with 
 that if you will : and, if you'll not be angry, I'll mention what's been 
 in my mind for many a day." 
 
 " Well, Ralph," replied Mr. Darnell, still holding the paper in his 
 hands, as if to tear it—" Well ? " 
 
428 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 " The place for the name is vacant, sir, and if you'll write John 
 Sanders instead of Ralph Darnell, you'll do justice to a worthy man 
 and to yourself." 
 
 " John Sanders," repeated Mr. Darnell, reflecting ; but he did not 
 tear the paper — " John Sanders. Yes, Ralph — next to you, him ; but 
 this draft will not suit him exactly. Let us see whether we can 
 make it do so," and he turned to his desk, opened, spread it before 
 him, and they read it over, I think, happily and contentedly. 
 "Now," said Mr. Darnell, "do you take it to Peed, and get it 
 drafted as fast as possible." 
 
 When he was with that astute gentleman, Ralph gave some other 
 instructions about his own property. There was J20,000 now in- 
 vested in India stock ; and of this he settled half on Sybil's chUd, 
 making Mr. Wilson one of the trustees, and Mr. Sanders the other ; 
 and he added sundry codicils to his will, in regard to Grover and 
 Nanny, which we need not particularise, seeing that they had 
 afterwards to be considerably modified ; but as far as he could, all 
 was made clear for the present, and entirely met with Mr. Feed's 
 approval. 
 
 I have not mentioned Julia Wharton ; but during this last visit 
 to London, Ralph had called on her, and found her happily situated 
 with her cousins, who lived in a pleasant house near Kensington — an 
 old property of the Hydes. Her uncle was dead. Her sister was 
 still in Yorkshire, near Malton, and had invited her to come ; but 
 for the present she had declined, and was happy where she was. She 
 saw no one, and the Hydes excused her when they had company. 
 " I cannot forget the past, dear Ralph," she said, as he asked her 
 concerning her life ; " they do not know of it from me, but it is 
 known that one woman was taken away, and how can I conceal it ? 
 But they are very kind, and I am, after all, happier here than I 
 should be with my sister. And only to think that you knew George 
 Elliot ! I was sure that I had sefen you with him when you used to 
 
 come behind the scenes at the Theatre." No, she had had no 
 
 communication with him ; how could she ? She would not dare to 
 have it known by him that she lived at all. " And when you go 
 out, you must try and persuade the Begum to send home the children ; 
 she will trust them with me, and they will be a great solace and 
 comfort to me." So they chatted on. 
 
 But Ralph, as he thought before, could see through this poor girl's 
 heart. She was grown very beautiful ; all her old English beauty 
 had come back to her, and more too, for the calm, pensive expression 
 of her face was a charm in itself. Why should she not marry George ? 
 and were his affairs so utterly irretrievable ? Well, he would find 
 out. Wilson, perhaps, could see clearer than he could. And they 
 went to the Fleet together. 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 429 
 
 We need not go tliere with them, perhaps ; but it can be under- 
 stood how George Elliot wondered and was affected at what Ralph 
 proposed when he came to know the truth. The sum for which 
 Mr. Elliot had been arrested was not more than £2000, and though 
 no one would pay this, the rest of his creditors were by no means 
 opposed to entering into an arrangement for the payment of larger 
 sums. So Mr. Peed took the affair in hand, and in communication 
 with Mr. Braithwaite, of Morpeth, got to the bottom of the whole 
 matter. Ralph insisted upon advancing the £2000 necessary for 
 George's release on the security of the Wooler estate ; and Mr. Elliot 
 consented that the whole property should be put under trustees, 
 receiving £400 per annum only, till his debts should be paid. And 
 all this being settled, Ralph and Mr. Wilson took him to his old 
 house by the river, whereof he obtained two rooms, sufficient for his 
 purpose ; ■ and at a little supper he gave, as a sort of thank-offering 
 to Ralph, very different from one that we have not forgotten, they 
 talked over old times— only three years, after all, but they had 
 grown to be old times, nevertheless ; and perhaps the best news they 
 had to discuss was, that Mr. Forster's life had been spared, but that 
 he was to be transported to His Majesty's plantations in Virginia for 
 the term of his natural life. I do not mean to make a saint out of a 
 sinner all at once, nor indeed was George Elliot ever a saint in the 
 ordinary acceptation of the word ; but he had had enough of debt, and 
 misery in the Fleet, to make him careful, and I question, knowing 
 exactly what he had, whether the tradesmen and money-lenders 
 would have trusted him at all again. So afterwards he began to 
 lead a steady life, and got himself entered in the Temple to study the 
 law : and perhaps a letter Ralph wrote, and gave to Wilson to 
 deliver after he had sailed, might have a great effect on his life. 
 
 Then there were a few days, a very few days only, of preparation, 
 and England began to grow dim in Ralph's sight, and his spirit to 
 go before him to his future home. There was nothing that he re- 
 membered or could think on that he left undone, not even a visit to 
 the Golden Cock, and pretty presents to the landlord and his wife, 
 and to Mistress Baker and old Dickiwig, and his merry sweethearts 
 in the bar, one of whom was married, and the other likely to follow 
 her example. I say nothing was left undone, because he strove to 
 render his departure as complete as possible ere he severed the last 
 bonds which then bound him to England. The day the Yaliant was 
 to sail, he bade .his cousins and Mrs. Darnell farewell. I do not 
 think there was much regret exhibited, except by poor little Dolly, 
 who was inconsolable for many days afterwards, and who treasured 
 up a little locket, with Ralph's hair in it, to the latest day of her 
 life. Mr. Darnell had gone before him to the office, where the 
 deeds were to be executed, and where Ralph was to eat his last 
 
430 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 meal in England up-stairs, and -waited his arrival there. Mr. Peed 
 had come, and Mr. Wilson and Captain Scrafton, and they would 
 drink Ralph's health and success to him by-and-byj but when 
 Ralph's deeds of settlement were signed and witnessed, Mr. Darnell 
 took up the other, and somewhat nervously, perhaps, at first, though 
 his voice grew stronger as he spoke — told them all of the devotion 
 of one who, through many years of labour and anxiety, and at the 
 sacrifice of much personal aggrandisement, had helped to raise the 
 house of Roger Darnell & Company to its present greatness ; and 
 that he should be wanting in the commonest gratitude if he did not 
 acknowledge services which he could never repay. And when Mr. 
 Darnell put into John Sanders's hand the deed of partnership we 
 know of, and asked him to sign it, and all present, with hearty 
 cheers, stretched out their hands to grasp one which was trembling 
 a good deal, I think that scene presented, in its love and harmony, 
 a very happy contrast to one which we can remember to have 
 occurred there three years ago, but which was now fading out of 
 all their memories. What strong, bold signatures those were to 
 that deed, both of principals and witnesses ! how manly and true 
 were John Sanders's acknowledgments ! how tearful and grateful 
 were the dear old ladies' eyes ! how heartily were the toasts drunk 
 up-stairs in foaming goblets of champagne ! and how satisfied at last 
 was Roger Darnell that he had dpne right when, lawless as the act 
 had been, he had sent his nephew to Calcutta ! 
 
 " One toast more, dear friends," he said, " for Captain Scrafton 
 presses, and tide will not stay even for the Valiant. FUl your 
 glasses : I drink to the health of Captain Ralph Smithson, and 
 may God bless him, and enable him to work out a more glorious 
 career than he would have had in this old office ! I have wrestled 
 sorely with him, because of my gre^t love : but he has overcome 
 me, and I believe he is fight, bepau^e another hand, mightier than 
 mine, leads him on. So, I say again, God bless him ! and I pray 
 only that I may see him once mofe ere I die. Three cheers, gentle- 
 men — ^hip, hip, hurrah ! " 
 
 .."•»»••■ 
 
 Once again the faint low shore of Bengal, the black temples of 
 Juggunath, the slender palms and the fringe of jungle-trees, rise out 
 of the ocean, the pilot-sloop displays her signal and is answered, and 
 news is interchanged between eager questioners and listeners as the 
 pilot comes on board. Is Mr. Clive at Calcutta ? " Yes, but he's 
 just going up country with the army on the Nawab's business, and 
 only waiting for the Valiant's despatches." 
 
 " The fast boat is waiting for you at Injellie, Captain Smithson, 
 and she'll beat the Valiant by several days, perhaps, as the current 
 is so strong." 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 431 
 
 And it was as the pilot said j the boat was there, and a kind note 
 trom Colonel Clive, to whom the news of all we know had been 
 srritten from Melcepeth. 
 
 " I grieve and I rejoice at the same time," Olive wrote, " but I 
 shall not distress you by my regrets — on the contrary, congratulate 
 you heartily on your manly resolve. I am just going to take the 
 army up to the Nawab's help, against whom some conspiracies have 
 been set on foot, which must be broken up ; I will tell you all about 
 these when we meet. Pray hasten on, for I am anxiously looking 
 for the letters you are bringing, and I can't move till I have them. 
 You shall have your old work to do on my staff, and we will see for 
 something better presently. 
 
 " P.S. — By-the-bye, you will not have forgotten the Affghan girl 
 whom you rescued from the mob at Moorshedabad the day the 
 Nawab was brought in ? Well, she is here, and daily comes to ask 
 when you are to arrive. She's monstrous handsome, and it's well, 
 perhaps, Mrs. Olive is not here, or I might be suspected ; but I'll 
 swear she's in love with you, and she's close as wax about some- 
 thing — I daresay you'll find her here when you come to my 
 quarters, and 'faith I'll keep her if I get your signal." 
 
 Sozun again ! what could she want ? it must be she-r^there was no 
 other rescued. The Begum would be with her people at Moorsheda- 
 bad ; and about the Affghan fakeerin the colonel had been before 
 facetious. '' Pull, dandees, pull ! " and the twelve stout rowers 
 stretch to their oars heartily, for any amount of sheep to eat, and 
 baksheesh, were promised them : Even now the old Hindi tongue 
 is again becoming familiar : the Manjee of the boat is an old 
 acquaintance, and is amusing the Captain Sahib with Calcutta 
 stories, telling him the Don was well, and one of his daughters 
 married. '^ And there is an Affghan fakeerin, sahib, asking after 
 you every day at the Ghat, and she wanted to come down with me, 
 but I wouldn't let her." 
 
 A. night on the river, calm and cool : and the glorious stars 
 sparkle in a clear dewy air — as the boat speeds on with fresh relays 
 of rowers. Balph Smithson sleeps refreshingly on the soft couch 
 spread for him, without a care or regret on his mind. " Lord, lead 
 me where Thou wilt : do with me as Thou wilt : only use me to do 
 Thy work here, and strengthen me to do it." Such, in some sort, 
 had been his prayer as he lay down : such was his prayer as he 
 awoke, when, in the grey morning light, the tall masts of the 
 English ships were appearing on the river banks, and as the sun 
 rose, the old fort, the white houses about it, the town and the ships, 
 glowed ia its bright beams, 
 
432 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 What a pleasant breakfast table that was the morning Ralph 
 Smithson arrived ! Colonel Clive, with his keen eyes and expres- 
 sive features, Mr. Watts, young Warren Hastings, who had come 
 down from Moorshedabad about the Nawab's troubles, and himself, 
 talking over events at home — the political parties in the Direction, 
 the temper of the Ministry, and such London gossip as occurred to 
 them. When one has been many years absent, and a friend comes 
 who has been among old famUiar scenes, what flood-gates of memory 
 are not loosed, and how pleasant it is to hear of old matters, of im- 
 provements, of alterations, of increase of streets and houses, of friends, 
 of — of — everything in fact that one remembers. There is an odour 
 of home about a man newly arrived in India which cannot be mis- 
 taken. His clothes are fresh and new, and weU fitted to him : he 
 has lost some of the old free-and-easy manner, perhaps, and possibly 
 some local conventional slang ; he may not all at once put his legs 
 on the table and call for his hookah, as it was then, or cheroot, as it 
 is now ; in short, he is again a new arrival, and is not expected to 
 fall into old ways all of a sudden. So Ralph Smithson looks much 
 more spruce than his companions ; his laced velvet coat is one of Mr. 
 Price's best : his cravat and ruffles of Valenciennes : his breeches of 
 fine kerseymere, and his tight gaiters, sit on as handsome legs as 
 you would wish to see. There is no heat on this 12th of November 
 1757 ; the air feels like a pleasant summer day, and full uniform is 
 by no means unbearable. Ralph Smithson has evidently much im- 
 proved ; Mr. Clive thinks him as handsome a young fellow as he 
 ever saw, and says lightly he wonders he has not brought out a 
 wife. Hadn't Mr. Roger Darnell a pretty daughter with lots of 
 money ? " By George ! you won't have such a chance here Mr. 
 Da — " he had nearly said Darnell, but checked himself in time — 
 " Captain Smithson, I mean." 
 
 Mr. Clive is right. Ralph Smithson is a very difi'erent-looking 
 person to the gaunt young man who had come down to Madras : who 
 had reappeared in rags, pale and wasted, before the battle of Plassey: 
 or who had sate with a scared, white face at the table in the tent 
 there, and looked for the contents of the bag which was still about 
 his neck. The change of climate, the sea voyage, but, above all, the 
 absence of care, have done their work. He is vastly improved ; and 
 there is a face before Mr, Clive which, unmistakable now in its Dar- 
 nell character, has a light and buoyant expression, with calm deter- 
 mination in the clear blue eye, and harder and firmer lines about the 
 
OLD FRIENDS. 433 
 
 resolute chili and mouth than, used to be there. If the figure were 
 good before, it seems better now — ^better knit and more flesh upon it 
 than there was a year ago ; while in the clustering brown hair falliag 
 in heavy curls about the neck — in the white, broad forehead and the 
 florid Darnell complexion, there is manly beauty enough to set any 
 spinsters there may be in Calcutta casting sly glances at him this 
 evening on the Mall, by the river side, or at the dance to which the 
 Colonel has invited all the " Station," in honour of his guest's arrival. 
 
 Ralph Smithson has only been a few hours on shore, but he seems 
 to feel as if he had never been absent. Cassim, his sei'vant, has 
 taken possession of the valise which he brought up, and has laid out 
 all his things. He has hired several other servants suitable to his 
 master's quality ; and as breakfast is over, Ralph finds his old hookah 
 set down behind him, and the sUver mouthpiece slid into his hand 
 from behind the arm-chair. What a breakfast it had been ! Prawn 
 curries, chicken curries, delicious fish, rice like snow, and fruit of all 
 kinds. Well, the best things must have an end. Mr. Watts and 
 Mr. Hastings had business in the fort, and Ralph said he would join 
 them soon, and look over the old place, and see the Don and some of 
 his former companions ; and when they were gone, and for the first 
 and only time it was ever mentioned between them, Colonel Clive 
 asked, and the young man told, the result at Lacker Church, and his 
 own free determination. He told, in short, what I have been telling 
 since we left Calcutta last, and concealed nothing : and beyond a 
 slight question now and then. Colonel Clive asked nothing, and 
 listened with a rapt attention to the strange, though not unlooked-for 
 tale. 
 
 " Could I have done otherwise, sir ? " asked Ralph when he had 
 finished. " I could not stay in England as one of them. They were 
 all kind, and what I am, made no difference to my uncles, or Con- 
 stance, or Mrs. Grover ; but when I went to the Towers I saw the 
 difference plainly enough; and when I returned to Bloomsbury 
 Square, my aunt was barely civil — and I felt the reason. God knows, 
 I love them all, sir, as dearly as ever ; but they can do without me, 
 and I won't disgrace them, nor repay all their love by remaining, 
 bastard as I am, among them. It's the truth, sir, and I don't mince 
 matters to myself. I only know my darling mother was true in life 
 and true in death ; but I won't carry my father's name if I can 
 help it." 
 
 " And you are right. Darn — Smithson," cried the Colonel, slap- 
 ping the table — " right, my boy ! I hadn't the heart, that night at 
 Plassey, to tell you I didn't think the certificate worth tuppence, or 
 that it had no witnesses, and wasn't in the same form as my own 
 which my wife keeps — and it's well I didn't ; for if I had, there 
 would have been no voyage home, and no good resolution in your 
 
 2e 
 
4U RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 heart : always a hankering after that baronetcy, which would have 
 made you either a morbid dreamer, or turned you into a profligate. 
 Enough — for the first time and the last, this subject is mentioned 
 between us ; and you know my opinion, if your uncle received the 
 letter I wrote to him about you." 
 
 " He did, sir ; and I owe to you, I believe, his final decision. 
 You wiU find a good deal about me, I think, in this letter I have 
 brought you." 
 
 " And there will be no turning back, Ralph ? " 
 
 " None, sir, now ; I have no tie, not one, to England, but that in- 
 fant, and it is already provided for. I am ready to do anything ; 
 and wherever there is hard work, in the field or in Cucherry, I 
 pray you to send me. I have not forgotten the language ; I find I 
 can talk as well as ever : and I shall imitate Hastings's example and 
 study Persian as fast as I can ; and that's all I can say, except — 
 Don't keep me idle." 
 
 " Well, I'll settle something about you at the Council to-day," said 
 the Colonel, " and I have but an hour or so to look over all these 
 papers — so I'll leave you herej and as I've caught sight of your 
 Affghan friend several times sitting under the trees, I'd better get out 
 of your way." And he left the room. 
 
 "The Affghan fakeerni," said Cassim, "is here, and seems very 
 impatient. Will my lord see her ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said his master ; " bring her in." 
 
 " Here, sir ? she said she must speak to you in private." 
 
 " So she shall ; we shall not be interrupted if you will tell the 
 attendants to admit no one." 
 
 What could she want ? News of Julia ? Perhaps some misfortune 
 of her own to tell. And he got up and paced the room rapidly. 
 How many thoughts were thronging into his mind — how many 
 would her presence recall. What had become of his old friends the 
 RohUlas and their gallant chief? As he turned, the transparent 
 bamboo blind which hung outside the door was lifted up, and one 
 said, " He is there — enter ; " and a figure advanced to meet him, 
 timidly at first, then with a quivering face hurrying on with out- 
 stretched arms, and so sinking down on the ground at his feet with a 
 great sob, and clinging to his knees. 
 
 " Sozun ! " he said, trying to raise her — " Sozun, dost thou forget 
 me ? I am Ralph — Ralph Smithson ; not changed, am I ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is thee," she said, faintly — " I did not know thee at first. 
 Yes, it is thee ; " and she rose, and passed her hands over his fair 
 face and soft hair, and over his hands and his dress, and walked 
 round him and felt him' all over again, and kissed his hands — then 
 knelt down and put her head on his feet, and remained there 
 weeping. " Do not touch me," she cried ; " let me weep — ^it is good 
 
OLD FRIENDS. 435 
 
 for me. Hast thou forgotten tte verse ? I have not — day and 
 night, day and night it has been in my memory ; and I have prayed 
 AUah to let me see thy dear face once more, and he has heard me. 
 Know thee ! Ay — am I not Sozun, and thou my brother ? All 
 this is dazzling " — and she pointed to his rich dress — " and unlike 
 the old blue tunic and trousers ; but these are thine own eyes and 
 fair face — the most beautiful woman ever looked on." 
 
 " Ah, thou must not turn flatterer, Sozun," said Ralph, smiling — 
 " this is not like thyself of old." 
 
 " Not for myself — nor for me," she replied eagerly, but blushing 
 deeply. " I am a servant of God, and all love is dead ; but for her 
 — for her ; dost thou not remember ? — hast thou forgotten Noor-ool- 
 Nissa ? Thou art not married. 
 
 " I am not married," he replied. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she continued, eagerly ; " that was what I feared, 
 and that some beautiful maiden of England would have won you 
 from her. Listen : you left me with her, and the Nawab's mother 
 was kind,-and kept me till I was strong and well. She said, ' Be my 
 daughter and stay with me ; I am old and feeble now, and thou 
 must not leave me.' She wanted me to come within the screen for 
 my life ; but I, a vowed servant of the Lord, vowed to do His 
 work for the poor and sick, I — could not. I have been free all my 
 life — ^free to go, to come, to live in sin, and now to live to God. I 
 could not stay within ; life was dead to me, and all the petty cares 
 and troubles of the zenana hateful to me. So I came away, and 
 have sought thee. Why, Ralph ? — ^because of her. Day after day, 
 night after night, we sat together and spoke of you. I told her all 
 of our sweet time after you were wounded. I told her_ all. I told 
 her I loved you with a strange love, and I could worship you. Oh, 
 I told her all ; more than I dare tell you. Then she thought you 
 would marry Julia, for she was so beautiful ; but I said, ' There is one 
 more beautiful than Julia, and he will love her.' O Ralph Smithson, 
 you will love her, for she loves you, and she is so beautiful ; and I've 
 come all the way here on foot, or as I could, begging in the name of 
 the Prophet, waiting for news of you ; for tiiey told me you would 
 come, and — " 
 
 " But," said Ralph, interrupting this eager torrent of speech — 
 
 "but—" 
 
 " I won't have any but in this matter,'' she continued, with a touch 
 of her old impetuous manner. " It is to be. You can no more resist 
 your destiny, Ralph Smithson, than I can. Look how a hand that 
 you cannot resist has followed you, and sent me, and led you 
 hither : and you and I sit here and talk of her. Oh, my queen, my 
 fairy, my life ! Come to her, Ralph ; she said she would love you ; 
 she confessed to me she would. My oath on it ! You will be happy 
 
436 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 ■with her, and will bless me all your days. What can I do for you 
 hut this ? What life can I give for that poor one which you saved 
 twice, and which can but give you another far more precious ? Do 
 you doubt ? come to Mr. Wharton's lady to-night — she wants to see 
 you, and she will tell you. Come — now — are you busy ? Let me 
 go on before. I live with her. She is another sister to me. Wild 
 as I am, she gives me shelter, and bears with me. Come — nay, no 
 excuses ; come as you are. I love to see you in your grand English 
 clothes, and the children are crying for you — come ! " 
 
 " I will come," he replied — " go on ; I wUl be with you presently." 
 
 How beautiful she was as she stood before him, raising her arm in 
 the air as she cried ' Come ! ' A green scarf wrapped around her head, 
 a loose green muslin tunic, and drawers which barely showed her tiny 
 feet, and a green shawl thrown over all ; her face glowing, her full 
 grey eye dUated and flashing with the enthusiasm of her thoughts 
 and her message, and a smile of triumph on her lips; browner, 
 hardier-looking than when we remember her first in her luxury; 
 happier too, in spite of her vow of poverty and hardship to come. 
 " Ah ! I have no jewels now, Ralph," she said — " none hut these poor 
 beads, and they lie on my heart with peace such as strings of pearls 
 and gems never brought me. No dress but these, my grave-clothes ; 
 but I am happy — ^very happy, now thou art come, and I can take thee 
 to her ; after that, when the Lord wUls, I may die. Come, we lose 
 time," and she passed out. 
 
 Noor-ool-Nissa ! was she forgotten ? I do not think so. When 
 Julia Wharton had her last talk with Ralph Smithson, she had said 
 — " Oh, if she were one of us, and you married her, you would bo 
 happy — would she were ! " Oftener, at Melcepeth, when he went 
 alone and lay down under one of the noble chestnuts, and looked on 
 the ever-changing surface of the brawling stream, there would come 
 up clear and fresh to his mind the picture of the beauitful girl he had 
 seen in the palace, who had been Julia's protectress and companion 
 in their lonely prison, so calm, so sweet, so plaintive as it were, was 
 her beauty. It seems to me that however long courtships may be, 
 however the end may be crossed or delayed, that it is the one first 
 impression, wherever and however it is given or received, which rules 
 whatever follows. , It was an image which Ralph Smithson desired 
 to shut out at first, but which would not be denied. At home, on 
 the voyage out, the nearer he came to India — should he ever see it 
 again ? what had become of her ? did she remember him ? were 
 thoughts which continually recurred with an almost irresistible power 
 to draw him on. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " he cried, as he sat long upon the sofa after Sozun had 
 left him. "They would never give her to me; her people are 
 princes, and it would be an insult to them to ask for her; and if I 
 
MARRIED. 437 
 
 did ask, all our folks ■would laugh at me, and say I was a fool. . . . 
 and yet — " 
 
 And yet — and yet, he followed Sozun to the Begum's, as they 
 called her, and the children received him with shouts of joy, hanging 
 about his neck, climbing upon his knees, and tormenting him for 
 stories about England and King George, which he had much ado to 
 invent. Perhaps we may guess also at another subject of discussion 
 in which the women had the best of the argument, and so the time 
 passed till he could stay no longer. That day, I fear, the Don, and 
 the old friends in the counting-house of the Fort, were forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIIL 
 
 MARRIED. 
 
 I DO not argue for it or against it — I do not say whether it were 
 right or wrong, advisable or inad-^'isable — I only accept as a fact that, 
 in those early days of Indian life of Englishmen — Englishmen in 
 power and high station — there were many marriages like those of 
 Ralph Smithson's, which grew out of circumstances like his perhaps, 
 or other — what matter ? They were, and they were often happy. 
 There were no Englishwomen to marry ; men who went home might 
 bring out a wife, and there were some who, Uke Colonel Clive, met 
 with ladies in India with whom they could make happy alliances; 
 but in 1757 these were few indeed. I have before my memory a 
 beautiful picture by Zoffany, painted long after, in which an English 
 gentleman, in the red uniform coat and laced and frilled costume of 
 the day, is sitting on a low couch in an Eastern room, and a fair, 
 beautiful woman, in a simple native dress of plain white muslin, is 
 looking up to him from the ground where she is sitting with a look 
 of loving truth and quiet happiness, exquisitely depicted, which made 
 a great impression upon me. Many years have passed since then ; 
 but the picture, in all its rich detail, is as vividly before me as are the 
 portraits of the Darnells at Granton Towers. It was, perhaps, that 
 of Ralph Smithson and his wife, Noor-ool-Nissa ; and I am inclined 
 to thini so, because of the attendants with gold and silver sticks in 
 waiting in the verandah beyond, and a moonshee or secretary behind 
 them, who is reading out a long Persian document. Such a scene 
 could only belong to a person of as high diplomatic rank as that 
 which Ralph Smithson reached, and the picture represents a man 
 under forty years of age, which coincides with the date of Zofiany's 
 visit to India. 
 
 I' say, then, such things were, and this was one of them. 
 
438 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Colonel Olive marched with his army from Calcutta on the 16th 
 November 1757, and Captain Smithson accompanied him, Mr. 
 Warren Hastings having gone to his post at Moorshedabad by ex- 
 press " dawk " to cany out some instructions. I do not think that 
 in the long consultations which occurred at the house of Mr. Whar- 
 ton's lady there was any difficulty suggested which was not over- 
 come. Insult ! It would be an honour. Princes ! were not the 
 English princes, to whom Meer Jaffier owed not only his kingdom 
 but his very existence — ^would not a marriage with his house be a tie 
 between them ? Long ago, the dear old Begum at Moorshedabad 
 had said to Noor-ool-Nissa, when Sozun spoke rapturously of the 
 young Englishman, and declared that none but he was fitted for her 
 young mistress, " Oh, that it could be, daughter ! Why shouldst 
 thou pine out thy life alone ? What can we do for thee ? Who 
 among our people could now marry thee ? He would be true and 
 faithful till thou art dead — ay, till the judgment. They are all true, 
 the English — not like us, false and treacherous.'' If they were not 
 all true, the grand old Iswiy believed from her heart they were, for 
 her husband, Ali Verdy Khan, had thought so, and to its close this 
 belief was part of her life. 
 
 So in many a winning form those Noor-ool-Nissa most loved in 
 life brought the subject forward day after day, month after month : 
 and in the quiet seclusion of their hareem, the tales Sozun could tell 
 were listened to with increased and increasing interest. It was true 
 the old Begum often despaired, and that the gentle heart of her 
 daughter-in-law, clinging to a hope she dared hardly define, was often 
 mournful and sad. But the hope did not die : and we can conceive 
 Low easily, undisturbed and unaffected by other influences, it was 
 not only maintained but increased. I think we all worship the ideal 
 more than the real. Is it any wonder, then, that what she remem- 
 bered was the more tenderly cherished ? 
 
 I suppose Sozun felt that she had conquered, for she suddenly 
 disappeared ; and before the English force reached Moorshedabad, 
 she broke suddenly into the old Begum's apartments, with a wild 
 joyous ciy of, " mother ! O sister ! he is come, and I have seen 
 him. He will be here with the army — O my Peri, make ready for 
 him, for he loves thee ! " 
 
 There were no long preparations, and there could be no courtship. 
 When Ralph Smithson had paid a visit to the dear old Begum, who 
 sat behind a screen and welcomed him with true affection ; when he 
 had made a formal proposal for Noor-ool-Nissa, and heard his accept- 
 ance spoken in low faltering tones by her, seated as she was by the 
 old lady ; when this was ratified by the Begum, who conveyed the 
 Nawab's consent, already gained through Mr. Watts ; when the usual 
 formalities of sugar-candy and spices, of a dress of honour, and other 
 
MARRIED. 439 
 
 , gifts had been interchanged — he went to Mr. Clive and explained to 
 him -what he was going to do. Perhaps Mr. Clive was not quite 
 satisfied at first : " I'd rather you'd chosen an English girl, Ralph, 
 as I have done," he said ; " b\it after all, this is honest and above 
 board, and, considering all things, I think, were I you, I'd do the 
 same. You at least know what she is, and there's no disgrace in 
 marrying a native lady of rank, with a handsome dowry to boot." 
 
 There was no looking back either : for we all know what had pre- 
 ceded this event, and what had become of the only two women by 
 whom the young man's heart had been touched. He had deliberately 
 cut away all the bonds which might have connected him with Eng- 
 land. He had cast his lot with Sie English progress in India ; and 
 this would be a new tie to the people whom he was growing to love. 
 Above all, there was something so strange in the wild Affghan girl's 
 persistence that he would return, when there was, as he had thought, 
 little chance of their ever meeting again — ^that, as he reflected upon 
 it, I can believe that a tinge of superstitious feeling may have arisen 
 within him which was not without its efiect. All he begged for was 
 that there might be no parade or ceremony ; and in a marriage of 
 this kind native customs do not prescribe any. A few near rela- 
 tives were assembled ; and on his own part, Ralph took Mr. Warren 
 Hastings as a witness to the contract and marriage. Ralph did not 
 understand the four chapters of the Koran which were read to him, 
 nor the articles of belief ; but when the " Nika " was to be read, and 
 a small white hand was put out from behind the screen, he grasped 
 it with a hearty, honest clasp, and repeated, after the Kazee, " that 
 he took Noor-ool-Nissa to be his wife with all his heart and soul ; 
 and that through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, he would pro- 
 tect and cherish her as long as he had life." Then the prayer and 
 blessing followed, " that mutual love might reign between them as that 
 of Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah :" and many congratulations 
 and blessings were echoed from all around, which perhaps need not 
 be enumerated, and the guests departed. Then the screen was drawn 
 up by Sozun, who was within ; and raising Noor-ool-Nissa, she led 
 her gently forward and put her hand into her husband's. 
 
 " Be true and faithful, O my sister ! " she said, " as he will be. 
 Never leave him. If he be sick, tend him ; if he be wounded, let no 
 one help him but thee. As the Lord hath heard my prayer for this 
 happy day, so He will hear it for that true love which will never 
 die between ye — and thus may the blessing of the poor servant of 
 God rest upon ye both for ever. Ameen and ameen ! " Then 
 Sozun hastily bent down and touched their feet, and as Ralph drew 
 his wife to him, and her head sank upon his shoulder, the Affghan 
 girl turned to leave them. At the doorway she cast one last hurried, 
 tearful look upon them, and fled away — ^where, they could never 
 
440 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 discover. All they knew was, that she had joined a company of 
 her people going to their homes ; and Ralph and hia wife loved to 
 thiii of her as one who — Magdalen as she was — ^had been accepted 
 to work out a life of penitence. 
 
 Shall I tell how Ralph Smithson took his place among the work- 
 ing men of that period, where he served, and what he did ? I think 
 the histories which have been written of the time would tell the 
 story better, and that, too, of his friend and patron, Robert CHve : 
 so I forbear. But this I know, that wherever there was work to be 
 done, whether in the field or in native durbars, Ralph Smithson was 
 ever a true and valuable agent and commander. When Monsieur 
 Bussy had to be driven out of the Circars, and the French power 
 extinguished — when Sir Eyre Ooote fought the battle of Buxar — 
 when Colonel Clive was organising a government of Bengal, and step 
 by step laying the foundation of the English power which now 
 rules there — Ralph Smithson's mind was ever one on which he could 
 rely for calm counsel, and that advocacy of native rights which his 
 countrymen were slow to recognise, and which had to grow up 
 through a rough experience. He saw his friend return to Bengal 
 as a peer of England ; he saw him rise superior to the detraction 
 which the fierce party spirit of the time evoked; and when the 
 mutinous combinations of the civil and military services had to be 
 quelled — when laws and regulations had to be framed and put into 
 execution — Lord Clive had many stedfast friends to help him, but 
 none, though there were more brilliant men among them, more 
 trusted than Ralph Smithson. I say, therefore, let history tell what 
 was done in that brief period from 1757 to 1767, when, early in the 
 latter year, Lord Clive left the scene of his greatness for ever — ^not 
 L How over all India the political power of England had been not 
 only recognised but established ; how ambassadors came from distant 
 princes to Clive, beseeching alliance and protection ; how over those 
 provinces where Englishmen had been traders on sufferance, and 
 where a crowd of them had perished miserably in a dungeon, they 
 now ruled supreme, feared and yet respected ; and how trade and 
 general prosperity, with security, were advancing beyond belief. I 
 say again, history tells all this wondrous tale for those who choose to 
 read it ; and those who do so will find the truth far more interesting 
 and romantic than any fiction that I could write for them. 
 
 They often wrote from England to Ralph Smithson — Roger 
 Darnell, Mrs. Grover, Constance, and sometimes George Elliot and 
 Mr. Wilson, by turns ; and he heard all he cared to know of what 
 was passing. As he had anticipated, and hoped, the past was for- 
 gotten between George Elliot and Mrs. Wharton ; and in the com- 
 plete redemption of Mr. Elliot's property, Mrs. Wharton found a 
 more useful and pleasant investment for her large fortune than she 
 
MARRIED. 441 
 
 Lad ever dared to anticipate. When Colonel Clive went first to 
 England, he pressed his young friend to return with him : but this 
 was declined, as we can well imagine it would be. When, as Lord 
 Clive, he returned home for good, his friend was alike immovable : 
 and Clive knew that he was happier there doing his duty, than 
 living a life which, at the best, must be one of comparative obscurity 
 and inaction. JSToor-ool-Nissa lived secluded, except to her husband's 
 intimate friends; but with Clive there was no reserve. He could 
 speak to her very indifferently, to be sure, in her own language, but 
 he grew to love her — and he took away with him many memorials 
 of her which she perhaps little suspected — an odd slipper, a handker- 
 chief, and the like — which he would show to friends in England as 
 relics of the dearest and most beautiful native lady he had ever seen. 
 " He did not wonder Smithson had married her," he used to teU 
 them. " What more could an English wife have been to him ? " 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, not so much of comfort in those rough times in 
 India, which, except at the Presidencies, as they began to be called 
 presently, were little fitted for the conventional requirements and 
 social habits of English ladies accustomed to gay lives, and little 
 tolerant, either by habit or education, for the self-reliant monotony 
 of out-stationa. We know how few Englishwomen went to India 
 unmarried in those days, and those there could not have been very 
 attractive either as to manners, education, or connection. So the 
 longer he lived, the better Ralph Smithson was satisfied that he 
 had done right. I do not think the simple, trusting, affectionate 
 character of the man altered with time : but, on the contrary, in- 
 creased in strength. His heart had yearned for something to love, 
 and had found it. We know why he could not look back upon his 
 past experiences with any future hope, except of that sisterly love 
 from Constance, which never changed throughout his life. Who, of 
 his own rank in life, would have accepted him in England ? — for he 
 was in spirit still a Darnell of Melcepeth. His cousin Dolly, per- 
 haps, might have followed his fortunes : but her mother's opinions 
 had undergone no change, and she herself had no attractions for 
 him. " What could I have done with her here ? " he would ask of 
 himself, as he underwent many a pi-ivation and discomfort, which 
 showed little of Indian luxury. " She'd have borne it for a while, 
 and then been off" to England, sick or well," he thought, " and left 
 me to take care of myself, and send her money, like the rest of 'em." 
 
 I say, then, for all these reasons, Ealph Smithson had no mis- 
 givings or regrets. He was very happy, after his own quiet fashion, 
 with the woman he had chosen. I have never claimed for him any 
 high standard of intellectual attainment ; such was not very common 
 in 1757 even in England, and in India still rarer. What powers he 
 possessed led bim more into eastern than western literature, and on 
 
442 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 this ground his wife could help him very materially. She had been 
 well educated after the fashion of her people. She read Persian 
 authors easily, and was not unacquainted with Arabic; and thus 
 their tastes and occupations blended pleasantly. Those who first 
 began to study Oriental languages in Bengal, went deeper into them 
 than men do now, and their works gained for them credit, and fame 
 too. There was more, it was thought, to be gained from the stores 
 of knowledge locked up in them than has since been discovered; 
 but that did not affect the enthusiasm of the first explorers, and 
 among them our friend was a zealous partisan. Gradually, too, a 
 knowledge of native character, Hindu and Mahomedan, was open- 
 ing out ; of manners and customs which have now lost the charm 
 and freshness of first acquaintance, and to the comprehension of 
 which his wife's experience was a sure key. As a busy diplomatist 
 — an active, hearty sportsman — and, after his fashion, a profound 
 student, I can very well imagine Ralph Smithson to have been full 
 of occupation ; and whether in the busy duties of the field, or the 
 pleasant quiet life at home, the ardent sympathy, the practical com- 
 panionship, of his wife, were ever present ; and gradually, indeed, a 
 higher standard of love and respect arose than perhaps he had at 
 first contemplated. 
 
 And his wife ! Perhaps I ought not to have shut her out so en- 
 tirely from the observation as has been the case for reasons that will be 
 apparent. What could I have told of her in that constant seclusion, 
 except that she was patient and submissive, bearing her lot with the 
 calm reliance of her faith ? Julia Wharton had proved her, Sozun 
 had proved her, and both were women whose sufferings had excited 
 her pity, though arising from causes in which wrong had been done 
 to herself. Such a woman, lovely, too, as she was in person, could 
 not change to him, Ralph had thought, and he was right. The 
 originally loving, beneficent nature had its power increased by the 
 comparatively free life which opened upon Noor-ool-Nissa ; the per- 
 ceptions of her intellect were enlarged and purified ; and when she 
 compared the steady affection, the high moral principle, and the 
 active mind of her husband, with what she knew of the sloth, the 
 sensuality, and immorality of her countrymen — she felt herself 
 raised to the one the more entirely, as she comprehended and con- 
 trasted it with the other. 
 
 " Oh what love she bore him ! she could never tell it ; but he felt 
 and acknowledged it as a gentle ever-pervading presence, never im- 
 portunate, never exacting, humble even to him ; and yet how confi- 
 dent — defiant of all else — how triumphant in its knowledge and 
 belief of his faith and truth ! 
 
 If I say such men as Olive respected and loved her among her 
 husband's countrymen, it will not be deemed strange that among 
 
MARRIED. 443 
 
 her own people she should have attained a like respect and honour. 
 Some sneered at first, and possibly to the last. The offspring of a 
 noble house to ally herself with a Feringi — was degradation ; and the 
 wives of men of" her own rank sometimes looked down upon her, or 
 affected to patronise her. But Noor-ool-Nissa took her own place 
 and maintained it. She went into camp, into actual war with her 
 husband, none the less that noble ladies sneered or wondered at what 
 she did. She refused to become the channel of representations to her 
 husband, or to exert the private influence she was. supposed to pos- 
 sess ; but her practical charities never ceased : they were a stream 
 full of benevolence, and to her the poor went without apprehension. 
 To apply to the Begum Sahib in any distress, was to find unfailing 
 comfort and relief from high to low. " She is our mother," the 
 people would say lovingly of her ; and they had many a familiar 
 name for her in their houses, and many a song was written in her 
 honour by local poets, and sung at festivals ; and, as the poor ground 
 their flour at the quern in early morning for the day's bread, and 
 sang merrily as the mill went round, " the mother's " name was 
 oftener on their lips than any other. 
 
 The mother's ! Ah ! if she could have kept what was once sent 
 her, her daily prayer would have been answered, but that was not to 
 be. One girl, beautiful sis a lily, blossomed for a while and died ; 
 none followed, and thus Noor-ool-Nissa's life grew more and more 
 into her husband's as time passed. I mean no profanity when I 
 compare it with that beautiful womanly character of E,uth, which 
 combines so purely the simplicity, the energy, and the devotion of 
 love — ^better not told here, perhaps, because consisting of an aggre- 
 gate of years and events which made up her life. 
 
 So twenty years passed — ^twenty years of war, of peace, and un- 
 ceasing labour in both, without change and without rest. Rank had 
 come, and wealth more than Ealph Smithson needed, but the light of 
 his life left him — ^the light of trust and faith which had illumined 
 and cheered all the dark places of his heart with a mellow lustre, 
 went out — and left him — lonely, very lonely. That place could not 
 be filled — he did not wish to fill it ; and his ties to India were fast 
 breaking. He believed he had done what he could, and to say the 
 truth he belonged to the past more than to the present. Olive had 
 come, had gone, and was dead. English power had grown, and was 
 fast overspreading the land ; but there were events in progress of 
 which he did not, and could not, approve. To the natives an almost 
 reign of terror had begun, which made them fly to the protection of 
 one of their oldest and ablest advocates with a confidence which 
 General Smithson could not refuse. Remonstrances, private or 
 public, produced no effect, and were perhaps ill-received ; the younger 
 generation of rulers and strivers thought themselves wiser than the 
 
iii RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 old, and heeded no cautions. So sick at heart, he perceived plainly 
 that he had lived out his time ; he had done what he could, and 
 must give vray to others ; above all, the one precious bond which had 
 tied him to India was broken. It was time to go, and he set his 
 house in order to depart. He could look to many a loving heart in 
 England ready to receive and welcome him, and so far as letters could 
 serve, he had, as I have recorded, kept up a constant communication 
 with those we know of. All seemed to be sweet and fresh there, 
 and he could look forward with many happy anticipations of the rest 
 and peace which he needed. 
 
 Not long before he left the station, there came to him one day an 
 Affghan soldier, who said a holy woman, who lived at Jellalabad, and 
 who was held in high reverence there, had given him a letter, which 
 she said would insure him a reward for safe delivery, and untying 
 his turban, he presented an envelope, upon which Ralph Smithson 
 looked with a strange interest. The superscription was correct ; but 
 within there was no letter, or address, or signature, and for a few 
 moments he was puzzled by the words written there, as it seemed 
 from the spelling, in an unknown tongue ; but the mist cleared up, 
 and to Ralph they were plain enough. I need hardly record them 
 again ; I think, perhaps, they may not be quite forgotten by any 
 reader of this history. Below there was a line : " I am well. Do 
 not forget me : I have not forgotten," — and that was aU. It read 
 like his dismissal — the last cry of truth and hope, coming to him 
 over the interval of many years. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Aftee twenty years ! How few' return after such an unbroken 
 absence and find all the old loved ones to welcome them ! But for 
 Ralph Smithson there were many ; both his uncles were living — 
 aged, of course, but hale and in possession of all their faculties. At 
 eighty-eight the grand figure of the venerable Sir Geoffrey Darnell 
 was a sight to see, as he stood upon the terrace at Melcepeth, with a 
 hale old lady beside him, and a handsome, active youth showing him 
 the finest salmon which had been caught in Coquet that season, just 
 below the castle in the kelpie's pool, where one Mistress Constance 
 Darnell once distinguished herself. I think we can guess who 
 they are. 
 
 " And he's coming home for good and aye now, Ralph," says the 
 baronet, cheerily; " and we'll all be happy again : and he'll help thee 
 
CONCLUSION. 445 
 
 with the fish, my lad. To think of the boy being Sir Kalph Smithson 
 too, Grover ! mind that — Sir Ralph." 
 
 They were all to meet there to welcome the General, who had but 
 stayed in London to receive the knighthood he had been promised in 
 India, and which he had richly earned. Was there ever a happier 
 party met at the old castle? I think not. Why, Constance 
 •Countess of Whinborough's children are a merry party of themselves, 
 and some of them grown up nearly into men and women ; and there 
 are others younger, who ride on General Smithson's back as he 
 crawls about the floor, making an elephant of himself, with a row of 
 noisy urchins astride on his back driving him, as he has taught them, 
 with Hindostani cries of " Mul, chul," and other adjurations ; and 
 doing many more foolish things than I care to record, after all his 
 Indian wisdom and pomp. And a great coachful of happy Elliot 
 faces has come from Wooler Hall ; and a buxom matronly woman 
 with them, who, never heeding her husband, straightway throws 
 herself into General Smithson's arms, and cries and sobs there as 
 impetuously as she did once at Moorshedabad, but with far different 
 thoughts at her heart ; and kisses his face all over — " and I don't 
 care a bit," she exclaims to her husband, who is grasping the hand 
 held out to him behind — "not one bit for you, sir — for he's the 
 dearest and truest friend I ever had in all my Hfe, and I love him — 
 Oh, how I love him ! " 
 
 So I am quite sure, dear reader, that you feel already how happy 
 they all are, and . I need not tell you more about them ; or how 
 rejoiced the General has been to see Sybil Morton's son grown up to 
 such future promise, and so like what his dear mother used to be. 
 If the two grand old brothers grieve that their nephew is not what 
 they hoped and prayed he might be, they have many thanks to 
 render for bountiful mercies which have been dispensed to them all 
 with a full hand. Uncle Roger has been consulting with the Earl 
 whether, for special services, the baronetcy could not devolve upon 
 the General after all under the name of Darnell, and the Earl is quite 
 sure that his friend Mr. Pitt will make no objection, and the thing 
 can be done — and so they sound the General upon the subject : but 
 he will not hear of it, for there is still the bar sinister between him 
 and the Darnells for ever; and very reluctantly, they give the 
 matter up. 
 
 Then the women took counsel together — Constance and dear old 
 Grover and Mrs. Elliot — and decided that Sir Ralph must marry. 
 Why ! was he not in the very prime of his life, and one of the very 
 handsomest men in England ? India hadn't made him a bit brown, 
 or yellow, or sallow ; nor old-fashioned, nor pompous, nor anything 
 nasty, like other nabobs. Ralph Forster was in no want of his 
 money either ; Peed and Mr, Sanders between them, had nursed his 
 
446 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 father's property and managed his affairs right well, and he was fast 
 rising in the great house of Roger Darnell & Company. Who was 
 there to inherit the wealth Ralph had brought home ? and so forth. 
 And one day, the Countess being selected as the most impressive 
 spokeswoman, she went after him to the river, and found him lying 
 under the old chestnut-tree alone — it was too -hot to fish — ^with his 
 creel beside him and his rod idle upon the grass ; and she sat down 
 by him as she used to do in old times, and after a while told him 
 what they thought. But none of them had anticipated the effect it 
 had upon him, and it was certain that from that day forward the 
 subject was mentioned no more. It is ever a painful thing to see a 
 strong man weep ; but, as Constance told her message and pressed 
 him to acquiesce, or at least to give them some hope, she saw her 
 cousin's broad chest heave, and a burst of passionate weeping follow, 
 for which she was ill prepared. 
 
 "No, no, Conny dear," he said, when he had gi-own calmer, 
 though his voice was still choked with heavy sobs; "if you love 
 me, never mention this again — never any of you. Will you pro- 
 mise me this ? For eighteen years — a little — soft — ^face — ^rested 
 here — here on my breast, and nestled close to my heart — in such 
 quiet love — as I thank God to have been permitted to enjoy on 
 earth ; and, Conny — she — she — died here peacefully — sleeping her 
 life away. — Could — could I — " 
 
 " Oh ! no, no ! Ralph, my own dear cousin, forgive me ! " she 
 cried, sobbing too. " The first time and the last, and never again 
 will we mention this ; " nor did they. 
 
 All that we remember were not there : some had already gone to 
 their rest. Mr. Smithson and John Sanders, his eldest sister, and 
 dear old Nanny Keene were all gone on before. Miss Sanders no 
 longer lived in the old rooms in Lombard Street ; they were too 
 large and desolate, and some friends had given her quiet apartments 
 in their house at Clapham. Ralph Forster, who is a clever young 
 fellow, and has already attained Mr. Sanders' old place in the office, 
 has chambers there; so Roger Darnell & Company stiU exist in 
 name, and in deed too, for the grand old merchant still comes every 
 day in his coach to sign cheques and papers, and the time-honoured 
 firm will continue as long as he lives. Mrs. Darnell is dead, but her 
 daughters all married before she was called away, and in their 
 various conditions of life were well settled. Sir Geofii-ey pressed 
 his nephew to reside near him, and to purchase an estate by Melce- 
 peth, which was in the market ; but Sir Ralph, though he passed as 
 much of his time as he could with his uncle, found that he could still 
 be useful to India, and fefter some few changes, settled down in a 
 pleasant old-fashioned mansion near Kensington, and lived there. 
 
CONCLUSION. 447 
 
 Anotlier twenty years is past. How many have dropped away 
 into the eternal tide which sweeps majestically on ! Sir Ralph 
 Smithson has laid his uncles to rest. Miss Sanders is gone. Mel- 
 cepeth is dismantled, for it had grown too rickety to repair, and the 
 old woodwork was quite rotten. Constance and her noble husband 
 live at the Towers, and Sir Ralph often goes to them, as he does 
 every year to shoot grouse on Cheviot with Mr. George Elliot. 
 Many of the children in both families are married ; so is Ralph 
 Forster, and from uncle. Sir Ralph is promoted to the dignity of 
 " grandfather," which he enjoys immensely, and is not yet beyond 
 the effort of making himself into an occasional elephant : and there 
 is many a reunion gathering at the dear old place at Kensington, 
 when the families come to town. An old lady, still brisk and 
 strong, but with the whitest hair, and softest downy cheeks that 
 ever were seen, lives with him, and keeps his house for him, and it 
 is one of the most hospitable of the neighbourhood, a place where no 
 gloom is ever known to dwelL Her name is Grover — do you 
 remember her ? 
 
 There charity is dispensed without ostentation, but with a most 
 liberal hand. There statesmen, both of England and India, soldiers, 
 authors, poets, artists, merchants, and great lawyers, mingle with 
 the proudest nobility of the land, on the same common ground of 
 strong intellect, and are proud to call Sir Ralph Smithson their 
 friend. Again and again he has been solicited to take a government 
 in India, and I thiiik he might have succeeded Mr. Warren Hastings 
 as Governor-General, if he would, but the honour was declined. 
 His public life had ended, not his private life of useful and bene- 
 volent occupation; and at the India House his presence is ever 
 welcome. Sir Ralph is become a Director of the East India 
 Company : and at its Council he fights the cause of the native 
 people, whom he still loves. He has no belief in the stability of 
 native princes as independent powers, nor has he any good opinion 
 of them ; but he will not have them interfered with, so long as they 
 keep their faith, and when they fail in that, and are conquered, he 
 will not regret them. He has larger views of an English future in 
 India than is perhaps relished by his coadjutors, and he believes 
 that in years to come the spread of the mighty power which Clive 
 founded will be as irresistible as it is beneficent. Apparently Sir 
 Ralph has good health, and yet — and yet — Mistress Grover is 
 often more anxious than she cares to acknowledge about spasms 
 which come on suddenly, and which the " drops " do not always 
 alleviate. 
 
 The house is handsome and commodious, and the General has his 
 own suite of apartments, in which he can be private when he pleases. 
 He is seldom without guests, old Indian friends, Whinborough or 
 
448 RALPH DARNELL. 
 
 Wooler children, or Loudon acquaintances, who are grown to be 
 numerous. None, however, intrude upon the General when he says 
 after breakfast — " Grover, I'm going to my room ; " or, " I've letters 
 to write — don't let me be disturbed," and so his time is his own. 
 There are two apartments leading from his study, one of which used 
 to be the dressing-room of the suite, and is where Sir Ralph sleeps on 
 a small camp-bed which he brought from India. The other is a large 
 bedroom, and into this no one has ever been permitted to enter. It 
 is known to the servants as " master's own room," and is looked upon 
 with a sort of awe. When Mrs. Grover one day said to him, " Really 
 General, you must allow the maids to clean out that room ; it must 
 be inches deep in dust by this time," she had received so sharp a 
 rebuif for what he chose to call her "infernal curiosity," that she 
 never dared mention the subject again ; and if she dared not, assuredly 
 no one else could. 
 
 In this room several chests had been deposited when the house was 
 occupied ; and a peculiar safety-lock kept on the door, the key of 
 which hung around the General's neck, together with a small bag like 
 an amulet. These matters seemed mysterious at first, but by degrees 
 all had grown accustomed to them. Housemaids came and went, 
 and nothing was ever altered. They knew ths^t the General opened 
 the mysterious room door sometimes, drew up the blinds, and opened 
 the windows ; and he occasionally asked for a brush, and himself 
 brushed the carpet, and dusted the bed-hangings. Once, too, the 
 housemaid heard him through the floor prayiag aloud ; and when she 
 told this in the kitchen in confidence, the room became more sacred 
 than ever ia the eyes of the household, and " Master always says his 
 prayers there," was quite enough to keep it so. 
 
 Prayers ! how many had ascended from that bedside ! How many 
 had been heard already and graciously answered, he knew who prayed 
 there, and the All-Merciful who heard and granted them. ■ 
 
 One morning — " I really will go to the doctor, Grover, and get 
 somethiog, if this pain lasts till to-morrow." "There now, I've 
 promised you, so don't fidget," he said at breakfast ; " I've just a few 
 letters to write, and then we'll walk over to Ralph's ; so get through 
 your housekeeping, old woman, and I'm sure a good walk is all I want." 
 
 And the General got up, strolled into the garden, upon which the 
 breakfast-room opened, cut a handful of roses carefully, and went 
 up-stairs to his study. For some time they heard him moving 
 about, and they knew that he had gone into the bedroom ; but no 
 one noticed what was of almost daily occurrence. Then Mistress 
 Grover came down-stairs, put on her gloves, went into the garden, 
 pulled some flowers, and returned, but he had not come. " Go and 
 see whether Sir Ralph is ready, James," she said to the servant who 
 answered the bell ; " tell him I'm waiting for him." 
 
CONCLUSION. 449 
 
 The man went, knocked at the study, got no answer ; called out 
 his message, and knocked again and again; but all was still He 
 grew anxious, opened the door, and saw no one : but the key was 
 in the door of the bedroom, which was ajar, and with habitual 
 respect, he called out as he approached it, " If you please, Sir 
 Ralph, Mistress Grover's waiting for you." Still there was no 
 reply. "Was it fancy, or a passing breath of wind ? but the ser- 
 vant thought he heard a faint sigh, which was not repeated, and, 
 unable to restrain himself any longer, threw open the door. Then 
 a strange sight met his eyes — one at which the simple fellow stood 
 awe-struck, and trembling. 
 
 A faint odour, as if of Eastern perfumes and spices, pervaded the 
 room. On the bed lay a still female figure, dressed in gorgeous 
 apparel of cloths of gold and silver, and the finest Indian muslin, 
 and a few fresh roses were strewn about it and placed near the 
 face. A gleam of sunshine, resting upon the bed, flashed back 
 from the glittering stufis and jewels which were on the wrists, 
 arms, and neck of what lay there, with a strange, unearthly lustre 
 — a mockery of the pale, wax-like face above them, lying in its 
 calm sleep of Death. Beside the bed, the tall figure of the General 
 leaned over it motionless. One arm was thrown round what rested 
 there, the other hand still grasped some fresh roses ; and his head, 
 with the sunlight playing amidst his soft white hair, rested upon 
 that arm, close to the heart which in life had beat only for him. 
 There was a bright, sweet smile upon his still ruddy lips, and the 
 dim, glazed eyes were turned to the face near them ; but he was 
 quite dead — and the sound the servant had heard was the last sigh 
 of Ralph Darnell. 
 
 They were buried together privately, as the last words recorded 
 by him. requested. They must have been written under a presenti- 
 ment of death, just before he went to her ; for the pen lay beside 
 the paper on his table, and the ink in it was not dry. I may copy 
 the last few words of this memorandum, now yellow ajid faded, 
 though written in his bold, strong hand — ^without a tremor. 
 
 " I come, O sweet spirit ! surely soon now — soon, dear Lord ! I 
 am ready, quite ready, even now. Once more I write — 
 
 " ' He that goeth his way weeping, and beareth good seed, shall 
 doubtless come again with joy.' Joy ! Oh, what joy and peace ! 
 Mother— Wife ! " 
 
 There was no more. As he had written these last words, he had 
 taken up the roses, gone into the room, strewn some over her, and 
 there died — died peacefully. 
 
 Fade out, O dim memories of early trial, of early error, and yet 
 — of much earthly happiness ! Fade out and die with him, in a 
 peaceful calm and trust like his. I believe that many of our 
 
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24 
 
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28 
 
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