HORACE CAREW; OR, THE HEIR OF SAIRMOUTH CASTLE. CHAP. XVI. AN OLD FRIEND AND A NEW ALLY. After which council came action. It was a question whether they could venture to marry at once. Horace would take a few pupils, and this with his own income of £200 a year, and fifty that Constance had independent of her family, would give them £300 per annum to start with. In the mean time Horace would read law, and in due time be called to the bar. The young man was very anxious for this arrangement being carried into effect at once, and urged his reasons with much special pleading. "We have been waiting patiently a long time already, my own love; and now that we can start fairly why delay more?" At this juncture Horace dropped the envelope. In a second his landlady pounced upon it, to return it to its owner. "As pretty a hand as I ever saw," she remarked. A nice hand now is a great thing for a young person." "But, Horace, don't you think that it would "Yes it is," answered Horace, abstractedly. be more prudent to wait and see how the pupils "And if I may be so bold as to make the reanswer? We cannot be sure that there are so mark, it must be a nice young lady as writes many anxious to learn what you can teach them, that hand. I once learnt something about orthoAnd then about a house, there would be every-orthogoky (It required two gulps to bring the thing to arrange." word out) and that there writing is none of no ordinary_person." "But we'll arrange that together, my own little wife that is to be, and then we shall both be satisfied." "Yes: but then-I am very young yet. And I don't think-I don't know" and then Constance began to cry. Horace consoled her, and then promised to be very patient for six months time, and then they would be able to see how things worked. So Constance went home again, and Horace found lodgings near Lincoln's Inn Fields, and set to work on pupils and law. The former came satisfactorily into the net spread to catch them; the crop was quite sufficient. Horace's landlady immediately took a violent liking for our hero. Mrs. Bustleby (the dame's name) averred that she always took an interest in her lodgers, and that none ever left 3, Pumping Court, dissatisfied. Whether her affection for Horace had anything to do with the fact that there existed three marriageable Miss Bustlebys, I cannot say. I should rather think not, for the state of the case with her young lodger was not long hidden from her. Horace's regular letters from Whatsey Lodge soon gave the clue, and a little adroit questioning on the part of Mrs. Brustleby did the rest. Of course the lady was a gossip. As a second Mrs. Lirriper, she could retail the information she gleaned to the secondfloor front, and ground-floor back, with comments of her own. So Horace's affairs soon became known. She would persecute our hero after this man ner: The curtain rises, and discovers him at breakfast, and his landlady arranging, disarranging and re-arranging the furniture. Mrs. Bustleby saw she was right. Horace winced just a little. "And it's my plan to go down into the country sometimes (apropos to what this sentiment was introduced Mrs. Bustleby knows best). As I says to Bustleby, give me the country for complexions. And that's why our Jane is so fresh-like. Not these many years we've lived in London have she changed not one bit in her complexion. I'm sure Whatsey Lodge must be a be-you-tiful place." Horace said that it was. "And Miss Whatsey-well to be sure, writing such a hand as this !" "Miss Whatsey!" responded Horace, vacantly. "I really beg your pardon. I don't know why I said Miss Whatsey. But goodness! there's the baker." And the curtain drops. The information thus collected, being duly sifted and added to, was fashioned into a romantic story, and the secondfloor front learnt, with interest no doubt, how that Mr. Carew's young woman lived in a splendid house, that her name was not Whatsey, but something like it; that she was dark (Horace was fair, therefore the lady must be dark,) with long eye-lashes and lustrous eyes; and lastly, that they were to be married as soon as the young man got his briefs. Horace would have been more vexed at the curiosity of his landlady had he known all the rumours that were afloat about himself: as it was, he bore it quietly, taught, read, and wrote letters to Constance, not passing his time otherwise than pleasantly. He began now to do that which he had planned accomplishing for some time past, viz., the laying by a little money for future exigencies. Owing to the success he achieved in taking pupils, the "nest-egg" thus commenced went on increasing month by month. He discovered too another method of bringing grist to the mill. Horace was one day looking through some old papers, which had collected during several years, when he lighted upon some MS. concoctions of his own, both verse and prose. Taking them up more out of idleness than anything else, he read them through, and was surprised to find that with a little re-touching they could be made quite presentable. Accordingly, when they were a little reduced into shape, he forwarded four of them to the Editor of one of the best known magazines. He was quite as much surprised as pleased when he received from the said Editor, a cheque for £25, and a civil letter, hoping" that if the author had more MSS. at disposal, he would give the magazine the refusal of them." Horace's method of disposing of the £25 was not one calculated to swell the amount of his nest-egg. For his first act, after cashing the cheque, was to go to a jeweller's, and invest it in a diamond ring for the finger of Miss Constance, for which extravagance he was duly scolded by the recipient of the gift. One day, instead of forwarding his MSS. by post, Horace took them himself to the publisher's. After waiting some time in the ante-room he was ushered into the presence of the editorial magnate. What was Horace's astonishment to find himself confronted by Doctor Everard ! "So, young man," this latter began-" but, bless my soul! I've seen that face before." And then, after a pause, "Henley Fisher, courier to Mrs. Somers. That's it. But this was not the name by which you wrote to me?" Horace was a little bit taken aback, but answered promptly, "that the latter name was the real one.' "And so you've turned author, instead of dancing attendance on old ladies and young damsels? Well, if it's any pleasure to you toknow, I can tell you that your former employers are quite well. Now what can I do for you in the way of business? Brought any fresh MSS.? Horace modestly produced some. "No doubt I shall be able to accept them for next month. In the mean time, where is it that you live?" '3, Pumping Court, Lincoln's Inn." "And what on earth are you doing there?" "Reading-reading law." "What! you're a land-shark, as well as an inditer of pretty poems and sensational stories? Let's see. You seem to have plenty of irons in the fire. First courier, next author, then lawyer, then-" Horace could not help laughing and filling up the ellipsis. I have some young men reading with me." "Then coach! Well, I'm blest, the rising generation is going ahead with a vengeance. But I'll come and see you. I like you. Now good-bye. I'm busy." And with this abrupt dismissal, Horace went. "But the old man kept his word. Two or three days later he arrived wig and all at Pumping Court, and found Horace at home. "Now young man," he began, "I have exactly 10 minutes to spare. There's my watch on the table. Five for business, and five for rhodomontade. Which will you have first?" "Business." "Oh: regular order eh? Meat first, and pudding afterwards. You're an exception to the general rule. Most young men now-a-days like the sweets first, meat afterwards. Glad to see you have more sense. Well, this is the business: Here are three volumes-the life of a great man, some people call him; the life of a great prig, say I. However, that's neither here nor there. You read it, and write a review. Sharp, to the point, and no sentiment. the MS. to me this day three weeks, and I can promise you £50.” Bring "I'll certainly try and do my best," answered Horace. "Now for the pudding," continued the old man. "I have been to Whatsey Lodge." Horace gave a start. "They were all quite well. I see you have not forgotten your old employers. Come, come! I never quite believed the courier story. I may be an old man, but I'm not a fool yet. You needn't be afraid of me. I shan't spoil sport. Now time's up. This day three weeks." And before Horace well knew whether his ears had misled him or no, the eccentric editor was out of the house. But the writing for magazines had already produced one good effect. It had brought Horace a real friend. CHAP. XVII. A DECIDED STEP. Six months, then, from the time that Horace began his studies was to be the period of probation. As the end of that term drew near, letters between Whatsey Lodge and Pumping Court became more frequent. It had been agreed between the two young people that Horace should regularly propose to Mr. Shirley for his daughter, and that then their course must be guided by circumstances. Accordingly our hero wrote a formal proposal to the owner of Whatsey Lodge, for his daughter's hand; stating means, &c., &c. Now Mr. Shirley was a quiet and moody man at most times, but, when roused, waxed fierce as not improve matters-he drank; not to excess, a tiger. He had also one weakness which did or so as to render himself incapable, but to such an extent that he became a changed person. When in this state, the least irritation rendered him frantic. Now it happened that the day Horace's letter of proposal arrived, Mr. Shirley had been so in- | "Papa he is not a rascal." "I tell you he is; hold your tongue! It appears to me that he is a jack-of-all-trades-to-day a courier, to-morrow a lawyer, probably the next day a burglar." "Papa, I cannot stay to hear Hor, Mr. Carew abused," said Constance, her cheek flushing, her eyes growing bright, under the excitement, and moving towards the door as she spoke. "You stay and hear me," was the retort. "Now look you here, this must be the last of this man and his affairs that comes to my ears. If ever I am disturbed in this way again, I will "But, dear Papa, I am engaged to him." Engaged to him? A daughter of mine engaged to a courier-a vile adventurer! Leave the room this instant, if you don't wish me to curse you as you stand there." Constance was not loth to go. were at their tea, and the house quiet, she left Here lay the remains of Constance's mother, Mr. Shirley's first wife. By that grave the girl knelt down; and when she rose from her knees, the sun had sunk an hour in the heavens. With one last gaze at the panorama which lay at her feet, she bade adieu to the church, where she had prayed Sunday by Sunday, since she could remember anything, and taking a footpath across the fields, in ten minutes was standing on the platform of the Whatsey Station, awaiting the evening express to London. What It was not until Constance had settled herself in the railway carriage, and the train had borne her several miles from Whatsey, that she had time to realize to herself what she had done, and to consider what she was going to do. she had done was simply this: in unpoetical language, she had run away from her home. Putting aside the accompanying provocations to And what did she do next? No one will say the act, the abuse lavished upon her lover, the of course that she was justified in her conduct, constant unkindness which she had experienced or that the provocation was such as to warrant lately, and the persecution of her step-mother, her in what she did. It only rests with us to the fact stood out in an ugly light. But in this relate events as they occurred. Going up- light Constance did not care to contemplate stairs, she locked herself into her bedroom; she what she had done. She pictured the act to then took out a picture of her mother, and sat herself as one of necessity, which it was imposdown with it pressed close to her face. This sible to avoid. She was no longer a child to be was Constance's way of thinking over a matter, dictated to, and both her father and step-mother and making up her mind. In all difficulties she had been unjust to her from the beginning. had recourse to this little picture as to an oracle. But for herself she could have borne anything; Now therefore, with the frame held tight to her, it was the unwarrantable attack upon Horace and her lips on the glass, she pondered deeply which caused her most indignation. This was and anxiously what she should do next. In half the line of reasoning which Constance adopted an hour her mind seemed to be made up. The in self-justification as the train carried her at picture was put carefully aside, a small hand the rate of 40 miles an hour towards London. bag was next taken down and packed with the It was already late when London was reached; most necessary articles. To these were added but as the days were still long, there was no lack a stock of money, and the few jewels that she had of daylight. inherited from her mother, and then all was ready. As soon as Constance knew that the servants Calling a cab, the young lady desired to be driven to the North gate of Kensington Gardens, and there she paid the man, and dismissed the vehicle. She was now in known regions. Half, Davis was asked to help her nursling, it exan hour's walk brought her to Cary-street, Ken-pressed her intention of aiding her to the utsington, before No. 6 of which street Constance most. So Constance gained an ally, and when stopped and rang. A respectable looking woman the two parted for the night, they had concluded of about sixty opened the door. a treaty by which the young lady hoped to bring matters to a pleasant issue. "Is Mrs. Davis at home?" asked the traveller, without looking up. "Lawks a mercy! and if it bain't my own nursling bairn, Miss Constance !" was the rejoinder. And in a second she was in her old nurse's arms, and borne into the house, and into the parlour, sacred to Mrs. Davis's particular use. "And who would have thought of seeing of you, my bonny young mistress?" was the good woman's first exclamation, when she had placed Constance in a seat of honour. "And you've not changed, not one wee bit-except for the better. Och, and its your own mither's daughter that will make many a heart ache yet. But how came you here, Miss Constance ?" "But how came you here, Miss Constance?" then she asked. CHAP. XVIII. THE FATE OF A LETTER. Horace wrote a second letter at the time that he despatched his epistle to Whatsey Lodge. That second letter was to Lord Leven. In it he informed his uncle of what he was about to do, and explained that the person to whom he was going to be married was a lady in every sense of the word, and his equal. It was a long Before proceeding further, the reader ought to time before Horace's proud spirit could bring be informed that Mrs. Davis was Irish born, was itself to indite such a letter, remembering all his married to a Scotchman, and had lived many uncle had before said to him on the subject, but years in London. This will account for her pe- | for Constance's sake he did it. For answer he culiar diction, which partook of all three king-received a laconically worded note, saying that doms. as Horace chose to continue in his folly he must abide by the consequences. At the same time, however, our hero received a kind letter from Col. Egerton, expressing regret that Horace could not agree to his uncle's wishes, and stating how great a pleasure it would have been to himself, Col. E., had Horace deferred to those wishes, since the young lady of whom Lord Leven spoke was a relation of his own. "But," he concluded, "if it is not taking too great a liberty, might I ask the name of the lady? I have a great interest in you, Mr. Carew, or I should not put the question. I have one further favour to ask. Will you accept the enclosed in the spirit in which it is sent? I have no excuse to make in offering it, beyond the wish to keep' my name in your remembrance, and must trust to your generosity not to refuse me this pleasure. The enclosure was a cheque on Coutts for £100. "Oh, nursie. It's a long story. But first of all can you take me in ?" "Is it tak you in you mean, hinney? We just can. Sarah Anne!" This was addressed to the maid-of-all-work, who thereupon appeared, and was instructed in a confidential whisper to prepare the first-floor bed-room, and take some water up, and see that the kettle was boiling, and run round to Mrs. Taffey and get half-adozen eggs, and stop the muffin-boy when she heard him; and then Mrs. Davis stopped for want of breath, and Sarah Anne conducted Constance up-stairs. "And now tell me all about it," began Mrs. Davis, the moment Constance reappeared, for she was brimming over with curiosity. And her guest obeyed, relating, amidst tears and blushes, the history of her woes and joys. "And you will help me nursie, won't you?" she concluded. "Lawks-a-mercy!" was the only reply. Horace was a good deal surprised, but_answered the letter by return of post, giving Constance's name, and accepting the gift. letter Horace wrote, directed and stamped, but This "You see I have been hardly dealt with, and I it never reached its destination, or our tale would have done nothing." "Lawks-a-mercy!" "And you think I have not done very wrong to come away from home?" "Lawks-a-mercy!" replied the oracle once more. We must say a word about this interjection of Mrs. Davis. They tell us that an American can give half-a-dozen different expressions of opinion, either of anger, or scorn, or approval, or satisfaction, or surprise and astonishment, by the accent and intonation of the single word, Yes: Mrs. Davis's "lawks-a-mercy" partook somewhat of the same feature. When she opened the door to admit her young friend, it betokened merely surprise. When Constance related her wrongs, it signified deep sympathy When Mrs. have been told. How it came to pass that Ho. race's answer miscarried remains to be related. The letter being ready for the post, Horace rang for Mrs. Bustleby. "It is important," he added, "as he gave her the epistle: will you be good enough to see that it is sent immediately." "Certainly, sir; I will send my daughter with it to the post." That word important sealed the fate of the letter. Mrs. Bustleby was but a lodging-house keeper, and not above a certain curiosity in the concerns of her lodgers, as we have seen before. She determined to know the contents of that letter. So betaking herself to a certain den in the lower regions of the house, yclept her parlour, she proceeded to satisfy her thirst for knowledge. The envelope was merely, gummed, therefore a wetted paper-knife soon had the effect of loosening paper from paper, and of bringing the letter to view. Thus Mrs. Bustleby obtained what she wanted-a good deal of information about her lodger, which solved several difficulties that had puzzled her, and had caused her lately many a wakeful hour. Therefore she rejoiced in the deed. street, he was greeted by lawks-a-mercy from good Mrs. Davis, who stood holding the door open for him. "We've been a expecting you, sir, this long while. Miss Constance is in there," pointing vaguely up the narrow stairs; after which the worthy woman disappeared into the kitchen regions, leaving the lovers to meet alone. Constance soon came to the rescue, and conducted Horace to a little sitting-room which Mrs. Davis had especially prepared for her use. There was of course a multitude of events to relate and dilate upon, and time passed quicklyso quickly, that Horace found he must be off again to his pupils, before all had been said that he desired. "At any rate, now, dear one, there can be no question about the time?" So our hero con Constance blushed, but had no objection to raise. "Then I may put the banns up here and at St. Stephens ?" "Yes, Horace, if you think it is better to have the wedding by banns rather than licence." "My reason is, darling, that no one may say we are doing anything underhand. I would not have it thought that all was not fair and aboveboard. Horace's letter having passed through this ordeal, was re-gummed and handed over to the tender mercies of the youngest Miss Bustleby, (this one had no complexion, being town-born,) to convey to the nearest post-office. So Scylla was passed: Charybdis, a yet great danger, lay in store for the devoted missive. Now Miss Bustleby had "a young man," and this youth she happened to meet as she turned the corner included a short, but highly coloured picture, of which was situate the post-office. The errand his flourishing fortunes. on which she was sent was of course forgotten, and half an hour spent in refreshing gossip; at the expiration of which time it suddenly crossed Miss Bustleby's mind that she had a mother at home, who would expect some satisfactory account of her prolonged absence. Thrusting the letter, therefore, into the hand of her swain, with an injunction to "be sure and post it," the damsel hurried back to Pumping Court as fast as her legs could carry her; not fast enough, however, to escape a sharp reprimand from her mother, and a request from that lady that she, Lucretia Bustleby, would be pleased to recollect for the future that she was sent into the world for some other purpose than to stand idling and gossiping at the corners of streets. The fate of the letter was this: the "young man❞ put the epistle in his waistcoat pocket, and straightway forgot all about it. But happening to get very drunk that same evening, with several of his boon companions, and happening to desire a light for his cigar, he employed Horace's answer to Col. Egerton for that purpose; the immediate consequence of which act was that no light was thrown upon Horace's marriage, at or near Sairmouth Castle. Uncle and nephew continued estranged, and Miss Bustleby's young man had a great deal to answer for. CHAP. XIX. LAST PREPARATIONS. Horace was not a little surprised, the day after Constance's arrival at Kensington, at receiving a note from his lady-love, summoning him to her side. We may be sure that his pupils got but short allowance of time that morning. Mrs. Bustleby was a good deal "put about," as she expressed it, at Horace's changed manner all that forenoon, and began to fear that he had made some discovery regarding her tampering with the important letter. However, nothing was said; and as Horace sent for a cab and drove away at 12 o'clock, her fears were assuaged. As our hero descended at 6, Carey "Yes, you are right, I believe; but-but suppose any one were to forbid them?" answered Constance, shily. 66 'Let them forbid them. But who could? You are of age; so am I; we can do as we like." Yes; but ought I not to write to papa? Don't you think I ought?" "Perhaps it would be better," answered Horace, speaking slowly and considering. "Yes, I think it would be well to do so." "But about the banns? I need not tell them when they are to be put up." "No, my own child; but the more open we are about the matter, the more satisfactory will it be in the future. I have written to my uncle." "And what does he say? "Oh, the same as before: I must abide by the consequences." "But, Horace," began the young lady, assu ming a serious air, "don't you think you ought to consider now, before it is too late, whether it is right to sacrifice all your future prospects in this manner? Think! you will be always poor if you marry me, and—” Constance was not allowed to finish her sentence. The answer Horace gave was sufficiently convincing to prove to her that further objections would be useless. It is unnecessary for us to detail what it was. He then related the story of the cheque; and having extracted a promise from Constance that Thursday three weeks should be the day, he departed to his pupils. The young lady wrote and despatched her letter. Two days later it was returned unopened, with an announcement written in pencil on the envelope, that " until Constance Shirly returned home |