"Perhaps so, sir," replied Edward. "I must say that the short campaign I have gone through has very much opened my eyes. I have seen but little true chivalric feeling, and much of interested motives, in those who have joined the king's forces. The army collected was composed of most discordant elements, and were so discontented, so full of jealousy and ill-will, that I am not surprised at the result. One thing is certain, that there must be a much better feeling existing between all parties before such a man as Cromwell can ever be moved from his position; and, for the present, the cause may be considered as lost."
"You are right, Edward," replied the intendant; "I would they were better, but as they are, let us make the best of them. You have now seen enough to have subdued that fiery zeal for the cause which previously occupied your whole thoughts; now let us be prudent, and try if we can not be happy."
CHAPTER XXIV.
It was only to Oswald that Edward made known what had occurred; he knew that he was to be trusted. The next day, Edward resumed his forester's dress, while another one was preparing for him, and went over to the cottage, where, with the consent of the intendant, he proposed remaining for a few days. Of course, Edward had not failed to acquaint the intendant with his proposed plans relative to Chaloner and Grenville, and received his consent; at the same time advising that they should gain the other side of the Channel as soon as they possibly could. Edward found them all very anxious for his arrival. Humphrey and Pablo had been to the cottage, which they had found undisturbed since the capture of the robbers, and made every thing ready for the reception of the two Cavaliers, as, on their first journey, they took with them a cart-load of what they knew would be necessary. Chaloner and Grenville appeared to be quite at home already, and not very willing to shift their quarters. They, of course, still retained their troopers' clothes, as they had no other to wear until they could be procured from Lymington; but, as we have before mentioned, they were in no want of money. They had been amusing the girls and Humphrey with a description of what had occurred during the campaign, and Edward found that he had but little to tell them, as Chaloner had commenced his narrative with an account of his first meeting with Edward when he had been attacked by the highwaymen. As soon as he could get away, Edward went out with Humphrey to have some conversation with him.
"Now, Humphrey, as you have pretty well heard all my adventures since our separation, let me hear what you have been doing."
"I have no such tales of stirring interest to narrate as Chaloner has been doing as your deputy, Edward," replied Humphrey. "All I can say is, that we have had no visitors—that we have longed for your return—and that we have not been idle since you quitted us."
"What horses were those in the stable," said Ed ward, "that you turned out to make room for ours when we arrived?"
Humphrey laughed, and then informed Edward of the manner in which they had succeeded in capturing them.
"Well, you really deserve credit, Humphrey, and certainly were not born to be secluded in this forest."
"I rather think that I have found that I was born for it," replied Humphrey, "although, I must confess, that since you have quitted us, I have not felt so contented here as I did before. You have returned, and you have no idea what an alteration I see in you since you have mixed with the world, and have been a party in such stirring scenes."
"Perhaps so, Humphrey," replied Edward; "and yet do you know, that, although I so ardently wished to mix with the world, and to follow the wars, I am any thing but satisfied with what I have seen of it; and so far from feeling any inclination to return to it, I rather feel more inclined to remain here, and remain in quiet and in peace. I have been disappointed, that is the truth. There is a great difference between the world such as we fancy it when we are pining for it, and the world when we actually are placed within the vortex, and perceive the secret springs of men's actions. I have gained a lesson, but not a satisfactory one, Humphrey; it may be told in a very few words. It is a most deceitful and hollow world! and that is all said in a few words."
"What very agreeable, pleasant young men are Master Chaloner and
Grenville," observed Humphrey.
"Chaloner I know well," replied Edward; "he is to be trusted, and he is the only one in whom I have been able to place confidence, and therefore I was most fortunate in falling in with him as I did on my first starting. Grenville, I know little about; we met often, it is true, but it was in the presence of the king, being both of us on his staff; at the same time, I must acknowledge that I know nothing against him; and this I do know, which is, that he is brave."
Edward then narrated what had passed between the intendant and him since his return; and how well satisfied the intendant had been with his ruse in returning to him in the dress of a trooper.
"Talking about that, Edward, do you not think it likely that we shall have the troopers down here in search of the king?"
"I wonder you have not had them already," replied Edward.
"And what shall we do if they arrive?"
"That is all prepared for," replied Edward; "although, till you mentioned it, I had quite forgotten it. The intendant was talking with me on the subject last night, and here is an appointment for you as verderer, signed by him, which you are to use as you may find necessary; and here is another missive, ordering you to receive into your house two of the troopers who may be sent down here, and find them quarters and victuals, but not to be compelled to receive more. Until the search is over, Chaloner and Grenville must retain their accouterments and remain with us. And, Humphrey, if you have not made any use of the clothes which I left here—I mean the first dress I had made when I was appointed secretary, and which I thought rather too faded to wear any longer—I will put it on now, as should any military come here as scouters to the intendant, I shall have some authority over them."
"It is in your chest, where you left it, Edward. The girls did propose to make two josephs out of it for winter wear, but they never have thought of it since, or have not had time. By-the-by, you have not told me what you think of Alice and Edith after your long absence."
"I think they are both very much grown and very much improved," replied Edward; "but I must confess to you that I think it is high time that they were, if possible, removed from their present homely occupations, and instructed as young ladies should be."
"But how, Edward, is that to be?"
"That I can not yet tell, and it grieves me that I can not; but still I see the necessity of it, if ever we are to return to our position in society."
"And are we ever to return?"
"I don't know. I thought little of it before I went away and mixed in society; but since I have been in the world, I have been compelled to feel that my dear sisters are not in their sphere, and I have resolved upon trying if I can not find a more suitable position for them. Had we been successful I should have had no difficulty, but now I hardly know what to do."
"I have not inquired about Mistress Patience, brother; how is she?"
"She is as good and as handsome as ever, and very much grown; indeed, she is becoming quite womanly."
"And Clara?"
"Oh, I do not perceive any difference in her: I think she is grown, but I hardly observed her. Here comes Chaloner; we will tell him of our arrangements in case we are disturbed by the military parties."
"It is a most excellent arrangement," said Chaloner, when Edward had made the communication; "and it was a lucky day when I first fell in with you, Beverley."
"Not Beverley, I pray you; that name is to be forgotten; it was only revived for the occasion."
"Very true; then, Master Secretary Armitage, I think the arrangement excellent: the only point will be to find out what troops are sent down in this direction, as we must of course belong to some other regiment, and have been pursued from the field of battle. I should think that Lambert's squadrons will not be this way."
"We will soon ascertain that; let your horses be saddled and accoutered, so that should any of them make their appearance, the horses may be at the door. It is my opinion that they will be here some time to-day."
"I fear that it will be almost impossible for the king to escape," observed Chaloner. "I hardly know what to think of his leaving us in that way."
"I have reflected upon it," replied Edward, "and I think it was perhaps prudent: some were to be trusted and some not; it was impossible to know who were and who were not—he therefore trusted nobody. Besides, his chance of escape, if quite alone, is greater than if in company."
"And yet I feel a little mortified that he did not trust me," continued
Edward; "my life was at his service."
"He could no more read your heart, than he could mine or others," observed Chaloner; "and any selection would have been invidious: on the whole, I think he acted wisely, and I trust that it will prove so. One thing is certain, which is, that all is over now, and that for a long while we may let our swords rest in their scabbards. Indeed, I am sickened with it, after what I have seen, and would gladly live here with you, and help to till the land, away from the world and all its vexations. What say you, Edward; will you and your brother take me as a laborer till all is quiet again?"
"You would soon tire of it, Chaloner; you were made for active exertion and bustling in the world."
"Nevertheless, I think, under two such amiable and pretty mistresses, I could stay well contented here; it is almost Arcadian. But still it is selfish for me to talk in this way; indeed, my feelings are contrary to my words."
"How do you mean, Chaloner?"
"To be candid with you, Edward, I was thinking what a pity it is that two such sweet girls as your sisters should be employed here in domestic drudgery, and remain in such an uncultivated state—if I may be pardoned for speaking so freely—but I do so because I am convinced that, if in proper hands, they would grace a court; and you must feel that I am right."
"Do you not think that the same feelings have passed in my mind, Chaloner? Indeed, Humphrey will tell you that we were speaking on the same subject but an hour ago. You must, however, be aware of the difficulty I am in: were I in possession of Arnwood and its domain, then indeed—but that is all over now, and I presume I shall shortly see my own property, whose woods are now in sight of me, made over to some Roundhead, for good services against the Cavaliers at Worcester."
"Edward," replied Chaloner, "I have this to say to you, and I can say it because you know that I am indebted to you for my life, and that is a debt that nothing can cancel: if at any time you determine upon removing your sisters from this, recollect my maiden aunts at Portlake. They can not be in better hands, and they can not be in the hands of any person who will more religiously do their duty toward them, and be pleased with the trust confided to them. They are rich, in spite of exactions; but in these times, women are not fined and plundered as men are; and they have been well able to afford all that has been taken from them, and all that they have voluntarily given to the assistance of our party. They are alone, and I really believe that nothing would make them more happy than to have the care of the two sisters of Edward Beverley—be sure of that. But I will be more sure of it if you will find means of sending to them a letter which I shall write to them. I tell you that you will do them a favor, and that if you do not accept the offer, you will sacrifice your sisters' welfare to your own pride—which I do not think you would do."
"Most certainly I will not do that," replied Edward; "and I am fully sensible of your kind offer; but I can say no more until I hear what your good aunts may reply to your letter. You mistake me much, Chaloner, if you think that any sense of obligation would prevent me from seeing my sisters removed from a position so unworthy of them, but which circumstances have driven them to. That we are paupers, is undeniable, but I never shall forgot that my sisters are the daughters of Colonel Beverley."
"I am delighted with your reply, Edward, and I fear not that of my good aunts. It will be a great happiness to me when I am wandering abroad to know that your sisters are under their roof, and are being educated as they ought to be."
"What's the matter, Pablo?" said Humphrey to the former, who came running, out of breath.
"Soldiers," said Pablo, "plenty of them, gallop this way—gallop every way."
"Now, Chaloner, we must get ourselves out of this scrape, and I trust that afterward all be well," said Edward. "Bring the horses out to the door; and, Chaloner, you and Grenville must wait within; bring my horse out also, as it will appear as if I had just ridden over. I must in to change my dress. Humphrey, keep a look-out and let us know when they come."
Chaloner and Edward went in, and Edward put on his dress of secretary. Shortly afterward, a party of Roundhead cavalry were seen galloping toward the cottage. They soon arrived there, and pulled up their horses. An officer who headed them addressed Humphrey in a haughty tone, and asked him who he was.
"I am one of the verderers of the forest, sir," replied Humphrey, respectfully.
"And whose cottage is that? and who have you there?"
"The cottage is mine, sir; two of the horses at the door belong to two troopers who have come in quest of those who fled from Worcester, the other horse belongs to the secretary of the intendant of the forest, Master Heatherstone, who has come over with directions from the intendant as to the capture of the rebels."
At this moment, Edward came out and saluted the officer.
"This is the secretary, sir, Master Armitage," said Humphrey, falling back.
Edward again saluted the officer, and said—
"Master Heatherstone, the intendant, has sent me over here to make arrangements for the capture of the rebels. This man is ordered to lodge two troopers as long as they are considered necessary to remain; and I have directions to tell any officer whom I may meet, that Master Heatherstone and his verderers will take good care that none of the rebels are harbored in this direction; and that it will be better that the troops scour the southern edge of the forest, as it is certain that the fugitives will try all that they can to embark for France."
"What regiment do the troopers belong to that you have here?"
"I believe to Lambert's troop, sir; but they shall come out and answer for themselves. Tell those men to come out," said Edward to Humphrey.
"Yes, sir, but they are hard to wake, for they have ridden from
Worcester; but I will rouse them."
"Nay, I can not wait," replied the officer. "I know none of Lambert's troops, and they have no information to give."
"Could you not take them with you, sir, and leave two of your men instead of them; for they are troublesome people to a poor man, and devour every thing?" said Humphrey, submissively.
"No, no," replied the officer, laughing, "we all know Lambert's people—a friend or enemy is much the same to them. I have no power over them, and you must make the best of it. Forward! men," continued the officer, saluting Edward as he passed on; and in a minute or two they were far away.
"That's well over," observed Edward. "Chaloner and Grenville are too young-looking and too good-looking for Lambert's villains; and a sight of them might have occasioned suspicion. We must, however, expect more visits. Keep a good look-out, Pablo."
Edward and Humphrey then went in and joined the party inside the cottage, who were in a state of no little suspense during the colloquy outside.
"Why, Alice, dearest! you look quite pale!" said Edward, as he came in.
"I feared for our guests, Edward. I'm sure that if they had come into the cottage, Master Chaloner and Master Grenville would never have been believed to be troopers."
"We thank you for the compliment, Mistress Alice," said Chaloner; "but I think, if necessary, I could ruffle and swear with the best, or rather the worst of them. We passed for troopers very well on the road here."
"Yes, but you did not meet any other troopers."
"That's very true, and shows your penetration. I must acknowledge that, with troopers, there would have been more difficulty; but still, among so many thousands, there must be many varieties, and it would be an awkward thing for an officer of one troop to arrest upon suspicion the men belonging to another. I think when we are visited again I shall sham intoxication—that will not be very suspicious."
"No, not on either side," replied Edward. "Come, Alice, we will eat what dinner you may have ready for us."
For three or four days the Parliamentary forces continued to scour the forest, and another visit or two was paid to the cottage, but without suspicion being created, in consequence of the presence of Edward and his explanations. The parties were invariably sent in another direction. Edward wrote to the intendant, informing him what had occurred, and requesting permission to remain a few days longer at the cottage; and Pablo, who took the letter, returned with one from the intendant, acquainting him that the king had not yet been taken; and requesting the utmost vigilance on his part to insure his capture, with directions to search various places, in company with the troopers who had been stationed at the cottage; or, if he did not like to leave the cottage, to shew the letter to any officer commanding parties in search, that they might act upon the suggestions contained in it. This letter Edward had an opportunity of showing to one or two officers, commanding parties, who approached the cottage, and to whom Edward went out to communicate with, thereby preventing their stopping there.
At last, in about a fortnight, there was not a party in the forest; all of them having gone down to the seaside, to look out for the fugitives, several of whom were taken.
Humphrey took the cart to Lymington, to procure clothes for Chaloner and Grenville, and it was decided that they should assume those of verderers of the forest, which would enable them to carry a gun. As soon as Humphrey had obtained what was requisite, Chaloner and Grenville were conducted to Clara's cottage, and took possession, of course never showing themselves outside the wood which surrounded it. Humphrey lent them Holdfast as a watch, and they took leave of Alice and Edith with much regret. Humphrey and Edward accompanied them to their new abode. It was arranged that the horses should remain under the care of Humphrey, as they had no stable at Clara's cottage.
On parting, Chaloner gave Edward the letter for his aunts; and then Edward once more bent his steps toward the intendant's house, and found himself in the company of Patience and Clara.
Edward narrated to the intendant all that had occurred, and the intendant approved of what he had done, strongly advising that Chaloner and Grenville should not attempt to go to the Continent till all pursuit was over.
"Here's a letter I have received from the government, Edward, highly commending my vigilance and activity in pursuit of the fugitives. It appears that the officers you fell in with have written up to state what admirable dispositions we had made. It is a pity, is it not, Edward, that we are compelled to be thus deceitful in this world? Nothing but the times, and the wish to do good, could warrant it. We meet the wicked, and fight them with their own weapons; but although it is treating them as they deserve, our conscience must tell us that it is not right."
"Surely, sir, to save the lives of people who have committed no other fault except loyalty to their king, will warrant our so doing—at least, I hope so."
"According to the Scriptures, I fear it will not, but it is a difficult, question for us to decide. Let us be guided by our own consciences; if they do not reproach us, we can not be far from right."
Edward then produced the letter he had received from Chaloner, requesting that the intendant would have the kindness to forward it.
"I see," replied the intendant; "I can forward these through Langton. I presume it is to obtain credit for money. It shall go on Thursday."
The conference was then broken up, and Edward went to see Oswald.
CHAPTER XXV.
For several days Edward remained at home, anxiously awaiting every news which arrived; expecting every time that the capture of the king would be announced, and, with great joy, finding that hitherto all efforts had been unsuccessful. But there was a question which now arose in Edward's mind, and which was the cause of deep reflection. Since the proposal of sending his sisters away had been started, he felt the great inconvenience of his still representing himself to the intendant as the grandson of Armitage. His sisters, if sent to the ladies at Portlake, must be sent without the knowledge of the intendant; and if so, the discovery of their absence would soon take place, as Patience Heatherstone would be constantly going over to the cottage; and he now asked himself the question, whether, after all the kindness and confidence which the intendant had shown him, he was right in any longer concealing from him his birth and parentage. He felt that he was doing the intendant an injustice, in not showing to him that confidence which ho deserved.
That he was justified in so doing at first, he felt; but since the joining the king's army, and the events which had followed, he considered that he was treating the intendant ill, and he now resolved to take the first opportunity of making the confession. But to do it formally, and without some opportunity which might offer, he felt awkward. At last he thought that he would at once make the confession to Patience, under the promise of secrecy. That he might do at once; and, after he had done so, the intendant could not tax him with want of confidence altogether. He had now analyzed his feelings toward Patience; and he felt how dear she had become to him. During the time he was with the army, she had seldom been out of his thoughts; and although he was often in the society of well bred women, he saw not one that, in his opinion, could compare with Patience Heatherstone; but still, what chance had he of supporting a wife? at present, at the age of nineteen, it was preposterous. Thoughts like these ran in his mind, chasing each other, and followed by others as vague and unsatisfactory; and, in the end, Edward came to the conclusion, that he was without a penny, and that being known as the heir of Beverley would be to his disadvantage; that he was in love with Patience Heatherstone, and had no chance at present of obtaining her; and that he done well up to the present time in concealing who he was from the intendant, who could safely attest that he knew not that he was protecting the son of so noted a Cavalier; and that he would confess to Patience who he was, and give as a reason for not telling her father, that he did not wish to commit him by letting him know who it was that was under his protection. How far the reader may be satisfied with the arguments which Edward was satisfied with, we can not pretend to say; but Edward was young, and hardly knew how to extricate himself from the cloak which necessity had first compelled him to put on. Edward was already satisfied that he was not quite looked upon with indifference by Patience Heatherstone; and he was not yet certain whether it was not a grateful feeling that she had toward him more than any other; that she believed him to be beneath her in birth, he felt convinced, and therefore she could have no idea that he was Edward Beverley. It was not till several days after he had made up his mind that he had an opportunity of being with her alone, as Clara Ratcliffe was their constant companion. However, one evening Clara went out, and staid out so long, carelessly wrapped up, that she caught cold; and the following evening she remained at home, leaving Edward and Patience to take their usual walk unaccompanied by her. They had walked for some minutes in silence, when Patience observed,
"You are very grave, Edward, and have been very grave ever since your return; have you any thing to vex you beyond the failure of the attempt."
"Yes, I have, Patience. I have much on my conscience, and do not know how to act. I want an adviser and a friend, and know not where to find one."
"Surely, Edward, my father is your sincere friend, and not a bad adviser."
"I grant it; but the question is between your father and me, and I can not advise with him for that reason."
"Then advise with me, Edward, if it is not a secret of such moment that it is not to be trusted to a woman; at all events it will be the advice of a sincere friend; you will give me credit for that."
"Yes, and for much more; for I think I shall have good advice, and will therefore accept your offer. I feel, Patience, that although I was justified, on my first acquaintance with your father, in not making known to him a secret of some importance, yet now that he has put such implicit confidence, in me, I am doing him and myself an injustice in not making the communication—that is, as far as confidence in him is concerned. I consider that he has a right to know all, and yet I feel that it would be prudent on my part that he should not know all, as the knowledge might implicate him with those with whom he is at present allied. A secret sometimes is dangerous; and if your father could not say that on his honor he knew not of the secret, it might harm him if the secret became afterward known. Do you understand me?"
"I can not say that I exactly do; you have a secret that you wish to make known to my father, and you think the knowledge of it may harm him. I can not imagine what kind of secret that may be."
"Well, I can give you a case in point. Suppose now that I knew that King Charles was hidden in your stable-loft: such might be the case, and your father be ignorant of it, and his assertion of his ignorance would be believed; but if I were to tell your father that the king was there, and it was afterward discovered, do you not see that, by confiding such a secret to him, I should do harm, and perhaps bring him into trouble?"
"I perceive now, Edward; do you mean to say that you know where the king is concealed? for, if you do, I must beg of you not let my father know any thing about it. As you say, it would put him in a difficult position, and must eventually harm him much. There is a great difference between wishing well to a cause and supporting it in person. My father wishes the king well, I believe, but, at the same time, he will not take an active part, as you have already seen; at the same time, I am convinced that he would never betray the king if he knew where he was. I say, therefore, if that is your secret, keep it from him, for his sake and for mine, Edward, if you regard me."
"You know not how much I regard you, Patience. I saw many highborn women when I was away, but none could I see equal to Patience Heatherstone, in my opinion; and Patience was ever in my thoughts during my long absence."
"I thank you for your kind feelings toward me," replied Patience; "but,
Master Armitage, we were talking about your secret."
"Master Armitage!" rejoined Edward; "how well you know how to remind me, by that expression, of my obscure birth and parentage, whenever I am apt to forget the distance which I ought to observe!"
"You are wrong!" replied Patience; "but you flattered me so grossly, that I called you Master Armitage to show that I disliked flattery, that was all. I dislike flattery from those who are above me in rank, as well as those who are below me; and I should have done the same to any other person, whatever his condition might be. But forget what I said, I did not mean to vex you, only to punish you for thinking me so silly as to believe such nonsense."
"Your humility may construe that into flattery which was said by me in perfect sincerity and truth-that I can not help," replied Edward. "I might have added much more, and yet have been sincere; if you had not reminded me of my not being of gentle birth, I might have had the presumption to have told you much more; but I have been rebuked."
Edward finished speaking, and Patience made no reply; they walked on for several moments without exchanging another syllable. At last Patience said,
"I will not say who is wrong, Edward; but this I do know, that the one who first offers the olive branch after a misunderstanding, can not but be right. I offer it now, and ask you whether we are to quarrel about one little word. Let me ask you, and give me a candid answer: Have I ever been so base as to treat as an inferior one to whom I have been so much obliged?"
"It is I who am in fault, Patience," replied Edward. "I have been dreaming for a long while, pleased with my dreams, and forgetting that they were dreams, and not likely to be realized. I must now speak plainly. I love you, Patience; love you so much, that to part from you would be misery-to know that my love was rejected, as bitter as death. That is the truth, and I can conceal it no longer. Now I admit you have a right to be angry."
"I see no cause for anger, Edward," replied Patience. "I have not thought of you but as a friend and benefactor; it would have been wrong to have done otherwise. I am but a young person, and must be guided by my father. I would not offend him by disobedience. I thank you for your good opinion of me, and yet I wish you had not said what you have."
"Am I to understand from your reply, that, if your father raised no objection, my lowly birth would be none in your opinion?"
"Your birth has never come into my head, except when reminded of it by yourself."
"Then, Patience, let me return for the present to what I had to confide to you. I was—"
"Here comes my father, Edward," said Patience. "Surely I have done wrong, for I feel afraid to meet him."
Mr. Heatherstone now joined them, and said to Edward—
"I have been looking for you: I have news from London which has rejoiced me much. I have at last obtained what I have some time been trying for; and, indeed, I may say, that your prudence and boldness in returning home as a trooper, added to your conduct in the forest, has greatly advanced, and ultimately obtained for me, my suit. There was some suspense before that, but your conduct has removed it; and now we shall have plenty to do."
They walked to the house, and the intendant, as soon as he had gained his own room, said to Edward—
"There is a grant to me of a property which I have long solicited for my services—read it."
Edward took up the letter in which the Parliament informed Mr. Heatherstone that his application to the property of Arnwood had been acceded to, and signed by the commissioners; and that he might take immediate possession. Edward turned pale as he laid the document down on the table.
"We will ride to-morrow, Edward, and look it over. I intend to rebuild the house."
Edward made no reply.
"Are you not well?" said the intendant, with surprise.
"Yes, sir," replied Edward, "I am well, I believe; but I confess to you that I am disappointed. I did not think that you would have accepted a property from such a source, and so unjustly sequestrated."
"I am sorry, Edward," replied the intendant, "that I should have fallen in your good opinion; but allow me to observe that you are so far right that I never would have accepted a property to which there were living claimants; but this is a different case. For instance, the Ratcliffe property belongs to little Clara, and is sequestrated. Do you think I would accept it? Never! But here is property without an heir; the whole family perished in the flames of Arnwood! There is no living claimant! It must be given to somebody, or remain with the government. This property, therefore, and this property only, out of all sequestrated, I selected, as I felt that, in obtaining it, I did harm to no one. I have been offered others, but have refused them. I would accept of this, and this only; and that is the reason why my applications have hitherto been attended with no success. I trust you believe me, Edward, in what I assert?"
"First answer me one question, Mr. Heatherstone. Suppose it were proved that the whole of the family did not, as it is supposed, perish at the conflagration of Arnwood? Suppose a rightful heir to it should at any time appear, would you then resign the property to him?"
"As I hope for Heaven, Edward, I would!" replied the intendant, solemnly raising his eyes upward as he spoke. "I then should think that I had been an instrument to keep the property out of other hands less scrupulous, and should surrender it as a trust which had been confided to me for the time only."
"With such feelings, Mr. Heatherstone, I can now congratulate you upon your having obtained possession of the property," replied Edward.
"And yet I do not deserve so much credit, as there is little chance of my sincerity being put to the test, Edward. There is no doubt that the family all perished; and Arnwood will become the dower of Patience Heatherstone."
Edward's heart beat quick. A moment's thought told him his situation. He had been prevented, by the interruption of Mr. Heatherstone, from making his confession to Patience; and now he could not make it to any body without a rupture with the intendant, or a compromise, by asking what he so earnestly desired—the hand of Patience. Mr. Heatherstone observing to Edward that he did not look well, said supper was ready, and that they had better go into the next room. Edward mechanically followed. At supper he was tormented by the incessant inquiries of Clara, as to what was the matter with him. He did not venture to look at Patience, and made a hasty retreat to bed, complaining, as he might well do, of a severe headache.
Edward threw himself on his bed, but to sleep was impossible. He thought of the events of the day over and over again. Had he any reason to believe that Patience returned his affection? No; her reply was too calm, too composed to make him suppose that; and now that she would be an heiress, there would be no want of pretenders to her hand; and he would lose her and his property at the same time. It was true that the intendant had declared that he would renounce the property if the true heir appeared, but that was easy to say upon the conviction that no heir would appear; and even if he did renounce it, the Parliament would receive it again rather than it should fall into the hands of a Beverley. "Oh that I had never left the cottage!" thought Edward. "I might then, at least, have become resigned and contented with my lot. Now I am miserable, and, whichever way I turn, I see no prospect of being otherwise. One thing only I can decide upon, which is, that I will not remain any longer than I can help under this roof. I will go over and consult with Humphrey; and if I can only place my sisters as I want, Humphrey and I will seek our fortunes."
Edward rose at daylight, and, dressing himself, went down and saddled his horse. Desiring Sampson to tell the intendant that he had gone over to the cottage and would return by the evening, he rode across the forest, and arrived just as they were sitting down to breakfast. His attempts to be cheerful before his sisters did not succeed, and they were all grieved to see him look so pale and haggard. As soon as breakfast was over, Edward made a sign, and he and Humphrey went out.
"What is the matter, my dear brother?" said Humphrey.
"I will tell you all. Listen to me," replied Edward, who then gave him the detail of all that had passed from the time he had walked out with Patience Heatherstone till he went to bed. "Now, Humphrey, you know all; and what shall I do? remain there I can not!"
"If Patience Heatherstone had professed regard for you," replied Humphrey, "the affair had been simple enough. Her father could have no objections to the match; and he would at the same time have acquitted his conscience as to the retaining of the property: but you say she showed none."
"She told me very calmly that she was sorry that I had said what I did."
"But do women always mean what they say, brother?" said Humphrey.
"She does, at all events," replied Edward; "she is truth itself. No, I can not deceive myself. She feels a deep debt of gratitude for the service I rendered her; and that prevented her from being more harsh in her reply than what she was."
"But if she knew that you were Edward Beverley, do you not think it would make a difference in her?"
"And if it did, it would be too humiliating to think that I was only married for my rank and station."
"But, considering you of mean birth, may she not have checked those feelings which she considered under the circumstances improper to indulge?"
"Where there is such a sense of propriety there can be little affection."
"I know nothing about these things, Edward," replied Humphrey; "but I have been told that a woman's heart is not easily read; or if I have not been told it, I have read it or dreamed it."
"What do you propose to do?"
"What I fear you will not approve of, Humphrey; it is to break up our establishment altogether. If the answer is favorable from the Misses Conynghame my sisters shall go to them; but that we had agreed upon already. Then for myself—I intend to go abroad, resume my name, and obtain employment in some foreign service. I will trust to the king for assisting me to that."
"That is the worst part of it, Edward; but if your peace of mind depends upon it, I will not oppose it."
"You, Humphrey, may come with me and share my fortunes, or do what you think more preferable."
"I think then, Edward, that I shall not decide rashly. I must have remained here with Pablo if my sisters had gone to the Ladies Conynghame and you had remained with the intendant; I shall, therefore, till I hear from you, remain where I am, and shall be able to observe what is going on here, and let you know."
"Be it so," replied Edward; "let me only see my sisters well placed, and I shall be off the next day. It is misery to remain there now."
After some more conversation, Edward mounted his horse and returned to the intendant's. He did not arrive till late, for supper was on the table. The intendant gave him a letter for Mr. Chaloner, which was inclosed in one from Mr. Langton; and further informed Edward that news had arrived of the king having made his escape to France.
"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Edward. "With your leave, sir, I will to-morrow deliver this letter to the party to whom it is addressed, as I know it to be of consequence."
The intendant having given his consent, Edward retired without having exchanged a word with Patience or Clara beyond the usual civilities of the table.
The following morning, Edward, who had not slept an hour during the night, set off for Clara's cottage, and found Chaloner and Grenville still in bed. At the sound of his voice the door was opened, and he gave Chaloner the letter; the latter read it and then handed it to Edward. The Misses Conynghame were delighted at the idea of receiving the two daughters of Colonel Beverley, and would treat them as their own; they requested that they might be sent to London immediately, where the coach would meet them to convey them down to Lancashire. They begged to be kindly remembered to Captain Beverley, and to assure him that his sisters should be well cared for.
"I am much indebted to you, Chaloner," said Edward; "I will send my brother off with my sisters as soon as possible. You will soon think of returning to France; and if you will permit me, I will accompany you."
"You, Edward! that will be delightful; but you had no idea of the kind when last we met. What has induced you to alter your mind?"
"I will tell you by-and-by; I do not think I shall be here again for some days. I must be a great deal at the cottage when Humphrey is away, for Pablo will have a great charge upon him—what with the dairy, and horses, and breed of goats, and other things—more than he can attend to; but as soon as Humphrey returns, I will come to you and make preparations for our departure. Till then, farewell, both of you. We must see to provision you for three weeks or a month, before Humphrey starts."
Edward bade them a hearty farewell, and then rode to the cottage.
Although Alice and Edith had been somewhat prepared for leaving the cottage, yet the time was so very uncertain, that the blow fell heavy upon them. They were to leave their brothers whom they loved so dearly, to go to strangers; and when they understood that they were to leave in two days, and that they should not see Edward again, their grief was very great; but Edward reasoned with Alice and consoled her, although with Edith it was a more difficult task. She not only lamented her brothers, but her cow, her pony, and her kids; all the dumb animals were friends and favorites of Edith; and even the idea of parting with Pablo, was the cause of a fresh burst of tears. Having made every arrangement with Humphrey, Edward once more took his leave, promising to come over and assist Pablo as soon as he could.
The next day Humphrey was busied in his preparations. They supplied the provisions to Clara's cottage; and when Pablo took them over in the cart, Humphrey rode to Lymington and provided a conveyance to London for the following day. We may as well observe, that they set off at the hour appointed, and arrived safely at London in three days. There, at an address given in a letter, they found the coach waiting; and having given his sisters into the charge of an elderly waiting-woman, who had come up in the coach to take charge of them, they quitted him with many tears, and Humphrey hastened back to the New Forest.
On his return, he found to his surprise that Edward had not called at the cottage as he had promised; and with a mind foreboding evil, he mounted a horse and set off across the forest to ascertain the cause. As he was close to the intendant's house he was met by Oswald, who informed him that Edward had been seized with a violent fever, and was in a very dangerous state, having been delirious for three or four days.
Humphrey hastened to dismount, and knocked at the door of the house; it was opened by Sampson, and Humphrey requested to be shown up to his brother's room. He found Edward in the state described by Oswald, and wholly unconscious of his presence; the maid, Phoebe, was by his bedside.
"You may leave," said Humphrey, rather abruptly; "I am his brother."
Phoebe retired, and Humphrey was alone with his brother.
"It was, indeed, an unhappy day when you came to this house," exclaimed
Humphrey, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "my poor, poor Edward!"
Edward now began to talk incoherently, and attempted to rise from the bed, but his efforts were unavailing—he was too weak; but he raved of Patience Heatherstone, and he called himself Edward Beverley more than once, and he talked of his father and of Arnwood.
"If he has raved in this manner," thought Humphrey, "he has not many secrets left to disclose. I will not leave him, and will keep others away if I can."
Humphrey had been sitting an hour with his brother, when the surgeon came to see his patient. He felt his pulse, and asked Humphrey if he was nursing him.
"I am his brother, sir," replied Humphrey.
"Then, my good sir, if you perceive any signs of perspiration—and I think now that there is a little—keep the clothes on him and let him perspire freely. If so, his life will be saved."
The surgeon withdrew, saying that he would return again late in the evening.
Humphrey remained for another two hours at the bedside, and then feeling that there was a sign of perspiration, he obeyed the injunctions of the surgeon, and held on the clothes against all Edward's endeavors to throw them off. For a short time the perspiration was profuse, and the restlessness of Edward subsided into a deep slumber.
"Thank Heaven! there are then hopes."
"Did you say there were hopes?" repeated a voice behind him.
Humphrey turned round and perceived Patience and Clara behind him, who had come in without his observing it.
"Yes," replied Humphrey, looking reproachfully at Patience, "there are hopes, by what the surgeon said to me—hopes that he may yet be able to quit this house which he was so unfortunate as to enter."
This was a harsh and rude speech of Humphrey; but he considered that Patience Heatherstone had been the cause of his brother's dangerous state, and that she had not behaved well to him.
Patience made no reply, but falling down on her knees by the bedside, prayed silently; and Humphrey's heart smote him for what he had said to her. "She can not be so bad," thought Humphrey, as Patience and Clara quitted the room without the least noise.
Shortly afterward the intendant came up into the room and offered his hand to Humphrey, who pretended not to see it, and did not take it.
"He has got Arnwood: that is enough for him," thought Humphrey; "but my hand in friendship he shall not receive."
The intendant put his hand within the clothes, and feeling the high perspiration that Edward was in, said—
"I thank thee, O God! for all thy mercies, and that thou hast been pleased to spare this valuable life. How are your sisters, Master Humphrey?" said the intendant; "my daughter bade me inquire. I will send over to them and let them know that your brother is better, if you do not leave this for the cottage yourself after the surgeon has called again."
"My sisters are no longer at the cottage, Master Heatherstone," replied Humphrey; "they have gone to some friends who have taken charge of them. I saw them safe to London myself, or I should have known of my brother's illness and have been here before this."
"You indeed tell me news, Master Humphrey," replied the intendant. "With whom, may I ask, are your sisters placed, and in what capacity are they gone?"
This reply of the intendant's reminded Humphrey that he had somewhat committed himself, as, being supposed to be the daughters of a forester, it was not to be thought that they had gone up to be educated; and he therefore replied—
"They found it lonely in the forest, Master Heatherstone, and wished to see London; so we have taken them there, and put them into the care of those who have promised that they shall be well placed."
The intendant appeared to be much disturbed and surprised, but he said nothing, and soon afterward quitted the room. He almost immediately returned with the surgeon, who, as soon as he felt Edward's pulse, declared that the crisis was over, and that when he awoke he would be quite sensible. Having given directions as to the drink of his patient, and some medicine which he was to take, the surgeon then left, stating that he should not call until the next evening, unless he was sent for, as he considered all danger over.
Edward continued in a quiet slumber for the major portion of the night. It was just break of day when he opened his eyes. Humphrey offered him some drink, which Edward took greedily; and seeing Humphrey, said—
"Oh, Humphrey, I had quite forgotten where I was—I'm so sleepy!" and with these words his head fell on the pillow, and he was again asleep.
When it was broad daylight, Oswald came into the room:
"Master Humphrey, they say that all danger is over now, but that you have remained here all night. I will relieve you now if you will let me. Go and take a walk in the fresh air—it will revive you."
"I will, Oswald, and many thanks. My brother has woke up once, and, I thank God, is quite sensible. He will know you when he wakes again, and then do you send for me."
Humphrey left the room, and was glad, after a night of close confinement in a sick-room, to feel the cool morning air fanning his cheeks. He had not been long out of the house before he perceived Clara coming toward him.
"How d'ye do, Humphrey?" said Clara; "and how is your brother this morning?"
"He is better, Clara, and I hope now out of danger."
"But, Humphrey," continued Clara, "when we came into the room last night, what made you say what you did?"
"I do not recollect that I said any thing."
"Yes, you did; you said that there were now hopes that your brother would be able soon to quit this house which he had been so unfortunate as to enter. Do you recollect?"
"I may have said so, Clara," replied Humphrey; "it was only speaking my thoughts aloud."
"But why do you think so, Humphrey? Why has Edward been unfortunate in entering this house? That is what I want to know. Patience cried so much after she left the room because you said that. Why did you say so? You did not think so a short time ago."
"No, my dear Clara, I did not, but I do now, and I can not give you my reasons; so you must say no more about it."
Clara was silent for a time, and then said—
"Patience tells me that your sisters have gone away from the cottage.
You told her father so."
"It is very true; they have gone."
"But why have they gone? What have they gone for? Who is to look after the cows, and goats, and poultry? Who is to cook your dinner, Humphrey? What can you do without them, and why did you send them away without letting me or Patience know that they were going, so that at least we might have bid them farewell?"
"My dear Clara," replied Humphrey—who, feeling no little difficulty in replying to all these questions, resolved to cut the matter short, by appearing to be angry—"you know that you are the daughter of a gentleman, and so is Patience Heatherstone. You are both of gentle birth, but my sisters, you know, are only the daughters of a forester, and my brother Edward and I are no better. It does not become Mistress Patience and you to be intimate with such as we are, especially now that Mistress Patience is a great heiress; for her father has obtained the large property of Arnwood, and it will be hers after his death. It is not fit that the heiress of Arnwood should mix herself up with foresters' daughters; and as we had friends near Lymington, who offered to assist us, and take our sisters under their charge, we thought it better that they should go; for what would become of them, if any accident was to happen to Edward or to me? Now they will be provided for. After they have been taught, they will make very nice tirewomen to some lady of quality," added Humphrey, with a sneer. "Don't you think they will, my pretty Clara?"
Clara burst into tears.
"You are very unkind, Humphrey," sobbed she. "You had no right to send away your sisters. I don't believe you—that's more!" and Clara ran away into the house.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Our readers may think that Humphrey was very unkind, but it was to avoid being questioned by Clara, who was evidently sent for the purpose, that he was so harsh. At the same time it must be admitted, that Mr. Heatherstone having obtained possession of Arnwood, rankled, no doubt, in the minds of both the brothers, and every act now, on the part of him or his family, was viewed in a false medium. But our feelings are not always at our control, and Edward was naturally impetuous, and Humphrey so much attached, and so much alarmed at his brother's danger, that he was even more excited. The blow fell doubly heavy, as it appeared that at the very same time Patience had rejected his brother, and taken possession of their property, which had been held by the family for centuries. What made the case more annoying was, that explanation, if there was any to offer on either side, was, under present circumstances, almost impossible.
Soon after Clara left him, Humphrey returned to his brother's room. He found him awake and talking to Oswald. Ardently pressing his brother's hand, Edward said—
"My dear Humphrey, I shall soon be well now, and able, I trust, to quit this house. What I fear is, that some explanation will be asked for by the intendant, not only relative to my sisters having left us, but also upon other points. This is what I wish to avoid without giving offense. I do not think that the intendant is so much to blame in having obtained my property, as he does not know that a Beverley existed; but I can not bear to have any further intimacy with him, especially after what has taken place between me and his daughter. What I have to request is, that you will never quit this room while I am still here unless you are relieved by Oswald; so that the intendant or any body else may have no opportunity of having any private communication with me, or forcing me to listen to what they may have to say. I made this known to Oswald before you came in."
"Depend upon it, it shall be so, Edward, for I am of your opinion. Clara came to me just now, and I had much trouble, and was compelled to be harsh, to get rid of her importunity."
When the surgeon called, he pronounced Edward out of danger, and that his attendance would be no longer necessary. Edward felt the truth of this. All that he required was strength; and that he trusted in a few days to obtain.
Oswald was sent over to the cottage, to ascertain how Pablo was going on by himself. He found that every thing was correct, and that Pablo, although he felt proud of his responsibility, was very anxious for Humphrey's return, as he found himself very lonely. During Oswald's absence on this day, Humphrey never quitted the room; and although the intendant came up several times, he never could find an opportunity of speaking to Edward, which he evidently wished to do.
To the inquiries made as to how he was, Edward always complained of great weakness, for a reason which will soon be understood. Several days elapsed, and Edward had often been out of bed during the night, when not likely to be intruded upon, and he now felt himself strong enough to be removed; and his object was to leave the intendant's house without his knowledge, so as to avoid an explanation.
One evening Pablo came over with the horses after it was dark. Oswald put them into the stable; and the morning proving fine and clear, a little before break of day, Edward came softly down stairs with Humphrey, and, mounting the horses, set off for the cottage, without any one in the intendant's house being aware of their departure.
It must not be supposed, however, that Edward took this step without some degree of consideration as to the feelings of the intendant. On the contrary, he left a letter with Oswald, to be delivered after his departure, in which he thanked the intendant sincerely for all the kindness and compassion he had shown toward him; assured him of his gratitude and kind feelings toward him and his daughter, but said that circumstances had occurred, of which no explanation could be given without great pain to all parties, which rendered it advisable that he should take such an apparently unkind step as to leave without bidding them farewell in person; that he was about to embark immediately for the Continent, to seek his fortune in the wars; and that he wished all prosperity to the family, which would ever have his kindest wishes and remembrances.
"Humphrey," said Edward, after they had ridden about two miles across the forest, and the sun had risen in an unclouded sky, "I feel like an emancipated slave. Thank God! my sickness has cured me of all my complaints, and all I want now is active employment. And now, Humphrey, Chaloner and Grenville are not a little tired of being mured up in the cottage, and I am as anxious as they are to be off. What will you do? Will you join us, or will you remain at the cottage?"
"I have reflected upon it, Edward, and I have come to the determination of remaining at the cottage. You will find it expensive enough to support one where you are going, and you must appear as a Beverley should do. We have plenty of money saved to equip you, and maintain you well for a year or so, but after that you may require more. Leave me here. I can make money now that the farm is well stocked; and I have no doubt that I shall be able to send over a trifle every year, to support the honor of the family. Besides, I do not wish to leave this for another reason. I want to know what is going on, and watch the motions of the intendant and the heiress of Arnwood. I also do not wish to leave the country until I know how my sisters get on with the Ladies Conynghame: it is my duty to watch over them. I have made up my mind, so do not attempt to dissuade me."
"I shall not, my dear Humphrey, as I think you have decided properly; but I beg you will not think of laying by money for me-a very little will suffice for my wants."
"Not so, good brother; you must and shall, if I can help you, ruffle it with the best. You will be better received if you do; for, though poverty is no sin, as the saying is, it is scouted as sin should be, while sins are winked at. You know that I require no money, and, therefore, you must and shall, if you love me, take it all."
"As you will, my dear Humphrey. Now then, let us put our horses to speed, for, if possible, we will, to-morrow morning, leave the forest."
By this time all search for the fugitives from Worcester had long been over, and there was no difficulty in obtaining the means of embarkation. Early the next morning every thing was ready, and Edward, Humphrey, Chaloner, Grenville, and Pablo set off for Southampton, one of the horses carrying the little baggage which they had with them. Edward, as we have before mentioned, with the money he had saved, and the store at the cottage, which had been greatly increased, was well supplied with cash; and that evening they embarked, with their horses, in a small sailing vessel, and, with a favorable, light wind, arrived at a small port of France on the following day. Humphrey and Pablo returned to the cottage, we need hardly now say, very much out of spirits at the separation.
"Oh, Massa Humphrey," said Pablo, as they rode along, "Missy Alice and Missy Edith go away-I wish go with them. Massa Edward go away—I wish go with him. You stay at cottage—I wish stay with you. Pablo can not be in three places."
"No, Pablo; all you can do is to stay where you can be most useful."
"Yes, I know that. You want me at cottage very much. Missy Alice and
Edith and Massa Edward no want me, so I stay at cottage."
"Yes, Pablo, we will stay at the cottage, but we can't do every thing now. I think we must give up the dairy, now that my sisters are gone. I'll tell you what I have been thinking of, Pablo. We will make a large inclosed place, to coax the ponies into during the winter, pick out as many as we think are good, and sell them at Lymington. That will be better than churning butter."
"Yes, I see; plenty of work for Pablo."
"And plenty for me, too, Pablo; but you know when the inclosure is once made it will last for a long while; and we will get the wild cattle into it if we can."
"Yes, I see," said Pablo. "I like that very much; only not like trouble to build place."
"We shan't have much trouble, Pablo; if we fell the trees inside the wood at each side, and let them lie one upon the other, the animals will never break through them."
"That very good idea—save trouble," said Pablo. "And what you do with cows, suppose no make butter?"
"Keep them, and sell their calves; keep them to entice the wild cattle into the pen."
"Yes, that good. And turn out old Billy to 'tice ponies into pen," continued Pablo, laughing.
"Yes, we will try it."
We must now return to the intendant's house. Oswald delivered the letter to the intendant, who read it with much astonishment.
"Gone! is he actually gone?" said Mr. Heatherstone.
"Yes, sir, before daylight this morning."
"And why was I not informed of it?" said Mr. Heatherstone; "why have you been a party to this proceeding, being my servant?—may I inquire that?"
"I knew Master Edward before I knew you, sir," replied Oswald.
"Then you had better follow him," rejoined the intendant, in an angry tone.
"Very well, sir," replied Oswald, who quitted the room.
"Good Heaven! how all my plans have been frustrated!" exclaimed the intendant, when he was alone. He then read the letter over more carefully than he had done at first. "'Circumstances had occurred of which no explanation could be given by him.' I do not comprehend that—I must see Patience."
Mr. Heatherstone opened the door, and called to his daughter.
"Patience," said Mr. Heatherstone, "Edward has left the house this morning; here is a letter which he has written to me. Read it, and let me know if you can explain some portion of it, which to me is incomprehensible. Sit down and read it attentively."
Patience, who was much agitated, gladly took the seat and perused Edward's letter. When she had done so, she let it drop in her lap and covered all her face, the tears trickling through her fingers. After a time, the intendant said,
"Patience, has any thing passed between you and Edward Armitage?"
Patience made no reply, but sobbed aloud. She might not have shown so much emotion, but it must be remembered that for the last three weeks since Edward had spoken to her, and during his subsequent illness, she had been very unhappy. The reserve of Humphrey, the expressions he had made use of, his repulse of Clara, and her not having seen anything of Edward during his illness, added to his sudden and unexpected departure without a word to her, had broken her spirits, and she sank beneath the load of sorrow.
The intendant left her to recover herself before he again addressed her. When she had ceased sobbing, her father spoke to her in a very kind voice, begging her that she would not conceal any thing from him, as it was most important to him that the real facts should be known.
"Now tell me, my child, what passed between Edward and you."
"He told me, just before you came up to us that evening, that he loved me."
"And what was your reply?"
"I hardly know, my dear father, what it was that I said. I did not like
to be unkind to one who saved my life, and I did not choose to say what
I thought because—because—because he was of low birth; and how could
I give encouragement to the son of a forester without your permission?"
"Then you rejected him?"
"I suppose I did, or that he considered that I did so. He had a secret of importance that he would have confided to me had you not interrupted us."
"And now, Patience, I must request you to answer me one question candidly. I do not blame you for your conduct, which was correct under the circumstances. I also had a secret which I perhaps ought to have confided; but I did consider that the confidence and paternal kindness with which I treated Edward would have been sufficient to point out to you that I could not have been very averse to a union; indeed, the freedom of communication which I allowed between you, must have told you so: but your sense of duty and propriety has made you act as you ought to have done, I grant, although contrary to my real wishes."
"Your wishes, my father?" said Patience.
"Yes—my wishes; there is nothing that I so ardently desired as a union between you and Edward; but I wished you to love him for his own merits."
"I have done so, father," replied Patience, sobbing again, "although I did not tell him so."
The intendant remained silent for some time, and then said,
"There is no cause for further concealment, Patience; I have only to regret that I was not more explicit sooner. I have long suspected, and have since been satisfied, that Edward Armitage is Edward Beverley, who with his brothers and sisters were supposed to have been burned to death at Arnwood."
Patience removed her handkerchief from her face, and looked at her father with astonishment.
"I tell you that I had a strong suspicion of it, my dear child, first, from the noble appearance, which no forest garb could disguise; but what gave me further conviction was, that when at Lymington I happened to fall in with one Benjamin, who had been a servant at Arnwood, and interrogated him closely. He really believed that the children were burned; it is true that I asked him particularly relative to the appearance of the children—how many were boys, and how many were girls, their ages, &c.—but the strongest proof was, that the names of the four children corresponded with the names of the Children of the Forest, as well as their ages, and I went to the church register and extracted them. Now this was almost amounting to proof; for it was not likely that four children in the forest cottage should have the same ages and names as those of Arnwood. After I had ascertained this point, I engaged Edward, as you know, wishing to secure him, for I was once acquainted with his father, and at all events well acquainted with the colonel's merits. You remained in the house together, and it was with pleasure that I watched the intimacy between you; and then I exerted myself to get Arnwood restored to him. I could not ask it for him, but I prevented it being given to any other by laying claim to it myself. Had Edward remained with us, all might have succeeded as I wished; but he would join in the unfortunate insurrection. I knew it was useless to prevent him, so I let him go. I found that he took the name of Beverley during the time he was with the king's army, and when I was last in town I was told so by the commissioners, who wondered where he had come from; but the effect was that it was now useless for me to request the estate for him, as I had wished to do—his having served in the royal army rendered it impossible. I therefore claimed it for myself, and succeeded. I had made up my mind that he was attached to you, and you were equally so to him; and as soon as I had the grant sent down, which was on the evening he addressed you, I made known to him that the property was given to me; and I added, on some dry questions being put to me by him, relative to the possibility of there being still existing an heir to the estate, that there was no chance of that, and that you would be the mistress of Arnwood. I threw it out as a hint to him, fancying that, as far as you were concerned, all would go well, and that I would explain to him my knowledge of who he was, after he had made known his regard for you."
"Yes, I see it all now," replied Patience; "in one hour he is rejected by me, and in the next he is told that I have obtained possession of his property. No wonder that he is indignant, and looks upon us with scorn. And now he has left us; we have driven him into danger, and may never see him again. Oh, father! I am very, very miserable!"