THE TETE-A-TETE.

NO sooner had "dear Julian" recovered, which he really had not quite accomplished until the day had begun to wear away (so great a shock had that intelligence of Charles been to his guilty mind), than the gratified and prudent mother fancied this a famous opportunity to leave the young couple to themselves. It was after dinner, when they had retired to the drawing-room; and I will say that Emily had never seemed so favourably disposed towards that rough, but generous, heart before.

So then, on some significant pretence, well satisfied her favourite was himself again, as bold, and black, and boisterous as ever, the masculine mother kissed her hand to them, as a fat fairy might be supposed to do, and operatically tripped away, coyly bidding Emily "take care of Julian till she should come back again."

The momentary gleam of good which glanced across that bad man's heart has faded away hours ago; his repentant thoughts had been occasioned more from the sudden relief he experienced at running now no risks for having murdered, than for any better feeling towards his brother, or any humbler notions of himself. Nay, a strong reaction occurred in his ideas the moment he had seen his brother's writing; and when he fainted, he fainted from the struggle in his mind of manifold exciting causes, such as these:--hatred, jealousy, what he called love, though a lower name befitted it, and vexation that his brother was--not dead. Oh mother, mother! if your poor weak head had but been wise enough to read that heart, would you still have loved it as you do? Alas--it is a deep lesson in human nature this--she would! for Mrs. General Tracy was one of those obstinate, yet superficial characters, whom no reason can convince that they are wrong, no power can oblige to confess themselves mistaken. She rejoiced to hear him called "her very image;" and predominant vanity in the large coquette extended to herself at second-hand; self was her idol substance, and its delightful shadow was this mother's son.

The moment Mrs. Tracy left the room, Julian perceived his opportunity: Charles, detested rival, far away at sea; the guardian gone to London; Emily in an unusual flow of affability and kindness, and he--alone with her. Rashly did he bask his soul in her delicious beauty, deliberately drinking deep of that intoxicating draught. Giving the rein to pa.s.sion, he suffered that tumultuous steed to hurry him whither it would, in mad unbridled course. He sat so long silently gazing at her with the lack-l.u.s.tre eyes of low and dull desire, that Emily, quite thrown off her guard by that amiable fainting for his brother, addressed him in her innocent kind-heartedness,

"Are you not recovered yet, dear Julian?"

The effect was instantaneous: scarcely crediting his ears that heard her call him "dear," his eyes, that saw her winning smile upon him, he started from his chair, and trembling with agitation, flung himself at her feet, to Emily's unqualified astonishment.

"Why, Julian, what's the matter?--unhand me, sir! let go!" (for he had got hold of her wrist.)

The pa.s.sionate youth seized her hand--that one with Charles's ring upon it--and would have kissed it wildly with polluting lips, had she not shrieked suddenly "Help! help!"

Instantly his other hand was roughly dashed upon her mouth--so roughly that it almost knocked her backwards--and the blood flowed from her wounded lip; but by a preternatural effort, the indignant Indian queen hurled the ruffian from her, flew to the bell, and kept on ringing violently.

In less than half a minute all the household was around her, headed by the startled Mrs. Tracy, who had all the while been listening in the other drawing-room: butler, footmen, house-maids, ladies'-maids, cook, scullions, and all rushed in, thinking the house was on fire.

No need to explain by a word. Emily, radiant in imperial charms, stood, like inspired Ca.s.sandra, flashing indignation from her eyes at the cowering caitiff on the floor. The mother, turning all manner of colours, dropped on her knees to "poor Julian's" a.s.sistance, affecting to believe him taken ill. But Emily Warren, whose insulted pride vouchsafed not a word to that guilty couple, soon undeceived all parties, by addressing the butler in a voice tremulous and broken--

"Mr. Saunders--be so good--as to go--to Sir Abraham Tamworth's--in the square--and request of him--a night's--protection--for a poor--defenceless, insulted woman!"

She could hardly utter the last words for choking tears: but immediately battling down her feelings, added, with the calmness of a heroine--

"You are a father, Mr. Saunders--set all this before Sir Abraham strongly, but delicately.

"Footmen! so long as that wretch is in the room, protect me, as you are men."

And the stately beauty placed herself between the two liveried lacqueys, as Zen.o.bia in the middle of her guards.

"Marguerite!"--the pretty little Francaise tripped up to her--"wipe this blood from my face."

Beautiful, insulted creature! I thought that I looked upon some wounded Boadicea, with her daughters extracting the arrow from her cheek.

"And now, kind Charlotte, fetch my cloak; and follow me to Prospect House, with what I may require for the night. Till the general's return, I stay not here one minute."

Then, without a syllable, or a look of leave-taking, the wise and n.o.ble girl--doubtless unconsciously remembering her early Hindoo braveries, the lines of matchlock men, the bowing slaves, the processions, and her jewelled state of old--marched away in magnificent beauty, accompanied in silence by the whole astonished household.

Mrs. Tracy and her son were left alone: the silly, silly mother thought him "hardly used." Julian, whose natural effrontery had entirely deserted him, looked like what he was--a guilty coward: and the mother, who had pampered up her "fine high-spirited son" to his full-grown criminality by a foolish education, really--when she had time to think of any thing but him--was excessively frightened. The general would be back to-morrow, and then--and then!--she dreaded to picture that explosion of his wrath.

CHAPTER XV.

SATISFACTION.

SIR ABRAHAM TAMWORTH, G.C.B.--a fine old Admiral of the White, who somewhat looked down upon the rank of General, H.E.I.C.S.--was astonished, as well he might be, at Mr. Saunders, and his message: and, of course, most gladly acquiesced in acting as poor Emily's protector.

Accordingly, however jealous Lady Tamworth and her daughters might heretofore have felt of that bright beauty at the b.a.l.l.s, they were now all genuine sympathy, indignation, and affection. Emily, I need hardly say, went straight up stairs to have her cry out.

"Whom are you writing to, George, in such a hurry?" asked the admiral, of a fine moustachioed son, George St. Vincent Tamworth, of the Royal Horse Guards, who had just got six months' leave of absence for the sake of marriage with his cousin.

The gallant soldier tossed a billet to his father, who mounted his spectacles, and quietly read it at the lamp.

"Captain Tamworth desires Mr. Julian Tracy's company to-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, in the third meadow on the Oxton road. The captain brings a friend with him; also pistols and a surgeon; and he desires Mr.

Tracy to do the like: Prospect House, Thursday evening."

"So, George, you consider him a gentleman, do you? I am afraid it's a poor compliment to our fair young friend." And he quietly crumpled up the challenge in his iron hand.

"Really, sir!--you surprise me;--pardon me, but I will send that note: mustn't I chastise the fellow for this insufferable outrage?"

"No doubt, George, no doubt of it at all: when a lady is insulted, and a man (not to say a queen's officer) stands by without taking notice of it, he deserves whipping at the cart's-tail, and Coventry for life. I've no patience, boy, with such mean meekness, as putting up with bullying insolence when a woman's in the case. Let a man show moral courage, if he can and will, in his own affront; I honour him who turns on his heel from common personal insult, and only wish my own old blood was cool enough to do so: but the mother, wife, and sister, ay, George, and the poor defenceless one, be she lady, peasant, or menial, who comes to us for safety in a woman's dress, we must take up their quarrel, or we are not men!--"

"Don't interrupt him, George," uxoriously suggested Lady Tamworth, "your father hasn't done talking yet." For George was getting terribly impatient; he knew, from sad experience, how much the admiral was given to prosing. However, the oration soon proceeded to our captain's entire satisfaction, after his progenitor had paused awhile for breath's sake in his eloquence.

"--Take up their quarrel, or we are not men. Nevertheless, boy, I cannot see the need of pistols. The only conceivable case for violent redress, is woman's wrong: and he who wrongs a woman, cannot be a gentleman; therefore, ought not to be met on equal terms. For other causes of duello, as hot-headed speeches, rudenesses, or slights, forgive, forbear to fan the flame, and never be above apologizing: but in an outrage such as this, let a fine-built fellow, such as you are, George (and the women should show wisdom in their choice of champions), let a man, and a queen's officer as you are, treat this brute, Julian Tracy, as a martinet huntsman would a hound thrown out. As for me, boy, I'm going to call on Mrs. Tracy at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning--and, without presuming to advise a six foot two of a son, I think--I think, if I were you, I would be dutiful enough to say--'Father, I will accompany you--and take a horsewhip with me.'"

"Agreed, agreed, sir!" replied the well-pleased son, and her ladyship too vouchsafed her approbation.

Emily had gone to bed long ago, or rather to her chamber; where the three Misses Tamworth had been all kindness, curiosity, and consolation.

So, Sir Abraham and his lady, now the speech was finished, followed their example of retirement: and the captain newly blood-knotted his hunting-whip, _con amore_, not to say _con spirito_, overnight.

n.o.body will wonder to hear, that when the gallant representatives of army and navy called next morning at number seven, Mrs. Tracy and her son were "not at home:" and of course it would be far too Julian-like a proceeding, for true gentleman to think of forcing their company on the probably ensconced in-dwellers. Accordingly, they marched away, without having deigned to leave a card; the captain taking on himself the duty of perambulating sentinel, while his father proceeded to the library as usual. Judge of the glad surprise, when, within ten minutes, our vindictive George perceived the admiral coming back again, full-sail, with the mother and son in tow, creeping amicably enough up the terrace.

Sir Abraham had given her his arm, and precious Mr. Julian was a little in the rear: for the old folks were talking confidentially.

George St. Vincent, placing his whip in the well-known position of "Cane, a mystery," advanced to meet them; and, just after pa.s.sing his father, with whom he exchanged a very comfortable glance, discovered that the heroic Julian, who had caught a glimpse of the ill-concealed weapon, was slinking quickly round a corner to avoid him. It was certainly undignified to run, but the gallant captain did run, nevertheless and soon caught the coward by the collar.

Then, at arm's length, was the hunting-whip applied, full-swing; up the terrace, and down the parade, and through High-street, and Smith-street, and Oxton-road, and aristocratical Pacton-square, and the well-thronged plebeian market-place; lash, lash, lash, in furious and fast succession on the writhing roaring culprit; to the universal excoriation of Mr.

Julian Tracy, and the amazement of an admiring and soon-collected crowd--the rank, beauty, and fashion--of Burleigh Singleton. Julian was strong indeed, and a coal-heaver in build, but conscience had unnerved him; and the coa.r.s.e noisy bully always is a coward: therefore, it was a pleasant thing to see how easy came the captain's work to him--he had nothing to do but to lash, lash, lash, double-thonged, like a slave-driver: and, except that he made the caitiff move along, to be a spectacle to man and woman, up and down the town, he might as well, for any difficulty in the deed, have been employed in scarifying a gate-post.

At last, thoroughly exhausted with having inflicted as much punishment as any three drummers at a soldier's whipping-match, and spying out his "tiger" in the throng, our gallant Avenging Childe tossed the heavy whip to the trim c.o.c.kaded little man, that he might carry home that instrument of vengeance, deliberately wiped his wet mustachios, and giving Julian one last kick, let the fellow part in peace.

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW CHARLES FARED.

HAVING thus found protectors for poor Emily, and disposed of her a.s.sailant to the entire satisfaction of all mankind, let us turn seawards, and take a look at Charles.

Now, "no earthly power,"--as a certain ex-chancellor protested--shall induce me to do so mean a thing as to open Charles's letters, and spread them forth before the public gaze. Doubtless, they were all things tender, warm, and eloquent; doubtless, they were tinted rosy hue, with love's own blushes, and made glorious with the golden light of unaffected piety. I only read them myself in a reflected way, by looking into Emily's eyes; and I saw, from their ever-changing radiance, how feelingly he told of his affections; how fervently he poured out all his heart upon the page; how evidently tears and kisses had made many words illegible; how wise, sanguine, happy, and religious, was her own devoted Charles.

Of the trivial incidents of voyaging, his letters said not much: though cheerful and agreeable in his floating prison, with the various exported marrying-maidens and transported civil officers, who const.i.tute the average bulk of Indian cargoes outward bound, Charles mixed but little in their society, seldom danced, seldom smoked, seldom took a hand at whist, or engaged in the conflicts of backgammon. Sharks, storms, water-spouts; the meeting divers vessels, and exchanging post-bags; tar-barrelled Neptune of the line, Cape Town with its mountain and the Table-cloth, long-rolling seas; and similar common-places, Charles did not think proper to enlarge upon: no more do I. Life is far too short for all such petty details: and, more pointedly, a wire-drawn book is the just abhorrence of a generous public.