Longer might Mrs. Beaumont have continued in monologue, without danger of interruption from her son, who stood resolved to hear the utmost sum of all that she should say on the subject. Never interrupting her, he only filled certain pauses, that seemed expectant of reply, with the phrases--"I am very sorry, indeed, ma'am"--and, "Really, ma'am, it is out of my power to help it." But Mrs. Beaumont observed that the latter phrase had been omitted as she proceeded--and "_I am very sorry indeed, ma'am,_" he repeated less as words of course, and more and more as if they came from the heart. Having so far, successfully, as she thought, worked upon her son's good-nature, and seeing her daughter through the trees coming towards them, she abruptly exclaimed, "Promise me, at all events, dearest Edward, I conjure you; promise me that you will not make proposals _any where else_, without letting me know of it beforehand,--and give me time," joining her hands in a supplicating att.i.tude, "give me but a few weeks, to prepare my poor little Albina for this sad, sad stroke!"

"I promise you, madam, that I will not, directly or indirectly, make an offer of my hand or heart to any woman, without previously letting you know my determination. And as for a few weeks, more or less--my mother, surely, need not supplicate, but simply let me know her wishes--even without her reasons, they would have been sufficient with me. Do I satisfy you now, madam?"

"More than satisfy--as you ever do, ever will, my dear son."

"But you will require no more on this subject--I must be left master of myself."

"Indubitably--certainly--master of yourself--most certainly--of course."

Mr. Beaumont was going to add something beginning with, "It is better, at once, to tell you, that I can never--" But Mrs. Beaumont stopped him with, "Hush! my dear, hush! not a word more, for here is Amelia, and I cannot talk on this subject before her, you know.----My beloved Amelia, how languid you look! I fear that, to please me, you have taken too long a walk; and Mr. Palmer won't see you in your best looks, after all.--What note is that you have in your hand?"

"A note from Miss Walsingham, mamma."

"Oh! the chickenpox! take caer! letters, notes, every thing may convey the infection," cried Mrs. Beaumont, s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper. "How could dearest Miss Walsingham be so giddy as to answer my note, after what I said in my postscript!--How did this note come?"

"By the little postboy, mamma; I met him at the porter's lodge."

"But what is all this strange thing?" said Mrs. Beaumont, after having read the note twice over.--It contained a certificate from the parish minister and churchwardens, apothecary, and surgeon, bearing witness, one and all, that there was no individual, man, woman, or child, in the parish, or within three miles of Walsingham House, who was even under any suspicion of having the chickenpox.

"My father desires me to send Mrs. Beaumont the enclosed _clean bill of health_--by which she will find that we need be no longer subject to quarantine; and, unless some other reasons prevent our having the pleasure of seeing her, we may hope soon that she will favour us with her long promised visit.

"Yours, sincerely,

"MARIANNE WALSINGHAM."

"I am delighted," said Mrs. Beaumont, "to find it was a false report, and that we shall not be kept, the Lord knows how long, away from the dear Walsinghams."

"Then we can go to them to-morrow, can't we, mamma? And I will write, and say so, shall I?" said Amelia.

"No need to write, my dear; if we promise for any particular day, and are not able to go, that seems unkind, and is taken ill, you see. And as Mr. Palmer is coming, we can't leave him."

"But he will go with us surely," said Mr. Beaumont. "The Walsinghams are as much his relations as we are; and if he comes two hundred miles to see us, he will, surely, go seven to see them."

"True," said Mrs. Beaumont; "but it is civil and kind to leave him to fix his own day, poor old gentleman. After so long a journey, we must allow him some rest. Consider, he can't go galloping about as you do, dear Edward."

"But," said Amelia, "as the Walsinghams know he is to be in the country, they will of course come to see him immediately."

"How do they know he is to be in the country?"

"I thought--I took it for granted, you told them so, mamma, when you wrote about not going to Walsingham House, on Mr. Walsingham's birthday."

"No, my dear; I was so full of the chickenpox, and terror about you, I could think of nothing else."

"Thank you, dear mother--but now that is out of the question, I had best write a line by the return of the postboy, to say, that Mr. Palmer is to be here to-day, and that he stays only one week."

"Certainly! love--but let me write about it, for I have particular reasons. And, my dear, now we are by ourselves, let me caution you not to mention that Mr. Palmer can stay but one week: in the first place it is uncivil to him, for we are not sure of it, and it is like driving him away; and in the next place, there are reasons I can't explain to you, that know so little of the world, my dear Amelia--but, in general, it is always foolish to mention things."

"Always foolish to mention things!" cried Mr. Beaumont, smiling.

"Of this sort, I mean," said Mrs. Beaumont, a little disconcerted.

"Of what sort?" persisted her son.

"Hush! my dear; here's the postboy and the a.s.s."

"Any letters, my good little boy? Any letters for me?"

"I has, madam, a many for the house. I does not know for who--the bag will tell," said the boy, unstrapping the bag from his shoulders.

"Give it to me, then," said Mrs. Beaumont: "I am anxious for letters always." She was peculiarly anxious now to open the post-bag, to put a stop to a conversation which did not please her. Whilst seated on a rustic seat, under a spreading beech, our heroine, with her accustomed looks of mystery, examined the seals of her numerous and important letters, to ascertain whether they had been opened at the post-office, or whether their folds might have been pervious to any prying eye. Her son tore the covers off the newspapers; and, as he unfolded one, Amelia leaned upon his shoulder, and whispered softly, "Any news of the fleet, brother?"

Mrs. Beaumont, than whom Fine-ear himself had not quicker auditory nerves, especially for indiscreet whispers, looked up from her letters, and examined, unperceived, the countenance of Amelia, who was searching with eagerness the columns of the paper. As Mr. Beaumont turned over the leaf, Amelia looked up, and, seeing her mother's eyes fixed upon her, coloured; and from want of presence of mind to invent any thing better to say, asked if her mother wished to have the papers?

"No," said Mrs. Beaumont, coldly, "not I, Amelia; I am not such a politician as you are grown."

Amelia withdrew her attention, or at least her eyes, from the paper, and had recourse to the beech-tree, the beautiful foliage of which she studied with profound attention.

"G.o.d bless me! here's news! news of the fleet!" cried Beaumont, turning suddenly to his sister; and then recollecting himself, to his mother.

"Ma'am, they say there has been a great engagement between the French and Spaniards, and the English--particulars not known yet: but, they say, ten sail of the French line are taken, and four Spaniards blown up, and six Spanish men-of-war disabled, and a treasure-ship taken.

Walsingham must have been in the engagement--My horse!--I'll gallop over this minute, and know from the Walsinghams if they have seen the papers, and if there's any thing more about it in their papers."

"Gallop! my dearest Edward," said his mother, standing in his path; "but you don't consider Mr. Palmer--"

"d.a.m.n Mr. Palmer! I beg your pardon, mother--I mean no harm to the old gentleman--friend of my father's--great respect for him--I'll be back by dinner-time, back ready to receive him--he can't be here till six--only five by me, now! Ma'am, I shall have more than time to dress, too, cool as a cuc.u.mber, ready to receive the good old fellow."

"In one short hour, my dear!--seven miles to Walsingham House, and seven back again, and all the time you will waste there, and to dress too--only consider!"

"I do consider, ma'am; and have considered every thing in the world. My horse will carry me there and back in fifty minutes, easily, and five to spare, I'll be bound. I sha'n't light--so where's the paper? I'm off."

"Well--order your horse, and leave me the paper, at least, while he is getting ready. Ride by this way, and you will find us here--where is this famous paragraph?"

Beaumont drew the paper crumpled from the pocket into which he had thrust it--ran off for his horse, and quickly returned mounted. "Give me the paper, good friends!--I'm off."

"Away, then, my dear; since you will heat yourself for nothing. But only let me point out to you," said she, holding the paper fast whilst she held it up to him, "that this whole report rests on no authority whatever; not a word of it in the gazette; not a line from the admiralty; no official account; no bulletin; no credit given to the rumour at Lloyd's; stocks the same.--And how did the news come? Not even the news-writer pretends it came through any the least respectable channel. A frigate in lat.i.tude the Lord knows what! saw a fleet in a fog--might be Spanish--might be French--might be English--spoke another frigate some days afterwards, who heard firing: well--firing says nothing. But the frigate turns this firing into an engagement, and a victory; and presently communicates the news to a collier, and the collier tells another collier, and so it goes up the Thames, to some wonder-maker, standing agape for a paragraph, to secure a dinner. To the press the news goes, just as our paper is coming out; and to be sure we shall have a contradiction and an apology in our next."

"Well, ma'am; but I will ask Mr. Walsingham what he thinks, and show him the paper."

"Do, if you like it, my dear; I never control you; but don't overheat yourself for nothing. What can Mr. Walsingham, or all the Walsinghams in the world, tell more than we can? and as to showing him the paper, you know he takes the same paper. But don't let me detain you.--Amelia, who is that coming through the gate? Mr. Palmer's servant, I protest!"

"Well; it can't be, I see!" said Beaumont, dismounting.

"Take away your master's horse--quick--quick!--Amelia, my love, to dress! I must have you ready to receive your G.o.dfather's blessing.

Consider, Mr. Palmer was your father's earliest friend; and besides, he is a relation, though distant; and it is always a good and prudent thing to keep up relationships. Many a fine estate has come from very distant relations most unexpectedly. And even independently of all relationships, when friendships are properly cultivated, there's no knowing to what they may lead;--not that I look to any thing of that sort here. But before you see Mr. Palmer, just as we are walking home, and quite to ourselves, let me give you some leading hints about this old gentleman's character, which I have gathered, no matter how, for your advantage, my dear children. He is a humourist, and must not be opposed in any of his oddities: he is used to be waited upon, and attended to, as all these men are who have lived in the West Indies. A _bon vivant_, of course. Edward, produce your best wines--the pilau and currie, and all that, leave to me. I had special notice of his love for a john-doree, and a john-doree I have for him. But now I am going to give you the master-key to his heart. Like all men who have made great fortunes, he loves to feel continually the importance his wealth confers; he loves to feel that wealth does every thing; is superior to every thing--to birth and t.i.tles especially: it is his pride to think himself, though a commoner, far above any man who condescends to take a t.i.tle. He hates persons of quality; therefore, whilst he is here, not a word in favour of any t.i.tled person. Forget the whole house of peers--send them all to Coventry--all to Coventry, remember.--And, now you have the key to his heart, go and dress, to be ready for him."

Having thus given her private instructions, and advanced her secret plans, Mrs. Beaumont repaired to her toilet, well satisfied with her morning's work.