Mr. Palmer retired, seeing clearly that she wished to avoid any explanation of the real cause of her fainting. In the gallery, leading from her room, he met Captain Walsingham, who was coming to inquire for Lady Hunter.

"Poor woman! do you know the cause of her fainting?" said Captain Walsingham.

"No; and I believe she does not wish me to know it: therefore don't tell it me," said Mr. Palmer.

"It is a secret that must be in the public papers in a few days," said Captain Walsingham. "This lady that I brought over from Lisbon--"

"Well, what can she have to say to Mrs. Beaumont?"

"Nothing to Mrs. Beaumont, but a great deal to Lady Hunter. You may remember that I mentioned to you that some of her relations had contrived to have her kept in that convent abroad, and had spread a report of her death, that the heir-at-law might defraud her of her property, and get and keep possession of a large estate, which fell to him in case of her death. Of further particulars, or even of the name of this estate, I knew nothing till this morning, when that letter from the aunt--here it is--tells me, that the estate to which her niece was ent.i.tled is the great Wigram estate, and that old Wigram was the rascally heir-at-law. The lawyer I recommended to the lady was both an honest and a clever fellow; and he represented so forcibly to old Wigram the consequences of his having his fraud brought to light in a court of equity, that he made him soon agree to a private reference. The affair has been compromised, and settled thus:--The possession of the estate is given up, just as it stands, to the rightful owner; and she forbears to call the old sinner to an account for past arrears. She will let him make it out to the world and to his own conscience, if he can, that he bona-fide believed her to be dead."

"So," said Mr. Palmer, "so end Madam Beaumont's hopes of being at the head of the Wigram estate, and so end her hopes of being a countess!--And actually married to this ruined spendthrift!--Now we see the reason he pressed on the match so, and urged her to marry him before the affair should become public. She is duped, and for life!--poor Madam Beaumont!"

At this moment Lady Hunter came out of her room, after having changed her dress, and repaired her smiles.

"Ready for my journey now," said she, pa.s.sing by Mr. Palmer quickly. "I must show myself to the world of friends below, and bid them adieu. One word, Captain Walsingham: there's no occasion, you know," whispered she, "to say any thing _below_ of that letter; I really don't believe it."

Too proud to let her mortification be known, Lady Hunter constrained her feelings with all her might. She appeared once more with a pleased countenance in the festive a.s.sembly. She received their compliments and congratulations, and invited them, with all the earnestness of friendship, to favour Sir John and her, as soon as possible, with their company at Hunter Hall. The company were now fast departing; carriages came to the door in rapid succession. Lady Hunter went through with admirable grace and variety the sentimental ceremony of taking leave; and when her splendid barouche was at the door, and when she was to bid adieu to her own family, still she acted her part inimitably. In all the becoming mixed smiles and tears of a bride, she was seen embracing by turns her beloved daughter and son, and daughter-in-law and son-in-law, over and over again, in the hall, on the steps; to the last moment contriving to be torn delightfully from the bosom of her family by her impatient bridegroom. Seated beside him in his barouche, she kissed her hand to Mr. Palmer,--smiled: all her family, who stood on the steps, bowed; and Sir John drove away with his prize.

"He's a swindler!" cried Mr. Palmer, "and she is--"

"Amelia's mother," interrupted Captain Walsingham.

"Right," said Mr. Palmer; "but Amelia had a father too,--my excellent friend, Colonel Beaumont,--whom she and her brother resemble in all that is open-hearted and honourable. Well, well! I make no reflections; I hate moral reflections. Every body can think and feel for themselves, I presume. I only say,--Thank Heaven, we've done with _manoeuvring!_"

ALMERIA.

John Hodgkinson was an eminent and wealthy Yorkshire grazier, who had no children of his own, but who had brought up in his family Almeria Turnbull, the daughter of his wife by a former husband, a Mr. Turnbull.

Mr. Turnbull had also been a grazier, but had not been successful in the management of his affairs, therefore he could not leave his daughter any fortune; and at the death of her mother, she became entirely dependent on her father-in-law. Old Hodgkinson was a whimsical man, who, except in eating and drinking, had no inclination to spend any part of the fortune he had made; but, enjoying the consequence which money confers, endeavoured to increase this importance by keeping all his acquaintance in uncertainty, as to what he called his "_testamentary dispositions_."

Sometimes he hinted that his step-daughter should be a match for the proudest riband in England; sometimes he declared, that he did not know of what use money could be to a woman, except to make her a prey to a fortune-hunter, and that his girl should not be left in a way to be duped.

As to his daughter's education, that was an affair in which he did not interfere: all that he wished was, that the girl should be kept humble, and have no fine notions put into her head, nor any communication with fine people. He kept company only with men of his own sort; and as he had no taste for any kind of literature, Almeria's time would have hung rather heavy upon her hands, had she been totally confined to his society: but, fortunately for her, there lived in the neighbourhood an elderly gentleman and his daughter, whom her father allowed her to visit. Mr. Elmour was a country gentleman of a moderate fortune, a respectable family, and of a most amiable character: between his daughter Ellen and Miss Turnbull there had subsisted an intimacy from their earliest childhood. The professions of this friendship had hitherto been much the warmest on the part of Almeria; the proofs were, perhaps, the strongest on the side of Ellen. Miss Elmour, as the daughter of a gentleman, whose family had been long settled in the country, was rather _more considered_ than Miss Turnbull, who was the daughter of a grazier, whose money had but lately raised him to the level of gentility. At Mr. Elmour's house Almeria had an opportunity of being in much better company than she could ever have seen at her father's; better company in every respect, but chiefly in the popular, or more properly in the aristocratic sense of the term: her visits had consequently been long and frequent; she appeared to have a peculiar taste for refinement in manners and conversation, and often deplored the want she felt of these at home. She expressed a strong desire to acquire information, and to improve herself in every elegant accomplishment; and Ellen, who was of a character far superior to the little meanness of female compet.i.tion and jealousy, shared with her friend all the advantages of her situation. Old Hodgkinson never had any books in his house, but such as Almeria borrowed from Mr. Elmour's library. Ellen constantly sent Miss Turnbull all the new publications which her father got from town--she copied for her friend the new music with which she was supplied, showed her every new drawing or print, gave her the advantage of the lessons she received from an excellent drawing master, and let her into those little mysteries of art which masters sometimes sell so dear.

This was done with perfect readiness and simplicity: Ellen never seemed conscious that she was bestowing a favour; but appeared to consider what she did as matters of course, or as the necessary consequences of friendship. She treated her friend at all times, and in all companies, with that uniform attention and equality of manner, which most people profess, and which so few have strength of mind to practise. Almeria expressed, and probably at this time felt, unbounded grat.i.tude and affection for Ellen; indeed her expressions were sometimes so vehement, that Miss Elmour rallied her for being romantic. Almeria one day declared, that she should wish to pa.s.s all the days of her life at Elmour Grove, without seeing any other human creatures but her friend and her friend's father.

"Your imagination deceives you, my dear Almeria," said Ellen, smiling.

"It is my heart, not my imagination, that speaks," said Almeria, laying her hand upon her heart, or upon the place where she fancied her heart ought to be.

"Your understanding will, perhaps, speak a different language by and by, and your heart will not be the worse for it, my good young lady," said old Mr. Elmour.

Almeria persisted even to tears; and it was not till young Mr. Elmour came home, and till she had spent a few weeks in his company, that she began to admit that three was the number sacred to friendship. Frederick Elmour was a man of honour, talents, spirit, and of a decided character: he was extremely fond of his sister, and was prepossessed in favour of every thing and person that she loved. Her intimate friend was consequently interesting to him; and it must be supposed, that Miss Elmour's praises of Almeria were managed more judiciously than eulogiums usually are, by the effect which they produced. Frederick became attached to Miss Turnbull, though he perceived that, in firmness and dignity of character, she was not equal to his sister. This inferiority did not injure her in his opinion, because it was always acknowledged with so much candour and humility by Almeria, who seemed to look up to her friend as to a being of a superior order. This freedom from envy, and this generous enthusiasm, first touched young Mr. Elmour's heart.

Next to possessing his sister's virtues and talents, loving them was, in his opinion, the greatest merit. He thought that a person capable of appreciating and admiring Ellen's character, must be desirous of imitating her; and the similarity of their tastes, opinions, and principles, seemed to him the most secure pledge for his future happiness. Miss Turnbull's fortune, whatever it might be, was an object of no great importance to him: his father, though not opulent, was in easy circ.u.mstances, and was "willing," he said, "to deprive himself of some luxuries for the sake of his son, whom he would not controul in the choice of a wife--a choice on which he knew, from his own experience, that the happiness of life so much depends."

The benevolent old gentleman had peculiar merit in this conduct; because if he had a weakness in the world, it was a prejudice in favour of what is called _good family and birth_: it had long been the secret wish of his heart that his only son might marry into a family as ancient as his own. Frederick was fully sensible of the sacrifice that his father made of his pride: but that which he was willing to make of what he called his luxuries, his son's affection and sense of justice forbade him to accept. He could not rob his father of any of the comforts of his declining years, whilst in the full vigour of youth it was in his power, by his own exertions, to obtain an independent maintenance. He had been bred to the bar; no expense had been spared by his father in his education, no efforts had been omitted by himself. He was now ready to enter on the duties of his profession with ardour, but without presumption.

Our heroine must be pardoned by the most prudent, and admired by the most romantic, for being desperately in love with a youth of such a character and such expectations. Whilst the young lady's pa.s.sion was growing every hour more lively, her old father was growing every hour more lethargic. He had a superst.i.tious dread of making a will, as if it were a preparation for death, which would hasten the fatal moment.

Hodgkinson's friends tried to conquer this prejudice: but it was in vain to reason with a man who had never reasoned during the whole of his life about any thing except bullocks. Old Hodgkinson died--that was a matter of no great consequence to any body--but he died without a will, and that was a matter of some importance to his daughter. After searching in every probable and improbable place, there was, at length, found in his own handwriting a memorandum, the beginning of which was in the first leaf of his cookery-book, and the end in the last leaf of his prayer-book. There was some difficulty in deciphering the memorandum, for it was cross-barred with miscellaneous observations in inks of various colours--red, blue, and green. As it is dangerous to garble law papers, we shall lay the doc.u.ment before the public just as it appeared.

_Copy from first leaf of the Cookery-look_.

I John Hodgkinson of Vetch-field, East Riding of Yorkshire, Grazier and so forth, not choosing to style myself Gentleman, though ent.i.tled so to do, do hereby certify, that when I can find an honest attorney, _it is my_ intention to make my will and to leave--

[_Here the testator's memorandum was interrupted by a receipt in a diminutive female hand, seemingly written some years before_.]

Mrs. Turnbull's recipe, infallible for all aches, bruises, and strains.

Take a handful of these herbs following--Wormwood, Sage, Broom-flowers, Clown's-All-heal, Chickweed, c.u.mphry, Birch, Groundsell, Agremony, Southernwood, Ribwort, Mary Gould leaves, Bramble, Rosemary, Rue, Eldertops, Camomile, Aly Campaigne-root, half a handful of Red Earthworms, two ounces of c.u.mmins-seeds, Deasy-roots, Columbine, Sweet Marjoram, Dandylion, Devil's bit, six pound of May b.u.t.ter, two pound of Sheep suet, half a pound of Deer suet, a quart of salet oil beat well in y' boiling till the oil be green--Then strain--It will be better if you add a dozen of Swallows, and pound all their Feathers, Gizzards, and Heads before boiling--It will cure all aches--[9]

[_Beneath this valuable recipe, Mr. Hodgkinson's testamentary dispositions continued as follows_.]

All I am worth in the world real or personal--

To Collar a Pig.

Take a young fat pig, and when he is well scalded, cut off his head, then slit him down the back, take out his bones, lay him in a dish of milk and water, and shift him twice a day--for the rest, turn to page 103.

To my step-daughter Almeria, who is now at Elmour Grove in her eighteenth year--

[_Written across the above in red ink_.]

Mem'm--I prophecy this third day of August, that the man from Hull will be here to-morrow with _fresh_ mullets.

And as girls go, I believe a good girl, considering the times--but if she disoblige me by marriage, or otherwise, I hereby revoke the same.

[_Written diagonally in red ink_.]

Mem'm--Weight of the Big Bullock, 90 score, besides offal.

[_The value was so pale it could not be deciphered_.]

And I further intend to except out of my above bequest to my daughter Almeria, the sum of ...

A fine method to make Punch of Valentia dram. v. page 7.

Ten thousand pounds, now in Sir Thomas Stock's my banker's hands as a token of remembrance to John Hodgkinson of Hull, on account of his being my namesake, and, I believe, relation--

[_Continuation in the last leaf of the prayer-book_.]

It is my further intention (whenever I find said honest attorney fit for my will) to leave sundry mourning rings with my hair value (_blank_)--one in particular to Charles Elmour, sen. esquire, and also--