What had our hero said--what had he accused her of? That she no longer bestowed on him her confidence placed in him for many years. This was true; but were not the relative positions, was not the case different?

Should he now retain any secret from her?--there should be no secrets between them. There again there was a full stop before the sentence was complete. After a little more reflection, her own generous mind pointed out to her that she had been in the wrong; and that our hero had cause to be offended with her; and she made up her mind to make reparation the first time that they should be alone.

Having come to this resolution, she dismissed the previous question, and began to think about the secret itself, and what it possibly could be, and how she wished she knew what it was; all of which was very natural.

In the meantime our hero had made up his mind to leave Portsmouth, for a time at all events. This quarrel with Emma, if such it might be considered, had made him very miserable, and the anxiety he had lately suffered had seriously affected his health.

We believe that there never was anybody in this world who had grown to man's or woman's estate and had mixed with the world, who could afterwards say that they were at any time perfectly happy; or who, having said so, did not find that the reverse was the case a moment or two after the words were out of their mouth. "There is always something," as a good lady said to us; and so there always is, and always will be. The removal of Furness was naturally a great relief to the mind of our hero; he then felt as if all his difficulties were surmounted, and that he had no longer any fear of the consequences which might ensue from his father's crime. He would now, he thought, be able to walk boldly through the world without recognition, and he had built castles enough to form a metropolis when his rupture with Emma broke the magic mirror through which he had scanned futurity. When most buoyant with hope, he found the truth of the good lady's saying--"There is always something."

After remaining in his room for an hour, Joey went down to the counting-house, where he found Mr Small and Mr Sleek both at work, for their labours had increased since Joey had so much neglected business.

"Well, my good friend, how do you find yourself?" said Mr Small.

"Very far from well, sir. I feel that I cannot attend to business,"

replied Joey, "and I am quite ashamed of myself; I was thinking that, if you had no objection to allow me a couple of months' leave of absence, change of air would be very serviceable to me. I have something to do at Dudstone, which I have put off ever since I came to Portsmouth."

"I think change of air would be very serviceable to you, my dear fellow," replied Mr Small; "but what business you can have at Dudstone I cannot imagine."

"Simply this--I locked up my apartments, leaving my furniture, books, and linen, when I went away, more than four years ago, and have never found time to look after them."

"Well, they must want dusting by this time, O'Donahue, so look after them if you please; but I think looking after your health is of more consequence, so you have my full consent to take a holiday, and remain away three months, if necessary, till you are perfectly re-established."

"And you have mine," added Mr Sleek, "and I will do your work while you are away."

Our hero thanked his senior partners for their kind compliance with his wishes, and stated his intention of starting the next morning by the early coach, and then left the counting-house to make preparations for his journey.

Joey joined the party, which was numerous, at dinner. It was not until they were in the drawing-room after dinner, that Mr Small had an opportunity of communicating to Mrs Phillips what were our hero's intentions. Mrs Phillips considered it a very advisable measure, as Joey had evidently suffered very much lately: probably over-exertion might have been the cause, and relaxation would effect the cure.

Emma, who was sitting by her mother, turned pale; she had not imagined that our hero would have followed up his expressed intentions of the morning, and she asked Mr Small if he knew when O'Donahue would leave Portsmouth. The reply was, that he had taken his place on the early coach of the next morning: and Emma fell back on the sofa, and did not say anything more.

When the company had all left, Mrs Phillips rose and lighted a chamber candlestick to go to bed, and Emma followed the motions of her mother.

Mrs Phillips shook hands with our hero, wishing him a great deal of pleasure, and that he would return quite restored in health. Emma, who found that all chance of an interview with our hero was gone, mustered up courage enough to extend her hand and say,--"I hope your absence will be productive of health and happiness to you, Mr O'Donahue," and then followed her mother.

Joey, who, was in no humour for conversation, then bade farewell to Mr Small and Mr Sleek, and, before Emma had risen from not a very refreshing night's rest, he was two stages on his way from Portsmouth.

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS HIS HEAD TURNED THE WRONG WAY.

Although it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, to show that we feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much upon impulse and carry measures to extremities; and this our hero felt as the coach wheeled him along, every second increasing his distance from Emma Phillips; twenty times he was inclined to take a postchaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame prevented him; so he went on until he reached the metropolis, and on arriving there, having nothing better to do, he went to bed. The next day he booked himself for the following day's coach to Manstone, and having so done, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and Mrs McShane, and, now that Furness was no longer to be dreaded, make his existence known to them. He went to Holborn accordingly, and found the shop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth from the grating which gave light and air to the kitchen; but he perceived that there was no longer the name of McShane on the private door, and entering the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where Mrs McShane usually stood carving the joint, he discovered a person similarly employed whose face was unknown to him; in fact, it could not be Mrs McShane, as it was a man. Our hero went up to him, and inquired if the McShanes still carried on the business, and was told that they had sold it some time back. His next inquiry, as to what had become of them, produced an "I don't know," with some symptoms of impatience at being interrupted. Under such circ.u.mstances, our hero had nothing more to do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises. He preferred the latter, and was once more at the hotel, where he dedicated the remainder of the day to thinking of his old friends, as fate had debarred him from seeing them.

The next morning Joey set off by the coach, and arrived at Manstone a little before dusk. He remained at the princ.i.p.al inn of the village, called the Austin Arms, in honour of the property in the immediate vicinity; and, having looked at the various quarterings of arms that the signboard contained, without the slightest idea that they appertained to himself, he ordered supper, and looking out of the window of the first floor, discovered, at no great distance down the one street which composed the village, the small ale-house where he had before met Mary.

Our hero no longer felt the pride of poverty; he had resented the treatment he had received at the Hall when friendless, but, now that he was otherwise, he had overcome the feeling, and had resolved to go up to the Hall on the following day, and ask for Mary. He was now well dressed and with all the appearance and manners of a gentleman: and, moreover, he had been so accustomed to respect from servants, that he had no idea of being treated otherwise. The next morning, therefore, he walked up to the Hall, and, knocking at the door, as soon as it was opened, he told the well-powdered domestics that he wished to speak a few words to Miss Atherton, if she still lived with Mrs Austin. His appearance was considered by these gentlemen in waiting as sufficient to induce them to show him into a parlour, and to send for Mary, who in a few minutes came down to him, and embraced him tenderly. "I should hardly have known you, my dear boy," said she, as the tears glistened in her eyes; "you have grown quite a man. I cannot imagine, as you now stand before me, that you could have been the little Joey that was living at Mrs Chopper's."

"We are indebted to that good woman for our prosperity," replied Joey.

"Do you know, Mary, that your money has multiplied so fast that I almost wish that you would take it away, lest by some accident it should be lost? I have brought you an account."

"Let me have an account of yourself, my dear brother," replied Mary; "I have no want of money; I am here well and happy."

"So you must have been, for you look as young and handsome as when I last saw you, Mary. How is your mistress?"

"She is well, and would, I think, be happy, if it were not for the strange disease of Mr Austin, who secludes himself entirely, and will not even go outside of the park gates. He has become more overbearing and haughty than ever, and several of the servants have quitted within the last few months."

"I have no wish to meet him, dear Mary, after what pa.s.sed when I was here before? I will not put up with insolence from any man, even in his own house," replied our hero.

"Do not speak so loud, his study is next to us, and that door leads to it," replied Mary; "he would not say anything to you, but he would find fault with me."

"Then you had better come to see me at the Austin Arms, where I am stopping."

"I will come this evening," replied Mary.

At this moment the door which led to the study was opened, and a voice was heard--

"Mary, I wish you would take your sweethearts to a more convenient distance."

Joey heard the harsh, hollow voice, but recognised it not; he would not turn round to look at Mr Austin, but remained with his back to him, and the door closed again with a bang.

"Well," observed Joey, "that is a pretty fair specimen of what he is, at all events. Why did you not say I was your brother?"

"Because it was better to say nothing," replied Mary; "he will not come in again."

"Well, I shall leave you now," said Joey, "and wait till the evening; you will be certain to come?"

"O yes, I certainly shall," replied Mary. "Hush! I hear my mistress with Mr Austin. I wish you could see her, you would like her very much."

The outer door of the study was closed to, and then the door of the room in which they were conversing was opened, but it was shut again immediately.

"Who was that?" said our hero, who had not turned round to ascertain.

"Mrs Austin; she just looked in, and seeing I was engaged, she only nodded to me to say that she wanted me, I presume, and then went away again," replied Mary. "You had better go now, and I will be sure to come in the evening."

Our hero quitted the hall; he had evidently been in the presence of his father and mother without knowing it, and all because he happened on both occasions to have his face turned in a wrong direction, and he left the house as unconscious as he went in. As soon as our hero had left the hall, Mary repaired to her mistress.

"Do you want me, madam?" said Mary, as she went to her mistress.

"No, Mary, not particular, but Mr Austin sent for me; he was annoyed at your having a strange person in the house, and desired me to send him away."

"It was my brother, madam," replied Mary.

"Your brother! I am very sorry, Mary, but you know how nervous Mr Austin is, and there is no reasoning against nerves. I should have liked to have seen your brother very much; if I recollect rightly, you told me he was doing well at Portsmouth, is he not?"

"Yes, madam; he is now a partner in one of the first houses there."

"Why, Mary, he will soon have you to keep his own house, I presume, and I shall lose you; indeed, your are more fit for such a situation than your present one, so I must not regret it if you do."

"He has no idea of taking a house, madam," replied Mary, "nor have I any of quitting you; your place is quite good enough for me. I promised to go down and meet him this evening, with your permission, at the Austin Arms."

"Certainly," replied Mrs Austin; and then the conversation dropped.