Part 7 (1/2)
The letters came frequently: for Charles did little else all day but write to Emmy, so as always to be ready with a budget for the next piece of luck--a home-bound s.h.i.+p. He had many things to teach her yet, sweet student; and it was a beautiful sight to see how her mind expanded as an opening flower before the sun of tenderness and wisdom. Each letter, both in writing and in reading, was the child of many prayers: and even the loveliness of Emily grew more soft, more elevated, ”as it had been the face of an angel,” when feeding in solitary joy on those effusions of her lover's heart.
Of course, he could not hear from her, until the overland mail might haply bring him letters at Madras: so that, as our Irish friends would say, with all her will to tell him of her love, ”the reciprocity must needs be all on one side.” But Emily did write too; earnestly, happily: and poured her very heart out in those eloquent burning words. I dare say Charles will get the letter now within a day or two: for the roaring surf of Madras is on the horizon, almost within sight.
Nevertheless, before he gets there, and can read those letters--precious, precious ma.n.u.scripts--it will be my painful duty, as a chronicler of (what might well be) truth, to put the reader in possession of one little hint, which seemed likeliest to wreck the happiness of these two children of affection.
I am Emily's invisible friend: and as the dear girl ran to me one morning, with tears in her eyes, to ask me what I thought of a certain mysterious paragraph, I need not scruple to lay it straight before the reader.
At the end of a voluminous love-letter, which I really did not think of prying into, occurred the following postscript, evidently written at the last moment of haste.
”Oh! my precious Emmy, I have just heard the most fearful rumour of ill that could possibly befall us: the captain of our s.h.i.+p--you will remember Captain Forbes, he knew you and the general well, he said--has just a.s.sured me that--that--! I dare not, cannot write the awful words.
Oh! my own Emmy--Heaven grant you be my own!--pray, pray, as I will night and day, that rumour be not true: for if it be, my love, both G.o.d and man forbid us ever to meet again! How I wish I could explain it all, or that I had never heard so much, or never written it here, and told it you, though thus obscurely: for I can't destroy this letter now, the s.h.i.+ps are just parting company, and there is no time to write another.
Yet will I hope, love, against hope. Who knows? through G.o.d's good mercy, it may all be cleared up still. If not--if not--strive to forget for ever, your unhappy ”CHARLES.
”Perhaps--O, glorious thought!--Nurse Mackie may know better than the captain, after all; and yet, he seems so positive: if he is right, there is nothing for us both but Wo! Wo! Wo!”
Now, to say plain truth, when Emily showed me this, I looked very blank upon it. That Charles had heard some meddlesome report, which (if true) was to be an insuperable barrier to their future union, struck me at a glimpse. But I had not the heart to hint it to her; and only encouraged hope--hope, in G.o.d's help, through the means of Mrs. Mackie and her papers.
As for the poor girl herself, she asked me, in much humility, and with many sobs, if I did not fear that her Hindoo mystery was this:--she was the vilest of the vile, a Pariah, an outcast, whose very presence is contamination!
Beautiful, loving, heavenly-hearted creature! so humble in the midst of her majestic loveliness! how touching was the thought, that she thus readily acquiesced in any the deepest humiliation holy Providence had seen fit to send her; and though the sentence would have crushed her happiness for ever, till the day of death, that she could still look up and say, ”Be it to thine handmaid even as thou wilt.”
As I had no better method of explaining the matter, and as her infantine reminiscences and prejudices about caste were strong, I even let her think so, if she would: it was a far better alternative than my own sad thoughts about the business: and, however painful was the process, it was something consolatory to observe, that this voluntary humiliation mellowed and chastened her own character, subduing tropical fires, and tempering the virgin gold by meekness.
Oh! Charles, Charles, my poor fellow, ”who have cast your all upon a die, and must abide the issue of the throw,” I most fervently hope that gossiping Captain Forbes spoke falsely: it is a comfort to reflect that the world is often very liberal in attributing the honours of paternity to some who really do not deserve them. And if a rich old bachelor looks kindly on a foundling, is it not pure malice on that sole account of charity to hail him father? Besides--there's Nurse Mackie.--Speed to Madras, poor youth, and keep your courage up.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GENERAL'S RETURN.
IN a most unwonted flow of animal spirits, and an entire affability which restored him at once to the rank of a communicative creature, General Tracy came back on Friday night. He had met with marvellous prosperity; for Hanc.o.c.k's had been paying off the prize-money; and his own lion's share, as general, in the easy process of dethroning half a dozen diamond-hilted rajahs and nabobs, amounted to something like four lacs of rupees, nearly half a crore! Such a flush of wealth, and he was rich already without it, exhilarated the bilious old gentleman so strangely, that positive peonies were blooming in his cheeks; and, as if this was not miracle enough, he had brought his wife as a present Maurice's '_Antiquities of India_,' gloriously bound, and had even been so superfluous as to purchase a new pair of double-barrelled pistols for Julian: the lad was a fine young fellow after all, and ought to be encouraged in snuffing out a candle; as for Emily's _pet.i.t cadeau_, it was a fifty guinea set of cameos, the choicest in their way that Howell and James's had to show him. Moreover, he had sent a Bow-street officer to Oxford, to make inquiries after Charles: actually, good fortune had made him at once humanized and happy.
So the chaise rattled up, and the general bounded out, and flew into the arms of his wondering wife, as Paris might have flown to Helen, or Leander to his heroine--the only feminine Hero, whom grammar recognises.
It was past eleven at night: therefore he did not think to ask for Julian; no doubt the boy was gone to bed.
Indeed, he had; and was tossing his wealed body, full of pains, and aches, and bruises, as softly as he could upon the feather-bed: he had need of poultices all over, and a quart of Friar's Balsam would have done him little good: after his well-merited thras.h.i.+ng, the flogged hound had slunk to his kennel, and locked himself sullenly in, without even speaking to his mother. Tobacco-fumes exuded from the key-hole, and I doubt not other creature-comforts lent the muddled man their aid.
However, after the first rush of news to Mrs. Tracy, her lord, who had every moment been expecting the door to fly open, and Emily to fall into his arms--for strangely did they love each other--suddenly asked,
”But, where's Emmy all this time! she knows I'm here?--not got to bed, is she?--knew I was coming?--”
”Oh! general, I'll tell you all about it to-morrow morning.”
”About what, madam? Great G.o.d! has any harm befallen the child?
Speak--speak, woman!”
”Dear--dear--Oh! what shall I say?” sobbed the silly mother.