CHAPTER XXIX.
"He spoke; when behold the fair Geraldine's form On the canvass enchantingly glowed; His touches, they flew like the leaves in a storm; And the pure pearly white, and the carnation warm, Contending in harmony flowed."
ALSTON.
We shall now ask permission of the reader to advance the time justeight-and-forty hours; a liberty with the unities which, he will do usthe justice to say, we have not often taken. We must also transfer thescene to that already described at Wychecombe, including the Head, thestation, the roads, and the inland and seaward views. Summer weather hadreturned, too, the pennants of the ships at anchor scarce streaming fromtheir masts far enough to form curved lines. Most of the English fleetwas among these vessels, though the squadron had undergone some changes.The Druid had got into Portsmouth with _la Victoire_; the Driver andActive had made the best of their way to the nearest ports; withdespatches for the admiralty; and the Achilles, in tow of the Dublin,with the Chloe to take care of both, had gone to leeward, with squareyards, in the hope of making Falmouth. The rest of the force waspresent, the crippled ships having been towed into the roads thatmorning. The picture among the shipping was one of extreme activity andliveliness. Jury-masts were going up in the Warspite; lower andtop-sail-yards were down to be fished, or new ones were rigging to besent aloft in their places; the Plantagenet was all a-tanto, again, inreadiness for another action, with rigging secured and masts fished,while none but an instructed eye could have detected, at a shortdistance, that the Caesar, Carnatic, Dover, York, Elizabeth, and one ortwo more, had been in action at all. The landing was crowded with boatsas before, and gun-room servants and midshipmen's boys were foraging asusual; some with honest intent to find delicacies for the wounded, butmore with the roguish design of contributing to the comforts of theunhurt, by making appeals to the sympathies of the women of theneighbourhood, in behalf of the hurt.
The principal transformation that had been brought about by this stateof things, however, was apparent at the station. This spot had theappearance of a place to which the headquarters of an army had beentransferred, in the vicissitudes of the field; warlike sailors, if notsoldiers, flocking to it, as the centre of interest and intelligence.Still there was a singularity observable in the manner in which theseheroes of the deck paid their court; the cottage being seeminglytabooed, or at most, approached by very few, while the grass at the footof the flag-staff was already beginning to show proofs of the pressureof many feet. This particular spot, indeed, was the centre ofattraction; there, officers of all ranks and ages were constantlyarriving, and thence they were as often departing; all bearingcountenances sobered by anxiety and apprehension. Notwithstanding theconstant mutations, there had been no instant since the rising of thesun, when some ten or twelve, at least, including captains, lieutenants,masters and idlers, had not been collected around the bench at the footof the signal-staff, and frequently the number reached even to twenty.
A little retired from the crowd, and near the verge of the cliff, alarge tent had been pitched. A marine paced in its front, as a sentinel.Another stood near the gate of the little door-yard of the cottage, andall persons who approached either, with the exception of a few of theprivileged, were referred to the sergeant who commanded the guard. Thearms of the latter were stacked on the grass, at hand, and the men offpost were loitering near. These were the usual military signs of thepresence of officers of rank, and may, in sooth, be taken as clues tothe actual state of things, on and around the Head.
Admiral Bluewater lay in the cottage, while Sir Gervaise Oakes occupiedthe tent. The former had been transferred to the place where he wasabout to breathe his last, at his own urgent request, while his friendhad refused to be separated from him, so long as life remained. The twoflags were still flying at the mast-heads of the Caesar, a sort ofmelancholy memorial of the tie that had so long bound their gallantowners in the strong sympathies of an enduring personal and professionalfriendship.
Persons of the education of Mrs. Dutton and her daughter, had not dweltso long on that beautiful head-land, without leaving on the spot somelasting impressions of their tastes. Of the cottage, we have alreadyspoken. The little garden, too, then bright with flowers, had a graceand refinement about it that we would hardly have expected to meet insuch a place; and even the paths that led athwart the verdant commonwhich spread over so much of the upland, had been directed with an eyeto the picturesque and agreeable. One of these paths, too, led to arustic summer-house--a sort of small, rude pavilion, constructed, likethe fences, of fragments of wrecks, and placed on a shelf of the cliff,at a dizzy elevation, but in perfect security. So far from there beingany danger in entering this summer-house, indeed, Wycherly, during hissix months' residence near the Head, had made a path that descendedstill lower to a point that was utterly concealed from all eyes above,and had actually planted a seat on another shelf with so much security,that both Mildred and her mother often visited it in company. During theyoung man's recent absence, the poor girl, indeed, had passed much ofher time there, weeping and suffering in solitude. To this seat, Duttonnever ventured; the descent, though well protected with ropes, requiringgreater steadiness of foot and head than intemperance had left him. Onceor twice, Wycherly had induced Mildred to pass an hour with him alone inthis romantic place, and some of his sweetest recollections of thisjust-minded and intelligent girl, were connected with the frankcommunications that had there occurred between them. On this bench hewas seated at the time of the opening of the present chapter. Themovement on the Head, and about the cottage, was so great, as to deprivehim of every chance of seeing Mildred alone, and he had hoped that, ledby some secret sympathy, she, too, might seek this perfectly retiredseat, to obtain a moment of unobserved solitude, if not from some stilldearer motive. He had not waited long, ere he heard a heavy foot overhis head, and a man entered the summer-house. He was yet debatingwhether to abandon all hopes of seeing Mildred, when his acute earcaught her light and well-known footstep, as she reached thesummer-house, also.
"Father, I have come as you desired," said the poor girl, in thosetremulous tones which Wycherly too well understood, not to imagine thecondition of Dutton. "Admiral Bluewater dozes, and mother has permittedme to steal away."
"Ay, Admiral Bluewater is a great man, though but little better than adead one!" answered Dutton, as harshly in manner as the language wascoarse. "You and your mother are all attention to _him_; did _I_ lie inhis place, which of you would be found hanging over my bed, with palecheeks and tearful eyes?"
"_Both_ of us, father! _Do_ not--_do_ not think so ill of your wife anddaughter, as to suppose it possible that either of them could forget herduty."
"Yes, _duty_ might do something, perhaps; what has duty to do with thisuseless rear-admiral? I _hate_ the scoundrel--he was one of the courtthat cashiered me; and one, too, that I am told, was the most obstinatein refusing to help me into this pitiful berth of a master."
Mildred was silent. She could not vindicate her friend withoutcriminating her father. As for Wycherly, he would have given a year'sincome to be at sea; yet he shrunk from wounding the poor daughter'sfeelings by letting her know he overheard the dialogue. This indecisionmade him the unwilling auditor of a conversation that he ought not tohave heard--an occurrence which, had there been time for reflection, hewould have taken means to prevent.
"Sit you down here, Mildred," resumed Dutton, sternly, "and listen towhat I have to say. It is time that there should no longer be anytrifling between us. You have the fortunes of your mother and myself inyour hands; and, as one of the parties so deeply concerned, I amdetermined _mine_ shall be settled at once."
"I do not understand you, father," said Mildred, with a tremour in hervoice that almost induced the young man to show himself, though, we oweit to truth to say, that a lively curiosity _now_ mingled with his othersensations. "How can I have the keeping of dear mother's fortunes andyours?"
"_Dear_ mother, truly!--_Dear_ enough has she proved
to me; but I intendthe daughter shall pay for it. Hark you, Mildred; I'll have no more ofthis trifling--but I ask you in a father's name, if any man has offeredyou his hand? Speak plainly, and conceal nothing--I _will_ be answered."
"I wish to conceal nothing, father, that ought to be told; but when ayoung woman declines the honour that another does her in this way,_ought_ she to reveal the secret, even to her father?"
"She _ought_; and, in your case, she _shall_. No more hesitation; name_one_ of the offers you have had."
Mildred, after a brief pause, in a low, tremulous voice, pronounced thename of "Mr. Rotherham."
"I suspected as much," growled Dutton; "there was a time when even _he_might have answered, but we can do better than that now. Still he may bekept as a reserve; the thousand pounds Mr. Thomas says shall be paid,and that and the living will make a comfortable port after a stormylife. Well, who next, Mildred? Has Mr. Thomas Wychecombe ever come tothe point?"
"He has asked me to become his wife, within the last twenty-four hours;if that is what you mean."
"No affectations, Milly; I can't bear them. You know well enough what Imean. What was your answer?"
"I do not love him in the least, father, and, of course, I told him Icould not marry him."
"That don't follow _of course_, by any means, girl! The marrying is doneby the priest, and the love is a very different thing. I hope youconsider Mrs. Dutton as my wife?"
"What a question!" murmured Mildred.
"Well, and do you suppose she _loves_ me; _can_ love me, now I am adisgraced, impoverished man?"
"Father!"
"Come--come--enough of this. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe may not belegitimate--I rather think he is not, by the proofs Sir Reginald hasproduced within the last day or two; and I understand his own mother isdissatisfied with him, and _that_ will knock his claim flat aback.Notwithstanding, Mildred, Tom Wychecombe has a good six hundred a yearalready, and Sir Reginald himself admits that he must take all thepersonal property the late baronet could leave."
"You forget, father," said Mildred, conscious of the inefficacy of anyother appeal, "that Mr. Thomas has promised to pay the legacies that SirWycherly _intended_ to leave."
"Don't place any expectations on that, Mildred. I dare say he wouldsettle ten of the twenty thousand on you to-morrow, if you would consentto have him. But, now, as to this new baronet, for it seems he is tohave both title and estate--has _he_ ever offered?"
There was a long pause, during which Wycherly thought he heard the hardbut suppressed breathing of Mildred. To remain quiet any longer, he feltwas as impossible as, indeed, his conscience told him was dishonourable,and he sprang along the path to ascend to the summer-house. At the firstsound of his footstep, a faint cry escaped Mildred; but when Wycherlyentered the pavilion, he found her face buried in her hands, and Duttontottering forward, equally in surprise and alarm. As the circumstanceswould not admit of evasion, the young man threw aside all reserve, andspoke plainly.
"I have been an unwilling listener to a _part_ of your discourse withMildred, Mr. Dutton," he said, "and can answer your last question formyself. I _have_ offered my hand to your daughter, sir; an offer that Inow renew, and the acceptance of which would make me the happiest man inEngland. If your influence could aid me--for she has refused my hand."
"Refused!" exclaimed Dutton, in a surprise that overcame the calculatedamenity of manner he had assumed the instant Wycherly appeared--"RefusedSir Wycherly Wychecombe! but it was before your rights had been as wellestablished as they are now. Mildred, answer to this--how _could_you--nay, how _dare_ you refuse such an offer as this?"
Human nature could not well endure more. Mildred suffered her hands tofall helplessly into her lap, and exposed a face that was lovely as thatof an angel's, though pale nearly to the hue of death. Feeling extortedthe answer she made, though the words had hardly escaped her, ere sherepented having uttered them, and had again buried her face in herhands--
"Father"--she said--"_could_ I--_dare_ I to encourage Sir WycherlyWychecombe to unite himself to a family like ours!"
Conscience smote Dutton with a force that nearly sobered him, and whatexplanation might have followed it is hard to say; Wycherly, in anunder-tone, however, requested to be left alone with the daughter.Dutton had sense enough to understand he was _de trop_, and shame enoughto wish to escape. In half a minute, he had hobbled up to the summit ofthe cliff and disappeared.
"Mildred!--_Dearest_ Mildred"--said Wycherly, tenderly, gentlyendeavouring to draw her attention to himself, "we are alone now;surely--surely--you will not refuse to _look_ at _me_!"
"Is he gone?" asked Mildred, dropping her hands, and looking wildlyaround. "Thank God! It is over, for this time, at least! Now, let us goto the house; Admiral Bluewater may miss me."
"No, Mildred, not yet. You surely can spare me--me, who have suffered somuch of late on your account--nay, by your _means_--you can, in mercy,spare me a few short minutes. Was _this_ the reason--the _only_ reason,dearest girl, why you so pertinaciously refused my hand?"
"Was it not sufficient, Wycherly?" answered Mildred, afraid thechartered air might hear her secret. "Remember _who_ you are, and _what_I am! Could I suffer you to become the husband of one to whom suchcruel, cruel propositions had been made by her own father!"
"I shall not affect to conceal my horror of such principles, Mildred,but your virtues shine all the brighter by having flourished in theircompany. Answer me but one question frankly, and every other difficultycan be gotten over. Do you love me well enough to be my wife, were youan orphan?"
Mildred's countenance was full of anguish, but this question changed itsexpression entirely. The moment was extraordinary as were the feelingsit engendered, and, almost unconsciously to herself, she raised the handthat held her own to her lips, in a sort of reverence. In the nextinstant she was encircled in the young man's arms, and pressed withfervour to his heart.
"Let us go"--said Mildred, extricating herself from an embrace that wastoo involuntarily bestowed, and too heartfelt to alarm her delicacy. "Ifeel certain Admiral Bluewater will miss me!"
"No, Mildred, we cannot part thus. Give me, at least, the poorconsolation of knowing, that if _this_ difficulty did not exist--that ifyou were an orphan for instance--you would be mine."
"Oh! Wycherly, how gladly--how gladly!--But, say no more--nay--"
This time the embrace was longer, more fervent even than before, andWycherly was too much of a sailor to let the sweet girl escape from hisarms without imprinting on her lips a kiss. He had no soonerrelinquished his hold of the slight person of Mildred, ere it vanished.With this characteristic leave-taking, we change the scene to the tentof Sir Gervaise Oakes.
"You have seen Admiral Bluewater?" demanded the commander-in-chief, assoon as the form of Magrath darkened the entrance, and speaking with thesudden earnestness of a man determined to know the worst. "If so, tellme at once what hopes there are for him."
"Of all the human passions, Sir Jairvis," answered Magrath, lookingaside, to avoid the keen glance of the other, "hope is generallyconsidered, by all rational men, as the most treacherous and delusive; Imay add, of all denominations or divisions of hope, that which decideson life is the most unsairtain. We all hope to live, I'm thinking, to agood old age, and yet how many of us live just long enough to bedisappointed!"
Sir Gervaise did not move until the surgeon ceased speaking; then hebegan to pace the tent in mournful silence. He understood Magrath'smanner so well, that the last faint hope he had felt from seeking hisopinion was gone; he now knew that his friend must die. It required allhis fortitude to stand up against this blow; for, single, childless, andaccustomed to each other almost from infancy, these two veteran sailorshad got to regard themselves as merely isolated parts of the same being.Magrath was affected more than he chose to express, and he blew his noseseveral times in a way that an observer would have found suspicious.
"Will you confer on me the favour, Dr. Magrath," said Sir Gervaise, in agentle, subdued manner, "t
o ask Captain Greenly to come hither, as youpass the flag-staff?"
"Most willingly, Sir Jairvis; and I know he'll be any thing but backwardin complying."
It was not long ere the captain of the Plantagenet made his appearance.Like all around him, the recent victory appeared to bring no exultation.
"I suppose Magrath told _you_ all," said the vice-admiral, squeezing theother's hand.
"He gives no hopes, Sir Gervaise, I sincerely regret to say."
"I knew as much! I knew as much! And yet he is easy, Greenly!--nay, evenseems happy. I _did_ feel a little hope that this absence from sufferingmight be a favourable omen."
"I am glad to hear that much, sir; for I have been thinking that it ismy duty to speak to the rear-admiral on the subject of his brother'smarriage. From his own silence on the subject, it is possible--nay, from_all_ circumstances, it is _probable_ he never knew of it, and there maybe reasons why he ought to be informed of the affair. As you say he isso easy, would there be an impropriety in mentioning it to him?"
Greenly could not possibly have made a suggestion that was a greaterfavour to Sir Gervaise. The necessity of doing, his habits of decision,and having an object in view, contributed to relieve his mind bydiverting his thoughts to some active duty; and he seized his hat,beckoned Greenly to follow, and moved across the hill with a rapid pace,taking the path to the cottage. It was necessary to pass the flag-staff.As this was done, every countenance met the vice-admiral's glance, witha look of sincere sympathy. The bows that were exchanged, had more inthem than the naked courtesies of such salutations; they were eloquentof feeling on both sides.
Bluewater was awake, and retaining the hand of Mildred affectionately inhis own, when his friend entered. Relinquishing his hold, however, hegrasped the hand of the vice-admiral, and looked earnestly at him, as ifhe pitied the sorrow that he knew the survivor must feel.
"My dear Bluewater," commenced Sir Gervaise, who acted under a nervousexcitement, as well as from constitutional decision, "here is Greenlywith something to tell you that we both think you ought to know, at amoment like this."
The rear-admiral regarded his friend intently, as if inviting him toproceed.
"Why, it's about your brother Jack. I fancy you cannot have known thathe was ever married, or I think I should have heard you speak of it."
"Married!" repeated Bluewater, with great interest, and speaking withvery little difficulty. "I think that must be an error. Inconsiderateand warm-hearted he was, but there was only one woman he _could_, nay,_would_ have married. She is long since dead, but not as _his_ wife; forthat her uncle, a man of great wealth, but of unbending will, wouldnever have suffered. _He_ survived her, though my poor brother did not."
This was said in a mild voice, for the wounded man spoke equally withouteffort, and without pain.
"You hear, Greenly?" observed Sir Gervaise. "And yet it is not probablethat you should be mistaken."
"Certainly, I am not, gentlemen. I saw Colonel Bluewater married, as didanother officer who is at this moment in this very fleet. CaptainBlakely is the person I mean, and I know that the priest who performedthe ceremony is still living, a beneficed clergyman."
"This is wonderful to me! He fervently loved Agnes Hedworth, but hispoverty was an obstacle to the union; and both died so young, that therewas little opportunity of conciliating the uncle."
"That, sir, is your mistake. Agnes Hedworth was the bride."
A noise in the room interrupted the dialogue, and the three gentlemensaw Wycherly and Mildred stooping to pick up the fragments of a bowlthat Mrs. Dutton had let fall. The latter, apparently in alarm, at thelittle accident, had sunk back into a seat, pale and trembling.
"My dear Mrs. Dutton, take a glass of water," said Sir Gervaise, kindlyapproaching her; "your nerves have been sorely tried of late; else wouldnot such a trifle affect you."
"It is not _that_!" exclaimed the matron, huskily. "It is not _that_!Oh! the fearful moment has come at last; and, from my inmost spirit Ithank thee, my Lord and my God, that it has come free from shame anddisgrace!"
The closing words were uttered on bended knees, and with uplifted hands.
"Mother!--dearest, dearest mother," cried Mildred, falling on hermother's neck. "What mean you? What new misery has happened to-day?"
"_Mother!_ Yes, sweet one, thou art, thou ever _shalt_ be my child! Thisis the pang I have most dreaded; but what is an unknown tie of blood, touse, and affection, and to a mother's care? If I did not bear thee,Mildred, no natural mother could have loved thee more, or would havedied for thee, as willingly!"
"Distress has disturbed her, gentlemen," said Mildred, gentlyextricating herself from her mother's arms, and helping her to rise. "Afew moments of rest will restore her."
"No, darling; it must come now--it _ought_ to come now--after what Ihave just heard, it would be unpardonable not to tell it, _now_. Did Iunderstand you to say, sir, that you were present at the marriage ofAgnes Hedworth, and that, too, with the brother of Admiral Bluewater?"
"Of that fact, there can be no question, madam. I and others willtestify to it. The marriage took place in London, in the summer of 1725,while Blakely and myself were up from Portsmouth, on leave. ColonelBluewater asked us both to be present, under a pledge of secresy."
"And in the summer of 1726, Agnes Hedworth died in my house and my arms,an hour after giving birth to this dear, this precious child--MildredDutton, as she has ever since been called--Mildred Bluewater, as itwould seem her name should be."
It is unnecessary to dwell on the surprise with which all present, orthe delight with which Bluewater and Wycherly heard this extraordinaryannouncement. A cry escaped Mildred, who threw herself on Mrs. Dutton'sneck, entwining it with her arms, convulsively, as if refusing to permitthe tie that had so long bound them together, to be thus rudely tornasunder. But half an hour of weeping, and of the tenderest consolations,calmed the poor girl a little, and she was able to listen to theexplanations. These were exceedingly simple, and so clear, as, inconnection with the other evidence, to put the facts out of all doubt.
Miss Hedworth had become known to Mrs. Dutton, while the latter was aninmate of the house of her patron. A year or two after the marriage ofthe lieutenant, and while he was on a distant station, Agnes Hedworththrew herself on the protection of his wife, asking a refuge for a womanin the most critical circumstances. Like all who knew Agnes Hedworth,Mrs. Dutton both respected and loved her; but the distance createdbetween them, by birth and station, was such as to prevent anyconfidence. The former, for the few days passed with her humble friend,had acted with the quiet dignity of a woman conscious of no wrong; andno questions could be asked that implied doubts. A succession offainting fits prevented all communications in the hour of death, andMrs. Dutton found herself left with a child on her hands, and the deadbody of her friend. Miss Hedworth had come to her dwelling unattendedand under a false name. These circumstances induced Mrs. Dutton toapprehend the worst, and she proceeded to make her arrangements withgreat tenderness for the reputation of the deceased. The body wasremoved to London, and letters were sent to the uncle to inform himwhere it was to be found, with a reference should he choose to inquireinto the circumstances of his niece's death. Mrs. Dutton ascertainedthat the body was interred in the usual manner, but no inquiry was evermade, concerning the particulars. The young duchess, Miss Hedworth'ssister, was then travelling in Italy, whence she did not return for morethan a year; and we may add, though Mrs. Dutton was unable to make theexplanation, that her inquiries after the fate of a beloved sister, weremet by a simple statement that she had died suddenly, on a visit to awatering-place, whither she had gone with a female friend for herhealth. Whether Mr. Hedworth himself had any suspicions of his niece'scondition, is uncertain; but the probabilities were against it, for shehad offended him by refusing a match equal in all respects to that madeby her elder sister, with the single exception that the latter hadmarried a man she loved, whereas he exacted of Agnes a very differentsacrifice. Owing to the alienati
on produced by this affair, there waslittle communication between the uncle and niece; the latter passing hertime in retirement, and professedly with friends that the former neitherknew nor cared to know. In short, such was the mode of life of therespective parties, that nothing was easier than for the unhappy youngwidow to conceal her state from her uncle. The motive was the fortune ofthe expected child; this uncle having it in his power to alienate fromit, by will, if he saw fit, certain family property, that mightotherwise descend to the issue of the two sisters, as his co-heiresses.What might have happened in the end, or what poor Agnes meditated doing,can never be known; death closing the secret with his irremovable seal.
Mrs. Dutton was the mother of a girl but three months old, at the timethis little stranger was left on her hands. A few weeks later her ownchild died; and having waited several months in vain for tidings fromthe Hedworth family, she had the surviving infant christened by the samename as that borne by her own daughter, and soon came to love it, asmuch, perhaps, as if she had borne it. Three years passed in thismanner, when the time drew near for the return of her husband from theEast Indies. To be ready to meet him, she changed her abode to a navalport, and, in so doing, changed her domestics. This left heraccidentally, but fortunately, as she afterwards thought, completelymistress of the secret of Mildreth's birth; the one or two others towhom it was known being in stations to render it improbable they shouldever communicate any thing on the subject, unless it were asked of them.Her original intention, however, was to communicate the facts, withoutreserve, to her husband. But he came back an altered man; brutal inmanners, cold in his affections, and the victim of drunkenness. By thistime, the wife was too much attached to the child to think of exposingit to the wayward caprices of such a being; and Mildred was educated,and grew in stature and beauty as the real offspring of her reputedparents.
All this Mrs. Dutton related clearly and briefly, refraining, of course,from making any allusion to the conduct of her husband, and referringall her own benevolence to her attachment to the child. Bluewater hadstrength enough to receive Mildred in his arms, and he kissed her palecheek, again and again, blessing her in the most fervent and solemnmanner.
"My feelings were not treacherous or unfaithful," he said; "I lovedthee, sweetest, from the first. Sir Gervaise Oakes has my will, made inthy favour, before we sailed on this last cruise, and every shilling Ileave will be thine. Mr. Atwood, procure that will, and add a codicilexplaining this recent discovery, and confirming the legacy; let not thelast be touched, for it is spontaneous and comes from the heart."
"And, now," answered Mrs. Dutton, "enough has passed for once. Thesick-bed should be more quiet. Give me my child, again:--I cannot yetconsent to part with her for ever."
"Mother! mother!" exclaimed Mildred, throwing herself on Mrs. Dutton'sbosom--"I am yours, and yours only."
"Not so, I fear. Mildred, if all I suspect be true, and this is asproper a moment as another to place that matter also before yourhonoured uncle. Come forward, Sir Wycherly--I have understood you tosay, this minute, in my ear, that you hold the pledge of this wilfulgirl to become your wife, should she ever be an orphan. An orphan sheis, and has been since the first hour of her birth."
"No--no--no," murmured Mildred, burying her face still deeper in hermother's bosom, "not while _you_ live, _can_ I be an orphan. Notnow--another time--this is unseasonable--cruel--nay, it is not what Isaid."'
"Take her away, dearest Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, tears of joyforcing themselves from his eyes. "Take her away, lest too muchhappiness come upon me at once. My thoughts should be calmer at such amoment."
Wycherly removed Mildred from her mother's arms, and gently led her fromthe room. When in Mrs. Dutton's apartment, he whispered something in theear of the agitated girl that caused her to turn on him a look ofhappiness, though it came dimmed with tears; then _he_ had his turn ofholding her, for another precious instant, to his heart.
"My dear Mrs. Dutton--nay, my dear _mother_," he said, "Mildred andmyself have both need of parents. I am an orphan like herself, and wecan never consent to part with you. Look forward, I entreat you, tomaking one of our family in all things, for never can either Mildred ormyself cease to consider you as any thing but a parent entitled to morethan common reverence and affection."
Wycherly had hardly uttered this proper speech, when he received what hefancied a ten-fold reward. Mildred, in a burst of natural feeling,without affectation or reserve, but yielding to her heart only, threwher arms around his neck, murmured the word "thanks" several times, andwept freely on his bosom. When Mrs. Dutton received the sobbing girlfrom him, Wycherly kissed the mother's cheek, and he left the room.
Admiral Bluewater would not consent to seek his repose until he had aprivate conference with his friend and Wycherly. The latter wasfrankness and liberality itself, but the former would not wait forsettlements. These he trusted to the young man's honour. His own timewas short, and he should die perfectly happy could he leave his niece inthe care of one like our Virginian. He wished the marriage to take placein his presence. On this, he even insisted, and, of course, Wycherlymake no objections, but went to state the case to Mrs. Dutton andMildred.
"It is singular, Dick," said Sir Gervaise, wiping his eyes, as he lookedfrom a window that commanded a view of the sea, "that I have left bothour flags flying in the Caesar! I declare, the oddness of thecircumstance never struck me till this minute."
"Let them float thus a little longer, Gervaise. They have faced many agale and many a battle together, and may endure each other's company afew hours longer."