VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER NINETEEN.
'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark, Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming--and look brighter when we come. BYRON.
Edward Forster returned home with his little _protegee_, his mindrelieved from the weight which had oppressed it: he knew that the wordof his brother was his bond, and that under a rough exterior heconcealed a generous and sympathising heart. It was in the early partof the autumn that he again took possession of the cottage; and as heonce more seated himself in his old arm-chair, he mentally exclaimed,"Here then am I again at anchor for a short time, until summoned toanother world." His prophecy was correct; during the severe winter thatfollowed, his wound opened again, and his constitution, worn out, gaveway to repeated suffering. He had not been confined to his bed morethan a fortnight when he felt that his end was approaching. He had longbeen prepared: nothing remained to be done but to write a letter to hisbrother, which he confided to Robinson, the fisherman, with directionsthat it should be put into the post-office immediately after his death;and a strict charge to watch over the little girl, until she should besent for by his brother.
This last necessary act had been completed when Robinson, who wasstanding by the side of the bed, with the letter in his hand, informedhim that the family at the Hall had returned from the Continent on theevening before, with their only son, who was now restored to health.This intelligence induced Forster to alter his plans; and trusting tothe former friendship of Lord Aveleyn, he despatched Robinson to theHall, stating his own condition, and requesting that his lordship wouldcome to the cottage. Lord Aveleyn immediately obeyed the summons, andperceiving at the first glance that Forster's situation debarred allchance of recovery, took upon himself with willingness the charge of theletter, and promised to receive Amber into his house until it wasconvenient that she should be removed. It was dark when Lord Aveleyn,with melancholy foreboding, took his last farewell; for, ere the sun hadrisen again, the spirit of Edward Forster had regained its liberty, andsoared to the empyrean, while the deserted Amber wept and prayed.
Edward Forster had not concealed from her the precarious tenure of hisexistence, and since their return from London had made her fullyacquainted with all the particulars connected with her own history. Thelast few weeks, every interval of suffering had been devoted by him toenforce those principles which he ever had inculcated, and to preparefor the event which had now taken place.
Amber was kneeling by the side of the bed; she had been there so long,that she was not aware that it was broad day. Her face laid upon herhands, was completely hid by her luxuriant hair, which had escaped fromthe confinement of the comb, when the door of the chamber of death wassoftly opened. Amber, who either did not hear the noise, or thought itwas the daughter of Robinson, who lived as servant in the cottage,raised not her head. The steps continued to approach, then the soundceased, and Amber felt the arms of some one encircling her waist toraise her from her kneeling posture. She lifted up her head, anddividing the hair from her forehead, that she might see who it was,perceived that it was young Aveleyn who was hanging over her.
"My poor little girl!" said he in a tone of commiseration.
"Oh! William Aveleyn," cried Amber, bursting into a paroxysm of tears,as she was folded in his arms.
The sorrow of youth is sympathetic, and William Aveleyn, althoughseventeen years old, and fast advancing to manhood, did not disdain tomingle his tears with those of his former playmate. It was some timebefore he could persuade Amber, who clung to him in her grief, to anydegree of serenity.
"Amber, dear, you must come to us at the Hall; this is no place for younow."
"And why not, William? Why should I leave so soon? I'm not afraid ofbeing here, or lying by his side alone: I've seen other people die. Isaw Mrs Beazeley die--I saw poor Faithful die; and now, they _all_ aredead," said Amber, bursting into tears, and burying her face in WilliamAveleyn's bosom. "I knew that he was to die," said she, raising herhead after a time--"he told me so; but, to think that I shall never hearhim speak again--that very soon I shall never see him more--I must cry,William."
"But your father is happy, Amber."
"_He_ is happy, I know; but he was not my father, William. I have nofather--no friend on earth I know of. He told me all before he died;Faithful brought me from the sea."
This intelligence roused the curiosity of William Aveleyn, whointerrogated Amber, and obtained from her the whole of the particularscommunicated by Edward Forster; and, as she answered to his manyquestions, she grew more composed.
The narrative had scarcely been finished, when Lord Aveleyn, who hadbeen summoned by Robinson, drove to the door, accompanied by LadyAveleyn, who thought that her presence and persuasions would morereadily induce Amber to heave the cottage. Convinced by her of thepropriety of the proposal, Amber was put into the carriage withoutresistance, and conveyed to the Hall, where every thing that kindnessand sympathy could suggest was resorted to, to assuage her grief. Therewe must leave her, and repair to the metropolis.
"Scratton," said Mr John Forster to his clerk, who had answered thebell, "recollect I cannot see any one to-day."
"You have several appointments, sir," replied the clerk.
"Then send, and put them all off."
"Yes, sir; and if any one calls, I am to say that you are not at home?"
"No, I am at home; why tell a lie? but I cannot see any body."
The clerk shut the door; John Forster put on his spectacles to reperusethe letter which lay before him. It was the one from Edward, inclosedin a frank by Lord Aveleyn, with a few lines, announcing his brother'sdeath, and stating that Amber was at the Hall, where they should be gladthat she should remain until it was convenient to send for her.Edward's letter repeated his thanks to his brother for his kind promise,and took a last and affectionate farewell. John Forster struggled for atime with his feelings; but the more he attempted to repress them, themore violent they became. He was alone, and he gave them vent. Thelegal documents before him, arising from the bitterness of strife, werethus unusually moistened with a tribute to a brother's memory. But in afew moments the old lawyer was himself again; all traces of emotion haddisappeared, and no one who had seen him then would ever have imaginedthat John Forster could have been thus moved. The next day he was notas usual to be found at his chambers: the fact was, that he had set offimmediately after breakfast, upon what is generally termed "househunting." The apartments which he occupied in his chambers were notsufficient for the intended increase of his establishment; and when hehad given his promise to Edward, he was fully aware of the expense whichwould be entailed by receiving Amber, and had made up his mind to incurit. He therefore fixed upon a convenient house in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,which would not detach him far from his chambers. Having arranged for alease of twelve years, John Forster returned to his chambers.
"Scratton," said he, "look out for a man-servant, a cook, housemaid, anda steady woman, as housekeeper--good characters, and undeniablereference. The housekeeper must be a somewhat superior person, as shewill have to take charge of a young miss, and I do not want her spoiledby keeping company with the general description of servants. Do youunderstand?"
Scratton did; and in less than a month, as every thing is to be obtainedfor money in the city of London, the house was furnished by a cityupholsterer in a plain way, and all the servants installed in theirrespective situations.
Mr John Forster took possession of his new house, and tried for a weekif all worked well. Ascertaining that the furniture was complete, theunder-servants well behaved, and the housekeeper a mild and veryintelligent personage, fit to be intrusted with the charge of a littlegirl, he then wrote to Lord Aveleyn, reiterating the thanks conveyed inhis former letter, and requesting that Amber might be delivered into thecharge of the bearer. With this letter Mr Scratton was despatched,and, in due time, arrived at the Hall. Amber wept bitterly at the ideaof part
ing with those who had been so kind to her, and passing into thehands of one who was a stranger. Having exacted a promise from WilliamAveleyn that he would call as he passed through on his way to Cambridge,she bade her kind friends farewell, entered the chaise in company withMr Scratton, and was hurried off to London.
Mr Scratton was one of those personages who never spoke except onbusiness; and, having no business to transact with a girl of twelveyears old, he never spoke at all except when necessity rendered itimperative. Amber was therefore left to her own reflections. What theyall were I cannot tell; but one certainly was, that travelling in achaise for two days with Mr Scratton was not very agreeable. Mosthappy was she when they drove up to the door of Mr John Forster's newhabitation. The old gentleman, who had calculated the hour of herarrival after the receipt of a letter from her companion, was there toreceive her. Amber, who had been prepossessed in his favour by EdwardForster, who had told her that in his brother she would find a protectorand indulgent parent, ran up to him when she entered the room, and burstinto tears as the injunctions of Edward Forster returned to her memory.John Forster took her in his arms, and kissed her. "My little girl,"said he, "what my brother was, such will I be to you. Consider me asyour father; for his memory, and I hope soon, for your own sake, I shallrejoice to be so."
After an hour, by which time Amber had recovered her serenity, andbecome almost cheerful, she was consigned to the charge of Mrs Smiththe housekeeper, and John Forster hastened back to his chambers and hisclients, to make up for so much lost time.
It was not long before the old gentleman discovered that the trouble andexpense which he had incurred to please his brother was the occasion ofpleasure and gratification. He no longer felt isolated in the world: inshort, he had a _home_, where a beaming eye met his return, and anaffectionate heart ministered to his wishes; where his well-known rap atthe door was a source of delight, and his departure one of regret.
In a few months Amber had entwined herself round the old man's heart;the best masters were procured for her, and all the affection of adoting parent upon an only child was bestowed by him who, when theproposition was made, had declared that "it was bad enough to maintainchildren of one's own begetting."
Bless my soul! how poor authors are obliged to gallop about. Now I mustbe off again to India, and get on board of the Bombay Castle.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.