I returned my thanks, accepted the invitation, and took my leave, his lordship saying as he shook hands with me, “You don’t know how happy this intelligence has made me. I trust that your father and I shall be good friends.”

  When I returned to the carriage, as my father had desired me to take an airing, I thought I might as well have a companion, so I directed them to drive to Mr Cophagus’s. The servant knocked, and I went in as soon as the door was opened. Susannah and Mrs Cophagus were sitting in the room.

  “Susannah,” said I, “I know you do not like to walk out, so I thought, perhaps, you would have no objection to take an airing in the carriage; my father has lent it to me. Will you come? — it will do you good.”

  “It is very kind of you, Japhet, to think of me; but—”

  “But what?” replied Mrs Cophagus. “Surely thou wilt not refuse, Susannah. It would savour much of ingratitude on thy part.”

  “I will not then be ungrateful,” replied Susannah, leaving the room; and in a short time she returned in a Leghorn bonnet and shawl like her sister’s. “Do not I prove that I am not ungrateful, Japhet, since to do credit to thy carriage, I am content to depart from the rules of our persuasion?” said Susannah, smiling.

  “I feel the kindness and the sacrifice you are making to please me, Susannah,” replied I; “but let us lose no time.”

  I handed her down to the carriage, and we drove to the Park. It was a beautiful day, and the Park was filled with pedestrians as well as carriages. Susannah was much astonished, as well as pleased. “Now, Susannah,” said I, “if you were to call this Vanity Fair, you would not be far wrong; but still, recollect that even all this is productive of much good. Reflect how many industrious people find employment and provision for their families by the building of these gay vehicles, their painting and ornamenting. How many are employed at the loom, and at the needle, in making these costly dresses. This vanity is the cause of wealth not being hoarded, but finding its way through various channels, so as to produce comfort and happiness to thousands.”

  “Your observations are just, Japhet, but you have lived in the world, and seen much of it. I am as one just burst from an egg-shell, all amazement. I have been living in a little world of my own thoughts, surrounded by a mist of ignorance, and not being able to penetrate farther, have considered myself wise when I was not.”

  “My dear Susannah, this is a chequered world, but not a very bad one — there is in it much of good as well as evil. The sect to which you belong avoid it — they know it not — and they are unjust towards it. During the time that I lived at Reading, I will candidly state to you that I met with many who called themselves of the persuasion, who were wholly unworthy of it, but they made up in outward appearance and hypocrisy, what they wanted in their conduct to their fellow-creatures. Believe me, Susannah, there are pious and good, charitable and humane, conscientious and strictly honourable people among those who now pass before your view in such gay procession; but society requires that the rich should spend their money in superfluities, that the poor may be supported. Be not deceived, therefore, in future, by the outward garments, which avail nothing.”

  “You have induced me much to alter my opinions already, Japhet; so has that pleasant friend of thine, Mr Masterton, who has twice called since we have been in London, but is it not time that we should return?”

  “It is indeed later than I thought it was, Susannah,” replied I, looking at my watch, “and I am afraid that my father will be impatient for my return. I will order them to drive home.”

  As we drove along, leaning against the back of the carriage, my hand happened to touch that of Susannah, which lay beside her on the cushion, I could not resist taking it in mine, and it was not withdrawn. What my thoughts were, the reader may imagine; Susannah’s I cannot acquaint him with; but in that position we remained in silence until the carriage stopped at Cophagus’s door. I handed Susannah out of the carriage, and went up stairs for a few moments. Mrs Cophagus and her husband were out.

  “Susannah, this is very kind of you, and I return you my thanks. I never felt more happy than when seated with you in that carriage.”

  “I have received both amusement and instruction, Japhet, and ought to thank you. Do you know what passed in my mind at one time?”

  “No — tell me.”

  “When I first knew you, and you came among us, I was, as it were, the guide, a presumptuous one perhaps to you, and you listened to me — now it is reversed — now that we are removed and in the world, it is you that are the guide, and it is I who listen and obey.”

  “Because, Susannah, when we first met I was much in error, and had thought too little of serious things, and you were fit to be my guide: now we are mixing in the world, with which I am better acquainted than yourself. You then corrected me, when I was wrong: I now point out to you where you are not rightly informed: but, Susannah, what you have learnt of me is as nought compared with the valuable precepts which I gained from your lips — precepts which, I trust, no collision with the world will ever make me forget.”

  “Oh! I love to hear you say that; I was fearful that the world would spoil you, Japhet; but it will not — will it?”

  “Not so long as I have you still with me, Susannah: but if I am obliged to mix again with the world, tell me, Susannah, will you reject me? — will you desert me? — will you return to your own people and leave me so exposed? Susannah, dearest, you must know how long, how dearly I have loved you: — you know that, if I had not been sent for and obliged to obey the message, I would have lived and died content with you. Will you not listen to me now, or do you reject me?”

  I put my arm round her waist, her head fell upon my shoulder, and she burst into tears. “Speak, dearest, this suspense is torture to me,” continued I.

  “I do love you, Japhet,” replied she at last, looking fondly at me through her tears; “but I know not whether this earthly love may not have weakened my affection towards Heaven. If so, may God pardon me, for I cannot help it.” After this avowal, for a few minutes, which appeared seconds, we were in each other’s arms, when Susannah disengaged herself.

  “Dearest Japhet, thy father will be much displeased.” “I cannot help it,” replied I, “I shall submit to his displeasure.”

  “Nay, but, Japhet, why risk thy father’s wrath?”

  “Well, then,” replied I, attempting to reach her lips, “I will go.”

  “Nay, nay — indeed, Japhet, you exact too much — it is not seemly.”

  “Then I won’t go.”

  “Recollect about thy father.”

  “It is you who detain me, Susannah.”

  “I must not injure thee with thy father, Japhet, it were no proof of my affection — but, indeed, you are self-willed.”

  “God bless you, Susannah,” said I, as I gained the contested point, and hastened to the carriage.

  My father was a little out of humour when I returned, and questioned me rather sharply as to where I had been. I half pacified him by delivering Lord Windermear’s polite message; but he continued his interrogations, and although I had pointed out to him that a De Benyon would never be guilty of an untruth, I am afraid I told some half dozen on this occasion; but I consoled myself with the reflection, that, in the code of honour of a fashionable man, he is bound, if necessary, to tell falsehoods where a lady is concerned; so I said I had driven through the streets looking at the houses, and had twice stopped and had gone in to examine them. My father supposed that I had been looking out for a house for him, and was satisfied. Fortunately they were job horses; had they been his own I should have been in a severe scrape. Horses are the only part of an establishment for which the gentlemen have any consideration, and on which ladies have no mercy.

  I had promised the next day to dine with Mr Masterton. My father had taken a great aversion to this old gentleman until I had narrated the events of my life, in which he had played such a conspicuous and friendly part. Then, to do my father justice, his heart warmed towards him.

  “My dear sir, I have promised to dine out to-day.”

  “With whom, Japhet?”

  “Why, sir, to tell you the truth, with that ‘old thief of a lawyer.’”

  “I am very much shocked at your using such an expression towards one who has been such a sincere friend, Japhet; and you will oblige me, sir, by not doing so again in my presence.”

  “I really beg your pardon, general,” replied I, “but I thought to please you.”

  “Please me! what do you think of me? please me, sir, by showing yourself ungrateful? — I am ashamed of you, sir.”

  “My dear father, I borrowed the expression from you. You called Mr Masterton ‘an old thief of a lawyer’ to his face: he complained to me of the language before I had the pleasure of meeting you. I feel, and always shall feel, the highest respect, love, and gratitude towards him. Have I your permission to go?”

  “Yes, Japhet,” replied my father, looking very grave, “and do me the favour to apologise for me to Mr Masterton for my having used such an expression in my unfortunate warmth of temper — I am ashamed of myself.”

  “My dearest father, no man need be ashamed who is so ready to make honourable reparation: — we are all a little out of temper at times.”

  “You have been a kind friend to me, Japhet, as well as a good son,” replied my father, with some emotion. “Don’t forget the apology at all events: I shall be unhappy until it be made.”

  Chapter LXXVII

  Treats of apologies, and love coming from church — We finesse with the nabob to win me a wife — I am successful in my suit, yet the lawyer is still to play the cards to enable me to win the game.

  I arrived at Mr Masterton’s, and walked into his room, when whom should I find in company with him but Harcourt.

  “Japhet, I’m glad to see you: allow me to introduce you to Mr Harcourt — Mr De Benyon,” and the old gentleman grinned maliciously, but I was not to be taken aback.

  “Harcourt,” said I, extending my hand, “I have to apologise to you for a rude reception and for unjust suspicions, but I was vexed at the time — if you will admit that as an excuse.”

  “My dear Japhet,” replied Harcourt, taking my hand and shaking it warmly, “I have to apologise to you for much more unworthy behaviour, and it will be a great relief to my mind if you will once more enrol me in the list of your friends.”

  “And now, Mr Masterton,” said I, “as apologies appear to be the order of the day, I bring you one from the general, who has requested me to make one to you for having called you an old thief of a lawyer, of which he was totally ignorant until I reminded him of it to-day.”

  Harcourt burst into a laugh.

  “Well, Japhet, you may tell your old tiger, that I did not feel particularly affronted, as I took his expression professionally and not personally, and if he meant it in that sense, he was not far wrong. Japhet, to-morrow is Sunday; do you go to meeting or to church?”

  “I believe, sir, that I shall go to church.”

  “Well, then, come with me: — be here at half-past two — we will go to evening service at St James’s.”

  “I have received many invitations, but I never yet received an invitation to go to church,” replied I.

  “You will hear an extra lesson of the day — a portion of Susannah and the Elders.”

  I took the equivoque, which was incomprehensible to Harcourt: I hardly need say, that the latter and I were on the best terms. When we separated, Harcourt requested leave to call upon me the next morning, and Mr Masterton said that he should also pay his respects to the tiger, as he invariably called my most honoured parent.

  Harcourt was with me very soon after breakfast, and after I had introduced him to my “Governor,” we retired to talk without interruption.

  “I have much to say to you, De Benyon,” commenced Harcourt: “first let me tell you, that after I rose from my bed, and discovered that you had disappeared, I resolved, if possible, to find you out and induce you to come back. Timothy, who looked very sly at me, would tell me nothing, but that the last that was heard of you was at Lady de Clare’s, at Richmond. Having no other clue, I went down there, introduced myself, and, as they will tell you, candidly acknowledged that I had treated you ill. I then requested that they would give me any clue by which you might be found, for I had an opportunity of offering to you a situation which was at my father’s disposal, and which any gentleman might have accepted, although it was not very lucrative.”

  “It was very kind of you, Harcourt.”

  “Do not say that, I beg. It was thus that I formed an acquaintance with Lady de Clare and her daughter, whose early history, as Fleta, I had obtained from you, but who I little imagined to be the little girl that you had so generously protected; for it was not until after I had deserted you, that you had discovered her parentage. The extreme interest relative to you evinced by both the mother and the daughter surprised me. They had heard of my name from you, but not of our quarrel. They urged me, and thanked me for proposing, to follow you and find you out: I did make every attempt. I went to Brentford, inquired at all the public-houses, and of all the coachmen who went down the road, but could obtain no information, except that at one public-house, a gentleman stopped with a portmanteau, and soon afterwards went away with it on his shoulders. I returned to Richmond with the tidings of my ill-success about a week after I had first called there. Cecilia was much affected and cried very bitterly. I could not help asking Lady de Clare why she took such a strong interest in your fortunes. ‘Who ought,’ replied Cecilia, ‘if his poor Fleta does not?’ ‘Good Heavens! Miss de Clare, are you the little Fleta whom he found with the gipsies, and talked to me so much about?’ ‘Did you not know it?’ said Lady de Clare. I then explained to her all that had latterly passed between us, and they in return communicated your events and dangers in Ireland. Thus was an intimacy formed, and ever since I have been constantly welcome at their house. I did not, however, abandon my enquiries for many months, when I thought it was useless, and I had to console poor Cecilia, who constantly mourned for you. And now, Japhet, I must make my story short: I could not help admiring a young person who showed so much attachment and gratitude joined to such personal attractions, but she was an heiress and I was a younger brother. Still Lady de Clare insisted upon my coming to the house, and I was undecided how to act when the unfortunate death of my elder brother put me in a situation to aspire to her hand. After that my visits were more frequent, and I was tacitly received as a suitor by Lady de Clare, and had no reason to complain of the treatment I received from Cecilia. Such was the position of affairs until the day on which you broke in upon us so unexpectedly, and at the very moment that you came in, I had, with the sanction of her mother, made an offer to Cecilia, and was anxiously awaiting an answer from her own dear lips. Can you therefore be surprised, Japhet, at there being a degree of constraint on all sides at the interruption occasioned by the presence of one who had long been considered lost to us? Or that a young person just deciding upon the most important step of her life should feel confused and agitated at the entrance of a third party, however dear he might be to her as a brother and benefactor?”

  “I am perfectly satisfied, Harcourt,” replied I: “and I will go there, and make my peace as soon as I can.”

  “Indeed, Japhet, if you knew the distress of Cecilia you would pity and love her more than ever. Her mother is also much annoyed. As soon as you were gone, they desired me to hasten after you and bring you back. Cecilia had not yet given her answer: I requested it before my departure, but, I presume to stimulate me, she declared that she would give me no answer, until I re-appeared with you. This is now three weeks ago, and I have not dared to go there. I have been trying all I can to see you again since you repulsed me at the Piazza, but without success, until I went to Mr Masterton, and begged him to procure me an interview. I thank God it has succeeded.”

  “Well, Harcourt, you shall see Cecilia to-morrow morning, if you please.”

  “Japhet, what obligations I am under to you! Had it not been for you I never should have known Cecilia; and more, were it not for your kindness, I might perhaps lose her for ever.”

  “Not so, Harcourt; it was your own good feeling prompting you to find me out, which introduced you to Cecilia, and I wish you joy with all my heart. This is a strange world — who would have imagined that, in little Fleta, I was picking up a wife for a man whose life I nearly took away? I will ask my governor for his carriage to-morrow, and will call and take you up at your lodgings at two o’clock, if that hour will suit you. I will tell you all that has passed since I absconded, when we are at Lady de Clare’s; one story will do for all.”

  Harcourt then took his leave, and I returned to my father, with whom I found Lord Windermear.

  “De Benyon, I am happy to see you again,” said his lordship. “I have just been giving a very good character of you to the general; I hope you will continue to deserve it.”

  “I hope so too, my lord; I should be ungrateful indeed, if I did not, after my father’s kindness to me.”

  Mr Masterton was then introduced: Lord Windermear shook hands with him, and after a short conversation took his leave.

  “Japhet,” said Mr Masterton aside, “I have a little business with your father; get out of the room any way you think best.”

  “There are but two ways, my dear sir,” replied I, “the door or the windows: with your permission, I will select the former, as most agreeable;” so saying, I went to my own room. What passed between the general and Mr Masterton I did not know until afterwards, but they were closeted upwards of an hour, when I was sent for by Mr Masterton.

  “Japhet, you said you would go with me to hear the new preacher; we have no time to lose: so, general, I shall take my leave and run away with your son.”

  I followed Mr Masterton into his carriage, and we drove to the lodging of Mr Cophagus. Susannah was all ready, and Mr Masterton went up stairs and brought her down. A blush and a sweet smile illumined her features when she perceived me stowed away in the corner of the chariot. We drove off, and somehow or another our hands again met and did not separate until we arrived at the church door. Susannah had the same dress on as when she had accompanied me in my father’s carriage. I went through the responses with her, reading out of the same book, and I never felt more inclined to be devout, for I was happy, and grateful to Heaven for my happiness. When the service was over, we were about to enter the carriage, when who should accost us but Harcourt.