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Mrs. Wilson and Emily, in the fortnight
they had been at Benfield Lodge, had paid
frequent and long visits to the cottage; and
each succeeding interview left a more favourable
impression of the character of its
mistress, and a greater certainty that she was
unfortunate; she, however, alluded very slightly
to her situation or former life; she was a
protestant, to the great surprise of Mrs.
Wilson; and one that misery had made
nearly acquainted with the religion she professed.
Their conversations chiefly turned
on the customs of her own, as contrasted
with those of her adopted country, or in a
pleasant exchange of opinions, which the
ladies possessed in complete unison. One
morning John had accompanied them and
been admitted; Mrs. Fitzgerald received him
with the frankness of an old acquaintance,
though with the reserve of a Spanish lady.
His visits were permitted under the direction
of his aunt, but no other of the gentlemen
were included amongst her guests.
Mrs. Wilson had casually mentioned, in the
absence of her niece, the interposition of
Denbigh between her and death; and Mrs.
Fitzgerald was pleased at the noble conduct
of the gentleman so much as to express a desire
to see him; but the impressions of the

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moment appeared to have died away, as
nothing more was said by either lady on the
subject, and was apparently forgotten. Mrs.
Fitzgerald was found one morning, weeping
over a letter she held in her hand, and the
Donna Lorenza endeavouring to console her.
The situation of this latter lady was somewhat
doubtful; she appeared neither wholly
a friend or a menial; in the manners of the
two there was a striking difference; although
the Donna was not vulgar, she was far from
the polish of her more juvenile friend, and
Mrs. Wilson considered her in a station between
a housekeeper and a companion. After
hoping that no unpleasant intelligence
occasioned the distress they witnessed, the
ladies were about delicately to take their
leave, but Mrs. Fitzgerald intreated them to
remain.

“Your kind attention to me, dear madam,
and the goodness of Miss Moseley, give you
a claim to know more of the unfortunate
being your sympathy has greatly assisted to
attain her peace of mind; this letter is from
the gentleman you have heard me speak of,
as once visiting me, and though it has struck
me with an unusual force, it contains no more
than I expected to hear, perhaps no more
than I deserve to hear.”

“I hope your friend has not been unnecessarily
harsh; severity is not the best way, always,
of effecting repentance, and I feel certain
that you, my young friend, can have been

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guilty of no offence that does not rather require
gentle than stern reproof,” said Mrs.
Wilson.

“I thank you, dear madam, for your indulgent
opinion of me, but although I have
suffered much, I am free to confess, it is a
merited punishment; you are, however, mistaken
as to the source of my present sorrow;
Lord Pendennyss is the cause of grief, I believe,
to no one, much less to me.”

“Lord Pendennyss!” exclaimed Emily,
in surprise, unconsciously looking at her aunt.

“Pendennyss!” reiterated Mrs. Wilson,
with animation, “and is he your friend
too?”

“Yes, madam; to his lordship I owe every
thing—honour—comfort—religion—and even
life itself.”

Mrs. Wilson's cheek glowed with an unusual
colour, at this discovery of another act
of benevolence and virtue, in the young nobleman
whose character she had so long
admired, and whose person she had in vain
wished to meet.

“You know the earl then,” inquired Mrs.
Fitzgerald.

“By reputation, only, my dear,” said Mrs.
Wilson; “but that is enough to convince me
a friend of his must be a worthy character,
if any thing were wanting to make us your
friends.”

The conversation was continued for some
time, and Mrs. Fitzgerald saying she did not

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feel equal just then to the undertaking, would
the next day, if they would honour her with
another call, make them acquainted with the
incidents of her life, and the reasons she had
for speaking in such terms of Lord Pendennyss.
The promise to see her then, was cheerfully
made by Mrs. Wilson, and her confidence
accepted; not from a desire to gratify
an idle curiosity, but a belief that it was necessary
to probe a wound to cure it; and a correct
opinion, that herself would be a better adviser
for a young and lovely woman, than
even Pendennyss; for the Donna Lorenza
she could hardly consider in a capacity to
offer her advice, much less dictation. They
then took their leave, and Emily, during their
ride, broke the silence with exclaiming,

“Wherever we hear of Lord Pendennyss,
aunt, we hear of him favourably.”

“A certain sign, my dear, he is deserving
of it; there is hardly any man who has not
his enemies, and those are seldom just; but
we have met with none of the earl's yet.”

“Fifty thousand a year will make many
friends,” observed Emily, with a smile.

“Doubtless, my love, or as many enemies;
but honour, life, and religion, my
child, are debts not owing to money, in this
country, at least.”

To this remark Emily assented, and after
expressing her own admiration of the character
of the young nobleman, dropped into
a reverie;—how many of his virtues she

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identified with the person of Mr. Denbigh,
it is not, just now, our task to enumerate;
but judges of human nature may easily determine—
and that without having sat in the
parliament of this realm.

The same morning this conversation occurred
at the cottage, Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis,
with their daughters, made their unexpected
appearance at L—. The arrival of a post-chaise
and four, with a gig, was an event
soon circulated through the little village, and
the names of its owners reached the lodge
just as Jane had allowed herself to be persuaded
by the colonel to take her first walk
with him unaccompanied by a third person—
walking is much more propitious to declarations
than riding; whether it was premeditated
on the part of the colonel or not, or
whether he was afraid that Mrs. Jarvis, or
some one else, would interfere, he availed
himself of his opportunity, and had hardly
got out of hearing of her brother and Denbigh,
before he made Jane an explicit offer
of his hand; the surprise was so great, that
some time elapsed before the distressed girl
could reply; this she, however, at length did,
but incoherently; she referred him to her parents,
as arbiters of her fate, well knowing
that her wishes had long been those of her
father and mother; with this the colonel was
obliged to be satisfied for the present. But
their walk had not ended, before he gradually
drew from the confiding girl, an acknowledgment
that should her parents decline his

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offer, she would be very little less miserable
than himself; indeed, the most tenacious
lover might have been content with the
proofs of regard that Jane, unused to control
her feelings, allowed herself to manifest on
this occasion. Egerton was in raptures; a
life devoted to her, would never half repay
her condescension; and as their confidence
increased with their walk, Jane re-entered
the lodge with a degree of happiness in her
heart, she had never before experienced; the
much dreaded declaration—her own distressing
acknowledgments, were made, and
nothing further remained but to live—to be
happy. She flew into the arms of her
mother, and hiding her blushes in her bosom,
acquainted her with the colonel's offer and
her own wishes. Lady Moseley, who was
prepared for such a communication, and had
rather wondered at its tardiness, kissed her
daughter affectionately, as she promised to
speak to her father for his approbation.

“But,” she added, with a degree of formality
and caution, which had better preceded
than have followed the courtship, “we
must make the usual inquiries, my child, into
the fitness of Colonel Egerton, as a husband
for our daughter; and once assured of that,
you have nothing to fear.”

The Baronet was requested to grant an
audience to Colonel Egerton, who now appeared
as determined to expedite things, as
he had been dilatory before. On meeting

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Sir Edward, he made known his pretensions
and hopes. The father, who had been previously
notified by his wife, of what was
forthcoming, gave a general answer, similar
to her speech to their daughter, and the colonel
bowed in acquiescence.

In the evening, the Jarvis family favoured
the inhabitants of the lodge with a visit, and
Mrs. Wilson was struck with the singularity
of their reception of the colonel—Miss Jarvis,
especially, was rude to both him and
Jane, and it struck all who witnessed it, as
a burst of jealous feeling for disappointed
hopes; but to no one, excepting Mrs. Wilson,
did it occur, that the conduct of the gentleman
could be at all implicated in the transaction.
Mr. Benfield was happy to see again
under his roof, the best of the trio of Jarvises
he had known, and something like sociability
prevailed in the party. There was to be a
ball, Miss Jarvis remarked, at L—, on the
following day, which would help to enliven
the scene a little, especially as there were a
couple of frigates lying at anchor, a few
miles off, and the officers were expected to
join the party; this intelligence had but little
effect on the ladies of the Moseley family,
yet as their uncle desired that, if invited,
they would go, out of respect to his neighbours,
they cheerfully assented. During the
evening, Mrs. Wilson observed Egerton in
familiar conversation with Miss Jarvis, and
as she had been been notified of his situation

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with respect to Jane, she determined to watch
narrowly into the causes of so singular a
change of deportment in the young lady.
Mrs. Jarvis retained her respect for the colonel
in full force, and called out to him
across the room a few minutes before she
departed—

“Well, colonel, I am happy to tell you
I have heard very lately from your uncle, Sir
Edgar.”

“Indeed, madam,” replied the colonel,
starting, “he was well, I hope.”

“Very well, the day before yesterday; his
neighbour, old Mr. Holt, is a lodger in the
same house with us at L—, and as I
thought you would like to hear, I made particular
inquiries about the baronet”—the
word baronet was pronounced with emphasis,
and a look of triumph, as if it would say,
you see we have baronets as well as you; as
no answer was made by Egerton, excepting
an acknowledging bow—the merchant and
his family departed.

“Well, John,” cried Emily, with a smile,
“we have heard more good, to day, of our
trusty and well-beloved cousin, the Earl of
Pendennyss.”

“Indeed,” exclaimed her brother; “you
must keep Emily for his lordship, positively,
aunt, she is almost as great an admirer of him
as yourself.”

“I apprehend it is necessary she should be

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quite as much so, to become his wife,” said
Mrs. Wilson.

“Really,” said Emily, more gravely, “if
all one hears of him be true, or half even,
it would be no difficult task to admire him.”

Denbigh was standing leaning on the
back of a chair, in a situation where he
could view the animated countenance of
Emily as she spoke, and Mrs. Wilson noticed
an uneasiness and changing of colour in him,
that appeared uncommon from so trifling an
excitement. Is it possible, she thought, Denbigh
can harbour so mean a passion as envy;
he walked away, as if unwilling to hear
more, and appeared much engrossed with his
own reflections for the remainder of the
evening; there were moments of doubting,
which crossed the mind of Mrs. Wilson,
with a keenness of apprehension proportionate
to her deep interest in Emily, with respect
to certain traits in the character of
Denbigh; and this, what she thought a
display of unworthy feeling, was one of
them. In the course of the evening, the
cards for the expected ball arrived and were
accepted; as this new arrangement for the
morrow interfered with their intended vist to
Mrs. Fitzgerald, a servant was sent with a
note of explanation in the morning, and a
request that on the following day the promised
communication would be made; to
this the recluse assented; and Emily
prepared for the ball with a recollection of

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melancholy pleasure, of the consequences
which grew out of the last one she attended;
melancholy at the fate of Digby, and pleasure
at the principles manifested by Denbigh
on the occasion. The latter, however, with
a smile, excused himself from the party,
telling Emily he was so awkward, that he
feared some unpleasant consequences to himself
or his friends would arise from his inadvertencies,
did he venture again with her
into such an assembly.

Emily sighed gently, as she entered the
carriage of her aunt early in the afternoon,
leaving Denbigh in the door of the lodge,
and Egerton absent on the execution of some
business; the former to amuse himself as
he would until the following morning, and
the latter to join them in the dance in the
evening.

The arrangement included an excursion
on the water, attended by the bands from the
frigates, a collation, and in the evening a
ball. One of the vessels was commanded
by a Lord Henry Stapleton, a fine young
man, who, struck with the beauty and appearance
of the sisters, sought an introduction
with the baronet's family, and engaged
the hand of Emily for the first dance. His
frank and gentlemanlike deportment was
pleasing to his new acquaintances; the more
so, as it was peculiarly suited to their situation
at the moment. Mrs. Wilson was in
unusual spirits, and maintained an animated

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conversation with the noble sailor, in the
course of which, he spoke of his cruising on
the coast of Spain, and by accident mentioned
his having carried out to that country,
upon one occasion, Lord Pendennyss; this
was common ground between them, and Lord
Henry was as enthusiastic in his praises of
the earl, as Mrs. Wilson's partiality could
hope for. He also knew Colonel Egerton
slightly, and expressed his pleasure, in polite
terms, when they met in the evening in the
ball-room, at being able to renew his acquaintance.
The evening passed off as such
evenings generally do—in gayety—listlessness—
dancing—gaping, and heart-burnings,
according to the dispositions and good or ill
fortune of the several individuals who compose
the assembly. Mrs. Wilson, while her
nieces were dancing, moved her seat to be
near a window, and found herself in the
vicinity of two elderly gentleman, who were
commenting on the company; after making
several common-place remarks, one of them
inquired of the other—“Who is that military
gentleman amongst the naval beaux,
Holt?”

“That is the hopeful nephew of my friend
and neighbour, Sir Edgar Egerton; he is
here dancing and mis-spending his time and
money, when I know Sir Edgar gave him a
thousand pounds six months ago, on express
condition, he should not leave the regiment
or take a card in his hand for a

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twelvemonth.” “He plays, then?” “Sadly; he is,
on the whole, a bad young man.” As they
changed their topic, Mrs. Wilson joined her
sister, dreadfully shocked at this intimation
of the vices of a man so near an alliance
with her brother's child; she was thankful
it was not too late to avert part of the evil,
and determined to acquaint Sir Edward, at
once, with what she had heard, in order that
an investigation might establish the colonel's
innocence or guilt.

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