her, he pretended to be the heir to the earldom, and, after a hasty courtship, they ran off, and were married.  When they compared notes, which they soon did, it was discovered that, on his side, he had nothing but the pay of a subaltern, and on hers, that she had not one shilling.  Your father stormed, and called his wife an impostor; she recriminated, and the second morning after the marriage was passed in tears on her side, and oaths, curses, and revilings on his.  The lady, however, appeared the more sensible party of the two.  Their marriage was not known, she had run away on a pretence to visit a relative, and it was actually supposed in the county town where she resided, that such was the case.  ‘Why should we quarrel in this way?’ observed she.  ’You, Edmund, wished to marry a fortune, and not me—­I may plead guilty to the same duplicity.  We have made a mistake; but it is not too late.  It is supposed that I am on a visit to—­, and that you are on furlough for a few days.  Did you confide your secret to any of your brother officers?’ ‘Not one,’ muttered your father.  ’Well, then, let us part as if nothing had happened, and nobody will be the wiser.  We are equally interested in keeping the secret.  Is it agreed?’—­Your father immediately consented.  He accompanied your mother to the house at ——­, where she was expected, and she framed a story for her delay, by having met such a very polite young man.  Your father returned to his regiment, and thus did they, like two privateers, who when they meet and engage, as soon as they find out their mistake, hoist their colours, and sheer off by mutual consent.”

“I can’t say much for my mother’s affection or delicacy,” observed I.

“The less you say the better, Japhet—­however, that is your father’s story.  And now to proceed.  It appears that, about two months afterwards, your father received a letter from your mother, acquainting him that their short intercourse had been productive of certain results, and requesting that he would take the necessary steps to provide for the child, and avoid exposure, or that she would be obliged to confess her marriage.  By what means they contrived to avoid exposure until the period of her confinement, I know not, but your father states that the child was born in a house in London, and by agreement, was instantly put into his hands; that he, with the consent of his wife, left you at the door of the Asylum, with the paper and the bank note, from which you received the name of Newland.  At the time, he had no idea of reclaiming you himself, but the mother had, for heartless as she appears to have been, yet a mother must feel for her child.  Your father’s regiment was then ordered out to the East Indies, and he was rapidly promoted for his gallantry and good conduct during the war in the Mysore territory.  Once only has he returned home on furlough, and then he did make inquiries after you; not, it appears, with a view of finding you out on his own account, but from a promise which he made your mother.”