“Huzzah—­for Emily and England:  huzzah for the land of freedom! no secrets now—­dear, dear old Jeanie Mackie has given me proofs positive:  all I have to wish is that she could move:  but she is very ill; so, as we touched here on the voyage up channel, I landed her and myself, thinking to kiss, within a day, my darling Emmy.  But I cannot get her out of bed this morning, and dare not leave her:  though an hour’s delay seems almost insupportable.  If I possibly can manage it, I will bring the dear old faithful creature, wrapped in blankets, by chaise to-morrow.  Tell my father all this:  and say to him—­he will understand, perhaps, though you may not, my blessed girl—­say to him, that ’he is mistaken, and all are mistaken—­you are not what they think you.’  A thousand kisses.  Expect, then, on bright to-morrow to see your happy, happy
          
                                               “CHARLES.”

“P.S.  Hip! hip! hip!—­huzzah!”

Dearest Emily had taken up the note with fears and trembling:  she laid it down, as they that reap in joy; and I never in my life saw any thing so beautiful as her eyes at that glad minute; the smile through the tear, the light through the gloom, the verdure of high summer springing through the Alpine snows, the mild and lustrous moon emerging from a baffled thunder-cloud.

And, although the general mournfully shook his head, distrustfully and despondingly; though he only uttered, “Poor children—­dear children—­would to Heaven that it could be so;”—­and he, for one, was evidently innoculated, as before, with all the old thoughts of gloom, sadness, and anxiety;—­still Emily hoped—­for Charles hoped—­and Jeanie Mackie was so certain.

CHAPTER XXVI.

JULIAN.

NEXT day, a fine summer afternoon, when our feeble convalescents had gone out together, they found the fresh air so invigorating, and themselves so much stronger, that they prolonged their walk half-way to Oxton.  The pasture-meadows, rich and rank, were alive with flocks and herds; the blue sea lazily beat time, as, ticking out the seconds, it melodiously broke upon the sleeping shore; the darkly-flowing Mullet swept sounding to the sea between its tortuous banks; and upon that old high foot-path skirting the stream, now shady with hazels, and now flowery with meadow-sweet, crept our chastened pair.

Just as they were nearing a short angle in the river, the spot where Charles had been preserved, they noticed for the first time a rough-looking fisherman, who, unseen, had tracked their steps some hundred yards; he had a tarpaulin over his shoulder, very unnecessarily, as it would seem, on so fine and warm a day; and a slouching sou’-wester, worn askew, flapped across the strange man’s face.

He came on quickly, though cautiously, looking right and left; and Emily trembled on her guardian’s feeble arm.  Yes—­she is right; the fisherman approaches—­she detects him through it all:  and now he scorns disguise; flinging off his cap and the tarpaulin, stands before them—­Julian!