“No, no.”
“There is not a ‘No’ possible in
this case, my child. Your reputation and your
future must be saved. Leave me to explain all
to your uncle. He is your guardian. I must
send for him; nay, nay, there is no option. Hate
me now for enforcing your will: you will thank
me hereafter. And listen, young lady; if it does
pain you to see your uncle, and encounter his reproaches,
every fault must undergo its punishment. A brave
nature undergoes it cheerfully, as a part of atonement.
You are brave. Submit, and in submitting rejoice!”
There was something in Kenelm’s voice and manner
at once so kindly and so commanding that the wayward
nature he addressed fairly succumbed. She gave
him her uncle’s address, “John Bovill,
Esq., Oakdale, near Westmere.” And after
giving it, she fixed her eyes mournfully upon her
young adviser, and said with a simple, dreary pathos,
“Now, will you esteem me more, or rather despise
me less?”
She looked so young, nay, so childlike, as she thus
spoke, that Kenelm felt a parental inclination to
draw her on his lap and kiss away her tears.
But he prudently conquered that impulse, and said,
with a melancholy half-smile,—
“If human beings despise each other for being
young and foolish, the sooner we are exterminated
by that superior race which is to succeed us on earth
the better it will be. Adieu, till your uncle
comes.”
“What! you leave me here—alone?”
“Nay, if your uncle found me under the same
roof, now that I know you are his niece, don’t
you think he would have a right to throw me out of
the window? Allow me to practise for myself the
prudence I preach to you. Send for the landlady
to show you your room, shut yourself in there, go
to bed, and don’t cry more than you can help.”
Kenelm shouldered the knapsack he had deposited in
a corner of the room, inquired for the telegraph-office,
despatched a telegram to Mr. Bovill, obtained a bedroom
at the Commercial Hotel, and fell asleep, muttering
these sensible words,—
“Rouchefoucauld was perfectly right when he
said, ’Very few people would fall in love if
they had not heard it so much talked about.’”
KENELM CHILLINGLY rose with the sun, according to
his usual custom, and took his way to the Temperance
Hotel. All in that sober building seemed still
in the arms of Morpheus. He turned towards the
stables in which he had left the gray cob, and had
the pleasure to see that ill-used animal in the healthful
process of rubbing down.
“That’s right,” said he to the hostler.
“I am glad to see you are so early a riser.”
“Why,” quoth the hostler, “the gentleman
as owns the pony knocked me up at two o’clock
in the morning, and pleased enough he was to see the
creature again lying down in the clean straw.”
“Oh, he has arrived at the hotel, I presume?—a
stout gentleman?”
