repeat from play-books and romances, till they give mere cant a real and powerful influence over their minds. Boys and girls prate themselves into love; and when their love is like to fall asleep, they prate and tease themselves into jealousy. But you and I, Frank, are rational beings, and neither silly nor idle enough to talk ourselves into any other relation than that of plain honest disinterested friendship. Any other union is as far out of our reach as if I were man, or you woman — To speak truth,” she added, after a moment’s hesitation, “even though I am so complaisant to the decorum of my sex as to blush a little at my own plain dealing, we cannot marry if we would; and we ought not if we could.”
And certainly, Tresham, she did blush most angelically, as she made this cruel declaration. I was about to attack both her positions, entirely forgetting those very suspicions which had been confirmed in the course of the evening, but she proceeded with a cold firmness which approached to severity —“What I say is sober and indisputable truth, on which I will neither hear question nor explanation. We are therefore friends, Mr. Osbaldistone — are we not?” She held out her hand, and taking mine, added —“And nothing to each other now, or henceforward, except as friends.”
She let go my hand. I sunk it and my head at once, fairly overcrowed, as Spenser would have termed it, by the mingled kindness and firmness of her manner. She hastened to change the subject.
“Here is a letter,” she said, “directed for you, Mr. Osbaldistone, very duly and distinctly; but which, notwithstanding the caution of the person who wrote and addressed it, might perhaps never have reached your hands, had it not fallen into the possession of a certain Pacolet, or enchanted dwarf of mine, whom, like all distressed damsels of romance, I retain in my secret service.”
I opened the letter and glanced over the contents. The unfolded sheet of paper dropped from my hands, with the involuntary exclamation of “Gracious Heaven! my folly and disobedience have ruined my father!”
Miss Vernon rose with looks of real and affectionate alarm —“You grow pale — you are ill — shall I bring you a glass of water? Be a man, Mr. Osbaldistone, and a firm one. Is your father — is he no more?”
“He lives,” said I, “thank God! but to what distress and difficulty”—
“If that be all, despair not, May I read this letter?” she said, taking it up.
I assented, hardly knowing what I said. She read it with great attention.
“Who is this Mr. Tresham, who signs the letter?”
“My father’s partner”—(your own good father, Will)—“but he is little in the habit of acting personally in the business of the house.”
“He writes here,” said Miss Vernon, “of various letters sent to you previously.”
“I have received none of them,” I replied.
“And it appears,” she continued, “that Rashleigh, who has taken the full management of affairs during your father’s absence in Holland, has some time since left London for Scotland, with effects and remittances to take up large bills granted by your father to persons in that country, and that he has not since been heard of.”
“It is but too true.”
“And here has been,” she added, looking at the letter, “a head-clerk, or some such person,— Owenson — Owen — despatched to Glasgow, to find out Rashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated to repair to the same place, and assist him in his researches.”
“It is even so, and I must depart instantly.”
“Stay but one moment,” said Miss Vernon. “It seems to me that the worst which can come of this matter, will be the loss of a certain sum of money;— and can that bring tears into your eyes? For shame, Mr. Osbaldistone!”
“You do me injustice, Miss Vernon,” I answered. “I grieve not for the loss of the money, but for the effect which I know it will produce on the spirits and health of my father, to whom mercantile credit is as honour; and who, if declared insolvent, would sink into the grave, oppressed by a sense of grief, remorse, and despair, like that of a soldier convicted of cowardice or a man of honour who had lost his rank and character in society. All this I might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of the foolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the labours of his honourable and useful profession. Good Heaven! how shall I redeem the consequences of my error?”
“By instantly repairing to Glasgow, as you are conjured to do by the friend who writes this letter.”
“But if Rashleigh,” said I, “has really formed this base and unconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect is there that I can find means of frustrating a plan so deeply laid?’
“The prospect,” she replied, “indeed, may be uncertain; but, on the other hand, there is no possibility of your doing any service to your father by remaining here. Remember, had you been on the post destined for you, this disaster could not have happened: hasten to that which is now pointed out, and it may possibly be retrieved.— Yet stay — do not leave this room until I return.”
She left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however, I could find a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure, and presence of mind which Miss Vernon seemed to possess on every crisis, however sudden.
In a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, folded and sealed like a letter, but without address. “I trust you,” she said, “with this proof of my friendship, because I have the most perfect confidence in your honour. If I understand the nature of your distress rightly, the funds in Rashleigh’s possession must be recovered by a certain day — the 12th of September, I think is named — in order that they may be applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently, that if adequate funds be provided before that period, your father’s credit is safe from the apprehended calamity.”
“Certainly — I so understand Mr. Tresham”— I looked at your father’s letter again, and added, “There cannot be a doubt of it.”
“Well,” said Diana, “in that case my little Pacolet may be of use to you. You have heard of a spell contained in a letter. Take this packet; do not open it until other and ordinary means have failed. If you succeed by your own exertions, I trust to your honour for destroying it without opening or suffering it to be opened;— but if not, you may break the seal within ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which may possibly be of service to you. Adieu, Frank; we never meet more — but sometimes think of your friend Die Vernon.”
She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She sighed as she extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted — escaped to the door which led to her own apartment — and I saw her no more.
Volume Two
Chapter First
And hurry, hurry, off they rode,
As fast as fast might be;
Hurra, hurra, the dead can ride,
