CHAPTER XVI. "The fuel that feeds a vengeance, oft consumes OLD PLAY. So good a despatch did the Doctor make, that, cool as a cucumber, with a wig whiter and better curled, if possible, than that which he had chased so many miles, he made his appearance a full halffour before dinner, among the numerous guests that the old Commodore had hastily collected, to commemorate this really happy occasion of the naval victory, and his new re-appointment. All was heartiness, good-will, and hilarity. The Doctor's entrance was greeted with shouts. But, all of a sudden, the Doctor was (to use, in us, so pardonable a sea phrase) taken aback by a vision that shocked him with horror and surprise. The ineffable presumption! There stood the hitherto silent shadow, the apothecary Calumbo, speaking, and not only speaking, but speaking energetically; not only speaking energetically, but enforcing this energy by perpendicularly pushing backwards and forwards the very gold-headed cane--the thrice-hallowed medical sceptre of the Doctor himself. He was acting the physician in petto. His back being partially turned to the Doctor, he saw not his entrance. The doctor spoke to no one; he advanced-the voluble apothecary nor saw nor heard him. He was in the midst of a dissertation on the solar plexus. Great was the eclipse that followed. The man with the diploma plucked the golden cane from the orator. He was instantaneously mute. The virtue of science and the beauty of eloquence had gone from him. He was again nothing more than a mere silent pestle, to grind up drugs at the bidding of one greater than he. Doctor Ginningham was once more himself. He could prescribe-heavens! how he could prescribe ! This little pantomime heightened the general mirth. It was in vain that the man learned in medicine commanded all and every one, on their allegiance as patients, to be silent. Every one was too happy to let even the doctor have all the talk to himself. However, amidst all this confusion of merriment, the Commodore did contrive to get one pertinent answer from Doctor Ginningham. 66 "Boatswain's mate ahoy," roared the Stentorian voice of the tar. 'Pipe all hands to silence;" then, whistling shrilly, he bawled out still more loudly, "Silence, fore and aft." And silence ensued, accordingly. "Well, where did you leave the chase, Doctor!" said Sir Octavius. "Up to the middle in a horse-pond." "And the wig?" "Hanging at the end of the disagreeable man's tail. Let it gohe rode hard for it. He may have it the wig was dirty. What whig is there that will not hang on by a tail?" : We need not dwell upon the prolonged festivities of that evening, nor chronicle the claret that was drunk in-doors, and the ale without. The illumination, considering the shortness of the notice, was most respectable: and, though the number of variegated lamps might have been exceeded, had due time for preparation been permitted, yet the defect was not perceived, as, when they were lighted, most of those who looked upon them, saw double, and to many were the powers of vision so beautifully multiplied, that they saw the lamps reach up to the skies, and mingle with the stars; and some of them, astonished at this miracle, fell down before it, and were found quietly sleeping in the sunshine on the following morning. The day after this fête, the old Commodore descended into the breakfast parlour, an altered, a very altered man. The old placidity was again seen upon his ample and manly brow, the pristine fire again lighted up his eye, and all his features, usually so relaxed with ennui, or twisted up by petulance, regained their natural stamp of energy. His gout, though not actually cured, was infinitely better, and his other ailments had disappeared, with that worst of all diseases, soul-corroding apathy. The alteration of the outward man was so visible, that Rebecca burst out, the moment he entered, with, "Bless me, papa, what have you been doing with yourself?" "Amending myself, in many things, my dear Becky, and I will strive to better myself in all. My dear Horace," speaking to Mr. Underdown, 66 we have been like fools in a trance. Look at this beautiful creature, the choicest pulse of my heart, now just starting into womanhood. Oh, Horace, my friend, tell me is she what she ought to he-what she might be?" "What is the matter now with me, father?" Mr. Underdown mournfully shook his head. "The fault is mine, my beloved daughter-the fault is mine. My dear Underdown, I am not equal to it-lecture her on the impropriety of her behaviour yesterday." "By no means we all shared in the offence. The rancorous provocation of Mr. Rubasore was but rightly served, though I am really sorry that our little beauty-Miss Bacuissart, I ought to have said-was made so actively the instrument. However, it was an hour of great exhilaration, and we have no character to lose in this establishment, as far as regards the proprieties. We must, however, gain one; and that right speedily. In the first place, Sir Bacussart, what is the nature of your orders?" "I am to repair, forthwith, to Plymouth, and immediately take the command of the ships named here in the margin: a gallant squadron," handing over the official letter to his friend. "Yes, I see it is, indeed. There is a very laughable postscript, in the hand-writing of the first lord. It is couched in very friendly terms, however." "Oh, let me see, let me see," said the eager young lady. "You will not understand it, if you do. It is however, to inform your father, that, whenever he may wait upon his majesty, or come to the king's court, it will be expected of him, that he come in full uniform, at all points." "I am sure father always looks best in his gold-laced coat, his three-cornered cocked-hat, and his large sword hanging by his side; that is to say, when he screws on his visiting hand, with the white glove. O he's a brave-looking man then, and his scars seem quite beautiful. The first lord needn't have taken the trouble to tell papa how to dress. That's very officious, I should think." "Well, Becky dear, if you'll be a good girl, and try to be a lady, I'll dress myself, and you too, as long as you live, as fine as you like." "O the good papa," said she, kissing him again and again. "Now I'm going to ask you such a favour: I do so wish to finish my education; I see so little society, and I am afraid I am rather bold. I do so want to break myself of that fault. Will you?' "There's a dear Becky-to be sure. blooming, my bright-eyed girl?" What can I deny my "I knew you would: it will improve me so. Take me to sea with you." Both gentlemen began earnestly whistling different tunes. Miss Matilda, who had, a little before, made her appearance, flung up her arms in dismay, and rang for her Hungary water. Eau de Cologne had not yet found its way to country places, in England. "Take you to sea with me!" at last said the father; "for what, my sweet child?” "In order to complete my education," said she, dropping him the demurest curtsey that she had been pleased to make a very, very long time. "Are you mad, Becky?" "O no, father. But I remember what you said about poor Augustus." All the Commodore's hilarity was gone in a moment. "Hush, hush," said the well-intentioned Underdown. But the young lady rattled on. "Because, papa, I want to take care of you, and hinder you from flogging the midshipmen. How could you have the heart?" 66 Come here, my dear child. I did not think that you could make me so miserable, on a day that ought to be so happy to me. It is all for the best; it is the smiting of a gentle hand. Hear me, Rebecca: I will never flog a young gentleman again; nor a man either, provided that any other alternative is left me. I am now a wiser, and if I am not a better man for the dearly-bought wisdom, I shall deserve the hate of my own child; which, God, in his mercy, forefend. I love you most dearly, Rebecca, and you know it. I cannot take you to sea. Little would be my regard for you, had I the power, and did so." "You won't flog the midshipmen any more, father, will you?" "No, you little minx. I trust, Underdown, that I am an altered man." "Of course, I go with you?" said the friend, affectionately. "I hardly know. I had some thoughts of leaving you here, to watch our Becky. But, Mrs. Oliphant is what the world calls a prudent woman. We must really think of making a lady of this spoiled child." After much discussion of the nature of the above, it was finally arranged that Mr. Underdown should join the Commodore, in a few days, at Plymouth, after seeing Mrs. Oliphant fully established at Trestletree-hall. Towards evening, the Commodore took a most affectionate leave of his sobbing daughter, who promised all manner of reforms. It was lucky for Sir Octavius that he made his escape as he did, for, the very next day, Lady Astell, with her accustomed parade of woe, came to ask her son at his hands. As usual, every deference was paid to her. She was received by Mr. Underdown, and Rebecca also was, which seldom was the case, present. She stood, according to her custom, in the centre of the room, with her dead impassive look. From all approach towards the usual courtesies of life, she shrank with apparent horror. To the many well-intentioned inquiries of Mr. Underdown, she made no reply, but after due lapses of silence, she asked for her son's murderer. It was in vain that she was assured that he had departed.. She believed the assertion only to be an excuse, and that her brother feared to meet her. She had recourse to her usual conduct in these matters, that of patience. Now Rebecca's awe of her aunt had considerably decreased.. She had heard her conduct spoken of with pity, yet condemnation, and that, viewed in the best light, it was, she knew, held to be little better than insanity. Lady Astell's aspect was too forbidding to warrant any approach to familiarity on the part of the niece. Indeed, the latter was too high-spirited to attempt it. But, though she did not warm towards the gloomy intruder with affection, she grew warm with indignation, when she saw her mild and gentle friend Underdown treated, tacitly, as a liar. At length, vexed beyond endurance, she walked up abruptly to her aunt, and said, "Pray, Lady Astell, when are you going?" "When, miss, I have seen the-your father." "Don't you hear that he set off for Plymouth yesterday?" "So young-so beautiful-and so false!" "This to me, Lady Astell!-how dare you, madam? When did you know me guilty of falsehood? What you would say to my father, say to me. Make your speech, madam, and depart. I have particular occasion for the use of this apartment." "O Rebecca, do not thus deport yourself towards your aunt," said Mr. Underdown; "consider all her sufferings, and her previous kindness to yourself. Respect and pity her." "I do pity her. Why should she think us liars?" 66 "I wait for the Commodore," was the only observation that Lady Astell condescended to make. "I assure you solemnly, that your brother is now more than a hundred miles from hence," said Mr. Underdown. "This is what you term, perhaps, a pious deceit." 66 I take my God to witness it is true," said her old lover, with all the solemnity of an oath. 66 66 Then I must pursue him." Stop!" screamed out Miss Rebecca. "Let me tell you, madam, it is useless. He has escaped from your barbarity. He is again where he ought to be. He, at least, is now in his right station, in the command of a gallant ship." "What! can this be true?-to perpetrate other murders." "Lady Astell, I do not like to hear my father stigmatized as a murderer-I tell you this quietly. However, I must not much mind this, as your words should have been uttered in a madhouse." "For shame, for shame, Rebecca!" said Mr. Underdown, rising angrily from his chair. Now, for the first time, even for years, did Lady Astell betray emotion. The blood came rapidly to her marble cheek, and as rapidly vanished. Her brow next became suffused with a deep flush, whilst the lower part of her face remained of a deadly white. She was making great efforts not to tremble. Her distress was pitiable. She attempted twice to speak, but failed. At length, her words were audible, but they were no longer the cold and passionless tones with which she was wont to make her stern demand. They were singularly tremulous and tender, and spoken amidst the gushing of her tears. "Horace," said she, addressing Mr. Underdown, "do the world believe me mad?" He made no reply, but buried his face in his hands. 66 'Yes, it is madness in this world of corrupted hearts to have the feelings of a mother. O Augustus! how soon have all forgotten you!" "We hav'n't," screamed out Miss Rebecca, ready to fling her |