"Indeed, Charles," quoth Kate, earnestly, "I do think it's too painful a subject for a joke."
"Why, Kate!—You must bear it as well"–
"Pho, pho—nonsense, Charles! To be serious—did you ever hear anything so shocking as"–
"Do you mean to tell me, Kate," commenced her brother, assuming suddenly such a serious air as for a moment imposed on his sister, "that to become mistress of dear old Yatton—which was offered to you, you know—you would not have consented, when it came to the point, to become—Mrs. Titmouse?" For an instant, Kate looked as if she would have made, in the eye of the statuary, an exquisite model of beautiful disdain—provoked by the bare idea even, and put forward, as she knew, in raillery only. "You know, Charles," said she at length, calmly, her features relaxing into a smile, "that if such a wretch had ten thousand Yattons, I would, rather than marry him—oh!"—she shuddered—"spring from Dover cliff into the sea!"
"Ah, Kate, Kate!" exclaimed her brother, with a look of infinite pride and fondness. "Even supposing for a moment that you had no prev"–
"Come, Charles, no more nonsense," said Kate, patting his cheek, and slightly coloring.
"I say, that even if"–
"Only fancy," interrupted Kate, "Lady Cecilia—Titmouse! I see her before me now. Well, I protest it is positively insufferable; I could not have thought that there was a woman in the whole world—why"—she paused, and added laughingly, "how I should like to see their correspondence!"
"What!" said Mrs. Aubrey, with a sly smile, first at her husband, and then at Kate, "as a model for a certain other correspondence that I can imagine—eh, Kate!"
"Nonsense, nonsense, Agnes!—what a provoking humor you are both in this evening," interrupted Kate, with a slight pettishness; "what we've heard makes me melancholy enough, I assure you!"
"I suppose that about the same time that Lady Cecilia Titmouse goes to court," said her brother, "so will the Honorable Mrs. Dela"–
"If you choose to tease me, Charles, of course I cannot help it," quoth Kate, coloring still more; but it required no very great acuteness to detect that the topic was not excessively offensive.
"Mrs. De"–
"Have done, Charles!" said she, rising; and, putting her arm round his neck, she pressed her fair hand on his mouth; but he pushed it aside laughingly.
"Mrs. De—Dela—Delamere," he continued.
"I will finish it for you, Charles," said Mrs. Aubrey, "the Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Delamere"–
"What! do you turn against me too?" inquired Kate, laughing very good-humoredly.
"I wonder what her stately Ladyship's feelings were," said Aubrey, after a pause, "the first time that her elegant and accomplished lover saluted her!!"
"Eugh!" exclaimed both Kate and Mrs. Aubrey, in a breath, and with a simultaneous shudder of disgust.
"I dare say poor old Lord Dreddlington's notion is, that this will be a fine opportunity for bringing about his favorite scheme of reuniting the families—Heaven save the mark!" said Mr. Aubrey, just as the twopenny postman's knock at the door was heard; and within a few moments' time the servant brought up-stairs a letter addressed to Mr. Aubrey. The very first glance at its contents expelled the smile from his countenance, and the color from his cheek: he turned, in fact, so pale, that Mrs. Aubrey and Kate also changed color—and came and stood with beating hearts, and suddenly suspended breath, one on each side of him, looking over the letter while he was reading it. As I intend presently to lay a copy of it before the reader, I shall first state a few circumstances, which will make it appear that this same letter may be compared to a shell thrown into a peaceful little citadel, by a skilful, though distant and unseen engineer—in short, I mean Mr. Gammon.
CHAPTER XII
The astute and determined person mentioned at the close of our last chapter, had long been bent upon securing one object—namely, access to Mr. Aubrey's family circle, for reasons which have been already communicated to the reader. That Mr. Aubrey was, at all events, by no means anxious for such a favor, had been long before abundantly manifest to Gammon, and yet not in a way to give him any legitimate, or excusable, grounds of offence. The Aubreys had, he acknowledged, and especially in their present circumstances, an unquestionable right to receive or reject, as they thought fit, any overtures to acquaintance. Nothing, he felt, could be more unexceptionably courteous than Mr. Aubrey's demeanor; yet had it been such as to satisfy him, that unless he resorted to some means of unusual efficacy, he never could get upon visiting terms with the Aubreys. The impression which Miss Aubrey had originally produced in his mind, remained as distinct and vivid as ever. Her beauty, her grace, her elevated character, (of which he had heard much on all hands,) her accomplishments, her high birth—all were exquisitely appreciated by him, and conspired to constitute a prize, for the gaining of which he deemed no exertion too great, no sacrifice too serious, no enterprise too hazardous. He had, moreover, other most important objects in view, to which a union with Miss Aubrey was in fact essential. She was, again, the only person, the sight of whom had in any measure given vitality to his marble heart, exciting totally new thoughts and desires, such as stimulated him to a fierce and inflexible determination to succeed in his purposes. He was, in short, prepared to make almost any sacrifice, to wait any length of time, to do or suffer anything that man could do or suffer, whether derogatory to his personal honor or not—in order either to secure the affections of Miss Aubrey, or, at all events, her consent to a union with him. Having early discovered the spot where Mr. Aubrey had fixed his residence, Mr. Gammon had made a point of lying in wait on a Sunday morning, for the purpose of ascertaining the church to which they went; and having succeeded, he became a constant, an impassioned, though an unseen observer of Miss Aubrey, from whom he seldom removed his eyes during the service. But this was to him a highly unsatisfactory state of things: he seemed, in fact, not to have made, nor to be likely to make, the least progress towards the accomplishment of his wishes, though much time had already passed away. He was so deeply engrossed with the affairs of Titmouse—which required his presence very frequently at Yatton, and a great deal of his attention in town—as to prevent his taking any decisive steps for some time in the matter nearest his heart. At length, not having seen or heard anything of Mr. Aubrey for some weeks, during which he—Gammon—had been in town, he resolved on a new stroke of policy.
"Mr. Quirk," said he one day to his excellent senior partner, "I fancy you will say that I am come to flatter you; but, Heaven knows!—if there is a man on the earth with whom I lay aside disguise, that man is my friend Mr. Quirk. Really, it does seem, and mortifying enough it is to own it, as if events invariably showed that you are right—that I am wrong"—(Here Mr. Quirk's appearance might have suggested the idea of a great old tom-cat who is rubbed down the right way of the fur, and does everything he can to testify the delight it gives him, by pressing against the person who affords him such gratification,)—"especially in financial matters"–
"Ah, Gammon, Gammon! you're really past finding out!—Sometimes, now, I declare I fancy you the very keenest dog going in such matters, and at other times, eh?—not particularly brilliant. When you've seen as much of this world's villany, Gammon, as I have, you'll find it as necessary as I have found it, to lay aside one's—one's—I say—to lay aside all scrup–that is—I mean—one's fine feelings, and so forth; you understand, Gammon?"
"Perfectly, Mr. Quirk"–
"Well—and may I ask, Gammon, what is the particular occasion of that screwed-up forehead of yours? Something in the wind?"
"Only this, Mr. Quirk—I begin to suspect that I did very wrong in recommending you to give an indefinite time to that Mr. Aubrey for payment of the heavy balance he owes us—by Heavens!—see how coolly he treats us!"
"Indeed, Gammon, I think so!—Besides—'tis an uncommon heavy balance to owe so long, eh?—Fifteen hundred pounds, or thereabouts?—Gad, it's that, at least!"—Gammon shrugged his shoulders and bowed, as if resigned to any step which Mr. Quirk might think proper to take.
"He's a villanous proud fellow, that Aubrey, eh?—Your tip-top debtors generally are, though—when they've got a bit of a hardship to harp upon"–
"Certainly we ought, when we had him in our power"–
"Ah!—D'ye recollect, Gammon? the thumbscrew? eh? whose fault was it that it wasn't put on? eh? Tell me that, friend Gammon! Are you coming round to old Caleb Quirk's matter-of-fact way of doing business? Depend on't, the old boy has got a trick or two left in him yet, gray as his hair's grown."
"I bow, my dear sir—I own myself worsted—and all through that absurd weakness I have, which some choose to call"–
"Oh Lord, Gammon! Bubble, bubble and botheration—ah, ha!—Come, there's nobody here but you and me—and eh? old Bogy perhaps—so, why that little bit of blarney?"
"Oh! my dear Mr. Quirk, spare me that cutting irony of yours. Surely when I have made the sincere and humiliating submission to which you have been listening—but, to return to business. I assure you that I think we ought to lose not a moment in getting in our balance, or at least coming to some satisfactory and definite arrangement concerning it. Only pinch him, and he'll bleed freely, depend on it."
"Ah, ha! Pinch him, and he'll bleed! That's my thunder, Gammon, ah, ha, ha!—By Jove! that's it to a T!—I always thought the fellow had blood enough in him if we only squeezed him a little. So let Snap be off and have a writ out against Master Aubrey."
"Forgive me, my dear Mr. Quirk," interrupted Gammon, blandly—"we must go very cautiously to work, or we shall only injure ourselves, and prejudice our most important—and permanent interests. We must take care not to drive him desperate, poor devil, or he may take the benefit of the act, and"–
"What a cursed scamp he would be to"–
"Certainly; but we should suffer more than he"–
"Surely, Gammon, they'd remand him! Eighteen months at the very least."
"Not an hour—not a minute, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon, very earnestly.
"The deuce they wouldn't? Well, Law's come to a pretty point! And so lenient as we've been!"
"What occurs to me as the best method of procedure," said Gammon, after musing for a moment—"is, for you to write a letter to him immediately—civil but peremptory—just one of those letters of yours, my dear sir, in which no living man can excel you—suaviter in modo, fortiter in re, Mr. Quirk."
"Gammon, you're a gentleman, every inch of you—you are, upon my soul! If there is one thing in which I–but you're a hand at a letter of that sort, too! And you have managed these people hitherto; why not go on to the end of the chapter?"
"Mr. Quirk, I look upon this letter as rather an important one—it ought to come from the head of the firm, and to be decisively and skilfully expressed, so as at once to–eh? but you know exactly what ought to be done."
"Well—leave it to me,—leave it to me, Gammon: I think I do know how to draw up a teaser—egad! You can just cast your eye over it as soon as"–
"If I return in time from Clerkenwell, I will, Mr. Quirk," replied Gammon, who had, however, determined not to disable himself from saying with literal truth that he had not seen one line of the letter which might be sent! and, moreover, resolving to make his appearance at Mr. Aubrey's almost immediately after he should, in the course of the post, have received Mr. Quirk's communication:—with every appearance and expression of distress, agitation, and even disgust; indignantly assuring Mr. Aubrey that the letter had been sent without Mr. Gammon's knowledge—against his will—and was entirely repudiated by him; and that he would take care, at all hazards to himself, to frustrate any designs on the part of his coarse and hard-hearted senior partner to harass or oppress Mr. Aubrey. With this explanation of precedent circumstances, I proceed to lay before the reader an exact copy of the elegant letter of that old cat's-paw, Mr. Quirk, to Mr. Aubrey, the arrival of which had produced the sensation to which I have already alluded.
"Saffron Hill, 30th September 18—.
"Sir,—We trust you will excuse our reminding you of the very large balance (£1,446, 14s. 6d.) still remaining due upon our account—and which we understood, at the time when the very favorable arrangement to you, with respect to Mr. Titmouse, was made, was to have been long before this liquidated. Whatever allowances we might have felt disposed, on account of your peculiar situation, to have made, (and which we have made,) we cannot but feel a little surprised at your having allowed several months to elapse without making any allusion thereto. We are satisfied, however, that you require only to be reminded thereof, to have your immediate attention directed thereto, and to act in that way that will conduce to liquidate our very heavy balance against you. We are sorry to have to press you; but being much pressed ourselves with serious outlays, we are obliged to throw ourselves (however reluctantly) upon our resources; and it gives us pleasure to anticipate, that you must by this time have made those arrangements that will admit of your immediate attention to our over-due account, and that will render unnecessary our resorting to hostile and compulsory proceedings of that extremely painful description that we have always felt extremely reluctant to, particularly with those gentlemen that would feel it very disagreeable. We trust that in a week's time we shall hear from you to that effect, that will render unnecessary our proceeding to extremities against you, which would be extremely painful to us.—We remain, sir, yours, most obediently,
"Quirk, Gammon, & Snap.
"Charles Aubrey, Esq.
"P. S.—We should have no objection, if it would materially relieve you, to take your note of hand for the aforesaid balance (£1,446, 14s. 6d.) at two months, with interest, and good security. Or say, £800 down in two months, and a warrant of attorney for the remainder, at two months more."
As soon as they had finished reading the above letter, in the way I have described, Mrs. Aubrey threw her arms round her silent and oppressed husband's neck, and Kate, her bosom heaving with agitation, returned to her seat without uttering a word.
"My own poor Charles!" faltered Mrs. Aubrey, and wept.
"Never mind, Charles—let us hope that we shall get through even this," commenced Kate; when her emotion prevented her proceeding. Mr. Aubrey appeared to cast his eye again, but mechanically only, over the dry, civil, heart-breaking letter.
"Don't distress yourself, my Agnes," said he, tenderly, placing her beside him, with his arm round her—"it is only reasonable that these people should ask for what is their own; and if their manner is a little coarse"–
"Oh, I've no patience, Charles!—it's the letter of a vulgar, hard-hearted fellow," sobbed Mrs. Aubrey.
"Yes—they are wretches!—cruel harpies!" quoth Kate, passionately—"they know that you have almost beggared yourself to pay off by far the greater part of their abominable bill; and that you are slaving day and night to enable you to"–here her agitation was so excessive as to prevent her uttering another word.
"I must write and tell them," said Aubrey, calmly but with a countenance laden with gloom—"it is all I can do—that if they will have patience with me, I will pay them all."
"Oh, they'll put you in prison, Charles, directly"—said Kate, almost frantically; and rising, she threw herself into his arms, and kissed him with a sort of frenzied energy. "We're very miserable, Charles—are we not? It's hard to bear indeed," she continued, gazing with agonizing intensity on his troubled features. Mrs. Aubrey wept in silence.
"Are you giving way, my brave Kate, beneath this sudden and momentary gust on the midnight sea of our trouble?" inquired her brother, proudly but kindly gazing at her, and with his hand gently pushing from her pale cheeks her disordered hair.
"Human nature, Charles, must not be tried too far—look at Agnes, and the darling little loves"–
"I am not likely to consult their interests, Kate, by yielding to unmanly emotion—am I, sweet Agnes?" She made him no reply, but shook her head, sobbing bitterly.
"Pray what do you think, Charles, of your friend Mr. Gammon, now?" inquired Kate, suddenly and scornfully. "Oh, the smooth-tongued villain! I've always hated him!"
"I must say there's something about his eye that is anything but pleasing," said Mrs. Aubrey; "and so I thought when I saw him at York for a moment."
"He's a hypocrite, Charles—depend upon it, and in this letter he has thrown off the mask"—interrupted Kate.
"But is it his letter? How do we know that he has had anything to do with it?" inquired her brother, calmly—"It is much more probable that it is the production of old Mr. Quirk alone, for whom Mr. Gammon has, I know, a profound contempt. The handwriting is Mr. Quirk's; the style is assuredly not Mr. Gammon's; and the whole tone of the communication is such as satisfies me that neither was the composition of the letter, nor the idea of sending it, his; besides, he has really shown on every occasion a straightforward and disinterested"–
"Oh, Charles, it is very weak of you to be so hood-winked by such a fellow; I shudder to think of him! One of these days, Charles, you will be of my opinion, and recollect what I now say!"—While she thus spoke, and Mrs. Aubrey was, with a trembling hand, preparing tea, a double knock was heard at the street door.
"Heavens, Charles! who can that possibly be, and at this time of night?" exclaimed Kate, with alarmed energy.
"I really cannot conjecture"—replied Mr. Aubrey, with an agitation of manner which he found it impossible to conceal—"we've certainly but very few visitors—and it is so late." The servant in a few minutes terminated their suspense, and occasioned them nearly equal alarm and amazement, by laying down on the table a card bearing the name of Mr. Gammon.
"Mr. Gammon!" exclaimed all three, in a breath, looking apprehensively at each other—"Is he alone?" inquired Mr. Aubrey, with forced calmness.
"Yes, sir."
"Show him into the study, then," replied Mr. Aubrey, "and say I will be with him in a few moments' time."
"Dear Charles, don't, dearest, think of going down," said his wife and sister, with excessive alarm and agitation; "desire him to send up his message."
"No, I shall go and see him, and at once," replied Mr. Aubrey, taking one of the candles.
"For Heaven's sake, Charles, mind what you say to the man: he will watch every word you utter. And, dearest, don't stay long; consider what tortures we shall be in!" said poor Mrs. Aubrey, accompanying him to the door, and trembling from head to foot.
"Rely on my prudence, and also that I shall not stop long," he replied; and descending the stairs, he entered the study. In a chair near the little book-strewn table sat his dreaded visitor—suggesting to his disturbed vision the idea of a deadly snake coiled up before him. Instantly, on seeing Mr. Aubrey, Gammon rose, with distress and agitation visible in his countenance and deportment. Mr. Aubrey, with calmness and dignity, begged him to resume his seat; and when he had done so, sat down opposite to him, with a sternly inquisitive look, awaiting his visitor's errand. He was not kept long in suspense.
"Oh, Mr. Aubrey!" commenced Mr. Gammon, with a somewhat tremulous voice, "I perceive, from your manner, that my fears are justified, and that I am an intruder—a dishonorable and hypocritical one I must indeed appear; but, as I have done nothing to forfeit my right to be treated as should be one gentleman by another, I request you to hear me. This visit appears indeed unseasonable; but, late this afternoon, I made a discovery which has shocked me severely, nay, I may say, disgusted me beyond expression. Am I right, Mr. Aubrey, in supposing that this evening you have received a letter from Mr. Quirk, and about the balance due on our account?"
"I have, sir," replied Mr. Aubrey, coldly.
"I thought as much," muttered Gammon, with suppressed vehemence—"execrable, heartless, sordid old–And he knew," continued Gammon, addressing Mr. Aubrey in an indignant tone, "that my word was solemnly pledged to you."
"I have no intention of making any complaint, or uttering any reproaches, sir," said Mr. Aubrey, eying his agitated companion searchingly.
"But I have, Mr. Aubrey," said Gammon, haughtily. "My senior partner has broken faith with me. Sir, you have already paid more than will cover what is justly due to us; and I recommend you, after this, to have the bill taxed. You will thereby get rid of every farthing of the balance now demanded; and I give you this recommendation bonâ fide, and upon the honor of a gentleman." Notwithstanding the air of sincerity with which this was uttered, a cold thrill of apprehension and suspicion passed through Mr. Aubrey's heart, and he felt confident that some subtle and dangerous manœuvre was being practised upon him—that he was urged to take some hostile step for instance—which would be unsuccessful, and yet afford a pretext to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, to treat him as one guilty of a breach of faith, and warrant them in proceeding to extremities. He regarded Mr. Gammon's words as the hissing of a serpent, and shuddered.
"I have no intention, sir, to do anything of the kind," said Mr. Aubrey. "The original agreement between us was, that your bill should not be taxed. I adhere to it; and whatever course you may feel disposed to adopt, I shall take no steps whatever of the kind you mention. At the same time it is utterly impossible for me to pay"–
"Mr. Aubrey!" interrupted Gammon, imploringly.
"And what you do intend to do, for Heaven's sake, sir, do quickly, and keep me not in suspense."
"I perceive, Mr. Aubrey, that notwithstanding what I have said, I am distrusted," replied Gammon, with a somewhat proud and peremptory tone and manner.—"I excuse it; you are justly irritated, and have been insulted: so have I, too, sir; and I choose to repeat to you, upon my sacred word of honor as a gentleman, and in the sight of Heaven, that I entirely disown and scout this whole procedure; that I never knew anything about it till, accidentally, I discovered lying on Mr. Quirk's desk, after his departure this evening from the office, a rough draft of a letter which I presumed you had received; especially as, on a strict inquiry of the clerks, I found that a letter had been put into the post, addressed to you. Nay, more; Mr. Quirk, whose rapacity increases—I grieve to own—with his years, has been for many weeks harassing me about this detestable business, and urging me to consent, but in vain, to such an application as he has now meanly made behind my back, regardless of the injury it was calculated to do my feelings, and, indeed, the doubt it must throw over my sincerity and honor, which I prize infinitely beyond life itself. Only a fortnight ago, Mr. Aubrey, this old man solemnly pledged himself," continued Gammon, with suppressed fury, "never to mention the matter to either me or you, again, for at least a couple of years, unless something extraordinary should intervene!—If the letter which you have received be a transcript of the rough draft which I have read, it is a vulgar, unfeeling, brutal letter, and contains, moreover—for why should I keep faith with even my senior partner, who has so outrageously broken faith with me?—two or three wilfully false statements. I therefore feel it due to myself to disavow all participation in this miserable product of fraud and extortion—and if you still distrust me, I can only regret it, but shall not presume to find fault with you for it. I am half disposed, on account of this, and one or two other things which have happened, to close my connection with Mr. Quirk from this day—forever. He and I have nothing in common; and the species of business which he and Mr. Snap chiefly court and relish, is perfectly odious to me. But if I should continue in the firm, I will undertake to supply you with one pretty conclusive evidence of my sincerity and truth in what I have been saying to you—namely, that on the faith and honor of a gentleman, you may depend upon hearing no more of this matter from any member of our firm, except from me, and that at a very remote period. Let the event, Mr. Aubrey, speak for itself."—While Gammon was speaking with eloquent earnestness and fervor, he had felt Mr. Aubrey's eye fixed on him with an expression of stern incredulity—which, however, he at length perceived, with infinite inward relief and pleasure, to be giving way as he went on.
"Certainly, Mr. Gammon"—said Mr. Aubrey, in a very different tone and manner from that which he had till then adopted—"I will not disguise from you that the letter you have mentioned, has occasioned me—and my family—deep distress and dismay; for it is utterly out of my power to comply with its requisitions: and if it be intended to be really acted on, and followed up"—he paused, and with difficulty repressed his emotions, "all my little plans are forever frustrated—and I am at your mercy—to go to prison, if you choose, and there end my days."—He paused—his lip trembled, and his eyes were for a moment obscured with starting tears. So also was it with Mr. Gammon, who looked for some time aside. "But,"—resumed Mr. Aubrey,—"after the explicit and voluntary assurance which you have given me, I feel it impossible not to give you implicit credence. I can imagine no motive for what would be otherwise such elaborate and dreadful deception!"
"Motive, Mr. Aubrey! The only motive I am conscious of, is one supplied by profound sympathy for your misfortunes—admiration of your character—and my sole object is, your speedy extrication from your very serious embarrassments. I am in the habit, Mr. Aubrey," he continued in a lower tone, "of concealing and checking my feelings—but there are occasions"—he paused, and added with a somewhat faltering voice—"Mr. Aubrey, it pains me inexpressibly to observe that your anxieties—your severe exertions—I trust in God I may not rightly add, your privations—are telling on your appearance. You are certainly much thinner." It was impossible any longer to distrust the sincerity of Mr. Gammon—to withstand the arts of this consummate actor. Mr. Aubrey held out long, but at length surrendered entirely, and fully believed all that Gammon had said:—entertaining, moreover, commensurate feelings of gratitude, towards one who had done so much to protect him from rapacious avarice, and the ruin into which it would have precipitated him; and of respect, for one who had evinced such an anxious, scrupulous, and sensitive jealousy for his own honor and reputation, and resolute determination to vindicate it against suspicion. Subsequent conversation served to strengthen his favorable disposition towards Gammon, and the same effect was also produced when he adverted to his previous and unwarrantable distrust and disbelief of that gentleman. He looked fatigued and harassed; it was growing late; he had come, on his errand of courtesy and kindness, a great distance: why should not Mr. Aubrey ask him up-stairs, to join them at tea? To be sure, Mr. Aubrey had hitherto felt a disinclination—he scarce knew why—to have any more than mere business intercourse with Mr. Gammon, a member of such a firm as Quirk, Gammon, and Snap—and, moreover, Mr. Runnington had more than once let fall expressions indicative of vehement suspicion of Mr. Gammon; so had the Attorney-General; but what had Gammon's conduct been? Had it not practically given the lie to such insinuations and distrust, unless Mr. Aubrey was to own himself incapable of forming a judgment on a man's line of conduct which had been so closely watched as that of Gammon, by himself, Aubrey? Then Miss Aubrey had ever, and especially that very evening—expressed an intense dislike of Mr. Gammon—had avowed, also, her early and uniform disgust—'twould be extremely embarrassing to her suddenly to introduce into her presence such an individual as Gammon: again, he had promised to return quickly, in order to relieve their anxiety: why should he not have the inexpressible gratification of letting Mr. Gammon himself, in his own pointed and impressive manner, dispel all their fears? He would, probably, not stay long.
"Mr. Gammon," said he, having balanced for some moments these conflicting considerations in his mind, "there are only Mrs. Aubrey, and my sister, Miss Aubrey, up-stairs. I am sure they will be happy to see me return to them in time for tea, accompanied by the bearer of such agreeable tidings as yours. Mr. Quirk's letter, to be frank, reached me when in their presence, and we all read it together, and were distressed and confounded at its contents." After a faint show of reluctance to trespass on the ladies so suddenly, and at so late an hour, Mr. Gammon slipped off his great-coat, and with intense but suppressed feelings of exultation at the success of his scheme, followed Mr. Aubrey up-stairs. He was not a little flustered on entering the room and catching a first glimpse of the two lovely women—and one of them Miss Aubrey—sitting in it, their faces turned with eager interest and apprehension towards the door, as he made his appearance. He observed that both of them started, and turned excessively pale.
"Let me introduce to you," said Mr. Aubrey, quickly, and with a bright assuring smile, "a gentleman who has kindly called to relieve us all from great anxiety—Mr. Gammon: Mr. Gammon, Mrs. Aubrey—Miss Aubrey." Mr. Gammon bowed with an air of deep deference, but with easy self-possession; his soul thrilling within him at the sight of her whose image had never been from before his eyes since they had first seen her.