Rodney made a sign to Crumpy (who had been shaking him by both hands, until the tears prevented him), just to please to keep all quiet touching his arrival; and to let him have a slice or two of the haunch of venison put to grill, if there was any left of it, and give it him all on a plate: together with a twelve-pound loaf of farmhouse bread, such as is not to be had outside of Great Britain. This was done in about five minutes (for even Mrs. Cook respected Crumpy); and being served up, with a quart of ale, in Crumpy’s own head privacy, it had such a good effect that the Captain was ready to face anybody.
Old Crumpy was a most crafty old fellow—which was one reason why I liked him, as a contrast to my frankness—and he managed it all, and kept such a lookout, that no one suspected him of any more than an honoured old chum in his stronghold. Captain Bluett also knew exactly what his bearings were, and from a loftier point of view than would ever occur to Crumpy. A man who had carried a fifty-gun ship right under the lower portholes of a one-hundred-twenty-gun enemy, and without any orders to that effect, and only from want of some easier business, he (I think) may be trusted to get on in almost anything.
This was the very thing—I do believe—occurring to the mind of somebody sitting, as nearly as might be now, upon a very beautiful sofa. The loveliest work that you can imagine lay between her fingers; and she was doing her very best to carry it on consistently. But on her lap lay a London paper, full of the highest authority; and there any young eyes might discover a regular pit-pat of tears.
“My dear, my dear,” said Lady Bluett, being not so very much better herself, although improved by spectacles; “it is a dreadful, dreadful thing to think of those poor Frenchmen killed, so many at a time, and all in their sins. I do hope they had time to think, ever so little, of their latter end. It makes me feel quite ill to think of such a dreadful carnage, and to know that my own son was foremost in it. Do you think, my dear, that your delicate throat would be any worse in the morning, if you were to read it once more to me? The people in the papers are so clever; and there was something I did not quite catch about poor Rodney’s recklessness. How like his dear father, to be sure! I see him in every word of it.”
“Auntie, the first time I read it was best. The second and third time, I cried worse and worse; and the fourth time, you know what you said of me. And I know that I deserved it, Auntie, for having such foolish weak eyes like that. You know what I told you about Captain Rodney, and begged you to let me come here no more. And you know what you said—that it was a child’s fancy; and if it were not, it should take its course. The Colonel was wiser. Oh, Auntie, Auntie! why don’t you always harken him!”
“For a very good reason, my dear child—he always proves wrong in the end; and I don’t. I have the very highest and purest respect for my dear brother’s judgment. Everyone knows what his mind is, and everyone values his judgment. And no stranger, of course, can enter into him, his views, and his largeness, and intellect; as I do, when I agree with him. There, you have made me quite warm, my dear; I am so compelled to vindicate him.”
“I am so sorry—I did not mean—you know what I am, Auntie.”
“My dear, I know what you are, and therefore it is that I love you so. Now go and wash your pretty eyes, and read that again to me, and to the Colonel. Many mothers would be proud perhaps. I feel no pride whatever, because my son could not help doing it.”
There was something else this excellent lady’s son could not help doing. He caught the beautiful maid of Sker in her pure white dress in a nook of the passage, and with tears of pride for him rolling from her dark grey eyes, and he could not help—but all lovers, I trow, know how much to expect of him.
“Thank you, Rodney,” Delushy cried; “to a certain extent, I am grateful. But, if you please, no more of it. And you need not suppose that I was crying about, about—about anything.”
“Of course not, you darling. How long have I lived, not to know that girls cry about nothing? nine times out of ten at least. Pearly tears, now prove your substance.”
“Rodney, will you let me alone? I am not a French decker of five hundred guns, for you to do just what you like with. And I don’t believe anyone knows you are here. Yes, yes, yes! Ever so many darlings, if you like—and ‘with my whole heart I do love you,’ as darling Moxy says. But one thing, this moment, I insist upon—no, not in your ear, nor yet through your hair, you conceited curly creature; but at the distance of a yard I pronounce that you shall come to your mother.”
“Oh, what a shame!” And with that unfilial view of the subject, he rendered himself, after all those mortal perils, into the arms of his mother. With her usual quickness Delushy fled, but came back to the drawing-room very sedately, and with a rose-coloured change of dress, in about half an hour afterwards.
“How do you do, Captain Rodney Bluett?”
“Madam, I
