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Another fortnight passed
before Lady Beaumont heard again from her husband; but the-contents of
the letter which then arrived, richly repaid her for all the anxiety she
had endured.
Sir Charles informed her, that on laying before the King the memorial
which he had drawn up, accompanied with the documents furnished by
William and Allen, and the will and confession of Colonel Monteith, His
Majesty was so indignant at the treachery employed against Hector and
Sir Alexander, and so much struck with the fidelity and astonishing
exertions of William, for the preservation of the orphans, that he
instantly directed his minister to recommend to Parliament a reversal of
the attainder against both the families of Monteith and M’Donald; and
there was no doubt but that, as soon as the forms of business could be
gone through, the rank and fortunes of both would be once more restored
to them. Colin had been privately informed of Arthur’s relationship, and
of the safety of those poor little orphans, whose fate, from the moment
he had understood the arts that had been employed to ruin them, through
the means of his unprincipled father, he had been so anxious to
ascertain. William, at his particular desire, had revealed to Arthur and
Allen the eventful history of their own birth, and the melancholy events
that had led to the destruction of their parents. The astonishment of
Allen was beyond description; and, for some time, he would scarcely
believe that the account could be real. But the testimony of his
brother, who assured him that he perfectly recollected his own father,
and, likewise, the last injunctions he gave him, to consider William as
his parent till he himself could again see him, at last convinced him of
the truth.
Colin seemed just to have lived long enough to be assured of his
cousin’s safety. He gradually sank, from the day that the information of
the King’s intention in favour of the orphans reached Richmond; and, two
days before Sir Charles wrote, he breathed his last in Arthur’s arms,
with every appearance of having repented sincerely of his errors. Almost
his last words were—“Oh! that I too had been brought up in a cottage,
and had received the invaluable instructions of a Chris-. tian father,
so far superior, at this awful hour, to all the fortune and honours on
which my misguided parent placed such value I Then I might have met
death with composure and resignation. Then I might have been spared the
agony of a broken spirit; looking fearfully forward to a world .which
endeth not, and in which there is no respect of persons.”
“Allen has promised me,” continued Sir Charles, “a solution of his
mystery, when I arrive at Glenlyn. I hope that that will now be soon;
and my dear Mary may rest assured, that the moment the business of our
orphans is finished, I shall not lose a moment in quitting London, on my
way to the home that now appears to me more precious than ever, and from
which, I promise you, no motives, of ambition shall ever have power to
tempt me.”
About a month from the receipt of this letter, Sir Charles Beaumont and
William drove up to the door of Glenlyn House, where they were met by
the whole of their friends, who had been sent for by Lady Beaumont, in
the morning, to enjoy the happy meeting.
“My boys!” exclaimed Jane, “Where are they? Have they really refused to
gratify me with once more pressing them to my arms, and hearing them
call me by the name of mother?”
“Think not so meanly, my dear Jane, of our precious sons. A business of
great consequence, they assure me, must prevent them from joining us for
a couple of hours; then you will find them all that the fondest and most
attached mother can wish. They left us at Edinburgh; but I have no doubt
they will arrive before the hour of dinner; ana, till then, we must try
to be as happy as we can with the children that are here, and who are as
dear to me as even Arthur and Allen, with all their new dignities.”
“Ah! there is the misfortune,” returned Jane, despondingly. “Allen may
still love us; for he is so mild and humble, that I fear little for him;
but Arthur, even in infancy, had always such a high and lofty way with
him, that I cannot think he ever again will look upon poor Jane
Mathieson as a parent.” “Mother! mother!” cried Jessie, “what has come
to you? A little while ago, you took it into your head, that I should
treat you ungratefully, for no reason that I could ever discover. Now
you have transferred the foolish notion to poor Arthur, whose whole
study, all his life, has been to make you and my father comfortable.
Never has a single packet come from India, without his enclosing for you
some mark of his dutiful affection, both in words and deeds; and why you
should suppose that he has learned to be wicked, ana to despise his
parents, I cannot possibly conceive. I’ll insure both his love and duty
to you; and, what is more, you will be heartily ashamed of ever having
sus-spected either, before he has been half an hour in the house.”
"God grant, my dear Jessie, that you may be a true prophet! but even yet
I have my doubts.” William smiled. “Well, well, Jane, be as unbelieving
as you please. Time will show you who is right. For my part, though I
have as much reason to fear as you have, I am not going to put such
fancies into their heads; and, what is more, as long as I am alive, I
shall think myself as well entitled to find fault with the laird, if I
see him going wrong, as I ever did with the bare-footed boy in the
cottage at Carlin’s Loup.”
"And a reproof of yours, William,” said Sir Charles, 44 will be as well
received by the laird, or I am much mistaken, as ever it was by the
bare-footed boy. Arthur is not a pin altered in character, since the
first moment I saw him on the branch of that fearful tree that hangs
over the water-fall. Even then, of his own accord, he gave me a promise
never to go on so dangerous a tree again, the moment he saw me alarmed
for his safety. And can you, Jane, suppose, that the boy who was so
fearful of giving pain to a stranger, would now, as a man, wilfully
agonize the bosom of one who has acted as you haye towards him, from
infancy?”
Another carriage was, at that moment, heard driving towards the house.
“Here they are!” cried Jessie and Lady Beaumont, botn at once. “They
must answer for themselves.” Both ran towards the house-door, where they
saw the strangers, supporting between them a reverend old gentleman, who
appeared so agitated as scarcely to be able to ascend the steps with
their assistance, and who, our readers will be already prepared to hear,
was no other than old Robert I Lady Beaumont, who was a little way
behind Jessie, uttered a violent scream, and sprung past her, just in
time to receive in her arms her father, who, in his haste to reach her,
would have fallen, had she not caught him. Her voice had been heard by
her husband, who hurried forward to see what was was the matter. The
sight that met his eye rendered him speechless from surprise. At length
he exclaimed, “Can it be possible that I see my uncle, Sir Alexander
M’Donald, alive, and in my house!”
“Yes, Charles, you do, indeed, see your uncle, who feels ashamed to come
into your presence, after having ever believed that you were capable of
being a villain. To these dear young men, I, in a great measure, owe my
preservation through so many years of solitude. They supplied my wants,
afforded me employment in their boyhood; gave me society and
conversation as they advanced in years; and, at last they have been,
through the blessing of Providence, the instruments of restoring me to
my honour and fortune; as well as to the prospect of ending my days in
the bosom of my family.”
The history of Arthur*s first discovery of Sir Alexander, everything
that followed with regard to his education, and likewise the great
improvement that Allen had reaped from his subsequent intercourse with
his old friend, were all now related. This recital exceedingly increased
the high opinion which Sir Charles already entertained of both his young
friends; and at the same time greatly astonished William, when he found
that they had, for so many years, been able to preserve the secret
entrusted to them inviolate.
Jane’s fears were hushed to sleep for ever. She found Arthur was, if
possible, more affectionate and studious of fulfilling her wishes, than
even when he was the little barelegged boy in the cottage at Carlin’s
Loup. Jessie, dear Jessie, was likewise the same attentive and attached
daughter she had ever been: and she even shed tears, when informed that
she had no natural claims upon her as a mother. Sir Charles and Lady
Beaumont were now the happiest of human beings— surrounded by a family
who, even by blood, were their nearest connexions; who, through their
means, had been enabled to recover their rank and property; and who by
their benevolence and kindness, had been rendered fit to associate with
their equals. “Ah! how little” exclaimed Sir Charles, as they sat round
the table after dinner, “did we imagine, when we first talked of placing
William at Lochmore, that we were then enabling him to rear the children
of Monteith, and our cousin Mary; and that, by their means, we were
raising up the preservers and comforters of our beloved father I Without
such support, he never could have survived this many years of misery;
and without our having made William comparatively easy in his
circumstances, a thousand chances to one if even Arthur, with all his
industry and perseverance, could have attained the first object of his
ambition, a commission in the Bang’s service.”
“True,” answered Lady Beaumont, “but you must not forget that our
interest in Wil-am was excited by the artless and upright conduct of his
children, in our interview with them at Habbie’s How. The pains and care
which he bestowed upon them, even whilst he was reduced to labour in the
meanest employment, afford a striking lesson to the peasantry of every
country, how much they may have it in their power to contribute, both to
the happiness and prosperity of their families, by making the Scriptures
the constant rule of their actions, and bringing up their children in
the fear of the Lord.” |
