The Two Admirals (66 page)

"Father, I have come as you desired," said the poor girl, in those
tremulous tones which Wycherly too well understood, not to imagine the
condition of Dutton. "Admiral Bluewater dozes, and mother has permitted
me to steal away."

"Ay, Admiral Bluewater is a great man, though but little better than a
dead one!" answered Dutton, as harshly in manner as the language was
coarse. "You and your mother are all attention to
him
; did
I
lie in
his place, which of you would be found hanging over my bed, with pale
cheeks and tearful eyes?"

"
Both
of us, father!
Do
not—
do
not think so ill of your wife and
daughter, as to suppose it possible that either of them could forget her
duty."

"Yes,
duty
might do something, perhaps; what has duty to do with this
useless rear-admiral? I
hate
the scoundrel—he was one of the court
that cashiered me; and one, too, that I am told, was the most obstinate
in refusing to help me into this pitiful berth of a master."

Mildred was silent. She could not vindicate her friend without
criminating her father. As for Wycherly, he would have given a year's
income to be at sea; yet he shrunk from wounding the poor daughter's
feelings by letting her know he overheard the dialogue. This indecision
made him the unwilling auditor of a conversation that he ought not to
have heard—an occurrence which, had there been time for reflection, he
would have taken means to prevent.

"Sit you down here, Mildred," resumed Dutton, sternly, "and listen to
what I have to say. It is time that there should no longer be any
trifling between us. You have the fortunes of your mother and myself in
your hands; and, as one of the parties so deeply concerned, I am
determined
mine
shall be settled at once."

"I do not understand you, father," said Mildred, with a tremour in her
voice that almost induced the young man to show himself, though, we owe
it to truth to say, that a lively curiosity
now
mingled with his other
sensations. "How can I have the keeping of dear mother's fortunes and
yours?"

"
Dear
mother, truly!—
Dear
enough has she proved to me; but I intend
the daughter shall pay for it. Hark you, Mildred; I'll have no more of
this trifling—but I ask you in a father's name, if any man has offered
you his hand? Speak plainly, and conceal nothing—I
will
be answered."

"I wish to conceal nothing, father, that ought to be told; but when a
young woman declines the honour that another does her in this way,
ought
she to reveal the secret, even to her father?"

"She
ought
; and, in your case, she
shall
. No more hesitation; name
one
of the offers you have had."

Mildred, after a brief pause, in a low, tremulous voice, pronounced the
name of "Mr. Rotherham."

"I suspected as much," growled Dutton; "there was a time when even
he
might have answered, but we can do better than that now. Still he may be
kept as a reserve; the thousand pounds Mr. Thomas says shall be paid,
and that and the living will make a comfortable port after a stormy
life. Well, who next, Mildred? Has Mr. Thomas Wychecombe ever come to
the point?"

"He has asked me to become his wife, within the last twenty-four hours;
if that is what you mean."

"No affectations, Milly; I can't bear them. You know well enough what I
mean. What was your answer?"

"I do not love him in the least, father, and, of course, I told him I
could not marry him."

"That don't follow
of course
, by any means, girl! The marrying is done
by the priest, and the love is a very different thing. I hope you
consider Mrs. Dutton as my wife?"

"What a question!" murmured Mildred.

"Well, and do you suppose she
loves
me;
can
love me, now I am a
disgraced, impoverished man?"

"Father!"

"Come—come—enough of this. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe may not be
legitimate—I rather think he is not, by the proofs Sir Reginald has
produced within the last day or two; and I understand his own mother is
dissatisfied with him, and
that
will knock his claim flat aback.
Notwithstanding, Mildred, Tom Wychecombe has a good six hundred a year
already, and Sir Reginald himself admits that he must take all the
personal property the late baronet could leave."

"You forget, father," said Mildred, conscious of the inefficacy of any
other appeal, "that Mr. Thomas has promised to pay the legacies that Sir
Wycherly
intended
to leave."

"Don't place any expectations on that, Mildred. I dare say he would
settle ten of the twenty thousand on you to-morrow, if you would consent
to have him. But, now, as to this new baronet, for it seems he is to
have both title and estate—has
he
ever offered?"

There was a long pause, during which Wycherly thought he heard the hard
but suppressed breathing of Mildred. To remain quiet any longer, he felt
was as impossible as, indeed, his conscience told him was dishonourable,
and he sprang along the path to ascend to the summer-house. At the first
sound of his footstep, a faint cry escaped Mildred; but when Wycherly
entered the pavilion, he found her face buried in her hands, and Dutton
tottering forward, equally in surprise and alarm. As the circumstances
would not admit of evasion, the young man threw aside all reserve, and
spoke plainly.

"I have been an unwilling listener to a
part
of your discourse with
Mildred, Mr. Dutton," he said, "and can answer your last question for
myself. I
have
offered my hand to your daughter, sir; an offer that I
now renew, and the acceptance of which would make me the happiest man in
England. If your influence could aid me—for she has refused my hand."

"Refused!" exclaimed Dutton, in a surprise that overcame the calculated
amenity of manner he had assumed the instant Wycherly appeared—"Refused
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe! but it was before your rights had been as well
established as they are now. Mildred, answer to this—how
could
you—nay, how
dare
you refuse such an offer as this?"

Human nature could not well endure more. Mildred suffered her hands to
fall helplessly into her lap, and exposed a face that was lovely as that
of an angel's, though pale nearly to the hue of death. Feeling extorted
the answer she made, though the words had hardly escaped her, ere she
repented having uttered them, and had again buried her face in her
hands—

"Father"—she said—"
could
I—
dare
I to encourage Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe to unite himself to a family like ours!"

Conscience smote Dutton with a force that nearly sobered him, and what
explanation might have followed it is hard to say; Wycherly, in an
under-tone, however, requested to be left alone with the daughter.
Dutton had sense enough to understand he was
de trop
, and shame enough
to wish to escape. In half a minute, he had hobbled up to the summit of
the cliff and disappeared.

"Mildred!—
Dearest
Mildred"—said Wycherly, tenderly, gently
endeavouring to draw her attention to himself, "we are alone now;
surely—surely—you will not refuse to
look
at
me
!"

"Is he gone?" asked Mildred, dropping her hands, and looking wildly
around. "Thank God! It is over, for this time, at least! Now, let us go
to the house; Admiral Bluewater may miss me."

"No, Mildred, not yet. You surely can spare me—me, who have suffered so
much of late on your account—nay, by your
means
—you can, in mercy,
spare me a few short minutes. Was
this
the reason—the
only
reason,
dearest girl, why you so pertinaciously refused my hand?"

"Was it not sufficient, Wycherly?" answered Mildred, afraid the
chartered air might hear her secret. "Remember
who
you are, and
what
I am! Could I suffer you to become the husband of one to whom such
cruel, cruel propositions had been made by her own father!"

"I shall not affect to conceal my horror of such principles, Mildred,
but your virtues shine all the brighter by having flourished in their
company. Answer me but one question frankly, and every other difficulty
can be gotten over. Do you love me well enough to be my wife, were you
an orphan?"

Mildred's countenance was full of anguish, but this question changed its
expression entirely. The moment was extraordinary as were the feelings
it engendered, and, almost unconsciously to herself, she raised the hand
that held her own to her lips, in a sort of reverence. In the next
instant she was encircled in the young man's arms, and pressed with
fervour to his heart.

"Let us go"—said Mildred, extricating herself from an embrace that was
too involuntarily bestowed, and too heartfelt to alarm her delicacy. "I
feel certain Admiral Bluewater will miss me!"

"No, Mildred, we cannot part thus. Give me, at least, the poor
consolation of knowing, that if
this
difficulty did not exist—that if
you were an orphan for instance—you would be mine."

"Oh! Wycherly, how gladly—how gladly!—But, say no more—nay—"

This time the embrace was longer, more fervent even than before, and
Wycherly was too much of a sailor to let the sweet girl escape from his
arms without imprinting on her lips a kiss. He had no sooner
relinquished his hold of the slight person of Mildred, ere it vanished.
With this characteristic leave-taking, we change the scene to the tent
of Sir Gervaise Oakes.

"You have seen Admiral Bluewater?" demanded the commander-in-chief, as
soon as the form of Magrath darkened the entrance, and speaking with the
sudden earnestness of a man determined to know the worst. "If so, tell
me at once what hopes there are for him."

"Of all the human passions, Sir Jairvis," answered Magrath, looking
aside, to avoid the keen glance of the other, "hope is generally
considered, by all rational men, as the most treacherous and delusive; I
may add, of all denominations or divisions of hope, that which decides
on life is the most unsairtain. We all hope to live, I'm thinking, to a
good old age, and yet how many of us live just long enough to be
disappointed!"

Sir Gervaise did not move until the surgeon ceased speaking; then he
began to pace the tent in mournful silence. He understood Magrath's
manner so well, that the last faint hope he had felt from seeking his
opinion was gone; he now knew that his friend must die. It required all
his fortitude to stand up against this blow; for, single, childless, and
accustomed to each other almost from infancy, these two veteran sailors
had got to regard themselves as merely isolated parts of the same being.
Magrath was affected more than he chose to express, and he blew his nose
several times in a way that an observer would have found suspicious.

"Will you confer on me the favour, Dr. Magrath," said Sir Gervaise, in a
gentle, subdued manner, "to ask Captain Greenly to come hither, as you
pass the flag-staff?"

"Most willingly, Sir Jairvis; and I know he'll be any thing but backward
in complying."

It was not long ere the captain of the Plantagenet made his appearance.
Like all around him, the recent victory appeared to bring no exultation.

"I suppose Magrath told
you
all," said the vice-admiral, squeezing the
other's hand.

"He gives no hopes, Sir Gervaise, I sincerely regret to say."

"I knew as much! I knew as much! And yet he is easy, Greenly!—nay, even
seems happy. I
did
feel a little hope that this absence from suffering
might be a favourable omen."

"I am glad to hear that much, sir; for I have been thinking that it is
my duty to speak to the rear-admiral on the subject of his brother's
marriage. From his own silence on the subject, it is possible—nay, from
all
circumstances, it is
probable
he never knew of it, and there may
be reasons why he ought to be informed of the affair. As you say he is
so easy, would there be an impropriety in mentioning it to him?"

Greenly could not possibly have made a suggestion that was a greater
favour to Sir Gervaise. The necessity of doing, his habits of decision,
and having an object in view, contributed to relieve his mind by
diverting his thoughts to some active duty; and he seized his hat,
beckoned Greenly to follow, and moved across the hill with a rapid pace,
taking the path to the cottage. It was necessary to pass the flag-staff.
As this was done, every countenance met the vice-admiral's glance, with
a look of sincere sympathy. The bows that were exchanged, had more in
them than the naked courtesies of such salutations; they were eloquent
of feeling on both sides.

Bluewater was awake, and retaining the hand of Mildred affectionately in
his own, when his friend entered. Relinquishing his hold, however, he
grasped the hand of the vice-admiral, and looked earnestly at him, as if
he pitied the sorrow that he knew the survivor must feel.

"My dear Bluewater," commenced Sir Gervaise, who acted under a nervous
excitement, as well as from constitutional decision, "here is Greenly
with something to tell you that we both think you ought to know, at a
moment like this."

The rear-admiral regarded his friend intently, as if inviting him to
proceed.

"Why, it's about your brother Jack. I fancy you cannot have known that
he was ever married, or I think I should have heard you speak of it."

"Married!" repeated Bluewater, with great interest, and speaking with
very little difficulty. "I think that must be an error. Inconsiderate
and warm-hearted he was, but there was only one woman he
could
, nay,
would
have married. She is long since dead, but not as
his
wife; for
that her uncle, a man of great wealth, but of unbending will, would
never have suffered.
He
survived her, though my poor brother did not."