The Mummy! - Jane C. Loudon

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how to get off decently; and so Edric pretended to quarrel with you and me, to give the thing a face."

      "I cannot fancy Edric guilty of such meanness," cried Sir Ambrose passionately.

      "I don't think the matter admits of a single doubt. But what do you think on the subject, Father Morris?"

      "Men devoted to austere professions like myself," replied the priest, without raising his eyes from the ground, "know but little of what is passing in the world. Thus, though my body be no longer shrouded in the gloom of a cloister, my mind remains still too much abstracted from the busy scenes around me, for me to be a competent judge of the effect of human passions."

      "Och, then, ye are very right to say nothin' about them," cried Father Murphy; "for though I'm in a passion every day of my life, I nevher know what to say when I begin to talk of it. And so I jist think it's the wisest way to holdth my tongue."

      Neither Sir Ambrose nor the duke made any reply; and after settling that they should commence their journey on the following morning, they separated.

       Table of Contents

      The journey of the duke and Sir Ambrose to London had nothing in it to distinguish it from hundreds of other journeys, and they did not meet with a single adventure worthy of being recorded.

      It happened by one of those singular coincidences in real life, which would be called improbable in a novel, that Mr. Montagu's mansion adjoined that of the duke, Mrs. Montagu having, like most of the parvenu genus, a most violent penchant for the neighbourhood of the great; perhaps, in the hope that gentility might be infectious, and that she might catch a little by being near it. Both houses were in the Strand, which was, as we have before stated, in those days the most fashionable part of London, and both had beautiful gardens shelving down to the Thames.

      Mrs. Montagu received her brother-in-law with all that awkward overstrained civility, with which persons raised above their original grade in society, generally endeavour to show their respect to those whom they consider as their superiors; whilst Mr. Montagu welcomed him with warm affection, and presented his daughter Clara to her uncle with all the fondness of a parent.

      Clara Montagu well deserved his partiality, for she was a charming girl; and her light fairy form and animated features seemed to realize all that poets feign of Hebe. Sir Ambrose was delighted with her, and half his dislike of the mother banished, as he contemplated the budding charms of the daughter. It was well he had such an antidote, for poor Mrs. Montagu, in her over-anxiety to render herself agreeable, contrived to be most excessively annoying to him. Perhaps, indeed, there are few things more troublesome than this vulgar attempt at politeness, and the good temper of the baronet was almost exhausted ere he retired for the night.

      Abelard, who had accompanied his master to town, and who often officiated as groom of the chamber, assisted him to undress, and, as usual with servants in those days, took the liberty of giving his opinion freely of their hostess. Sir Ambrose felt no interest in his remarks, but he did not check them, as he hoped, after he had exhausted this theme, he might turn the conversation upon Edric. The baronet was indeed excessively anxious to hear some news of his son, though he was by far too proud to make any inquiries respecting him.

      "So you really think Mrs. Montagu disagreeable, Abelard," said Sir Ambrose.

      "She is a perfect nuisance, your honour, to all civilized society. Why, I have observed her all day, and I verily believe she has never left your honour for ten minutes, nor ever ceased for more than half an hour at a time, pressing your honour to eat."

      "True," said Sir Ambrose, laughing, "one would think she took me for a slave, and wanted to feed me up fat before she sent me to market to be sold."

      "Then she is so curious and inquisitive," resumed Abelard. "When she saw me bow to Master Edric just now, she was quite in a fever to know who he was; but I would not satisfy her."

      "Master Edric!" exclaimed the baronet. "What, then! have you seen my son?"

      "Yes, your honour, and it startled me so that it made me raise the adnatæ of my visual organs like one of the anas genus when the clouds are charged with electric fluid; and my heart leaped from its transverse position on my diaphragm, and seemed to stick like a great bone right across my œsophagus."

      "How did he look?" asked Sir Ambrose. "Not that I feel the slightest anxiety respecting him. No—no, his own conduct has quite precluded that."

      "He was in a balloon, and when he saw me, he wrote something on a piece of paper with a pencil, and threw it down, desiring me to give it to your honour."

      "Where is it?" cried Sir Ambrose, endeavouring to conceal his anxiety.

      Abelard searched his pockets, and opened a large pocket-book, which he carefully examined, but in vain. "I am afraid I have lost it, your honour. No; here—here it is. Yes—no. These are some verses of my own, in the acromonogrammatic style, only every line begins with the same word with which the last ended, instead of the same letter. Shall I read them to your honour?"

      Sir Ambrose groaned in the spirit, and the unmerciful Abelard, taking that for a token of assent, deliberately unfolded the paper, and read as follows:—

      "ON LOVE.

       "Of all the powers in Heaven above,

       Above all others, triumphs Love:

       Love rules the soul—the heart invades,

       Invades the cities and the shades.

       Shades form no shelter from its power,

       Power trembles in his courtly bower.

       Bower of beauty—art thou free?

       Free thou art not—nor canst thou be!

       Be every other class released,

       Released from love, thy woe's increased;

       Increased by all the weight of care,

       Care flowing from complete despair."

      "Humph!" said Sir Ambrose.

      "I hope your honour is pleased with this little effusion of my Muse?"

      "Oh yes, it is very fine, Abelard."

      "And your honour thinks it well turned, and well expressed."

      "Excellently! only I own I don't understand why despair comes in the last line."

      "Despair—despair: oh! to rhyme with care, your honour."

      "That reason is unanswerable," returned Sir Ambrose, smiling.—"And so you are quite sure you have lost Edric's note!—Not that it is of the least consequence, as nothing he could say, can possibly alter my opinion of his conduct; but, if you had had it—I thought I might as well have read it, to avoid the imputation of obstinacy."

      "It is irrevocably gone, your honour."

      "Well then, good night; and, if you should see Edric again, you may as well tell him the fate of his note;—for, shamefully as he has behaved, I would not give him reason to accuse me of obstinacy."

      This was the second time the baronet had made the same observation; and ill-natured people might have said;—but what do the remarks of ill-natured people signify to us? We hope all our readers will be good-natured ones, and as they will assuredly put the best possible construction upon Sir Ambrose's conduct, we will not be so malicious as to suggest an evil one.

      Edric was exceedingly agitated by his encounter with Abelard; and, feeling convinced his father was in town, he determined to delay his journey no longer, as his dread of meeting him was excessive. He therefore resolved to seek his tutor, and, if he found him still inclined to procrastinate, to set off without him. On reaching the doctor's chamber, however, he found half his anger converted into laughter at the ludicrous situation of the poor philosopher, who, surrounded as he was on every side by a crowd of tradesmen

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