“Arise, tell him that came from the roaring
Of waters, that Innisfail gives his feast.”
The next day Fitz-Ullin called at Lord L?’s hotel. His lordship was out; Lady Oswald and Julia were in the drawing-room. Our hero’s visit was short and formal; on his return on board, he found a note from Lord L?, containing an invitation to dinner, for that day. He hesitated, but finally he decided on going. His reception from Lord L? and Lady Oswald, was cordial; from Julia, embarrassed. After some general conversation, Lord L? drew our hero towards a window, and opened the conference by speaking of the rescue of his daughter. Fitz-Ullin, in his turn, expressed[305] warmly the grateful affection due by him to Lord L? and his family. This gave nature and heart to his manner.
Lord L? was more delighted with him than ever; and while he so felt, unconsciously looked towards Julia. He accounted, however, for so doing, by again recurring to the subject of her preservation from a fate of which he himself, he said, knew not half the horror till his last conversation with his daughter. And his lordship here mentioned, in strong terms, the repugnance evinced by Julia, to the addresses of her cousin. In fact, it was to take an opportunity of impressing this particular on his auditor, that Lord L? had drawn him aside. Then after renewing with becoming seriousness, his expressions of grateful obligation towards our hero, his lordship added, with an air of pleasantry, “Were I a monarch, Fitz-Ullin, I should say: ask what thou wilt, even unto the half of my kingdom, and I will give it thee!” Our hero,[306] instead of smiling, as might have been expected, turned deadly pale. This, however, was unperceived by Lord L?, who, returning towards the ladies arm in arm with Fitz-Ullin, stopped, perhaps unconscious of the association of ideas which had guided his steps before Julia, and, taking her hand kindly, said, “I don’t think, my child, you have half thanked your preserver!” She replied by looking up in the face, first of her father, and then of Fitz-Ullin, with the gentlest and sweetest expression possible. Yet, strange to say, the immediate effect on our hero was evidently painful. Dinner was announced at the moment, and Lord L?, making over the hand he still held to Fitz-Ullin, offered his own arm to Lady Oswald, and led her towards the dining-room. The arrangement was quite a matter of course, yet both Julia and our hero coloured.
When they had taken their places at the[307] table, Julia did not again venture to raise her eyes, while the long fringes of the downcast lids rested on cheeks from which a more than usual glow had not yet subsided. She happened to be seated beneath a peculiarly brilliant lamp, and, consequently, in the very midst of a shower of beams; so that the consciousness of want of shelter for the blushes already raised called up, each moment, new ones. The blaze of light streaming thus on her countenance, shining on each of all the light and glossy ringlets, which floated in rich profusion around her shoulders, (such was then the fashion,) and reflected by the dazzling whiteness of her neck and arms, rendered her altogether so bright a vision that any one who had sat in the dangerous vicinity might have found their eyes attracted in that direction. It was the voice of Lord L? proposing some interesting question respecting the choice of soups, which seemed to remind Fitz-Ullin[308] that his had been fixed on his fair neighbour longer than good breeding would have authorised. He had been picturing to himself, in contrast with the present, that hour of darkness and wild alarm, when that same profusion of beautiful hair that it now seemed dangerous but to look upon, had hung dishevelled over his own arm; that Julia, now so bashful, so reserved, had clung to his side as though he were all that was dear to her on earth!
Had such things been? And now was it, indeed, the same being who sat beside him, all brightness, all attraction, yet unapproachable?
During the evening, as there were no strangers present, the late extraordinary event formed the chief topic of conversation. Fitz-Ullin’s manner, while the subject was being discussed, puzzled Lord L? extremely.
Fitz-Ullin was now speaking, and seemingly[309] with effort; his eyes the while fixed on the arrangement his own fingers were making on the tea-table, of the crumbs to which they had reduced a small bit of cake, accepted probably as unconsciously as now its pulverized particles were formed into squares and circles. “He either,” continued Lord L? to himself, “is more interested than, for some reason or other, he chooses should be known, or less so than, in common gratitude to the family, and a natural feeling of regard towards the companion of his childhood, he ought to be!” What Lord L? would have thought of our hero cherishing a natural feeling of regard for the companion of his childhood had he continued the poor nameless Edmund, he did not ask himself. The next morning Lord L? and his daughter left Edinburgh.