capital idea, would enable him to
go forth freely and unshackled, with an ordinary air, in hat and
great-coat, as for an evening's walk; and was quite in keeping with the
natural reserve of his whole character--a bad habit of secresy, which he
probably inherited from his father, the lieutenant of old times. And
yet, for all the wisdom, and mystery, and shrewd settling of the plan,
its accomplishment was as nearly as possible most fatally defeated.

The important evening arrived; for the Indiaman--it was our old friend
Sir William Elphinston--would be off Plymouth, next morning: the goods
had been, for a day or two, safely deposited at the Europe, as per
invoice, all paid: the lovers, in this last, this happiest, yet by far
the saddest of their stolen interviews, had exchanged vows and kisses,
and upon the beach, beneath those friendly cliffs, had commended one
another to their Father in heaven. They had returned to the unsocial
circle of home; all was fixed; the clock struck nine: and Charles,
accidentally squeezing Emily's hand, rose to leave the tea-table.

"Where are you going, Mr. Charles?"

"I am going out, Julian."

"Thank you, sir! I knew that, but whither? General, I say, here's
Charles going to serenade somebody by moonlight."

The brandy-sodden parent, scarcely conscious, said something about his
infernal majesty; and, "What then?--let him go, can't you?"

"Well, Julian dear, perhaps your brother will not mind your going with
him; particularly as Emily stays at home with me."

This Mrs. Tracy spoke archly, intended as a hint to induce Julian to
remain: but he had other thoughts--and simply said, in an ill-tempered
tone of voice, "Done, Charles."

It was a dilemma for our escaping hero; but glancing a last look at
Emily, he departed, and walked on some way as quietly as might be with
Julian by his side: thinking, perhaps, he would soon be tired; and
suffering him to fancy, if he would, that Charles was bound either on
some amorous pilgrimage, or some charitable mission. But they left
Burleigh behind them--and got upon the common--and passed it by, far out
of sight and out of hearing--and were skirting the high banks of the
darkly-flowing Mullet--and still there was Julian sullenly beside him.
In vain Charles had tried, by many gentle words, to draw him into common
conversation: Julian would not speak, or only gave utterance to some
hinted phrase of insult: his brow was even darker than usual, and night