37. CHAP. XXXVII.
AS IT SHOULD BE.
The party assembled in the dining parlour were
Lord and Lady Chatterton, the Savages, Mr. Clayton,
George Littleton and his father.
It was a tender, difficult task to inform these affectionate
relations that Rebecca was found, yet it was a task her
Ladyship's generous heart burned to execute. Gently
and by degrees she made the interesting discovery; but
when George knew that his Rebecca was really in the
house, it was impossible to prevent his flying to the apartment
that contained her; Mr. Littleton followed. They
entered the chamber with cautious step. George softly
drew aside the curtain. She was in a profound sleep.
He stood gazing with a look of joy, mingled with tender
pity, on her altered countenance. Mr. Littleton
sunk on a chair by the bedside. “Oh! my poor suffering
girl,” said he, “how thou art changed!” His
head fell on the pillow beside her, and tears rushed down
his venerable countenance.
Rebecca moved, the nurse forced George from her
bed-side. She opened her eyes; the power of recollection
seemed for a while suspended. She looked wildly
round her.
“Where is my mother?” said she: “I will not be
taken from her. If she must die in prison, I will die
with her.” She raised herself in bed, and saw her
uncle.
“Rebecca!” said he, in an accent of tenderness,
“have you forgot me, my dear Rebecca.”
“Oh! no, my beloved uncle,” said she, her head
dropping on his shoulder. “Oh! no. How long have
you been in England?” Then pausing a moment:
“But what have they done with my mother?”
“She is safe, my love; endeavour to recollect yourself:
do you not know she came with you to this house?
She is in bed in the next room.”
Rebecca put her hand to her forehead: “I am striving
to think,” said she; “but I cannot remember
where I am, how I came here.”—By degrees the power
of recollection returned, and every circumstance recurred
to her memory:—“I am in the house of Lord
Chatterton,” said she. “I could have preferred any
other.”
“But suppose, my dear girl, Lord Chatterton should
not be the person you think him? Suppose he should
be a man whom you have never seen?”
Rebecca listened in silence, and her uncle, in the most
cautious manner, informed her of his having found a
son, and that son was the man she had imagined married
to Lady Eleanor Harcourt.
The relation was wonderful. Rebecca could scarcely
credit it, yet, if it was really true, if she was still beloved
by the man whose image was engraven on her
heart, and, indeed, released from the vow she had so
solemnly given her deceased benefactress, the rapidity
with which these reflections rushed through her brain,
the violent emotions of her heart, almost overpowered
her weak frame. She breathed with difficulty, her
eyes grew dim, the attendant perceived the change,
and, giving her a few drops in some water, recalled her
fleeting spirits.
“And where is this new cousin of mine?” said she,
with a faint smile, when she was a little recovered:
“methinks I should like to see him.”
George's heart palpitated violently. He drew near
the bed, dropped on one knee, and cried, “Oh! my
Rebecca, behold me here!”
A smile of ineffable pleasure beamed over the countenance
of Rebecca while she extended her hand toward
her lover. He took it, and pressed it to his lips. The
ensuing scene can be easily imagined by the feeling
heart, and to those devoid of sensibility, the description
would be insipid, we therefore pass it over in silence.
Peace being now restored to the bosom of Rebecca,
her health, her vivacity and bloom, rapidly returned,
her mother too, recovered a sufficient degree of health,
to enable her to participate in her daughter's happiness.
An early day was named for the union of George and
Rebecca, previous to which Lord Chatterton procured
the old lieutenant to be superannuated, and a handsome
pension was given him in return for his long and faithful
services; a lucrative post was also procured for
George, but he requested leave to transfer it to young
Savage.
“Pardon me, my Lord,” said he, “but that young
gentleman has no means of supporting his amiable mother
and sister. For my own part, though in the early
part of life accustomed to all the indulgencies of an affluent
fortune, I have been long convinced, that abundance
of riches cannot secure happiness. Possessed of
my Rebecca, whose humble spirit will enjoy most felicity
in the quiet, undisturbed walks of life, beholding
my father possessed of sufficient to make his setting sun
serene and unclouded, what can I desire more? We will
retire into Berkshire, to the estate you so generously settled
on my family, and if we can once a year boast of
the honour of a visit from you and your amiable Lady,
I shall be the happiest mortal breathing.” His Lordship
was pleased with George's frankness, and the place
was given to Savage, who was equally capable of discharging
the duties incumbent upon him with honour
and integrity.
Lady Chatterton had, with her Lord's approbation,
ordered a settlement to be made on Rebecca of two
thousand pounds, which sum his Lordship supplied and
placed in the funds for her own particular use.
The day after the union took place, Rebecca,
George, Mr. Littleton, and Mrs. Serl, took an affectionate
leave of their generous friends in St. Alban'sstreet,
and departed for Berkshire.—The beauty of
the situation, the neat cottage-like appearance of the
house, and beautiful simplicity of the furniture, afforded
Rebecca the most pleasurable sensations. She was
soon visited by the neighbouring gentry, among whom,
what was her surprise to see, Lady Winterton, whose
sable habilments told she was emancipated from that
worst of slavery, wedlock, with the man she could not
love.
She informed our heroine that her health was so impaired
by vexation, and the effects of the wound she
had received, that her life was thought in imminent
danger. Change of air was prescribed, and her Lord
had brought her down to a small estate of his in Berkshire;
that she had found benefit from the change, but
from the time of their leaving town, her Lord's health
had declined; he had been subject to an asthmatic complaint,
which increased upon him, and had terminated
his life about two months before Rebecca's arrival in the
country.
Lady Winterton was too delicate in her present circumstances
to mention the name of Savage. She had
been imprudent, but never guilty. Sickness had moderated
the extreme vivacity of her disposition, and taught
her to reflect. She could not avoid wishing to hear of
him, or learn the reason why, from the fatal evening
when they met at Chiswick, he had never attempted to
write to or see her. She was entirely ignorant of his
fate from that time, yet she kept those wishes carefully
concealed.
Rebecca applauded her conduct, and desired her husband
to mention, when next he wrote to Savage, that
Lady Winterton was their neighbour, and that she was
a widow. The effect this letter produced may be easily
imagined. Savage flew into Berkshire on the wings of
love, and the fair widow promised, in due time, to give
him her hand.
Lord and Lady Ossiter continued on the Continent,
where, immersed in vice and dissipation, his Lordship
fell a victim to intemperance, and her Ladyship became
notorious for her gallantry; forgetful of the sacred
name of mother, she gave the reins to folly, and publicly
defied the laws of virtue and honour.
Though Rebecca, from the variegated scenes through
which she had passed, had purchased a thorough knowledge
of the world, yet had it not hardened her heart,
or rendered her callous to the calls of misery, her prudence
in her family concerns enabled her ever to have a
morsel for the hungry, and a garment to throw over the
destitute orphan. When the poor saw her they blessed
her—infant lips set forth her praises—and aged knees
bent for her before the Throne of Grace. She cheered
the declining years of her mother and uncle. They
called down blessings on her head.
Her husband adored her. Her servants loved and reverenced
her. Her bosom was the seat of unfeigned piety.
The smile of content dimpled on her cheek, and
her dwelling was the mansion of peace.
FINIS.
