to induce me to marry Mr. . Things went on this way till I was nearly nineteen. It was bad enough for me, I confess, but not enough so in my opinion to justify a daughter in running away from her parent’s roof. About a month before I met you, my father sent for me. After a long interview, in which I steadfastly maintained my ground, my father dismissed me, saying, with an oath, ‘You shall see what it is to disobey me—you shall undergo worse than death.’ From that moment I was closely watched, not allowed to see any one, confined to my room and a stroll with an attendant for an hour a day in our back garden. In a short time I was visited by two medical men, who quickly informed my father that they were satisfied, and would do as he wished. The meaning of that my father next day told me, namely, that for 500l. each the medical gentlemen had signed a certificate stating I was mad; that he had met with a nice private establishment and an accommodating, easy-conscienced, though hard-dealing mistress, who was utterly devoid of feeling; that in a fortnight’s time, if I did not marry Mr. , I should be confined for life. ‘Yes, for life, and in a mad-house, miss!’ but I will not repeat his fearful language. My servant was faithful to me, whatever her other faults were. By my request she searched my father’s private papers, and found that things were exactly as he had stated. Long before this I had written to my mother’s sister, Lady Clanmer—then living in Paris—but in vain. My letters were all intercepted. What could I do, but run away? I knew full well that I should be telegraphed for, because when not in my room, of which my father kept the key, I was visited by him every quarter of an hour in the garden, just that he might see I had not escaped. Day after day I had marked the regularly running train in which we first met. By a heavy bribe I obtained a midshipman’s dress and a ticket marked Dover to London, from one of the porters at the station, who had been in our service. I suppose he got it from his brother, the driver, who had come from Dover. I also begged him to keep an empty first-class carriage for me; and instructed my maid, as soon as she saw the train actually in motion, to return with a scratched face, and say I had knocked her down and run off to the station. All went right till you jumped into the carriage after the train had started. That led to my strange question, ‘Pray, sir, are you a gentleman?’”
We were both silent for a time.
“Well, Miss Middy,” I said, “you have enlightened me as to your history down to our first meeting in a train, will you kindly condescend to give me a history of yourself since our parting in a cab?”
“Most willingly,” replied she, smiling through her tears. “You have been quite my preserver. After leaving you I drove near the residence of one of the medical gentlemen whose names you had given me, got rid of my cabman” (you little knew, thought I, what a narrow escape you had there), “and went to the doctor. On finding he was at home, I walked straight in, told him my whole history, and threw myself quite on his honour, begging him to conceal me effectually for two years, when I should be of age. After a time, chiefly owing to me, the idea of my going into voluntary confinement in a private lunatic asylum was hit upon and matured. There I should never be sought. There I went. The mistress, a kind lady, was of course in my secret. I did just what I liked. Able lawyers were engaged to watch proceedings for me in the outer world. In case of accident I wore a wig of dark hair. All went well till you by chance stumbled on me in the mad-house. Your kindness, your good nature, I did not doubt, but I did not then want to meet you. That same afternoon I telegraphed for Dr. ; that same night I was in his house, and commenced my new duties, to avoid suspicion, as governess to his children. In three months’ time my father died. My legal friends secured my rights for me. My uncle and aunt had come to England. I told them my story. They were horror-struck; but I thanked God I was a free agent. My next object was to find you. I did not wish to make ourselves too conspicuous, so I refrained from advertising; but in every other way tried, without success, to meet with you. Time after time have I followed in my carriage a cab which, after all, contained the wrong individual. Thank goodness, at last we met, though it was in a crowded court, and though, Mr. Stonhouse, you were a little too hard upon me. And now let me thank you,” said she, putting her hand confidingly into mine. “Oh, you cannot tell how much I do thank you for your former great kindness to me.”
I soon became very intimate at Sun Villa. On the events of the next year I must not dwell much. They are too painful. Day after day I rode with Miss Shirlock in the park, dined at Lady Clanmer’s house two or three times a week, escorted her and her niece constantly to the opera and theatre, for Sir John did not trouble himself much about such places, and was only too glad to place the ladies under my charge. I neglected my law business to such a degree, that even now I am slightly suffering from it. As for loving Miss Shirlock, of that I never dreamed. One day I said to her:
“Middy” (I had learned to call her so), “what have you done with the likeness I gave you in the train?”
“Oh, I do not know,” she replied. “I do not want it so much now that I am acquainted with you: my chief reason for keeping it was that I might recognise you again.”
Of course we often laughed and talked about our first meeting. Time after time we used to talk about my engagement.
“Middy, how is it you do not marry? I know that Captain Fitzgerald is dying for you—Mr. Carlyon is desperately in love—the Honourable Augustus Bonchurch would give anything to call you his own. Why don’t you make one or other of these gentlemen come forward, or, rather, why do you continue to refuse all your admirers one after the other?”
“Oh, I do not know, Mr. Stonhouse; I do not love them; they are only attracted by my pretty face or fortune.”
