by the widow "Letters from Laura's father," and which Ar-
thur gave to her. They were the letters which had passed
between the cousins in the early days before the marriage
of either of them. The ink was faded in which they were
written: the tears dried out that both perhaps had shed over
them: the grief healed now whose bitterness they chronicled:
the friends doubtless united whose parting on earth had
caused to both pangs so cruel. And Laura learned fully now
for the first time what the tie was which had bound her so
tenderly to Helen : how faithfully her more than mother had
cherished her father's memory, how truly she had loved him,
how meekly resigned him.

One legacy of his mother's Pen remembered , of which
Laura could have no cognizance. It was that wish of Helen's
to make some present to Fanny Bolton ; and Pen wrote to her,
puttmg his letter under an envelope to Mr. Bows, and request-
ing that gentleman to read it before he delivered it to Fanny.
"Dear Fanny," Pen said, "I have to acknowledge two letters
from you, one of which was delayed in my illness," (Pen
found the first letter in his mother's desk after her decease,
and the reading it gave him a strange pang), "and to thank
you, my kind nurse and friend, who watched me so tenderly
during my fever. And I have to tell you that the last words of
my dear mother, who is no more, were words of good will and
gratitude to you for nursing me: and she said she would have
written to you , had she had time — that she would like to ask
your pardon if she had harshly treated you — and that she



183



would beg you to show your forgiveness by accepting some
token of friendship and regard from her." Pen concluded by
saying that his friend, George Warrington, Esq., of Lamb
Court, Temple, was trustee of a little sum of money, of which
the interest would be paid to her until she became of age, or
changed her name , which would always be affectionately re-
membered by her grateful friend, A. Pedennis. The sum
was in truth but small, although enough to make a little heiress
of Fanny Bolton, whose parents were appeased, and whose
father said Mr. P. had acted quite as the gentleman —
though Bows growled out that to plaster a wounded heart
with a banknote was an easy kind of sjTnpathy; and poor
Fanny felt only too clearly that Pen's letter was one of
farewell.

" Sending hundred-pound notes to porters' daughters is all
dev'lish well," oldMajorPendennis said to his nephew (whom,
as the proprietor of Fairoaks and the head of the family , he
now treated with marked deference and civility), and as there
was a little ready money at the bank, and your poor mother
wished it, there 's perhaps no harm done. But, my good
lad, I 'd have you to remember that you 've not above five
hundred a-year, though, thanks to me, the world gives you
credit for being a doosid deal better off; and, on my knees , I
beg you, my boy, don't break into your capital. Stick to it.
Sir; don't speculate with it. Sir; keep your land, and don't
borrow on it. Tatham tells me that the Chatteries branch of
the railway may — will almost certainly pass through Catteries,
and if it can be brought on this side of the Brawl, Sir, and
through your fields, they '11 be worth a dev'lish deal of money,
and your five hundred a-year will jump up to eight or nine.
Whatever it is, keep it, I implore you keep it. And I say. Pen,
I think you should give up living in those dirty chambers in the
Temple and get a decent lodging. And I should have a man,



184



Sir, to wait upon me ; and a horse or two in town in the season.
All this will pretty well swallow up your income , and I know
you must live close. But remember you have a certain place
in society, and you can't afford to cut a poor figure in the
world. What are you going to do in the winter? You don't
intend to stay down here , or, I suppose, to go on writing for
that — what-d'ye-call'em — that newspaper? "

"Warrington and I are going abroad again, Sir, for a little,
and then we shall see what is to be done ," Arthur replied.

"Andyou 'lllefcFairoaks, of course? Good school in the
neighbourhood; cheap country: dev'lish nice place for East
India Colonels, or families wanting to retire. I '11 speak
about it at the club; there are lots of fellows at the club want
a place of that sort."

"I hope Laura will live in it for the winter, at least, and
will make it her home," Arthur replied; at which the Major
pish'd, and psha'd, and said that there ought to be convents,
begad, for English ladies , and wished that Miss Bell had not
been there to interfere with the arrangements of the family,
and that she would mope herself to death alone in that place.

Indeed, it would have been a very dismal abode for poor
Laura, who was not too happy either in Doctor Portman's
household, and in the town where too many things reminded
her of the dear parent whom she had lost. But old Lady
Rockminster, who adored her young friend Laura, as soon
as she read in the paper of her loss , and of her presence in the
country, rushed over from Baymouth , where the old lady was
staying, and insisted that Laura should remain six months,
twelve months, all her life with her; and to her ladyship's
house, Martha from Fairoaks , asfemme de chamdre, accom-
panied her young mistress.

Pen and Warrington saw her depart. It was difficult to
say which of the young men seemed to regard her the most



185



tenderly. "Your cousin is pert and rather vulgar, my dear,
but he seems to have a good heart," little Lady Rockmlnster
said, who said her say about everybody — "but I like Blue-
beard best. Tell me, ishe touche aucoeiir?''

"Mr. Warrington has been long — engaged," Laura said,
dropping her eyes.

"Nonsense, child! And good heavens, my dear! that's
a pretty diamond cross. What do you mean by wearing it in
the morning?"

"Arthur — my brother, gave it me just now. It was — It
was — " She could not finish the sentence. The carriage
passed over the bridge, and by the dear, dear gate of
Fairoaks — home no more.



CHAPTER XIV.

Old friends.

It chanced at that great English festival, at which all
London takes a holiday upon Epsom Downs, that a great
number of the personages to whom we have been intro-
duced in the course of this history, were assembled to see
the Derby. In a comfortable open carriage , which had been
brought to the ground by a pair of horses , might be seen Mrs.
Bungay, of Paternoster Row, attired like Solomon in all his
glory, and having by her side modest Mrs. Shandon, for
whom, since the commencement of their acquaintance, the
worthy publisher's lady had maintained a steady friendship.
Bungay, having recreated himself with a copious luncheon,
was madly shying at the sticks hard by, till the perspiration
ran off his bald pate. Shandon was shambling about among
the drinking tents and gipsies: Finucane constant in at-
tendance on the two ladies, to whom gentlemen of their



186



acquaintance, and connected with the publishing house, came
up to pay a visit.

Among others, Mr. Archer came up to make her his bow,
and told Mrs. Bungay who was on the course. Yonder was
the Prime Minister: his lordship had just told him to back
Borax for the race; but Archer thought Muffineer the better
horse. He pointed out countless dukes and grandees to the
delighted Mrs. Bungay. "Look yonder in the Grand Stand,"
he said. " There sits the Chinese Ambassador with the Man-
darins of his suite. Fou-choo-foo brought me over letters of
introduction from the Governor-General of India, my most
intimate friend , and I was for some time very kind to him,
and he had his chopsticks laid for him at my table whenever he
chose to come and dine. But he brought his own cook with
him, and — would you believe it, Mrs. Bungay? — one day,
when I was out, and the Ambassador was with Mrs. Archer in
our garden eating gooseberries, of which the Chinese are
passionately fond, the beast of a cook, seeing my wife's dear
little Blenheim spaniel, (that we had from the Duke of Marl-
borough himself, whose ancestor's life Mrs. Archer's great-
great-grandfather saved at the battle of Malplaquet,) seized
upon the poor little devil, cut his throat, and skinned him,
and served him up stuffed with forced meat in the second
course."

" Law ! " said Mrs. Bungay.

"You may fancy my wife's agony when she knew what had
happened! The cook came screaming upstairs, and told us
that she had found poor FIdo's skin in the area, just after we
had all of us tasted of the dish! She never would speak to the
Ambassador again — never; and, upon my word, he has
never been to dine with us since. The Lord Mayor , who did
me the honour to dine, liked the dish very much; and, eaten
with green peas, it tastes rather like duck."



187



" You don't say so, now ! " cried the astonished publisher's
lady.

"Fact, upon my word. Look at that lady in blue, seated
by the Ambassador : that is Lady Flamingo , and they say she
is going to be married to him, and return to Pekin with his
Excellency. She is getting her feet squeezed down on pur-
pose. But she '11 only cripple herself, and will never be able
to do it — never. My wife has the smallest foot in England,
and wears shoes for a six-years'-old child; but what is that to
a Chinese lady's foot, Mrs. Bungay?"

"Who is that carriage as Mr. Pendennis is with, Mr.
Archer? " Mrs. Bungay presently asked. "He and Mr. War-
rington was here jest now. He 's 'aughty in his manners, that
Mr. Pendennis , and well he maybe, for I'm told he keeps
tip-top company. 'As he 'ad a large fortune left him, Mr.
Archer? He 's in black still, I see."

"Eighteen hundred a-year in land, and twenty-two thou-
sand five hundred in the Three-and-a-half per Cents. ; that 's
about it," said Mr. Archer.

"Law! why you know every thing, Mr. A.I" cried the
lady of Paternoster Row.

"I happen to know, because I was called in about poor
Mrs. Pendennis's will," Mr. Archer replied. "Pendennis's
uncle, the Major, seldom does anything without me ; and as
he is likely to be extravagant we 've tied up the property, so
that he can't make ducks and drakes with it. — How do you
do, my lord? — Do you know that gentleman, ladies? You
have read his speeches in the House; it is Lord Rochester."

"Lord Fiddlestick," cried out Finucane, from the box.
" Sure it 's Tom Staples, of the Morning Advertiser, Archer."

"Is it?" Archer said, simply. "Well I 'm very short-
sighted , and upon my word I thought it was Rochester. That
gentleman with the double opera-glass (another nod) is Lord



188



John; andthe tall man with him, don't you know him? is Sir
James."

"You know 'em because you see 'em in the House,"
growled Finucane.

"I know them because they are kind enough to allow me to
call them my most intimate friends," Archer continued.
" Look at the Duke of Hampshire ; what a pattern of a fine old
English gentleman ! He never misses 'the Derby.' 'Archer,'
he said to me only yesterday, 'I have been at sixty-five Der-
bies I appeared on the field for the first time on a pye-bald
pony when I was seven years old, with my father, the Prince
of Wales, and Colonel Hanger ; and only missing two races —
one when I had the measles at Eton, and one in the Waterloo
year, when I was with my friend Wellington in Flanders.' "

"And who is that yellow carriage , with the pink and yellow
parasols, that Mr. Pendennis is talking to, and ever so many
gentlemen?" asked Mrs. Bungay.

"That is Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park, next estate
to my friend Pendennis. That is the young son and heir upon
the box ; he 's awfully tipsy, the little scamp ! and the young
lady is Miss Amory, Lady Clavering's daughter by a first mar-
riage, and uncommonly sweet upon my friend Pendennis;
but I 've reason to think he has his heart fixed elsewhere. You
have heard of young Mr. Foker — the great brewer, Foker,
you know — he was going to hang himself in consequence of a
fatal passion for Miss Amory, who refused him, but was cut
down just in time by his valet, and is now abroad, under a
Keeper."

"How happy that young feUow is I " sighed Mrs. Bungay,
' Who 'd have thought when he came so quiet and demure to
dine with us, three or four years ago, he would turn out such
a grand character I Why, 1 saw his name at Court the other
day, and presented by the Marquis of Steyne and all; and in



189



every party of tbe nobility his name 's down as sure as a
gun."

"I introduced him a good deal when he first came up to
town," Mr. Archer said, "and his uncle. Major Pendennis,
did the rest. Hallo ! There 's Cobden here , of all men in the
world I I must go and speak to him. Good-bye , Mrs. Bungay.
Good morning, Mrs. Shandon."

An hour previous to this time , and at a difi'erent part of the
course, there might have been seen an old stage-coach, on
the battered roof of which a crowd of shabby rafi*s were
stamping and hallooing, as the great event of the day — the
Derby race — rushed over the green sward, and by the
shouting millions of people assembled to view that magnificent
scene. This was Wheeler's (the "Harlequin's Head") drag,
which had brought down a company of choice spirits from
Bow Street, with a slap-up luncheon in the "boot." As the
whirling race flashed by, each of the choice spirits bellowed
out the name of the horse or the colours which he thought or
he hoped might be foremost. "The Comet!" "It 's Muf-
fineer!" "It 's blue sleeves!" "Yallow cap! yallow cap!
yallow cap!" and so forth, yelled the gentlemen sportsmen
during that delicious and thrilling minute before the contest
was decided; and as the fluttering signal blew out, showing
the number of the famous horse Podasokus as winner of the
race, one of the gentlemen on the "Harlequin's Head" drag
sprang up off the roof, as if he was a pigeon and about to fly
away to London or York with the news.

But his elation did not lift him many inches from his
standing-place, to which he came down again on the instant,
causing the boards of the crazy old coach-roof to crack with
the weight of his joy. "Hurray, hurray!" he bawled out,
"Podasokus is the horse ! Supper for ten , Wheeler , my boy*
Ask you all round of course , and damn the expense."



190



And the gentlemen on the carriage, the shabby swaggerers,
the dubious bucks, said, "Thank you — congratulate you.
Colonel ; sup with you with pleasure : " and whispered to one
another, "The Colonel stands to win fifteen hundred, and he
got the odds from a good man, too."

And each of the shabby bucks and dusky dandies began to
eye his neighbour with suspicion, lest that neighbour, taking
his advantage, should get the Colonel into a lonely place and
borrow money of him. And the winner onPodasokus could
not be alone during the whole of that afternoon, so closely did
his friends watch him and each other.

At another part of the course you might have seen a
vehicle, certainly more modest, if not more shabby than that
battered coach which had brought down the choice spirits
from the Harlequin's Head; this was cab No. 2002, which
had conveyed a gentleman and two ladies from the cab-stand
in the Strand: whereof one of the ladies, as she sate on the
box of the cab enjoying with her mamma and their companion
a repast of lobster-salad and bitter ale, looked so fresh and
pretty that many of the splendid young dandies who were
strolling about the course, and enjoying themselves at the
noble diversion of Sticks, and talking to the beautifully
dressed ladies in the beautiful carriages on the hill, forsook
these fascinations to have a glance at the smiling and rosy-
cheeked lass on the cab. The blushes of youth and good-
humour mantled on the girl's cheeks, and played over that
fair countenance like the pretty shining cloudlets on the
serene sky over head; the elder lady's cheek was red too ; but
that was a permanent mottled rose, deepening only as it
received fresh draughts of pale ale and brandy-and-water,
until her face emulated the rich shell of the lobster which she
devoured.

The gentleman who escorted these two ladies was most



191



active in attendance upon them: here on the course, as he
had been during the previous journey. During the whole
of that animated and delightful drive from London, his jokes
had never ceased. He spoke up undauntedly to the most
awful drags full of the biggest and most solemn guardsmen ;
as to the humblest donkey-chaise in which Bob the dustman
was driving Molly to the race. He had fired astonishing
volleys of what is called "chaff" into endless windows as he
passed; into lines of grinning girls' schools; into little regi-
ments of shouting urchins hurraying behind the railings of
their Classical and Commercial Academies; into casements
whence smiling maid-servants, and nurses tossing babies, or
demure old maiden ladies with dissenting countenances , were
looking. And the pretty girl in the straw bonnet with pink
ribbon, and her mamma the devourer of lobsters, had both
agreed that when he was in "spirits" there was nothing like
that Mr. Sam. He had crammed the cab with trophies won
from the bankrupt proprietors of the Sticks hard by, and with
countless pincushions, wooden apples, backy-boxes. Jack-
in-the-boxes, and little soldiers. He had brought up a gipsy
with a tawny child in her arms to tell the fortunes of the ladies ;
and the only cloud which momentarily obscured the sunshine
of that happy party, was when the teller of fate informed the
young lady that she had had reason to beware of a fair man,
who was false to her: that she had had a bad illness, and that
she would find that a dark man would prove true.

The girl looked very much abashed at this news: her
mother and the young man interchanged signs of wonder and
intelligence. Perhaps the conjuror had used the same words
to a hundred different carriages on that day.

Making his way solitary amongst the crowd and the car-
riages , and noting , according to his wont , the various cir-
cumstances and characters which the animated scene pre-



192



sented, a young friend of ours came suddenly upon cab 200!J,
and the little group of persons assembled on the outside of the
vehicle. As he caught sight of the young lady on the box,
she started and turned pale: her mother became redder than
ever: the heretofore gay and triumphant Mr. Sam immediate-
ly assumed a fierce and suspicious look, and his eyes turned
savagely from Fanny Bolton (whom the reader, no doubt,
has recognised in the young lady of the cab) to Arthur Pen-
dennis, advancing to meet her.

Arthur, too, looked dark and suspicious on perceiving
Mr. Samuel Huxter In company with his old acquaintances :
but his suspicion was that of alarmed morality, and, I dare
say, highly creditable to Mr. Arthur: like the suspicion of
Mrs. Lynx, when she sees Mr. Brown and Mrs. Jones talking
together, or when she remarks Mrs. Lamb twice or thrice in a
handsome opera-box. There may be no harm In the con-
versation of Mr. B. and Mrs. J. : and Mrs. Lamb's opera-box
(though she notoriously can't afi'ord one) may be honestly
come by: but yet a moralist like Mrs. Lynx has aright to the
little precautionary fright: and Arthur was no doubt justified
in adopting that severe demeanour of his.

Fanny's heart began to patter violently: Huxter's fists,
plunged into the pockets of his paletot, clenched themselves
involuntarily, and armed themselves, as it were, in ambush:
Mrs. Bolton began to talk with all her might, and with a won-
derful volubility : and Lor ! she was so 'appy to see Mr. Pen-
dennis, and how well he was a lookin', and we 'd been talkin'
about Mr. P. only jest before; hadn't we, Fanny? and If this
was the famous Hepsom races that they talked so much about,
she didn't care, for her part, if she never saw them again.
And how was Major Pendennis, and that kind Mr. War-
rington, who brought Mr. P.'s great kindness to Fanny; and
she never would forget it, never: and Mr. Warrington was so



193

tall, he almost broke his 'ead up against their lodge door.
You recollect Mr. Warrington a knockin' of his head — don't
you, Fanny?

Whilst Mrs. Bolton was so discoursing, I wonder how
many thousands of thoughts passed through Fanny's mind,
and what dear times, sad struggles, lonely griefs, and sub-
sequent shame-faced consolations were recalled to her? What
pangs had the poor little thing, as she thought how much she
had loved him, and that she loved him no more? There he
stood, about whom she was going to die ten months since,
dandified, supercilious, with a black crape to his white hat,
and jet buttons in his shirt-front: and a pink in his coat, that
some one else had probably given him: with the tightest
lavender-coloured gloves sewn with black: and the smallest
of canes. And Mr. Huxter wore no gloves, and great Bliicher
boots, and smelt very much of tobacco certainly; and looked,
oh, it must be owned, he looked as if a bucket of water would
do him a great deal of good ! All these thoughts, and a myriad
of others , rushed through Fanny's mind as her mamma was
delivering herself of her speech, and as the girl, from under
her eyes, surveyed Pendennis — surveyed him entirely from
head to foot, the circle on his white forehead that his hat left
when he lifted it (his beautiful, beautiful hair had grown
again), the trinkets at his watch-chain, the ring on his hand
under his glove, the neat shining boot, so, so unlike Sam's
high-low! — and after her hand had given a little twittering
pressure to the lavender-coloured kid grasp which was held
out to it , and after her mother had delivered herself of her
speech, all Fanny could find to say was, — "This is Mr. Sa-
muel Huxter whom you knew formerly I believe, Sir ; Mr. Sa-
muel, you know you knew Mr. Pendennis formerly — and —
and, will you take a little refreshment? "

These little words tremulous and uncoloured as they were,
Pendennis. III. 13



194



yet were understood by Pendennls in such a manner as to take
a great load of suspicion from off his mind — of remorse, per-
haps, from his heart. The frown on the countenance of the
prince of Fairoaks disappeared, and a good-natured smile and
a knowing twinkle of the eyes illuminated his highness's coun-
tenance. *'I am very thirsty," he said, "and I wiU. be glad
to drink your health, Fanny; and I hope Mr. Huxter will
pardon me for having been very rude to him the last time we
met, and when I was so ill and out of spirits, that indeed I
scarcely knew what I said." And herewith the lavender-
coloured dexter kid-glove was handed out, in token of amity,
to Huxter.

The dirty fist in the young surgeon's pocket was obliged
to undouble itself, and come out of its ambush disarmed. The
poor fellow himself felt, as he laid it in Pen's hand, how hot
his own was, and how black — it left black marks on Pen's
gloves; he saw them, — he would have liked to have clenched
it again and dashed it into the other's good-humoured face;
and have seen, there upon that ground, with Fanny, with all
England looking on, which was the best man — he Sam Huxter
of Bartholomew's, or that grinning dandy.

Pen with ineffable good-humour took a glass — he didn't
mind what it was — he was content to drink after the ladies ;
and he filled it with frothing lukewarm beer, which he pro-
nounced to be delicious, and which he drank cordially to the
health of the party.

As he was drinking and talking on in an engaging manner,
a young lady in a shot dove-coloured dress, with a white
parasol lined with pink, and the prettiest dove-coloured boots
that ever stepped, passed by Pen, leaning on the arm of a
stalwart gentleman with a military moustache.

The young lady clenched her little fist, and gave a mis-
chievous side-look as she passed Pen. He of the moustachios



195



burst out into a jolly laugh. He had taken off his hat to the
ladies of cab No. 2002. You should have seen Fanny Bolton's
eyes watching after the dove-coloured young lady. Immediate-
ly Huxter perceived the direction which they took , they
ceased looking after the dove-coloured nymph, and they
turned and looked into Sam Huxter's orbs with the most art-
less good-humoured expression.

"What a beautiful creature ! " Fanny said. "What a lovely
dress! Did you remark, Mr. Sam, such little, little hands?"
"It was Capting Strong," said Mrs. Bolton: "and who was
the young woman, I wonder? "

"A neighbour of mine in the country — Miss Amory," Ar-
thur said, — "Lady Clavering's daughter. You 've seen Sir
Francis often in Shepherd's Inn, Mrs. Bolton."

As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in three

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