“Woman, hold your fool’s tongue:  begone, and send Emily to me this minute:  stop, Mr. Julian—­no—­run up for your brother Charles, and come you all to me in the study.  Instantly, sir! do as I bid you, without a word.”

Julian would gladly have fought it out with his imperative father; but, nevertheless, it was a comfort to have to fetch pale Charles for a jobation; so he went at once.  And the three young people, two of them trembling with affections overstrained, and the third indurated in effrontery, stood before that stern old man.

“Emily, child,”—­and he added something in Hindostanee, “have I been kind to you—­and do you owe me any love?”

“Dear, dear sir, how can you ask me that?” said the warm-affectioned girl, falling on her knees in tears.

“Get up, sweet child, and hear me:  you see those boys; as you love me, and yourself, and happiness, and honour—­dare not to think of either, one moment, as your husband.”

Emily fainted; Charles staggered to assist her, though he well-nigh swooned himself; and Julian folded his arms with a resolute air, as waiting to hear what next.

But the general disappointed him:  he had said his say:  and, as volatile salts, a lady’s maid, and all that sort of reinvigoration, seemed essential to Emily’s recovery, he rang the bell forthwith:  so the pleasant family party broke up without another word.

CHAPTER VIII.

The mystery.

Our lovers would not have been praiseworthy, perhaps not human, had they not met in secret once and again.  True, their regularly concerted studies were forbidden, and they never now might openly walk out unaccompanied:  but love (who has not found this out?) is both daring and ingenious; and notwithstanding all that Emily purposed about doing as the general so strangely bade her, they had many happy meetings, rich with many happy words:  all the happier no doubt for their stolen sweetness.

There was one great and engrossing subject which often had employed their curiosity; who and what was Emily Warren? for the poor girl did not know herself.  All she could guess, she told Charles, as he zealously cross-questioned her from time to time:  and the result of his inquiries would appear to be as follows: 

Emily’s earliest recollections were of great barbaric pomp; huge elephants richly caparisoned, mighty fans of peacock’s tails, lines of matchlock men, tribes of jewelled servants, a gilded palace, with its gardens and fountains:  plenty of rare gems to play with, and a splendid queenly woman, whom she called by the Hindoo name for mother.  The general, too, was there among her first associations, as the gallant Captain Tracy, with his company of native troops.

Then an era happened in her life; a tearful leave-taking with that proud princess, who scarcely would part with her for sorrow; but the captain swore it should be so:  and an old Scotch-woman, her nurse, she could remember, who told her as a child, but whether religiously or not she could not tell, “Darling, come to me when you wish to know who made you;” and then Mrs. Mackie went and spoke to the princess, and soothed her, that she let the child depart peacefully.  Most of her gorgeous jewellery dated from that earliest time of inexplicable oriental splendour.