So the chaise rattled up, and the general bounded out, and flew into the arms of his wondering wife, as Paris might have flown to Helen, or Leander to his heroine—­the only feminine Hero, whom grammar recognises.  It was past eleven at night:  therefore he did not think to ask for Julian; no doubt the boy was gone to bed.

Indeed, he had; and was tossing his wealed body, full of pains, and aches, and bruises, as softly as he could upon the feather-bed:  he had need of poultices all over, and a quart of Friar’s Balsam would have done him little good:  after his well-merited thrashing, the flogged hound had slunk to his kennel, and locked himself sullenly in, without even speaking to his mother.  Tobacco-fumes exuded from the key-hole, and I doubt not other creature-comforts lent the muddled man their aid.

However, after the first rush of news to Mrs. Tracy, her lord, who had every moment been expecting the door to fly open, and Emily to fall into his arms—­for strangely did they love each other—­suddenly asked,

“But, where’s Emmy all this time! she knows I’m here?—­not got to bed, is she?—­knew I was coming?—­”

“Oh! general, I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow morning.”

“About what, madam?  Great God! has any harm befallen the child?  Speak—­speak, woman!”

“Dear—­dear—­Oh! what shall I say?” sobbed the silly mother.  “Emily—­Emily, poor dear Julian—­”

“What the devil, ma’am, of Julian?” The general turned white as a sheet, and rang the bell, in singular calmness; probably for a dram of brandy.  Saunders answered it so instantly, that I rather suspect he was waiting just outside.

The moment Mrs. Tracy saw the gray-headed butler, anticipating all that he might say, she brushed past him, and hurriedly ran up-stairs.

“What’s all this, Mr. Saunders? where’s Miss Warren?” And the poor old guardian seemed ready to faint at his reply:  but he heard it out patiently.

“I am very sorry to say, general, that Miss Emily has been forced to take refuge at Sir Abraham Tamworth’s:  but she’s well, sir, and safe, sir; quite well and safe,” the good man hastened to say, “only I’m afraid that Mr. Julian had been taking liberties with—­”

I dare not write the general’s imprecation:  then, as he clenched the arms of his easy-chair, as with the grasp of the dying, he asked, in a quick wild way—­

“But what was it?—­what happened?”

“Nothing to fear, sir—­nothing at all, general;—­I am thankful to say, that all I saw, and all we all saw, was Miss Emily pulling at the bell-rope with blood upon her face, and Mr. Julian on the floor:  but I took the young lady to Sir Abraham’s immediately, general, at her own desire.”

The father arose sternly; his first feeling was to kill Julian; but the second, a far better one, predominated—­he must go and see Emily at once.

So, faintly leaning on the butler’s arm, the poor old man (whom a moiety of ten minutes, with its crowding fears, had made to look some ten years older,) proceeded to the square, and knocked up Sir Abraham at midnight, and the admiral came down, half asleep, in dressing-gown and slippers, vexed at having been knocked up from his warm berth so uncomfortably:  it put him sorely in remembrance of his hardships as a middy.