The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer – Complete

"Nothing."

"I am not quite so sure, my Lord," said I tremulously.

"No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellow I know, but this passes even your ingenuity, besides I have given her my word."

"Even so."

"Why, what do you mean, speak out man," said Sir Guy, "I'll give you ten thousand pounds on the spot if you suggest a means of overcoming this difficulty."

"Perhaps you might not accede afterwards."

"I pledge myself to it."

"And I too," said Lord Callonby, "if no unfair stratagem be resorted to towards my daughter. If she only give her free and willing consent, I agree."

"Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousand won't do, for the bargain is well worth the money."

"Name your price, boy, and keep your word."

"Agreed then," holding my uncle to his promise, "I pledge myself that his nephew shall be husband of Lady Jane Callonby, and now, my Lord, read Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I am certain my uncle is too faithful to his plighted word, and too true to his promise not to say it shall be."

The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutely stunned them both, and then recovering at the same moment, their eyes met.

"Fairly caught, Guy" said Lord Callonby, "a bold stroke if it only succeeds."

"And it shall, by G — ," said my uncle, "Elton is yours, Harry, and with seven thousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won't refuse you."

There are moments in life in which conviction will follow a bold "coup de main," that never would have ensued from the slow process of reasoning. Luckily for me, this was one of those happy intervals. Lord Callonby catching my uncle's enthusiasm, seized me by the hand and said,

"With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count upon mine, and faith if truth must be told, I always preferred you to the other."

What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; but with one bound sprung from the room — dashed up stairs to Lady Callonby's drawing-room — looked rapidly around to see if SHE were there, and then without paying the slightest attention to the questions of Lady Callonby and her younger daughter, was turning to leave the room, when my eye caught the flutter of a Cachmere shawl in the garden beneath. In an instant the window was torn open — I stood upon the sill, and though the fall was some twenty feet, with one spring I took it, and before the ladies had recovered from their first surprise at my unaccountable conduct, put the finishing stroke to their amazement, by throwing my arms around Lady Jane, and clasping her to my heart.

I cannot remember by what process I explained the change that had taken place in my fortunes. I had some very vague recollection of vows of eternal love being mingled with praises of my worthy uncle, and the state of my affections and finances were jumbled up together, but still sufficiently intelligible to satisfy my beloved Jane — that this time at least, I made love with something more than my own consent to support me. Before we had walked half round the garden, she had promised to be mine; and Harry Lorrequer, who rose that morning with nothing but despair and darkness before him, was now the happiest of men.

Dear reader, I have little more to confess. Lord Callonby's politics were fortunately deemed of more moment than maidenly scruples, and the treasury benches more respected than the trousseau. Our wedding was therefore settled for the following week. Meanwhile, every day seemed to teem with its own meed of good fortune. My good uncle, under whose patronage, forty odd years before, Colonel Kamworth had obtained his commission, undertook to effect the reconciliation between him and the Wallers, who now only waited for our wedding, before they set out for Hydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of Curry and Madeira, Jack confessing that he had rather listen to the siege of Java, by that fire-side, than hear an account of Waterloo from the lips of the great Duke himself.

I wrote to Trevanion to invite him to Munich for the ceremony, and the same post which informed me that he was en route to join us, brought also a letter from my eccentric friend O'Leary, whose name having so often occurred in these confessions, I am tempted to read aloud, the more so as its contents are no secret, Kilkee having insisted upon reading it to a committee of the whole family assembled after dinner.

"Dear Lorrequer,

"The trial is over, and I am acquitted, but still in St. Pelagie; for as the government were determined to cut my head off if guilty, so the mob resolved to murder me if innocent. A pleasant place this: before the trial, I was the most popular man in Paris; my face was in every print shop; plaster busts of me, with a great organ behind the ear, in all the thoroughfares; my autograph selling at six and twenty sous, and a lock of my hair at five francs. Now that it is proved I did not murder the "minister at war," (who is in excellent health and spirits) the popular feeling against me is very violent; and I am looked upon as an imposter, who obtained his notoriety under false pretences; and Vernet, who had begun my picture for a Judas, has left off in disgust. Your friend Trevanion is a trump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to run away with Mrs. Ram, and they were married at Frankfort, on Tuesday last. By the by, what an escape you had of Emily: she was only quizzing you all the time. She is engaged to be married to Tom O'Flaherty, who is here now. Emily's imitation of you, with the hat a little on one side, and a handkerchief flourishing away in one hand, is capital; but when she kneels down and says, 'dearest Emily, ' you'd swear it was yourself." — [Here the laughter of the auditory prevented Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, resumed after a little.] — "Don't be losing your time making up to Lord Callonby's daughter" — [here came another burst of laughter] — "they say here you have not a chance, and moreover she's a downright flirt." — ["It is your turn now, Jane," said Kilkee, scarcely able to proceed.] — "Besides that, her father's a pompous old Tory, that won't give a sixpence with her; and the old curmudgeon, your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you, as he has of dying." — [This last sally absolutely convulsed all parties.] — "To be sure Kilkee's a fool, but he is no use to you." — ["Begad I thought I was going to escape," said the individual alluded to, "but your friend O'Leary cuts on every side of him."] The letter, after some very grave reflections upon the hopelessness of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to meet me soon, and become my travelling companion. Meanwhile, added he, "I must cross over to London, and look after my new work, which is to come out soon, under the title of 'the Loiterings of Arthur O'Leary.'"

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and conversation amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph could be claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled. So passed the last evening I spent in Munich — the next morning I was married.

THE END