Having read this letter， I mused on its contents for a few moments—whether with sentiments pleasurable or otherwise I will hereafter note—and then took up the other.It was directed in a hand to me unknown—small， and rather neat； neither masculine nor exactly feminine； the seal bore a coat of arms， concerningwhich I could only decipher that it was not that of the Seacombe family， consequently the epistle could be from none of my almost forgotten， and certainly quite forgetting patrician relations.From whom， then， was it？ I removed the envelope； the note folded within ran as follows：—“I have no doubt in the world that you are doing well in that greasy Flanders； living probably on the fat of the unctuous land； sitting like a black-haired， tawny-skinned， long-nosed Israelite by the flesh-pots of Egypt； or like a rascally son of Levi near the brass cauldrons of the sanctuary， and every now and then plunging in a consecrated hook， and drawing out of the sea， of broth the fattest of heave-shoulders and the fleshiest of wave-breasts.I know this， because you never write to any one in England.Thankless dog that you are！ I， by the sovereign efficacy of my recommendation， got you the place where you are now living in clover， and yet not a word of gratitude， or even acknowledgment， have you ever offered in return； but I am coming to see you， and small conception can you， with your addled aristocratic brains， form of the sort of moral kicking I have， ready packed in my carpet-bag， destined to be presented to you immediately on my arrival.
“Meantime I know all about your affairs， and have just gotinformation， by Brown’s last letter， that you are said to be on the point of forming an advantageous match with a pursy， little Belgian schoolmistress—a Mdlle Zénobie， or some such name.Won’t I have a look at her when I come over！ And this you may rely on： if she pleases my taste， or if I think it worth while in a pecuniary point of view， I’ll pounce on your prize and bear her away triumphant in spite of your teeth.Yet I don’t like dumpieseither， and Brown says she is little and stout—the better fitted for a wiry， starved-looking chap like you.“Be on the look-out， for you know neither the day nor hour when your — (I don’t wish to blaspheme， so I’ll leave a blank) —cometh.—Yours truly，“HUNSDEN YORKE HUNSDEN.”
“Humph！” said I； and ere I laid the letter down， I again glanced at the small， neat handwriting， not a bit like that of a mercantile man， nor， indeed， of any man except Hunsden himself.They talk of affinities between the autograph and the character： what affinity was there here？ I recalled the writer’s peculiar face and certain traits I suspected， rather than knew， to appertain to his nature， and I answered， “A great deal.”
Hunsden， then， was coming to Brussels， and coming I knew not when； coming charged with the expectation of finding me on the summit of prosperity， about to be married， to step into a warm nest， to lie comfortably down by the side of a snug， well-fed little mate.
“I wish him joy of the fidelity of the picture he has painted，”
thought I.“What will he say when， instead of a pair of plump turtle doves， billing and cooing in a bower of roses， he finds a single lean cormorant， standing mateless and shelterless on poverty’s bleak cliff？ Oh， confound him！ Let him come， and let him laugh at the contrast between rumour and fact.Were he the devil himself， instead of being merely very like him， I’d not condescend to get out of his way， or to forge a smile or a cheerful word wherewith to avert his sarcasm.”
Then I recurred to the other letter： that struck a chord whosesound I could not deaden by thrusting my fingers into my ears， forit vibrated within； and though its swell might be exquisite music， its cadence was a groan.
That Frances was relieved from the pressure of want， that the curse of excessive labour was taken off her， filled me with happiness； that her first thought in prosperity should be to augment her joy by sharing it with me， met and satisfied the wish of my heart.Two results of her letter were then pleasant， sweet as two draughts of nectar； but applying my lips for the third time to the cup， and they were excoriated as with vinegar and gall.
