"Helen, my pet," he began, "I am the bearer of good
news--news that will do you more good than any cordial Dr. Bleedem can
give you." The girl looked hopeful, seeing her counsellor's cheerful manner, though
her eyes were still red and swollen with weeping. "Tell me, tell me!" she cried in agony. "Patience, patience," replied the antiquary, in the most provoking
manner; "all in due time. Well, my dear," he continued, "all that I read
out in the paper this morning, and which you unfortunately overheard
(Oh! you wicked puss, for playing the eavesdropper); well, child, all
that happened a fortnight ago. Since then there is later news. The boy
has been rescued by a band of carabineers who have long been on the
track of the brigands, who were taken completely by surprise. A skirmish
took place, and the brigands were exterminated to a man; a few only of
the carabineers being wounded. Your friend, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, was at
once set at liberty, and he is now enjoying the best of health and
spirits. So cheer up, girl." "Oh! sir," cried Helen, half laughing and half crying, "you are not
trying to comfort me by----." "By a false report," broke in Oldstone. "Certainly not, child. Here,
read for yourself. Can't you believe me?" Helen took up the paper with trembling hands, and ran her eyes eagerly
over the column. Then with a sweet smile and sign of relief she sank
back on her cushions, crying, "Thank God." She then burst out again into
a fresh fit of weeping, from sheer weakness, which, however, soon
changed into a laugh. Then rousing herself, she leapt from her bed,
bathed her face with cold water, and having dried it, she seized the
hand of her aged friend and counsellor and kissed it, saying, "God bless
you, sir. You were ever my good angel." "Then follow me downstairs, and look as beaming as you can. Your parents
will wonder at the change, but I shall say nothing." Seizing her hand,
Oldstone led her down the flight of steps, at the foot of which stood
her father, watch in hand. "There, Jack," said the antiquary in triumph, "What did I say? Have I
been successful? Look at her, and tell me if I am a good doctor or no." Our host scanned his daughter's now happy features, then turning to Mr.
Oldstone, he said, "Well, sir, its just wonderful! It's like witchcraft
a'most. I don't know what you have been doing to her, sir, but I never
see such a change in my life." Here Dame Hearty made her appearance, caressed her daughter, and began
to ask questions. "Now, no questions, Dame Hearty, from either you or your husband," broke
in Oldstone. "That's our secret. You may, if you like, set it down to
Dr. Bleedem's cordial." "Well, we won't bother her, if as how you don't wish it, sir," answered
her father. Helen then followed her mother into the kitchen, and was
soon slaving away harder than she had ever done before in her life. "Well, boys," said Mr. Oldstone, cheerily, addressing his fellow-members
as they looked enquiringly at him on his return, "I suppose you want to
know the reason of the change in my countenance since the morning. Well,
take this paper and read for yourselves. You will see where I have
marked it." Here he handed the paper to Mr. Hardcase, who, taking it
from him, proceeded to read the account of our artist's fortunate rescue
from the brigands by the carabineers, which we need not repeat. "Ah!" observed the lawyer, at the conclusion, "this accounts for
everything. Now, Oldstone, if you had read this article first, and the
other afterwards, we should have been spared a scene." Oldstone answered with something like a snort, "Bah! who could tell that
the girl was eavesdropping?" Then noticing the quizzical expression on
the faces of some of the members, and guessing that they were about to
make Helen's little love episode a subject for discussion or banter, he
raised his hand as if in prohibition, being determined to nip it in the
bud, and bringing it down with a bang on the table, he began,
"Gentlemen, to change the conversation, I propose that we celebrate our
young friend McGuilp's miraculous escape from his captors by assembling
this evening round a merry bowl of punch--eh, doctor?--and drinking his
health with a three times three." "Take care, Oldstone!" remonstrated Dr. Bleedem; but the rest of the
members applauded the proposition of the chairman, and prevailed. In
fact, a merry evening was spent, when our artist's health was drunk, as
proposed, as well as that of all his family and belongings. Our host was
then called in, and had to drain a glass to the health and prosperity of
our artist. Dame Hearty was next called in, and had to do the same. One
of the members voted for Helen also drinking the toast. Before Oldstone could offer any opposition, our landlord called out,
"Now, then, Helen, my girl, come and drink to the health and prosperity
of Mr. McGuilp, your portrait painter, with a hip, hip, hip,
hurrah!--d'ye hear? Come, now, you can't get out of it." The girl would willingly have hidden herself, and had literally to be
dragged in by her father, blushing and timid. Loud cheers greeted the
girl's appearance, and a glass was filled for her from the punch-bowl by
Mr. Oldstone himself with the silver ladle, at the bottom of which a
golden guinea had been inlaid. "All right, my girl," said Mr. Oldstone, "toss it off. No harm in just
one glass. Now, then, all--to the health of our absent artist friend,
Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, and all his belongings--also to his speedy
return--with a hip, hip, hip, hurrah!" With a charming modesty and grace, like that of a high-born lady, did
this simple country girl join in the toast proposed; then, putting down
her glass on the table, she curtseyed elegantly to the company, and
wishing them all good-night retired. Loud applause followed this flying visit of Helen to their orgie, and
they would have recalled her; but a glance from Mr. Oldstone kept them
in check. At midnight the party broke up, and each returned to his bed
comfortable, without having indulged to excess, and even Mr. Oldstone
walked bravely off to his bed unassisted. CHAPTER XII. A week had passed since our last chapter. Our antiquary, finding himself
once more alone, had brought out his writing materials, determined no
longer to put off his much-delayed letter to his friend, when a smart
tap at the door, and immediately afterwards the entry of our host's
pretty daughter, caused him to look up. She appeared more radiant than
ever, and held up a bulky epistle with a foreign post mark. Full well
she knew the handwriting. It was addressed to Mr. Oldstone, as usual, so
she placed it in his hands. "At last!" exclaimed the antiquary. "Now we shall see for ourselves. Sit
down, my girl, sit down." The invitation had been hardly given when the daughter of our host had
already seated herself, and leaning her elbow on the table and her head
in her hand, looked all attention.