In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and
immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go
down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and
the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement,
and take charge from my uncle's legal adviser, who remained in the
house. The "dreadful accident in high life" found its way into the
papers of the day, and before dinner time a pile of visiting cards was
poured in, which covered the table. The next day a letter arrived from
the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as
post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of
presenting it himself at his dinner hour, at half-past seven. Very much
obliged to him, the "fool of the family" might have waited a long while
for it.
While I was reading this letter, the waiter came up to say that a young
woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon
as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand.
"Sure, it's you--oh! yes--it's you that saved my poor husband when I was
assisting to your ruin. And an't I punished for my wicked doings--an't
my poor boy dead?"
She said no more, but remained on her knees, sobbing bitterly. Of
course, the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her
child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay
her expenses, and leave her address.
"But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It's not that I have forgiven
myself.
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