Frank Mildmay; Or, the Naval OfficerMarryat, Frederick
History
Frank Mildmay; Or, the Naval Officer
Marryat, Frederick
Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Officers -- Fiction; Sea stories
As he fell upon dry ground and was not an English sailor, I did not jump
after him, but left him to his own ease, and we saw no more of him, for
we were going ten knots, while he lay becalmed without a breath of wind.
This was one of the most successful acts of usurpation recorded in
modern history. It has its parallels, I know; but I cannot now stop to
comment on them, or on my own folly and precipitation. I was as firmly
fixed behind the carriage, as Buonaparte was on the throne of France
after the battle of Eylau.
We stopped at a large _porte cochere_, being the entrance to a very
grand house, with lamps at the door, within a spacious courtyard; we
drove in and drew up. I was down in a moment, opened the carriage door,
and let down the steps. The lady descended, laid her hand on my arm
without perceiving that she had changed her footman, and tripped lightly
up the stairs. I followed her into a handsome saloon, where another
servant in livery had placed lights on the table. She turned round, saw
me, and fainted in my arms.
It was, indeed, Eugenia herself; and with all due respect to my dear
Emily, I borrowed a thousand kisses while she lay in a state of torpor,
on a fauteuil to which I carried her. It was some few minutes before
she opened her eyes; the man-servant who had brought the lights, very
properly never quitted the room, but was perfectly respectful in his
manner, rightly conceiving that I had some authority for my proceedings.
"My dearest Frank," said Eugenia, "what an unexpected meeting. What, in
the name of fortune, could have brought you here?"
"That," said I, "is a story too long, Eugenia, for a moment so
interesting as this. I also might ask you the same question; but it is
now one o'clock in the morning, and, therefore, too late to begin with
inquiry. This one question, however, I must ask--are you a mother?"
"I am," said Eugenia, "of the most lovely boy that ever blessed the eyes
of a parent; he is now in perfect health, and fast asleep--come
to-morrow, at ten o'clock, and you shall see him."
"To-morrow," said I, with surprise; "to-morrow, Eugenia? why am I to
quit your house?"
"That also you shall know to-morrow," said she; "but now you must do as
you are desired. To-morrow, I will be at home to no one but you."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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