With respect to other arrangements, Emmy furnished Charles with letters to certain useful people at Madras, and in particular to the "somebody" who looked after Mrs. Mackie: so, the mystery was easy of access, and he doubted not of overcoming, on the spot, every unseen difficulty. The plan of leaving all luggage behind, a capital idea, would enable him to go forth freely and unshackled, with an ordinary air, in hat and great-coat, as for an evening's walk; and was quite in keeping with the natural reserve of his whole character--a bad habit of secresy, which he probably inherited from his father, the lieutenant of old times. And yet, for all the wisdom, and mystery, and shrewd settling of the plan, its accomplishment was as nearly as possible most fatally defeated. The important evening arrived; for the Indiaman--it was our old friend Sir William Elphinston--would be off Plymouth, next morning: the goods had been, for a day or two, safely deposited at the Europe, as per invoice, all paid: the lovers, in this last, this happiest, yet by far the saddest of their stolen interviews, had exchanged vows and kisses, and upon the beach, beneath those friendly cliffs, had commended one another to their Father in heaven. They had returned to the unsocial circle of home; all was fixed; the clock struck nine: and Charles, accidentally squeezing Emily's hand, rose to leave the tea-table. "Where are you going, Mr. Charles?" "I am going out, Julian." "Thank you, sir! I knew that, but whither? General, I say, here's Charles going to serenade somebody by moonlight." The brandy-sodden parent, scarcely conscious, said something about his infernal majesty; and, "What then?--let him go, can't you?" "Well, Julian dear, perhaps your brother will not mind your going with him; particularly as Emily stays at home with me." This Mrs. Tracy spoke archly, intended as a hint to induce Julian to remain: but he had other thoughts--and simply said, in an ill-tempered tone of voice, "Done, Charles."