CHAPTER X.

THE interest which Berenice inspired so completely absorbed my mind, that I never thought again of Jacob and his story, till I met lady Anne and her brother the next morning, when I went to take a ride in the park they were with colonel Topham, and some people of her ladyship's acquaintance.

Lady Anne, after the usual preliminary quantity of nonsense, and after she had questioned and crossquestioned me, to the best of her slender abilities, about the Jewess, told me a long story about herself, and her fears, and the fears of her mare, and a horselaugh of Mowbray's which colonel Topham said no horse could stand: not much applause ensuing from me, she returned to the witty colonel, and left me to her brother. Mowbray directly began to talk about Jacob. He said he supposed Jacob had not failed to make his Gibraltar story good; but that "Hear both sides" was an indispensable maxim, even where such a favourite as Jacob was concerned. "But first let us take one other good gallop," said Mowbray; "Anne, I leave you here with Mrs. Carrill and colonel Topham ;" and away he galloped. When he thought, as he said, that he had shaken off some of my prejudices, he drew up his horse, and talked over the Gibraltar affair.

His dashing, jocular, military mode of telling the thing, so different from Jacob's plain, mercantile, matter-of-fact method, quite changed my view and opinion of the transaction. Mowbray blamed himself with such a good grace, and wished so fervently that he could make any reparation to "the poor devils

who had suffered," that I acquitted him of all malice, and forgave his imprudence.

The frankness with which he spoke to Jacob, when they met, was proof conclusive to me that he was incapable, as he declared, of harbouring any malice against Jew or Christian. He inquired most particularly into Jacob's own losses at Gibraltar, called for pen, ink, and paper, and in his off-hand manner wrote a draught on his banker, and put it into Jacob's hand. "Here, my honest Jacob, you are à Jew, whose accounts I can take at your word. Let this settle the balance between us. No scruples, Jacobno present this-nothing but remuneration for your losses."

Jacob accepted lord Mowbray's apologies, but could not by any means be prevailed upon to accept from him any present or remuneration. He seemed willing to forgive, but not to trust lord Mowbray. All trace of resentment was cleared from his countenance, but no condescension of his lordship could move Jacob to throw off his reserve beyond a certain point. He conquered aversion, but he would not pretend to like. Mr. Montenero came into the room while we were speaking, and I presented lord Mowbray to him. There was as marked a difference as politeness would allow in Mr. Montenero's manner towards his lordship and towards me, which I justly attributed to Jacob's previous representations. We looked at the pictures, and talked, and loitered, but I turned my eyes in vain to the door every time it opened-no miss Montenero appeared. I was so much preoccupied with my object that I was silent, and left Mowbray to make his own way, which no one was more capable of doing. In a few minutes, he was in full conversation. He went over again, without my attending

to it, his pièce justificative about the riot at Gibraltar, and Jacob, and the Manessas; and between the fits of my reverie, I perceived Mowbray was talking of the duc de Crillon and general Elliot, and red-hot balls; but I took no interest in the conversation, till I heard him speak of an officers' ball at Gibraltar, and of dancing with a Jewess. The very night he had first landed at Gibraltar, there happened to be a ball to which he went with a friend, who was also just landed, and a stranger. It was the custom to draw lots for partners. His friend, a true-born Englishman, took fright at the foreign sounding name of the lady who fell to his lot-Mowbray changed tickets with him, and had, he said, great reason to rejoice. The lady with the foreign name was a Jewess, the handsomest, the most graceful, the most agreeable woman in the room. He was the envy of every man, and especially of his poor friend, who too late repented his rash renunciation of his ticket. Lord Mowbray, by several other slight anecdotes, which he introduced with happy effect, contrived to please Mr. Montenero; and if any unfavourable prepossession had existed against him, it was, I thought, completely removed. For my own part, I was delighted with his of mind in recollecting all that was best worth seeing in London, and arranging parties in which we could have the honour of attending miss Montenero, and the pleasure of being of some use to her.

presence

Mr. Montenero's own acquaintance in London was chiefly with the families of some of the foreign ambassadors, and with other foreigners of distinction ; but his daughter was not yet acquainted with any English ladies, except the lady of general B—, with whom the Monteneros had been intimate in America. Lady Emily B was detained in the

country by the illness of one of her family, and miss Montenero, having declined going into public with Mrs. Coates, would wait quietly at home till her English friends should come to town. Again shame for my mother's remissness obliged me to cast down my eyes in awkward silence. But Mowbray, Heaven bless him for it! went on fluently. This was the moment, he said, before miss Montenero should appear in public, and get into the whirl of the great world, before engagements should multiply and press upon her, as inevitably they would as soon as she had made her debut-this was the moment, and the only moment probably she would ever have to herself, to see all that was worth a stranger's notice in London. Mr. Montenero was obliged to Mowbray, and I am sure so was I.

Miss Montenero, infinitely more desirous to see than to be seen, was pleased with the parties we arranged for her and from this time forward scarcely a day passed without our having the pleasure of attending the father and daughter. My mother sighed and remonstrated in vain ; my father, absorbed in the House of Commons, was satisfied with seeing me regularly at breakfast. He usually dined at clubs, and it was happily his principle to let his son amuse himself his own way. Had he suspected that I was amusing myself with a Jew and a Jewess, he would, as my mother represented, have been terribly alarmed for the consequences. But I assured her, and truly, that I was only amusing myself, and that I had not formed any serious intentions. I wished to see more of the lady. Mowbray, with ready invention, continually suggested something particularly well worth seeing or hearing, some delightful pretext for our being together. Sometimes he accompanied us, some

times he excused himself-he had indispensable engagements. His indispensable engagements I knew were usually with ladies of a very different sort from miss Montenero. Mowbray was desperately in love with the young actress who had played the part of Jessica, and to her he devoted every moment he could command. I regretted for his sake his dissipated tastes, but I felt the more obliged to him for the time he sacrificed to friendship; and perhaps, to tell things just as they were, I was glad he was safely in love with a Jessica of his own, as it secured me from all apprehension of his rivalling or wishing to rival me.

Miss Montenero he confessed was not in the least to his taste. In this instance I was quite satisfied that our tastes should completely differ. I never liked him so well-we went on most happily together. I felt uncommonly benevolent towards the whole world; my heart expanded with increased affection for all my friends-every thing seemed to smile upon me-even the weather. The most delicious morning I ever remember was that on which we rowed along the banks of the Thames with miss Montenero. I always enjoyed every beautiful object in nature with enthusiasm, but now with new delight-with all the enchantment of a first love, and of hope that had never known disappointment.

I was almost angry with my dear friend Mowbray for not being as enthusiastic this day as I was myself.

There were certain points of taste and character on which we never could agree; my romantic imagination and enthusiastic manner of expressing myself were often in contrast with his worldly comic mode of seeing and talking. He hurt, sometimes, my feelings by his raillery-he pulled me down too suddenly from