l Directory"
failed to discover the whereabout of the pretended London merchant.
Heart-sick and spirit-wearied, Captain Dalston returned home only to die.
A violent cold, caught by imprudently riding in such bitter weather as it
then was, on the outside of the coach, aggravated by distress of mind,
brought his already enfeebled frame to the grave in less than two months
after his arrival in Cumberland. He left his daughters utterly unprovided
for, except by the legal claim which the eldest possessed on a man who,
he feared, would turn out to be a worthless impostor. The penalty he paid
for consenting to so imprudent a marriage was indeed a heavy and bitter
one. Months passed away, and still no tidings of Violet's husband reached
the sisters' sad and solitary home. At length, stimulated by
apprehensions of approaching destitution--whose foot was already on the
threshold--and desirous of gratifying a whim of Emily's, Violet consented
to visit the neighborhood of Compton Castle (the seat, her sister had
ascertained, of the "celebrated sporting baronet," as the porter called
him) on their way to London, where they had relatives who, though not
rich, might possibly be able to assist them in obtaining some decent
means of maintenance. They alighted at the "Compton Arms," and the first
object which met the astonished gaze of the sisters as they entered the
principal sitting-room of the inn, was a full-length portrait of Violet's
husband, in the exact sporting-dress described to them by their father.
An ivory tablet attached to the lower part of the frame informed the
gazer that the picture was a copy, by permission, of the celebrated
portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, of Sir Harry Compton, Baronet. They were
confounded, overwhelmed, bewildered. Sir Harry, they found, had been
killed about eight months previously in a steeple-chase; and the castle
and estates had passed, in default of direct issue, to a distant
relative, Lord Emsdale. Their story was soon bruited about; and, in the
opinion of many persons, was confirmed beyond reasonable question by the
extraordinary likeness they saw or fancied between Violet's son and the
deceased baronet. Amongst others, Sir Jasper Thornely was a firm believer
in the identity of Henry Grainger and Sir Harry Compton; but
unfortunately, beyond the assertion of the sisters that the portrait of
Sir Harry was young Grainger's portrait, the real or imaginary likeness
of the child to his reputed father