her long-lost child: not that she's your mother, Emmy dear.
No--no--matters are better than that: all she vouchsafes, though, to
tell me is, that you are a lady born and bred, and--for I cannot find
the words to inform your pure mind clearer--that 'you are not what he
thinks you.'"

[Here followeth another twinkling universe of stars;

* * * * * * *

and thereafter our cavalier condescendeth again to matters of fact.]

"Nurse Mackie of course comes back with me next packet; this letter goes
by the overland mail more quickly than we can; gladly would I go too,
but the old woman, whose life is essential to your rights, would die of
fatigue by the way; as it is, I am obliged to coddle her, and feed her,
and ptisan her, like a sick baby, bless her dear old heart that loves my
darling Emmy! She has a pack of papers with her, which she will not
open, till the general is by her side: if she unfortunately dies before
we can return, I am to have them, and all will be right. But the old
soul is so afraid of being left behind (as you throw away the
orange-peel after you have squeezed it), that she will not tell me a
word about them yet; so, I only gather what I can from her cautious
garrulity, hints about a Begum and a captain, and the Stuarts, and a
Putty-what-d'ye-call-it. And it is all in document, as well as
_viva-voce_ (this means 'gossip,' dear). So now you may be expecting us,
as soon as ever we can get to you. Tell the general all this, and give
him my best love, next after your's Emmy; for he is my father still, and
my very heart yearns after him: O, that he were kinder with me as I see
he is with you, dear, and more open with us all! Also, kiss, if she will