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6
■\
LILIAiN'S RETROSPECT.
I
«r
E. T. BARTLEY.
HUNTER, ROSE AND COMPANY.
1877.
BIBLIOTHEQUE
UNIVERSITE DE SHERBROOKf
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VIII.
PA«B
Left Alonk 49
CHAPTEK IX.
Wanted, a Companion 56
CHAPTER X.
Isabel „ 64
CHAPTER XI.
An Interrupted Interview . . 72
CHAPTER XII.
Minnie 77
CHAPTER XIII.
New Acquaintances ^
CHAPTER XIV.
" Coming events cast their shadows before " 92
CHAPTER XV.
Gay AND GiuvE ®®
CHAI»TER XVI.
Old Friends with New Faces ^^
i
^'
CONTENTS. vii
CHAPTER XVII.
PAGE.
A Change in Isabel 110
CHAPIER XVIII.
Love rersug Friendship 115
CHAPTER XIX.
Friexoship versus Love 119
CHAPTER XX.
A Story axd what came of it 124
CHAPTER XXL
A Double Parting 132
CHAPTER XXII.
The End j,g
^
f
^•'
LILIAN'S RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER I.
'* I would not escajie from Memory's land,
For all that the eye can view ;
For there's dearer dust in memory's land
Than the ore of rich Peru.
I clasp the fetters by memory twined,
The wanderer's heart and soul to bind !"
t
JS I look from my pleasant parlour window on the
lovely prospect of mountain, wood, and river
which stretches before me, my gaze rests with
"^^^ dreamy delight on beauty, which my boilily eye
cannot but perceive and enjoy, but to which, for a time,
methinks the eye of my mind must be somewhat inditie-
rent ; for, in menioiy, I am transported far from the scenes
before me to those of other days, when, as child and
maiden, I wandered in youthful happiness on the white
and pebbly beach of 8 . In childish hours, it may be,
idly gathering the shells, which studded in pn^fusion the
smooth and sandy sui-face, and anon throwing them into
the sea, whose waves were dashing in white foam witliin
a yard of the little feet which loved to aj)proach in closest
possible proximity to the wat r, and still av(jid the mis-
fortune of a wetting, which would " make mamma angry,"
and mayhap call down the reproof even of my kind and
indulgent father. In more advanced years, lost in reverie,
B
10
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
it may be, of sad }>ereavenient, of which no shadow then
had dimmed tlie bri<jfhtness of a life unrftftted yet by care
or sorrow ; or engaged, again, in girlish dreams of future
happiness, when love should have shed its halo round my
path — when my l)eau-ideal, my knight, my husband
should have made his appearance, and 1 should be content
to resign myself into his hands ; when " love in a cottage"
should, in our experience, be fully realized, and when we
should, of course, be "happy ever after."
Happy childhood ! charming maidenhood ! who would
not look back with pleasure on your fresh and imiocent
delights.
My father, previous to his coming to S , had been
pastor of a large and nourishing church in one of our
larger northern cities, but as the infirmities of age began
gradually to steal upon him, he felt himself compelled to
resign a charge where his godly example and useful and
consistent life, had endeared him to the heart of every
member of his Hock, with the "Fathei-s" of which he had
come out from the Established Kirk of Scotland, and
with them formed the dissenting body of which they
unanimously called him to take the oversight.
Unwilling to resign his usefulness entirely, and having
an earnest desire, as I often heard him say, to die in har-
ness, he acce|)ted the call from the little church in S ,
whose limited numbers and sphere of action were more
suited now to his capacities, and settled down to a life of
comparative ease, and forgetfulness of the busy scenes in
which he had no]>ly played his part.
He had not married until late in life, and then had
chosen one whom his congregation thought scarcely a fit
help-meet for a man somewliat advanced in life, and whose
Arduous duties, and of times harassing cares, would have
re^iuired, they imagined, a partner on whose judgment he
might rely with safety, and on whose strong mind he
might rest for comfort and advice in cases of disappoint-
ment and uncertainty.
d
■^="T"
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
11
,.(
i
Lily Thomhurst was nn.suitable in every respect, they
said, scarcely twenty-three when she became my father's
wife ; remarkable for nothing, unless it were, as they
frankly admitted, for kindness of heart and ])eauty of
outward appearance, they had reason to believe that tlie
judgment of the man on wliom they had been wont to
rely with so much confidence, was at fault in this instance,
than wliich none of the important events of his previous
life could have been more important.
Enough, that my mother, in every respect, justified my
father's choice, and agreeably disappointed the feai's of
those who mistrusted the young an<l light-hearted girl
who was content to share the lot of one, who in yeare,
might have been her father, but for whom she entertained
an affection as pure and true as if time had left no impress
in the deepening lines on cheek and forehead, or in the
threads of silver, becoming all too numerous in the once
raven locks.
Two years after their marriage my sister Helen was
bom, and after a lapse of five years my mother died in
giving birtli to her second child — myself; so no real
memory of her whom, nevertheless, I have oft in fancy
clothed in bodily shape, and endowed with every outward
charm and inward grace of perfect womanhood, mingled
with my childish reminiscences; and instead of the reality
of clinging arms and wooing accents of sacred motherhood,
I have but my dreams of what "might have been " to
ponder o'er when thoughts of her arise in my heart.
Two years after n.y mother's death my father married
again, and this time was content to follow the advice
which before he had neglected, and take unto himself the
daughter of a brother minister in a neighbouring town,
a lady whose yeai*s were on the shady side of forty, and
whose clearness of judgment and strength of mind had,
no doubt, recommended themselves to the prudent advisers
of the union.
I cast no reproach on the woman to whom my child-
mmm
12
LILIAN 8 RETROSPECT.
Ill
It
ll
hood was entrusted. She was in every respect iiubstan-
tially kind, tliough never indulgent ; always just, though
seldom forgiving ; ever mindful of our bodily wants, and
watchful of our outward comfort, but apt to be forgetful
of the hungry hearts to which a kiss, a hug, a loving
word, would have been of untold preciousness ; always
contented, rarely cheerful, often "good," but never tender.
Four years after this union was formed my father's
health suddenly began to give way ; and his strength and
activity becoming, in proportion, diminished, he was led,
as before-mentioned, to resign his much-loved charge tor
an easier sphere in S .
The little town in which so many of my youthful years
were passed, was "beautiful for situation," and to me will
ever be dear from association.
Within a few miles distance from Scotland's capital, it
possessed all the advantages to be derived from proximity
thereto, and was wont (it may have been but in small de-
gree), to reflect the beauty and fashion of th3 neighbour-
ing city.
Then as summer came and returned again, the said
beauty and fashion, whose reflector the S ites were
content, for the most part, to be in pursuit of health and
pleasure, disdained not in propria persona, and in sea-
side costume to disport themselves on its long and sandy
beach, or in bathing ditto submerge themselves daily in
the briny element, which lined the same.
Besides the church of which my father became pastor,
i" 3 town contained other three of different denominations
and two mission halls to each of which the labours of a
missionary were exclusively devoted, so that the work
which fell to my father's share must have been compara-
tively light. But I believe that what he had to do he
did thoroughly and was as earnest in seeking to save souls
and faithful in admonishing those who persisted in re-
jecting an offered gospel as ever he had been in the zealous
days of early manhood. Indeed I have reason to believe
SCHOOL DAYS.
13
that his ** light," which the testimony of his faithful and
devoted survivors assures me, never at any time l)ume<l
dimly, shone forth with greater ra<liance, just as it was
soon to l)e (juenched in an infinitely gi'eat^r lustre, even
the rays of the Sun of Righteousness in which he now
forever liasks.
Well I remember the earnest and faithful sermons
which divw to the evening services crowds of intt^rested
and anxious men, women and children, eargerly incjuiring
the way of salvation. And methinks, if the lustre of the
crown which he has now won, is in the degree of those,
whose spiritual father he became, the stars which adorn
the diadem must indeed be many and lustrous. " They
that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the Hrma-
ment for ever and ever."
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOL DAYS.
^S memory turns to my school days, I recall the de-
light with which my sister and myself received
the information that we were " to go to school,"
a delightful fulfilment of long secretly cheri.shed
hopes of release from the — to us — drudgery and discom-
fort of "lessons with manmia."
Now we would have some fun and play, it might be
even in lesson hours, for would there not be the delight-
ful novelty of companionship in our tasks and possibility
of eluding the vigilance of a teacher who had twenty to
look after in his class instead of two, a possibility which
had never been remotely possible while under my step-
mother's strict and unwavering surveillance.
And then at recess what fun we would no doubt have
^^F
14
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
among our fellow-scliolai's in <lressing-rooin and play-
ground ; for Im' it known, w*» contrived by the acconnnoda-
ting iiifoi .nation of one or two little girls, with whom wo
ha<l picked up an ac<juaint;ince, and who were already pro-
moted to the glory of atten<ling the Aca<lemy, to render
oui*seIves tolerably familiar with the outs and ins of that
leamcil institution, an<l had every intention of making
oui'selves at home within its sacre<l precincts when wo
should have gjiined admission thereto.
Notwithstanding, however, our brave resolves and eager
exjK'ctations tlu^se were, a.s might have been expected,
somewhat damped when we were actually ushered into
the presence of fifty or more sti'ange girls, who, as si^hool
girls will, ill-manneredly, pei*sist in doing, eyed the (luiet
and denune little new-comers from top to toe, and irom
toe to top, with every indication of an intention to take a
mental inventx)ry of the articles of apparel which adorm^d
their iH'i'sons, and of any possible advantages to be dmived
f'-om their ao<|uaintanceship. How we got through this
trying onleal and the not less trying examination of our
attainnu'uts in knowh'dire — which was con<lucte«l for the
purpose of placing us in the class to which we were most
suitid — I scarcely know, for I was possessed of an un-
comfortable conviction that school was not going to be so
pleasant aftt^' all, and an over|>owering desire to find
myself once more under the sheltering wing of my step-
mother, whose eyes w^ere certainly sharp enough, Init
infinitely less appalling than the in<juisitive gaze of our
new companions.
When, however, during recess, one or two little girls of
my i)wn age approached the place where I was sitting,
disconsolately chewing my biscuits and the cud of my
bitter thouglits, and bashfully in<|uired if I w^ould " play
with them," my misery jpiickly vanished, and I was soon
engjiged with them and otliei-s, for whom these little
maidens had " broken the ice," in a jolly game of romps,
It
SCHOOL DAYS.
15
I
in which none was jollier than the lately ho disconHolate,
Li Hie Stiiai*t.
Seeing Helen also enjoyinj^ h«'rself with girls of her
own age, my happiness was complete ; ami this first day,
was hut a prelude to many other happy and husy days at
S Academy, wh<'re most of my e<liication was ob-
tained, and where, I trust, a solid foundati(»n was laid,
for other accomplishments since ac(|uire«l.
A year after our entrance, there came to school a girl
a)x)ut my sister's age, named Isahel Hanling, with whom
Helen soon l>ecame very intimate, and to whose house we
weix* often invited, as, heing an only chihl she was some-
times at a loss for companionship, and was on that account,
encouraged by her mother to invite her school fellows to
her home.
Here, chihl as I was, T quickly perceived the working
of the domestic machinery, and discovered in Isabel the
s|K)iJed and wilful <larling, who was the mainspring of the
whole.
With what astonisliment di<l T Ijehohl her motlier, time
after time, yielding to the whims an<l caprices of her child,
and this perhaps, after denying once an<l again, the, for
the time, cherished" and eagerly demanded wish, only to
capitulate at length tc> the will which alas! her training
hail made stronger than her own.
Nor was her father, proud and unyielding to others,
less indulgent to the petted darling of the house, l>ut
lavished on her every gift which fond affection could de-
vise, or money purchase ; for at this time their establish-
ment was small, and his income more than s6fhcient to
meet its demands.
As my .sister was honoured in lieing the chosen com-
panion of this wilful maiden, and there Wing but two of
us, I could not well l>e omitted in the invitations which
she received ; we were often at Hawthorn Cottage, which
faced the sea, with sloping garden towards the beach ;
and at,a few yai'ds' distance from which there stood, (oh
f
16
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
\i\
( i
wonder of wondei-s ! and delight of delights !) the ruin of
an ancient abbey which was a source of never tiring in-
terest, and never failing amusement to us, as we (romantic
little beings that we were), were used to explore the struc-
ture in which there was in reality nothing to explore, the
centre of the circled walls being full of emptiness, if I ex-
cept the broken steps of what had once been a solid stair-
way, whose perilous ascent we gloried in attaining, if not
ignorant of the fact, at least indifferent to, that every re-
newed attempt was but another risking of the precious
little lives we held so lightly.
Not having reached an age when the real picturesque-
ne^s of the ruin could recommend itself to an artistic eye,
or the sadness of vanished strength strike a chill to a heart
sensitive to the decay which is ever going on around us,
I fear we were indebted to certain " works of fiction,"
which we had contrived surreptiously to obtain from school
friends, and devour in stolen minutes, for the intense in-
terest which we felt in this attractive pursuit ; for were
not heroes and heroines invariably addicted to risking
their lives, in a noble cause of course, and this surely
must be a noble cause to reach such a summit as could be
attained by the ascent of this crazy stairway.
Nor was mysterious awe a wanting to make up the de-
lightful sensation which we experienced in \dsiting this
time-past relic ; for had not the skeletons of a woman artd
a baby been found several years l)efore in an erect pos-
ture between the double walls of the structure, the inner
of which falling, had disclosed the appalling spectacle to
the startled gaze of the beholder.
We undei-stood that the woman and child had been
built in alive between the walls, as a pimishment for
some offence, but were too much children to compre-
hend the sad history, which, if true, the circumstance dis-
closed.
The ruin commonly called by the townsf oiks the Abbey
was in reality an old convent, built long before the first
SCHOOL DAYS.
17
^
house in S had reared its head on the then wild and
barren expanse of bush -land which stretched for miles
along the coast, and which offered good opportunity for
the smuggling adventures which are recorded to have
taken place thereon, as well, no doubt, as for other and
greater deeds of darkness not handed down to posterity.
Could my father have guessed the " play " which occu-
pied so large a pro}X)rtion of the hours which we s|>ent at
Hawthorn Cottage, methinks the blood would have " cur-
dled ill his veins with horror " at the knowledge that the
little lives, dearer to him a thousand times, I believe, than
his own, weie almost daily in danger of being " suddenly
cut oft'," and himself left a lonely and broken-hearted
man.
As it was, I am sure he fancied not (albeit Mr. Harding
was a member and deacon of his own church) our f i*equent
visitings at the Cottage, nor was sorry when they began
gradually to decrease ; and at length (when capricious
Isabel, having found a nearer, and in turn dearer, friend
than Helen) ceased altogether.
By no means inconsolable at the loss of her quondam
friend, whose exacting regard had sometimes prove<l moi'e
troublesome than desirable, Helen soon found other com-
panions, who, if less devoted were also less changeable,
and with whom her good nature and obliging kindness
made her a general favourite, v
18
LILIAN S RETROoPECT.
CHAPTER III.
GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
li
|HEN three years had pa&scd, and Helen had
attained the age of fourteen, she l>egan to fancy
herself quite grown up. a fancy with which mine
entirely coincided, and so much admiration and
respect did her advanced age inspire in my still unfortu-
nately youthful bosom, that I was content, in humble
imitation, to practice the young-lad^^-like aii*s, which, in
my opinion, rendered her so gi^aceful, in the hope that
when I should have attained the same maturity, I might
be able to conduct myself in a similar creditable and lady-
like manner.
Then, what was surely an unquestionable proof of my
sisters grown -u])-ness, she began to be invited to evening
parties, a distinction which I vainly longed to attain, but
in lieu of which 1 had to content myself with a full ac-
count of the same when we should have retired to the
little room we shared toorether. after entering which we
were supposed to betake ourselves immediately to repose,
but though obliged " nolens volens," to betake oui-selves
to bed (my step-mother invariably i-emoving the light in
ten minutes) we did by no means resign ourselves at once
to sleep. On the conti*aiy, this was our opportunity for
a confidential chat, and oh ! the vanities which occupied
our youthful brai' ad tongues, as we lay for hours
awake, while Hele.. recounted the events of her evening's
pleasure, and I gi-eedily imbibed the thrilling narrative.
Then Helen, instead of hastily donning her old straw
bat, and (permission reluctantly granted) rushing off to
GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
19
.1
the house of some companions, for the purpose of inviting
them " to come out and play," must needs now " make
calls," not, of course, in the old stmw hat, hut in her Sun-
day chapeau of dainty velvet, with ostrich plume, which
set off to the best advantage the bright complexion and
chestnut curls, of which, despite my love, my jealous little
heart sometimes felt a twinge of envy.
Sometimes — delightful honour ! — I received pennission
to accompany her on her round of visits ; and then, as we
were ushered into the drawing-room, and talked and par-
took of the refreshments which were almost invariably
offered, I seemed to share (though only in a reflected glory,
it is true), still some of the glory of wliat I hit. ted to remem-
ber was yet to me far distant young-ladyihin.
Was it consistent with my father's high religious
character, or with my step-mother's usual clearness of judg-
ment to permit such license to a comparative child as was
my sister ? So far as my step-mother was concerned, she
often expostulated with my father on the subject, and had
she had her way would have forbidden entirely the par-
ties in which Helen seemed to take so much delight, but
which were truly unsuitable to her years, and dangerous to
her pleasure-loving disposition.
My father, however, held somewhat peculiar opinions
on this subject, and having seen many, and especially
ministers' sons and daughters, with whom the reins had
been held too tightly, only led thereby to acts of disobedi-
ence and sin, he resolved, in a certain degree not to inter-
fere with his children's inclinations, but to let them have
a taste of pleasure without feeling it to be a forbidden
fruit, still guiding them b}' precept and example to choose
" the better part," which, though earthly pleasure should
fade and die, should never be taken away from them.
On some important principles which he held strongly,
my father did not even make use of precept to lead us to
a right decision ; but trusted to our judgment and his own
example for a happy issue.
20
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
Though holding strong total abstinence views, he had
never entered on the subject with us on any occasion, nor
encouraged us to become members of a Band of Hope, or
any other temperance organization, as most parents would
have endeavoured to do. How he would have acted had
he known that beverages which never entered between
his own lips, were at pai*ty or visit partaken of by his
children, who might thus imbibe a taste for such stimu-
lants, before they had arrived at years to guess the evil
they possessed, I cannot tell.
That my father, however, was not disappointed of his
hopes and expectations, will be seen from the following
incident, which occurred when Helen was fifteen.
" Papa," she suddenly inquired one evening, as we were
seated at work in my father's study, " Is it right for little
girls like me to drink wine ?"
My father looked up in suqmsed inquiry.
" Why do you ask, my child ?"
" Because I want to know, papa," she returned, with a
charming smile of affected wilfulness.
" Well, then, my child, it is not right for a girl like
you, or a man like me, or any other human being that I
know of (except in case of absolute necessity), to indulge
in its use, and this understand me, children ; not because
drinking wine is in itself wrong, but I conscientiously
believe that when we see the evil all around us to which
it leads, we cannot encourage the practice in ourselves or
others without committing sin."
" Well, papa, I don't intend ever to drink wine again,"
said Helen, thoughtfully and decidedly.
" Why, my child, you never have drank it," returned
my father, laughing.
" Oh, yes, papa ;" and then followed a narrative which
startled my father into extreme gravity; which, however,
gave place to pleasure when my sister ingenuously con-
fessed how she had never felt comfortable while partaking
of the refreshment, so thoughtlessly and, shall I say, so
n
GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
21
sinfully oflfered; and had only yielded from the idea that
it was acting like grown-up people, " which you know,
papa," she added, laughing, "* is the sin that doth so easily
beset me,' which you were preaching about last Sunday."
" My dear daughter," returned my father, fondly strok-
ing the curls which fell on Helen's shoulders, as she
somewhat bashfully bent her head over her work, " your
reasoning and judgment on that subject would do you
credit if you were twice your present age. I pray God,"
he added solemnly, " that you may anive at a decision as
wise on one of infinitely gi'eater magnitude."
" And how with my little Lillie ?" he exclaimed, smil-
ingly turning to me, " Is she also going to become a
young temperance advocate ?"
" Oh, yes, papa !" I eagerly exclaimed, quite convinced
by the opinions of the two I loved best in the world, " I
think like you and Helen ; I won't never take any wine
again."
" Indeed ! " said my father, with raised eyebrows, — a
gesture which i perfectly understood.
Oh, papa, you know what I mean. I won't ever take
ti
wme again.
"I rejoice to hear it, little one, stick to that, and you
will never regi'et it."
After that (do you believe it, reader ?) we suffered,
childi'en though we were, a certain amount of what I may
justly call persecution, on account of our "peculiar views,"
and this in the latter half of the nineteenth century.
A few days after the above convei*sation, as Hel»n and
I were walking in the direction of the Har<lings cottage,
we were surprised on passing the ruine«l Abbey to per-
ceive men at work, clearing away the rubbish which had
been accumulating for yeai*s, within the enclosure which
marked the space of ground belonging to the building ;
but were more surprised still at a rumour which reached
us shortly afterwards, viz., that Mr, Harding meditated a
purchase of the ruined stinicture, and with the intention
22
LILIAVS RETROSPECT.
of having it renewed, and inhabiting it as a dwelling-
house.
" What a (jueer fancy/* said everyone ; but out-of-the-
way fancies were things to which Mr. Harding was rather
addicted ; and this pet .scheme of becoming the possessor
of what, under his guidance, should yet be construed into
a handsome residence, was not to be baulked by certain
obstacles which stood in the way. Nor did the said
obstacles prevent him from taking time by the forelock,
in having the accumulated debris cleared off in preparation
for the building operations he hoped soon to commence.
The purchase, however, was not so easily completed as he
expected, the difficulty consisting in this : the right, or no
right, of the civil authorities to dispose of a piece of ground,
to which the town could lay no legal claim ; and to which,
though the place had been left in its present forlorn and
deserted condition during the memory of the oldest inhabi-
tant, it was just possible a lawful heir or heirs might still
exist ; and at some future date put in a claim which the
purchaser should find it impossible to dispute.
Somewhat stajsjered in his desire when this view of
the case was ]>resented jq him, Mr. Harding hesitated to
preas the matter further, and for two years seemed en-
tirely to abandon his darling project, but only to renew it
again, when he found that he could not banish from his
mind a scheme in which his fancy, and that of his darling
Isabel went hand in hand; and her fancy and his own,
being the two he loved most to gratify, he once more sent
in his previously rejected offer. While " laughing in
their sleeves " at the mingled simplicity and pride which
dictated their townsman's application, the authorities
could not ignore the advantage of having, what they con-
sidered a blot on the almost untarnished cleanliness and
uniformity of the sea-girt cottages, displaced by a hand-
some dwelling-house, and well-kept surroundings, as
should no doubt be the residence of Thomas Harding, Esq.,
of the " Abbey ; " so at length closed with an offer, which
I.
•4<
A GLORIOUS SUNSET.
23
bore a very small proportion to the real value of the place,
but which they were willing to receive, on the undei*stan<l-
ing that Mr. Harding became it« possessor at his own
risk.
CHAPTER IV.
A GLORIOUS SUNSET.
HREE more happy and uneventful years since the
^ convei*sation recorded in my last chapter had passed
over our heads, and I had reached my thirteenth
^^i^ birthday.
It was a lovely Sunday morning in early September,
when I opened my sleepy eyes to find a warm sun alrea<ly
streaming into our room, and hastily rousing the still
slumbering Helen, sprang out of bed, and hurriedly be-
gan my own toilet, in the hope of a quiet chat with papa,
before the others should be ready for breakfast.
It was not the hope of a birthday gift, that quickened
my step or flushed my cheek, as I approached the door of
my fathei's study, for I had no reason to supj)ose that
such awaited me ; my father, though delighting now and
again to give us little presents, never doing so on paiticu-
lar occasions, but rather at times when, as he said, their
value should be enhanced, from the fact of the ijift beinoj
altogether unexpected.
My gentle knock wafi replied to, by what seemed i-ather
an absent-minded, " come in."
" Oh, papa, are you busy ? I won't come in if it will
disturb you."
" Is it you, Lillie, child ? Come in by all means, I am not
too busy to talk for a while to my baby girl."
Now in spite of my longing to be grown up, I loved
when my father called me by this name ; there was such
24
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
a world of tenderncHs in it ; and I dimly guessed that the
love which he had borne iiiy sainted mother, was in some
mysterious manner transferred to me, for whom she had
indeed lain down her life ; and that when my father called
me thus, he was thinking of the time, wlien his young
and lovely wife had been called aw^ay from his sight for
ever, and only myself, a little helpless babe, left to him in
her stead.
" Dear papa, I am come for you to wish me a happy
birthday ; I am thirteen to-day, you know."
" Yes, thirteen years to-day," echoed my father sadly ;
and after a pause, " I shall go to her, but she shall not
return to me."
Something in the words, or in the tone of my father's
voice, struck a chill to my heart, a few minutes since so
buoyant with the hopeful gladness of youth, and suddenly
bursting into tears : I threw my arms impulsively around
his neck, as I sobbed out the words, " Oh, papa you make
me sad, and I felt so happy a little while ago ; dear papa,
speak to me, speak to your baby Lillie."
" And did I make my little Lillie sad on her bright and
happy birthday morning," said my father, gently stroking
my upturned face, and then lifting me to his knee, clasp-
ing me to him in a close embrace ; " Dear child, I only
wish to make you happy ; and see," gently putting me
down, " I have a gift for my little girl, which I hope she
will use well by using often."
He put into my hands a beautiful Bible, a gift for which
I had often longed. Oh, papa, I exclaimed in rapture, " a
Bible ! my very own little Bible ! oh, how nice ! How
shall I ever thank you, papa ? " .
" Dear daughter, all the thanks for which I wish, you
can give me by studying the inside of the little book, the
outside of which you so much admire ; and, beloved child,
see that ye listen to the invitation therein given. Come to
the Saviour, Lillie, while you are young, and before any
sorrow has clouded your days ; and then nothing that can
A GLORIOUS SUNSET.
25
happen, will ever seriously disturb your peace and happi-
ness. 1 feel so happy in the profession Helen made last
Sahhath, hut I lon<jj to see my Lillie also, safe in the
Saviour's fold, before I leave her alone. Dear child, will
you give your heart to Jesus ? "
"I will try, papa, oh ! I will tiy ; but don ot speak of
leaving us alone, — I cannot bear it ; I could not live with-
out you, papa."
" A sad smile flitted across my father's face, but without
replying he took the Bible from my hand, saying, " I have
not yet written your name," and sitting down again at his
desk he wrote, in what I was surprised to observe, as I
leaned on his shoulder, was unusually shaky hand-writing,
the words, —
*' To Lilian Thomhurst Stuart,
as a Birth-day Gift
from her Father."
After suspending the pen for a moment, he added, whe-
ther in answer to my last observation, or to some thought
of his own, I know not, " I can do all things through Christ
strengthening me."
The breakfast bell ringing left no time for further talk,
so hurriedly embracing me, my father whispered, " Now
chase the shadows from that little brow, darling, and be
happy ; I love to see my children happy."
How easy it is at thirteen to obey so pleasant a com-
mand. Resolutely putting from me the sad thoughts and
presentiments called up by our previous conversation, I
entered the breakfast-room, smiling as brightly and talk-
ing as joyously as if sorrow were a thing unknown, and
death a far-off possibility, which needed not from me any
present consideration.
• •••••
It was the hour of evening service, and as we sat wait-
ing for my father to give out the hymn with which it
should commence, the setting sun streamed in a flood of
glory through the stained glass window near which the
c
• •
2G
LILIAN S UETROSPECT.
minister's family were seated, enveloping in a halo of rich
and mellow light the upturned faces of the waiting con-
gregation, and, as its slanting rays fell direct upon my
father's countenance, adding a brighter purity to the thin
white locks which parted above the lofty forehead, and
defining with greater distinctness the noble outlines of a
countenance seldom surpassed for physical beauty.
iiut as I looked upon it now, bathed in rays of rosy
light, 1 seemed suddeidy to become aware that the face I
loved so well and had admired so often, possessed als(j a
loveliness not of this earth, which, child though 1 was,
I could not but feel was born of comnmnion with one
"altogether lovely," whose image was even already in some
degree reflected by the earthly tabernacle tiirough which
the puritied spirit shone — a tabernacle of clay truly, Init
what should some day become a " glorified body," reHect-
ing, not as now, partially, but in perfection, the image of
its Divine Creator.
As he sat for an unusual length of time, engaged, as I
supposed, in deciding upon the hymn with which the ser|
vice should commence, 1 could not forbear an uneasy im-
patience born of I know not what, that he should lift the
bowed head, and let me hear again the familiar voice ; and
when at length he rose, and read in faltering tones the
well-known and world-sung hymn, " Rock of ages cleft for
me," and the congregation joined in singing, I still felt in-
capable of withdrawing my eyes from my father's counte-
nance, but seemed compelled, by some strange fascination,
eagerly to watch the slightly-moving lips,afts they lan-
guidly uttered the much -loved syllables.
Suddenly an awful paleness overspread the face I was
so intently regarding, and without sound of warning, my
father sank down in the pulpit in semi-unconsciousness.
I could not speak : my tongue clove to the roof of my
mouth with horror ; and utterly incapable of uttering a
syllable, but drawing by sign my stepmother's attention,
I was about to rush from the pew when she forcibly de-
+
T
1,
A GLORIOUS SUNSET.
27
•
fkined me, and hei*self went quickly to uiy father's asKist-
ance, followed by one and another who had now become
alive to what had occurred.
The congregation .suddenly sto|)ped singing, and stood
in awe-struck silence as my fathtT was removed from the
pulpit to the adjoining vestry ; and, when a brother min-
isU*r, wlio happened U) be present, was requeste«l to con-
duct the si'nice, it was evident that few present were
capable ot" giving any but the most wandering atti'ntion
to the act« of worship in which they were outwardly en-
gaged. As the moans which my father could not suppress
were di.stinctly audible from the adjoining apartment, the
overwriHight feelings of the congregation found vent in
echoing groans of fear and sorrow, while his children,
forbidden to approach him, sobbed in dread anguish of
soul, at the thought that, perhaps, the father in whom all
their ho|)ea of hap|)iness centred, and without whose pre-
sence life should be but a hopeless blank, was about Uj be
torn fix)m them for ever by the dread tyrant whose ap-
proach but an hour ago they had so little feared.
At length we were summoned to his side, bu^. no smile
of recognition gi*eeted our entrance, oi* loving word of
sympathy escaped the lips, so white and rigid, to strengthen
or prepare us for the dark abyss of sorrow, into which
we were so soon to be thrust. Home ! home ! were all the
words my father uttered, so we took him to his earthly
home, which his presence had made sacred to the hearts
of his children ; but, methinks it was another home, the so
soon to be MJ^sed spirit was longing to reach a home,
where " there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor
crying," " where there shall be no more pain ;" but where
" Go<l shall wipe away all tears from all faces."
A home in heaven ; where our friends have fled.
To the cheerless gloom of the mouldering dead.
We rest in hope of the promise given,
We shaU meet up there in our home in heaven.
I II IAN H utruoMi'icrr,
\\\ \m\\( tin hour wo \V(«io r)i())«>il««>4M, miil lioCoro (lio immi
m'»>>;«t»s«U lwi»l th'«lMM*«o»| |ll»» •«»»»! Il«|ini;« XMMimMMIN OVo<| III
U\\\\\ llAMU (llV |Mll|»l( U l)« It' lll\ lalll*! luhl IlltlllMloKMl (tl
llioiu \\\ (ill I'nKlii'ulnoH^ iiii«l -«iiit-«>iH\ lor iiomiIv movoii
v^HiiH. tlwit {\\v |tMM(«M, who WMM |«i iiiHiiv «•(' (IhMi iniiiilior,
H talluM in DniMi, )in>l («• tiil ol' llioni uiurli Im ImndI Imi
hii«\\\Mk>4 mkKo, luitt tilirail) lOMniuotI (lir moii^ mI' |»iin'«o
i)\ w liu'h ho was inloini|«lo«l iioio h\ (ho ii|»|iinMoh mI' I ho
»li^*n«l n»osson>;oi, an«l >\m ♦ now •*in>;injL;. not in (h«* IVJioring
juv\'nts. n.H whon thoy h«»l h»s( soon him. hiH in jt>N
\«n^ tuitl owihnnl hMlloh\)Hh i, (ho M«in>4 ol (ho loJoonioil
nhv»\o Mo \\u^ n«»\> Coroxoi sato hi«l in (ho olol'l ol' (ho
Kov'k
'* KaV U\*\\\ »» WoiUI >>l »;Oi'l MHil "ill,
\N \{\\ li«Hl ol*«iii)»llv Niiiil in."
Mn fadioiH oainost w ish wit** rnllilloil, llo Jid inJooil
**\liointho himuv^H. (hiioo luippx ho. to ho (hits onllotl
tv» his ivw«i\l, tlinvt t'iA»in his woik in (ho \ inoyanl, m
whioh (hi\Miv;h Ul\» ho \u\\{ U'on an oaniost. thh^ont and
taitht'ul h»K>ni\M "lUossod is tho man, w non» his LonI
whon hoo\Mno(!i. shall lin«i so »loin^."
I vliHW a Noil \»v\M giiot' t\H» do\»p for wonU ; ovor M<urow
with w hiv'h a stian^i^M' oannot indMinotldlo , and pass i»ii
to v»thov vsvviuvs, whithoi r\'a«KM. il' vou U* intorostod in iii>
s\»u|»lo nanativo. I pi ay yv>n l'olK»w mo.
I IVK AC I UK * Wll.l.HWS.'
^■;IHK. plaoo was an oKi-fnshiono«l farm hoiisi* in
"I INvMosshiiv rho timo — tho vonr t\>lK>wini' niv
^-^< t'athor s donth.
%j^^ Uolou and I woiv tho solo 4HHMn»<ints of tl\o low
i\nUiigV\l a^virtmont whioh sorvod as tho sittini;" nH)m,
tHitiuvr i\k»uu4UkI ou oi\linm*v ^Kvasivuus, i.\>nn>aiiy ivooiving
I.ll'l'; AT Till': "Wlll.nWH
M
IMI
w
y
k
I
iiMiiii iif Hir ffiiniU i( vvH't Miily till t \\im,n\\hhi y in('it,fi\iiHH
lliiil iIm* itlliti iiiiMi ImmiiIm, wliii li Mmi y Ann, (lie pMHi'ltn^
^••iiHiM iif llir Kihlirn, vviiM woni hMlnMip^nnI* I In " |fi/inny
iMtiui," wiiM o|iMniii iiIIhi Im |iiiIiIi«- Ml |*nvMl<' |/n/<' , IhiI, 1
inn nnl awnn* lliitl nny mim |tiM In nliirly ic^i« llnl iJiinfir
runiMliiin't*, iiinl mm I'm iih I rMni<l |h iii-ivi- iJn* " Im'mK room "
>vin« only II Minnie iliiiKii Mini Htviiitl i|i|/iiih inon*. 'liMnniJ
tiniii IIm Mi«liinii V Milhn)j( immim, Mwin^i; no iltinlil to 'Iniii
tliiniMMl\ rnihiMiM williin, vvlm-li (ii)l*(| l.ln^ wri'|nn|./ willovvH
\\ illnnil , III iHrhnliiif.', MnMioiiM ifiyM wliirli nHp;lil. olInT
wine IniM' mIm'iI MMine <h*^M«'<' mI' liM;.^li(in'iiM mii lln- inwnntu
IiiI<m| I'liinilN liriilMMinM vvltirlt I, In* imoiii f'Mnlhiin d
TIm' rniiiilniM NviiH iiImm, I !*< liivc, h nlnnli mI<1< i, fin<l mm
Aiinl .iMinl eH|nrMMit| il., ii Minnir ' nn>ii' Hnl>MiM.nlial "
hill IIk'mc \v«'I(' ijnMlilnM vvhnli my vnl|.Mii IiihIc mii'I n«-w-
riiiii{l«'<| ii|ilirin^Mn|.' hiihil Im M|»|nii'iMl.r, mimI mm I. In* Monn<lM
wliii'li iHNinil I'lMiii lln* |tninnv mii Iti^li Mini I'iMlJVi: tivcn-
HiMiiH, \vci«' iinyiliin).^ Inil, nHlMdiMiiM in my nniu'rnMl,onn'<|
vni'H, I fur my own |tMil. nniy iiv<-i llnil I In- MiuK-'imMM of
till* " In'mI loom " WMM liy nn* Inhl inviolMh*, iin«l IIimJ/ no
o|i|MiHiii^ (liMirr rv'ri iliMliNltiil my yonllil'nl I«|(m,hI, I,o
rlitt'l wiliiMnl li'MVr iln Inilonl pKrinrU,
'V\\v ro4»iii in wliicli we wern HniLtiMl whh M-niMil<M.h|(' (or
nnlliiii^ lull «liii^yni'HM, iiinl rvery ailirji' of nne or M,<lorn-
iiinil wliirli il ronlMiiH-il piiitook of tin* Miimn nnfort/M|jMj,e
<|iiali(y.
'I'ln* very llowrtM in lln- wiinlow Kepi foni|>firiy wifli
llio ivhI, as ijaiilin;.^ for HniiHliiiic, they eagerly l»enl- iJnii
lieatls hiWMiilv IIm< li^Hit., in a vain aitempl. i/n olitain Muffi-
rieiit {At ilevelope the heMnly, tif wliifli tln-y knew lliem-
selves iioHseNMed, hill, wliiiili inl vni'Me tiinriiinHtaiKMJH forl;a<l».*
ilu'iii to iliMplav,
The niily "liiini^r of lieanly " on whieh my <'yo ntHUttl,
ill it*4 impatient circnit of the apartment, was my Hinfy^^r,
in her niiiiple inorniiiLC «ln.'HH, whieh fitt«;d to a nic(jty har
roiiinled figure, tini ontlineH of whirh, an Hhe sat in tlnj op-
posite corner of the wide Hot'a, 1 felt iiiyMelf Ixjund to mi-
(Il
30
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
'Ml,
tl
• I,
li
t*
M
'
'
mire, and not less the pretty profile turned toward me, as
she bent over her work.
Helen was nineteen now ; no need to play at being
grown up ; she was indeed a woman, and the woman had
more than fulfilled the promise of the child, both in out-
ward beauty, and in the inward graces of the soul, which
made her the loving and loveable woman she was. This
" loveable " was Helen's greatest charm, felt by all, and
felt not less by me because she was my sister ; and love
and admiration clasped hands now, as they had often
done before, when I looked on her youthful yet matured
loveliness.
She was busily engaged in endeavouring to surmount
the difficulties of an immense pile of " mending " which
lay in a basket at her feet ; while I (pretending to study),
made use of the pencil I held in my hand, in sketching
sundry hideous caricatures of the " human fonn divine,"
which sketches did by no means add to the respectable
appearance of the history, whose pages afforded scope for
my youthful genius ; or watched Helen, as she deftly
plied her woman's weapon, inserting therewith cunning
little patches in the various articles, which in turn, came
under her dimpled tingere.
Impatient at length of her absorption in her work, and
continued silence, when I was longing to talk, I exclaimed
impetuously,
" Helen ! I do wish you would speak.'*
The blue eyes were lifted inquiringlj^to my own.
" Why, Lillie, I thought you were stud}ing^nd that talk-
ing would disturb you. Have you finished your history ?"
" No, I haven't well begun it, but if you had not been
so much absorbed in that hateful mending, you might
have noticed long ago that I was in no mood for studying.
Do let us talk while we have the chance, or it is possible
we may become dumb from want of exercise ; and first I
must tell you what I have been thinking of for the last
■
t
'r
LIFE AT THE "WILLOWS
»
31
i\
five minutes ; Helen don't be vexed, but I think you are
provokingly contented."
" Do you think so, Lillie ? I often think I am sinfully
discontented."
" That's just your excess of conscientiousness ; no one
but yourself could imagine such a thing."
" Because no one but myself knows my heart/' said
Helen sadly.
" Yes, 1 know it, and it is just as nearly perfect as
human heart can be, provokingly perfect, sometimes, I
think."
" No Lillie," returned Helen smiling, while dimples of
amusement played " hide and seek " around the smiling
mouth, " It is deceitful above all things, and desperately
wicked."
I could not help laughing at the perfect mimiciy of the
tone, but I replied half crossly,
" I thought you were too good to make fun at any one's
expense ; and especially such a * good chreestian ' as
Uncle Thomas." ^
Helen only laughed and I continued in a strain which
was now too sadly familiar. " Helen, what could have
induced mamma to come to this horrid place ? "
" Why, to be with her only brother. Lillie, don't you
think that a sufficient inducement ? And besides you
know Lillie we can live much cheaper in an ouf-of-the-
way place like this than we could have done in S .
Mamma did the best she could for us when she brought
us here, fbr her small income and what we receive as
papa's widow and oi-phans is barely sufficient to cover the
expense of our board and clothing even in this place."
" They act as if we were dependent on them entirely,"
I exclaimed, impatiently. " Oh how I wish I was old
enough tp earn money for myself and be independent of
these relations, who are really no relations at all. Even
mamma is not our mamma now that papa is dead, and we
I ">l
S2
Lilian's retrospect.
right to live on her money than on her
have no more
brothers."
" Do not speak so, Lillie, for papa's sake we must try to
feel towards mamma as if she were indeed our own mother.
How sorry he would have been if he had thought we
might feel as you have said."
" But Helen, papa never loved our stepmother as he
loved our own mamma, and I don't think he looked on
her exactly as his wife. I used to notice that when he
spoke of ' my wife ' without any other name it was
always Mamma Lily he refeiTed to, and when he did not
regard our stepmother in the same light himself he can-
not have expected that we should do so."
" Dear Lillie, I am sure my father would like us to
exercise all loving obedience towards the woman who,
though not our mother, stood to him in the relation of
wife, and I think we should not encoui'age such thoughts
as you have expressed. So far as being independent and
earning money is concerned that is our duty as soon as
we can accomplish it. Jn the meantime you know, since
I have obtained the situation in D , I shall earn suf-
ficient for my own clothing ; and perhaps in a short time
I may, as Mary Ann expresses it, get a * rise ' and then
shall be able to clothe my little sister also who is not
surely so independent as to desire to be independent of
me."
" No indeed, Helen, I could take anything from any
one I love, but I hate the thought of being indebted to
Aunt Janet for the least thing. Mamma is exasperating
enough sometimes, and Uncle Thomas is not the sweetest
individual in the world, but Aunt Janet is my peculiar
cross, she acts on my * imperious ' temper like flint on
steel, and as you know, I am constantly getting into hot
water about something or other, and having the vials of
her wi-ath poured out on my devoted head."
" I admit dear, that Aunt Janet is very trying some-
J
LIFE AT THE "WILLOWS
>»
33
1
11
times ; but do not be vexed Lillie, have you ever tried to
conciliate her ? "
" No indeed, it never occurred to me to try — I was going
to say I supposed it was impossible — but remember that
you have succeeded in conciliating her ; but then you con-
ciliate eveiybody, Helen. Even Uncle Thomas's gloom
and morbid ' chreestianity ' becomes more endurable
when you are in his A^cinity, and as for Cousin Edmund,
I know how he feels and so may you if your usual modesty
do not mislead 3^ou."
The convei-sation was interrupted by the unexpected
entrance of the vei-\' individual I had last mentioned,
which did by no means allay the blush on Helen's cheek
called up by my concluding words.
" Speak of a certain person, who shall be nameless, and
he is cei*tain to appear," I exclaimed thoughtlessly. *
" Cousin Lillie, I hope you do not liken me to that un-
mentionable individual, but was I really honoured in being
the subject of yoiu* convei-sation ? "
" If you mean your for a singular possessive pronoun T
ssij yes, you were the subject of my conversation ; but I
am not aware that H.?len made mention of your distin-
guished name in any remarks she may have made."
" Did you ? " I added mi.schievously.
It was not easy to make Helen ill at ease, so ignoring
the i*ailleiy which I fear was apparent to both, she only
smiled, and turning with her usual composure to Edmund,
enquired, " Did you meet mamma, Edmund ? She went
with uncle and aunt to spend the day at the Christisons. I
think you must have met them on your way here, did you
not ? "
" No, I did not see them, but I left the main road for
about a mile to ^isit Blanchard's farm. They probably
passed while I was there. I am sorry, as I wished to see
my father on business. Do you know when he will
return ? "
34
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
I
1}
" In time for a late tea, I think, Aunt Janet told mc to
delay tea for them until six."
" Well, I shall make the best of circumstances, and with
your permission, spend the day with you as it is too far
to return twice in one day, and I know my father will
not discuss business to-morrow. Perhaps I can be useful
in some farm matters," he added, smilingly. " And then
my father will not be able to accuse me of idling.
Whether Mr. Edmund Ogilvy busied himself in farm
matters at all that day I cannot tell, but can testify to
the fact that he did it not much as most of his time was
spent with us in the dingy sitting room which neverthe-
less seemed not so dingy with Aunt Janet and Uncle
Thomas out of the way, and Cousin Edmund to bear us
company.
Helen's mending went on apace, and owing no doubt
to the unwonted geniality of the atmosphere around us,
I also was seized with a fit of industry, and accomplished
for me, an unheard-of amount of " plain sewing," which I
could see astonished Aunt Janet not a little, on her return
to the domestic roof.
When the two returned from their day's excursion, we
gathered around the table, which was laid with unusual
care, and in the spotless cloth which covered it (put on at
the risk of Aunt Janet's displeasure, a day too soon), and
in the arrangement of the edibles which were set thereon,
might be read, Helen's taste, and Helen's love of order,
appreciated to the full, by at least two present, and I be-
lieve unconsciously exercising a softening influence on the
other members of the family, who were wont to ignore
such trivial matters.
It might be this, or it might be Edmund's presence,
which very seldom occurred at meal times, except on Sun-
days, that lent an unusual benignity to my step-mother's
countenance, diminished in some degree, the force of
Aunt Janet's " unruly member," and deprived Uncle
Thomas's memory of sundry threatening texts of Scrip-
LIFE AT THE "WILLOWS
»♦
36
ture, in the repetition of which he was "wont to indulge,
obliging him, for the time, to content himself with milder
foiins of denunciation.
The " gi'ace" before meat, even which might to an unac-
customed ear sound harsh enough, was milder than
his usual form : " Lord God Almighty, we thank Thee for
these the favours of Thy hand. May none present eat and
drink damnation with the same ; but may these children
of the Deevil flee from the wrath to come, while it is the
day of their merciful veesitation, for Christ's sake, Amen."
It may be observed that my Uncle Thomas was not
wont to shirk plain truths or plain titles. In fact the
name of the individual alluded to as the father of Edmund
and m\"self {we alone of those present being non-profes-
sors of religion), was by no means strange to the lips,
which would have scorned to mince such serious matters ;
or cover with a cloak of politeness, an unwelcome truth,
which might benefit the listener.
At fii-st I used to feel dreadfully shocked at my uncle's
startling allusions ; but this gave place to amusement, as
they became more familiar to my ear, and in turn almost
ceased to attract any attention, meriting in some degree
my uncle's stern, and oft-repeated adjuration ; " He that
being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly
be destroyed and that without remedy."
Tea over, Edmund retired with his father for the dis-
cussion of the business which brouorht him to " the Wil-
lows," and only came into the sitting-room to bid us good-
night before starting for his farm, which was about eight
miles distant from his father's, promising however, to ride
over according to custom on the morrow (Sunday), and
spend the day with us as usual.
36
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER VI.
I
II
COUSIN EDMUND.
OTWITHSTAXDING the dreary monotony of life
at my uncle's, time passed quickly in our daily
walks to D , Helen's company on the lonely
walk of two miles, which lay between the village
and my uncle's farm, rendering the time thus spent both
pleasant and profitable ; for then we had freedom to talk
on the subject nearest our hearts, and of which we were
never encouraged to speak in the home circle. Those
little talks on the way to and from school never failed to
fortify me in some degree against, what I was pleased to
term, the disagreeable peculiarities of the " powers that
Ije " at the Willows, nor did Helen's loving counsel, (often
I am afraid very impatiently received,) fall altogether on
heedless ears, though the fruit, which they brought f oi-th
as yet, was so miserably poor and stunted, as to be I fear,
almost imperceptible to the affectionate heart, which
sought to guide me.
While Helen was engaged in teaching the minister's
children during the hours of the forenoon, I was pursuing
my studies at the ladies' school but a short distance from
the manse, and as my sister had ari-anged that her hours
should correspond with my own, we joined each other at
their close, and pursued the homeward walk also together.
Events for which youth is ever impatiently longing
were few and far between at the W^illows ; and those
which did occur, at least those incidents which Aunt
Janet considered of sufficient magnitude, possessed no
charm for us, being for the most part periodical visits from
^
COUSIN EDMUND.
37
some of the farmers* wives and daughters in the neigh-
bourhood, whose conversation as they partook of the cup
of tea and dish of scandal which generally went together,
seemed to me at least vulgar and uninterestinof in the ex-
treme, and only benefited me to the extent of the sense of
relief, of which I felt conscious, when they relieved us of
their presenae.
I do not think I ever held such false views of life as to
imagine that, because these people were born and bred in
the country, and possessed little education, and no accom-
plishments, therefore they were to be deprived of the
respect, of which, in spite of numerous disadvantages,
they might still be worthy. On the contrary, I believe
that so-called ladies and gentlemen, whose educational
advantages and family descent lay claim to the title, might
often take a lesson in politeness from such as these ; but,
whether it arose from the fact that Aunt Janet's friends
were ill-chosen, or that the neighbourhood ofiered no bet-
ter, true it is, that our visitors were commonplace and
uninteresting to the last degree, and merited, I think, in
some measure, the distaste with which I was wont to
regard their visits.
The family among whom our lot was now cast, were
each characterized by certain peculiarities, which pre-
cluded the possibility of their being considered common-
place ; and, as peculiarity is always more or less interest-
ing, they cannot have been uninteresting either, though
the peculiarities aforesaid did not, in these days, strike me
in that light, but rather as a tame monotony of absurdity,
which wearied rather than amused me, and made me long
for the time when it would be possible for me to "earn my
own living," and bid farewell to the tedious existence I
was now living.
Edmund's weekly visits, however, did afford me some
pleasure, though by-and-by the pleasure became mixed
with pain, when I began to fear that the love he bore my
sister might by her be some day returned; that even now
88
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
I
•^
* ♦
|l:
it was not unwelcome, as too plainly to my jealous heart,
declared the tell-tale V)lush which gi'eeted his approach,
and the gentler tones of the gentle voice when she con-
versed with "cousin Edmund." I liked Edmund very much,
but I wondered how Helen could like him "that way," he
was so ])lain, and sometimes, I fancied, almost "gauche";
and yet I knew that, weighed in the l)alan<» of sterling
worth and true manly tenderness of soul, he sliould not
be "found wanting," and believed that he was a man
eminently fitted to make his wife happy.
In the want of that higher intellectual attainment which
an educated woman desires to hiid in her husband, and in
the little calls of etiquette, which, in the retirement and
severe simplicity of his father's house, he had had no
opportunity to learn, his wife might sometimes be disap-
pointed ; but in the nobility of heart, and uprightness of
life, of the man she called her husband — never ; and are
not these last the qualities on which married happiness
most depends ?
His presence never failed to brighten the atmosphere,
which, but for his friendly sympathy, and sometimes inter-
ceding efforts, would surely have been murky enough; and
I recall with pleasure still these sunshiny visits, which
made Sundays at my uncle's so different from other days,
made them, indeed, an oasis of refreshing in the dreary
monotony of a life devoid of these home interests and
pleasures which alone make life worth living.
Strange that Aunt Janet should have been the mother
of such a son ; stranger still, the filial reverence which he
never failed to pay, where oftimes it ceiiiainly was not
due ; and yet, if in any relation Aunt Janet was worthy
of respect, it was in that of mother, and I believe that
almost all the love, and certainly all the ambition of
which she was capable, centred in this son of her youth,
whose place in her heart no other child had ever come to
dispute.
I sometimes wondered if the older members of the
i
mm *m'WVfMv.w., f n >*w99v vi'm n
COUSIN EDMUND.
39
i
family were as keenly alive a.s I was to the story which
was daily developing itself in their midst — the old old
story of youthful love ending in life-long union ; but so
reserved and self-contained were all three, by nature and
practice, that I felt it ditlicult to arrive at a conclusion on
the subject.
Would they like Edmund to marry Helen, I wondeied ;
surely they would ; Helen, so lovely, so refined, so gentle,
so good ; and, what I doubted not with them would be
more to the purpose, so active, and so "capable." But
then, though 1 knew well that Helen was liked by them
as much as 1 think it was possible for them to like anyone
out of their immediate family circle, I had heard Aunt
Janet accuse even her, of "putting on airs," and affecting
"fine ladyism," and surely the piactice of these deadly
ini([uities must render her unfit as a wife for Ednumd.
My doubts were one day removed in a somewhat unex-
pected and disagreeable manner.
On starting for school in the morning we left Aunt
Janet in a particularly unamiable frame of mind, which
I dreaded on our return we should find by no means im-
proved ; and fearing to encounter the sharp war of words,
which too often betrayed the acidity of my aunt's temper,
and impatience of my own, I was undignified enough to
make my entrance by the back door, in the hope of gain-
ing my own room unobserved, and having a few minutes
to myself before I should be obliged to descend to the
half -cold dinner which generally awaited us — the rest of
the fandly dining two hours before — and the dimier sup-
posed to be kept hot for us in the oven ; the supposition
often proving a very incorrect one, as though I believe it
was invaiiably committed to that receptacle, it would
have required a considerable stretch of imagination to
fanc}^ that the viands were anything approaching to hot.
" Is my aunt as cross as ever, Mary AJm," I ^quired, as
I warmed myself at the kitchen fire, of the good-natured
\l\
1)9
40
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
maid-of-all-work, whose love and respect were all I
received from the family.
" 'Deed yes, Miss ; Mrs. Ogilvie just rose on the wrang
side tliis morning, and she hasna' got the better 'ot yet."
" Where is my mother ? "
" I think she's readin' tae the maister ; onywavs she
was readin' tae him, when I was ben a while back. '
•* And what is my aunt doing now ? "
" She's rummaging among a wheen relicts that she keeps
in the press in the i)ianny room."
" Why, Mary Ann," I said mischievously, " you don't
mean to say that my aunt keeps people shut up in that
closet."
" Folks, no, no, Miss, just auld cheena ; least-aways she
said it was auld cheena, when I was in wasliing the
shelves afore denner."
" I suppose that china will go to Mr. Edmund's wife
when he gets married, don't you think so Mary Ann ? "
" I dinna ken," replied Mary Ann, with what for her
was an astonishingly searching and intelligent glance,
" maybe he wanna many to pleasure the mistress ! "
" Oh, but such a good son is sure to marry to please his
mother."
" 'Deed then it 'ill no be vera easy, but happen he may
please her after a."
" Do you think he will, Mary Ann ? " I was tempted
to continue, curious to know how far Mary Ann had made
use of the kindly eyes, with which nature had endowed
her, and how much she had discovered of the possible
desires of the trio, to whom in the meantime our destinies
were committed.
" Happen he will," was Mary Ann's unsatisfactory but
emphatic reply, which had no sooner left her lips, than we
were appalled by the entrance of Aunt Janet, from the
back kitchjgn, where I doubted not, she had overheard
every word of our previous conversation ; and to which I
imagine she must have betaken hei"self on seeing me pass
i
I ;
.* •
COUSIN EDMUND.
41
1
the parlour window on my way to the kitchen door, with
the intention of discovering for what reason 1 chose to
take that mode of entrance.
Too much startled to utter a word, I mechanically
obeyed the command, with which she bade me follow her
to the sitting-room. Uncle Thomas was the only occu-
pant of the room, and seemed to be half asleep in his easy-
chair, but roused himself on our entrance, and seeing from
our faces that something was amiss, amiably prepared
himself to take part in the conflict, which experience
taught him was now at hand between Aunt Janet and
myself.
" Well, Miss, this is a nice state of affairs," were her first
words ; " our most private concerns are now to be discussed
in the kitchen are they ? Would you kindly inform me
how many confidential conversations you have held with
Mary Ann, on the wishes and weaknesses of your aunt, or
other domestic matters, with which she has no business
whatever."
" I never mentioned the subject of our conversation
until to-day ; I mean with reference to Cousin Edmund,"
I added hesitatingly.
" That means that you have often discussed my failings
in a general way."
" Yes, I have sometimes, though not often."
" Do hear her, Thomas; can you imagine such effrontery,
to tell me this to my face ? "
" You asked me aunt, and I was obliged to reply truth-
fully if at all."
" All our enemies have opened their mouths against
us," groaned Uncle Thomas with dismal resignation, which
I could not \elp suspecting was assumed, to cover the
anger which he justly felt.
" I am sorry aunt," I exclaimed with sudden contrition,
when I looked on the silver-haired man before me, who
though utterly wanting in the genial kindness, which had
marked my father's dealings with us, had never been
u
42
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
really unkind, and by some chain of association, now
recalled the beloved lost one to my memory.
" I am sorry I have spoken to Mary Ann as I did. It
was unkind and unladylike, and I hope you will forgive
me.
" The unkind will do," and if you like you may add
ungrateful. We will dispense with the " unladylike,"
which has nothing to do with a mere school girl, who is
inclined to attac^ too much importance to the word.
As to forgiving 1 will see about that, when I think
your conduct deserves it. In the meantime I am devoutly
thankful that you are not the object of my son's choice :
He has at least chosen the best of the two, which is some-
thing to be thankful for."
"It is of no consequence whom your son chooses,"
I exclaimed passionately : "The question of importance is,
whether the object of his choice will condescend to
accept him."
"My son has chosen your sister for his wife," replied
Aunt Janet, with equal passioit, "and she will marry him."
" Not if I can help it ; I shall repeat this conversation
word for word, and you ^dll discover then whether she is
meek enough to accept so doubtful a happiness."
" Your sister can judge how much of what I have said
is due to anger, and I will tell you what I believe she
knows already, that Helen is, in ever}' respect, the wife
I would choose for Edmund; and despite some faults,
which are entirely to be expected in her father's daughter,
I think my son will be happy when he gets her."
" Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman
that feareth the Lord, she shall be prized," quoted uncle
Thomas.
" If he gets her, you mean," I obstinately replied, pleased
at once at Aunt Janet's tribute to my sister's worth, and
hurt at her unfeeling reflection on a man, of whose charac-
ter she had had uo means of judging. " Helen is much
indebted to you for your favourable opinion, but I have
A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT.
43
no doubt wiU decline the honour which you have tso
graciously assigned her."
Even as I spoke, my troubled heart belied my words,
and as I hurriedly left the room, tears of vexation and
8onx)w echoed to my aunt's words, " Edmund has chosen
your sister for his wife, and she will marry hiln."
CHAPTER VII.
A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT.
3,
O
d
>>
in
s
|e
e
(HERE are periods in one's existence, when more
than at other times, one feels an irresistible long-
ing to pierce the mysteries of the shadowy fu-
ture, and to ask oneself the question, what has
fate in store for me ?
One of these periods I believe occure with most, just
when the child (hitherto content to live in the present)
now budding into manhood and womanhood, casts behind
him, the trusting confidence of youth, and impatiently, it
may be, seeks to lift the somln-e curtnin, which forbids
even a transient glimpse into the unknown beyond, if
haply he may discover the pattern into which the web of
his life is to be wi'ought, and which the ardent question-
ing of youth is unwilling to commit untouched to the
hand of the Almighty Weaver, who has wisely concealed
from his view the chosen design.
The peculiar circumstances in which my sister and my-
self, were placed were more particularly fitted to encour-
age such questioning ; and my readers will no doubt agree
with me, that the eager impatience of which I was guilty
when having reached my sixteenth year, and beginning
to feel myself grown-up, I began to wonder with eager
44
LILIANS KETROSPECT.
ii i
wondering, what the pattern of my life was to be,
was at least pardonable, nay, natural, and to some
extent desirable, for is it not well, that each should dis-
cover for himself, that which experience alone can fiUly
impress upon the mind, how vain are these first efibrts to
develop the path in which our feet are to tread, and how
true is the adage, so familiar, yet so oft forgot" There's a
Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we
will."
I do not think that Helen could altogether sympathise
with me in the emotions I describe, for when at the
same age she had been sheltered in a home of love, the
peace and security of which no foreboding of coming evil
had disturbed ; and when so suddenly bereft of him in
whom its happiness centred, she had reached an age,
when if she would, she might go forth into the world,
and carve out for herself the independence I so impa-
tiently longed to reach, but which at my Father's death,
I felt to be so far ofi* for me.
Some might think it unnatui*al in a child of my years
to desire so much this independence, it being the nature
an«l privilege of childhood to lean on others, and seeking
not to separate itself from those with whom the roots
of its gi'owth are commingled, trustingly to cling around
the stems, which ofier for the tender offshoot so firm a
sui)port, nor desire even in thought to forsake the shelter
and peace of home, for the cold and unsympathizing
companionship of the outer world.
Accuse me not, reader, of indifference to the peaceful
security of home, found and appreciated, even where it
fails to be all that it might become to those who form its
domestic circle, for " home " has ever been to me the
dearest spot on earth ; the place which has oft awakened
in my heart the music of the words, " Wheresoever I
roam, I love the coming home the best. But home to me
must ever be the spot around which my loved ones con-
gregate ; where no element of sti'angeness disturbs the
A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT.
45
.
sacred privacy, which only my loved ones share ; and
where, though sometimes the discord^ of frail humanity
disturb the harmony which one could wish should ne'er
be broken, each feels assured that his welfare and happi-
ness is dear as their own to the hearts of the others, who
make his joy their joy, and his sorrow their soitow ; who
in prosperity will rejoice with him, and in adversity band
together for his help.
Such could never be to me the family circle at " The
Willows," nor could even the woman, who stood to me in
the place of mother, ever be to me other than a stranger,
to whom for a time our guidance was committed,but whose
right to influence our actions, even from the first, I had
in my heart been inclined to dispute.
True, Helen was with me, and where Helen was must
ever be some degree of happiness and content, but she,
on whom alone I depended for love and sympathy, was
about to forsake me for a home of her own ; and worst of
all was going to become " one of them," whose relation-
ship had never afforded me aught but dissatisfaction.
In these days, when I could no longer delude myself
with the faintest hope that this cup might pass from me, I
I could scarce even at school or work keep back the ever
ready tears, which witnessed to my sorrow at the threat-
ened parting, nor wonld I aflfbrd my sister the opportunity
which I guessed she would have sought to enter with me
on the dreaded subject. I suspected sometimes, that
Edmund* and Helen were already engaged, and that they
but waited my consent for the fulfilment of their betrothal,
but ignoring my sister s oft repeated attempts to draw
me into confidential conversation, I obstinately shut my
eyes to her gentle endeavours, and tried to shut my
heart also against the wistful love, which sought to win
my confidence, and would have given me its own.
My heart often reproached me for this unsisterly con-
duct, and in melting mood, I would resolve to give Helen
the opportunity she sought ; but only to harden my-
f «
46
Lilian's retrospect.
self once more, when it became possible for her to open
her heai-t to me, and pretend to misunderstand the gentle
manoeuvering by which she sought to introduce the topic
I was so anxious to avoid.
This, of course, could not go on for ever, and one Sun-
day evening, after Edmund, who had as usual spent the
day with us, had taken his departure, I heard Helen
softly ascending to our room, whither I had retired to
indulge in gloomy meditation immediately after tea, and
on her entrance, evidently wishing to give herself no time
for thought, she came at once to where I was sitting, and
putting her arms around me, she exclaimed hastily :
" Lillie darling, there is something I promised Edmund
to say to you to-night ; can you guess what it is ? "
The fond affection for my sister, which was almost a
pai*t of myself, but which had seemed at times almost to
desert me during the past months, suddenly awoke to
former life and intensity at the simple words, and cor-
dially returning her sisterly embi-ace, I whispered tenderly,
but unable to suppress the sobs which no tears came to
relieve ;
" Yes dearest, Edmund loves you and wants you to be
his wife ; and you — you love him, and will be to him all
he wishes."
It seemed as if for a time our positions were reversed.
All at once I assumed the part of confidant and counsellor,
as, with mingled tears and smiles, Helen poured out to
me the experience of the last two years. I felt no longer
a child, to whom the mysteries of love and marriage were
incomprehensible, and therefore distasteful ; but a woman,
who was beginning dimly to understand how potent is
the one, and how sacred the other ; and to comprehend
that some day to myself, might come this mighty influ-
ence, which only finds its fulfilment in a life-long union
with its object.
I determined resolutely to put from me the reluctance
which hitherto I had nursed and encouraged, to see Helen
,
i '.
A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT.
47
a daughter of the house of Ogilvie ; and the generous
impulse of which I was not wholly destitute, now came to
my aid, and prompted me in sisterly tones to expatiate on
Edmund's goodness, a theme which instinct told me, could
never gi'ow weaiisome to her who loved him.
Confessing past selfishness, I sought the forgiveness so
readily accorded, and now the fear of my displeasui'e,
which had so long deteiTed her from giving me her con-
fidence, was entirely chased from Helen's heart, and in
part the sorrow from my own, as I strove to rejoice in my
sister's happiness.
" Do Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie and our step-mother know of
your engagement," I asked, when we had for a long time
discussed my sister s prospects without alluding to those
who were so nearly interested, but whose names hitherto
we had mutually avoided.
" I am sure they guess that Edmund and I understand
each other ; but they have not spoken of it to either of us,
and I desired Etlnmnd not to mention it till I had dis-
cussed our hopes and intentions with my little sister."
" You have shown me more kindness, Helen, than I
deserved," I rejoined, my affection pleased and pride
gratified by their delicate consideration of my fii-st right
to their confidence ; " do you think they will object ? "
Despite my threat I had wisely restrained myself from
repeating to Helen the conversation with my aunt, in
which she had so plainly proclaimed her own sentiments.
" I am sure they will not. Edmund has told me they
desire me for his wife. Dear Lillie, I know you do not
like my future father and mother, but I must ask you for
Edmund's sake and my own, to regard them as kindly
as you can."
" 1 would they had been different," she added, sadly,
" but they are Edmund's fatht^r and mother, and hence-
forth, dear sister, we must fori ar to discuss even between
oureelves their faults and failings. The loyalty of a true
wife forbids it."
"^
•I
!i
I
48
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
Ah ! Helen, you were a noble woman, as your words
proclaimed. Happy the man who has a right to call you
by the sacred name.
Afterwards we discussed my own position, and eagerly
Helen besought me to make her home my own, assuring
me that Edmund desired it as much as she ; and that
from the first they had mutually decided that so it should
be ; but, as gently as I could, I told her that it could not
be ; that I could not make a third, where two were all in
all to each other; that by and by I hoped to be able
to maintain myself, and in the meantime and at all
times, if possible, my sister s home should be to me the
loved retreat, to which in periods of pleasure or in time
of trouble I might betake myself, assured that there the
dearest welcome, and the fondest sympathy sister can
receive should ever await me.
She sought not then to shake my resolution, but I
knew that she trusted to Edmund's pleadings and her
own, to overcome the scruples which I felt she still re-
spected ; and hoped that in time, I should fully acquiesce
in their kind desires.
Now that all reserve was over, the burden which had
lain on my heart so long, seemed to be more than half re-
moved ; and it was with more hopeful feelings than T
had known for some months that I laid my head on my
pillow that night, and gave myself up to dreams of Ed-
mund Ogilvy as Helen's husband, and myself as a hard-
working governess in a large family, where £20 sterling
represented my yearly income, but from which humble
position I was to climb to more exalted heights, where a
still greater degree of independence was supposed to await
me.
Thus do we tremble at fancied spectres, which, if we
but boldly face, lose all the terror with which we invested
them ; and ofttimes in the ghastly presence, which chilled
with fear the life-current in the veins, we discover the
familiar countenance of a friend, whose disguise at first
prevented us from recognising the kindly visitant,
I
LEFT ALONE.
49
CHAPTER VIII.
I
LEFT ALONE.
[N the case of my sister and her chosen husband
the supposed truism, that the course of true love
[p never does run smoothly, was for once disproved,
>^ and though I did not then, and have never since
doubted the depth and sincerity of the love they bore each
other, the course of their love ran just as smoothly as it
was possible for it to do.
Their union was exactly what everybody in the house,
m3'self excepted, had desired, and now that my ungraci-
ous reserve had been dispelled by my sister's witchery of
goodness and affection, the preparations for their marriage
went on ** as merry as a marriage bell," at least the sin-
gleness of puipose which marked the occupations of the
different mendiers of the family, would probably have
been joined with merriment in any other house, but the
inmates of the Willows were by no means addicted to
this mode of evincing satisfaction, consequently, I ought
rather to have said, that the preparations for my sister's
mariage went on with the deliberation and due sense of
propriety which characterized the transactions of that
staid household ; and if there was a trifle more enthu-
siasm in preparation of the extensive and useful trosseau,
which was supposed to be requisite, than marked our
daily occupations, it lay almost concealed beneath the
added acidity of my aunt's countenance, assumed, no
doubt, to conceal her satisfaction, and increased solemnity
of my uncle's deliveries, which warned us against " the
vanities and delusive snares of this wicked world," as re-
r"
50
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
. .!
\-
!
»
presented by the different articles of apparel or house-
wifely, which lay scattered around the diiferent apart-
ments.
Let it not for a moment l»e supposed, that the usual
concomitants of a bride's outfit — silks, velvets, laces, and
the thousand trifles which most women consider necessary
to the completion of such, were to any extent characteris-
tic of this country outfit in which the prominence was by
no means given to the wardrobe of the bride ; but to the
" plenishing " of the house, where sheets and tablecloths
were of infinitely gi-eater consequence than " trained
skirts," and "good feather-beds" of more importance,
than " frills and furbelows."
Commend me to the good old country fashion, which
in the solemnization of the most romantic episode of our
existence, forgets not the sober realities of life ; which
decks not the bride in tawdry finery, of which a few
months' use will scarce leave the remains, but dowers her
with a plentiful supply of solid comforts, of which some-
times even her grandchildren may reap the benefit.
I had now an opportunity of penetrating the mysteries
of an immense cupboard or press, which occupied nearly
one side of Aunt Janet's bedchamber, and into which
hitherto I had never been fortunate enough to obtain a
passing glimpse. Now, however, it was often thrown
open to public gaze, as my aunt rummaged among its ac-
cumulated hoards, and from time to time drew forth
different articles of use or value, destined to form a part
of Helen's "providing.**
Now, it was a " dead-fine piece of linen." whicji she had
picked up at a sale, ten years Before, and which would
be just the thing for some article of underclothing for the
bride herself, and again, a web of splendid sheeting, on
which truly the finest lady in the land might repose her
dainty limbs, without any sense of incongruity , and so
on and so on until we could not but marvel much for
what purpose Aunt Janet had for years been accumulat-
(
LEFT ALONE.
51
ing these very useful, and yet, so far as she and hers were
concerned, so apt to be useless treasures.
She had no daughter of her own for whom they could
have been intended to be used, as now they ivere being
used for her son's future wife ; nor could she have foreseen
that Edmund should take unto himself so poi-tionless a
bride, for whom she herself should be called upon to pro-
vide the outfit.
On the contrary, it would have been natural to conclude
that he would wed with a daughter of one of the well-to-
do farmers in the neighbourhood, who would sconi to come
to her husband unaccompanied by the usual complement
of such things, and by whom, the participation of her
husband's mother, in providing the supply, would be con-
sidered rather an insult than a kindness. My own ojnnion
is, that though Aunt Janet unmistakably delighted in
accumulating, for its own sake, she also entertained a
latent hope, that circumstances should so transpire as to
make it her's to superintend the plenishing of her son's
house ; and that consequently my sister's poverty was
actually a source of congratulation to this peculiar woman,
whom I did not understand then, and have never learned
to understand, but who I doubt not, beneath the crust of
bad temper and narrow-minded prejudice, which repelled
my childish affection, possessed a warm and true heart, in
the recesses of which her husband and son dwelt supreme,
but of which I often thought my sister Helen also had
obtained the key.
It galled my sensitive pride not a little, that Helen
should thus be indebted to her husband's mother, and oh !
how I wished that she had been possessed of a private
fortune, which would have made it possible for her to be
independent of such unwelcome assistance. I must, how-
ever, do my aunt the justice to admit, that neither by im-
plication or othei-wise, did she ever insinuate, that it was
not the most natural thing in the world that thus she
should provide for one so soon to be a daughter ; nor did I
62
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
H
(who was slowly learning wisdom in the school of expe-
rience), ever express myself to Helen as if / regarded her
doing so in any other light,
I knew she felt it as keenly or more keenly than I did
myself, but being inevitable, good taste and christian prin-
ciple enabled her, I believe, gracefully to receive, what to
refuse would have been an ungrateful and cruel insult to
Edmund's mother, whom to regard with daughterly kind-
ness and consideration she now believed to be a sacred
duty.
My step -mother was very gracious and complacent dur-
ing the period which intervened between Helen's engage-
ment and marriage, which was, no doubt, owing to the
self -congratulation she experienced in the prospect of hav-
ing her so comfortably "settled in life," and herself relieved
of a responsibility which, to a woman of her stamp, must
have been sufficiently irksome. I believe she thought she
had done a ^'ery good thing indeed, when she brought
Helen to her fate in this quiet country place ; and so she
had — a better thing than even she imagined, for I do not
believe she was capable of fully estimating the worth of
the plain but whole-souled man to whom she had promised
her ; and, that the worldly prosperity and probable future
weilth of her brother's son, weighed much more in her
calculations than the honesty of purpose and tenderness
of soul on which the happiness of their union so much
more depended. And so the months rolled on in busy
occupation, which left no time for the morbid indulgence
of grief, and I was fain to content myself with very few
opportunities for solitary musing on the change so soon to
take place amongst us.
My thoughts, however, were never long removed from
the all-engrossing subject, and I had much ado to overcome
the selfish regrets which mingled largely with my joy in
my sister's happiness, and to conceal from her the dejec-
tion which I could not altogether overcome, but which now
I was most anxious she should not discover.
]l
LEFT ALONE.
53
It was "hut a poor return I could thus make for all her
unselfish, and more than sisterly kindness towards myself,
and I have always been glad to remember that I did so
strive, and in some measure succeeded, in making the last
few months of her stay with us as little painful to her as
possible ; though in no degree did 1 merit the kind words
in which she acknowledged her appreciation of my efforts.
" Dear Lillie, your cheerfulness just now is the gi-eatest
kindness you could have done me, but your generous self-
forgetfulness is not more than I might have expected from
my dear little sister."
In most affectionate mood, Helen always called me by
this name, and she never made use of the endearing term,
without recalling to my memory the tender appellative
which sounded so sweet from my father's lips, when he
would caressingly address me as his " Baby Lillie."
Meanwhile, both Edmund and my sister had many
times besought me to change the decision, which, they
assured me, gave them much pain, viz., my refusal to
make their home my own, and, dear reader, though my
sense of expediency or my pride, if you will have it so,
would not permit me to accept the tempting invitation,
it cost me not a little self-denial to refuse to share what
to me would almost have seemed like paradise itself, after
the stern and repressing discipline to which I had been
subject for the last three years.
At length they ceased to urge me, but I do not think
they altogether gave up the hope that I should yet acqui-
esce in their kind desires ; and trusted, that when Helen
should, in vory deed, have taken her departure from
the " Willows/' I should be but too glad to follow her
example.
So far as the last conclusion was concerned they were
not far from the truth ; but for the first time in my life
I had secret plans and resolves which at present I thought
wisest to keep to myself, though longing for the renewal
54
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
;,
y^i
n
//
of tho perfect openness, which up to the date of Helen's
engagement, had ever existed between us.
The morning of the day (an early one in August), when
Helen was to lay aside her girlhood and a^ssume the name
and dignity of a wife, dawned bright and fair on our little
world, and something of the cheerfulness and fragrance of
the outer atmosphere penetrated even to the recess of the
" best room," which was now thrown open for the solem-
nization of the greatest event which had ever taken place
within its sacred precincts.
At my step-mother's earnest request white lace window-
curtains had been substituted for the heavy drab-coloured
drapery before alluded to, and this in some degree served
to relieve the sombre hues of the other furnishings ; but
no one could prevail on Aunt Janet to order the removal
or trimming of the light-excluding willows in front of the
window whose branches were presumptuously endeavour-
ing to gain an entrance into the best room itself, whence
less favoured intruders would no doubt ere now have
been summarily ejected.
Despite, however, this untoward circumstance, the best
room (thanks to Helen's efforts and my own), for once
bore some small appearance of cheerfulness and comfort,
and those favoured with invitations to the wedding were
evidently not a little surprised at the improvement our
ingenuity had wrought in that wont-to-be dismal apart-
ment.
The guests consisted of the minister and his family,
two of his little girls (Helen's late pupils), acting as co-
bridesmaids with myself, about a dozen others from the
' " best families " in the neighbourhood, and two or three
young gentlemen from D , Edmund's especial friends,
one of whom had undertaken, as he laughingly informed
us, to see him safe through this most trying of ordeals,
thus gaining a little experience for himself which might
stand him in good stead some day should he ever have
1
V
LEFT ALONE.
55
the misfortune to be seized with a temporary fit of in-
sanity ending in like disastrous results.
We had invited (merely as a form) some relations of
my father, whom we scarcely expected would choose to
come from the far north to witness this simple ceremony,
and more especially as since my father s death they had
pretty nearly ignored our existence — a line of conduct for
which we were at no loss to assign a motive, and as it
was one anything but calculated to gain our respect we
were by no means inconsolable when they politely de-
clined the " kind invitation."
But it was rather a sad bridal after all, where not a
single blood relation but myself was present to utter a
fervent God bless you in the ear of the lovely bride about
to enter on a new and untried experience, on a union,
which, whether it should prove for better or for woi^se,
must be " until death do us part ; " where there was none
nearer and dearer than solemn Uncle Thomas (uncle
merely by courtesy), to give away this priceless treasure
into the hands of her future lord, who nevertheless valued
the gift, I believe the more, that it was thus received at
his father's hands.
Truly Helen, in her simple dress of white muslin, but
with a wealth of beauty and grace which a duchess might
have envied, was a bride whom a monarch might have
been proud to call his own ; and yet, could it have been
her's to choose the regal coronet, I would rather have
beheld her as now entering on the safe and happy lot,
which I sincerely believed awaited her as Edmund's wife.
At length the momentous words were spoken which
made them one, and the minister's kind and sonorous " I
wish you much joy," was echoed on every side by the
friends present, in words of their own, but in tones of
equal sincerity and kindness. And then I took Helen to
our room, which she should share with me no more, and
helped her to lay aside her wedding garments and array
herself in those in which she was to travel to her future
56
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
home, all the time striving vainly to keep back the tears,
which alas, found too many companions in Helen's eyes,
as she nervously strove to perform her hurried toilet.
Then my stepmother entered, with the tidings that the
carriage was already at the door,and I had but time to hur -
riedly embrace my sister, and receive Edmund's first brother-
ly salute, as he met us on the landing, ere she was led down
stairs, and seated by her husband's side in the carriage —
mine exclusively no longer, but his for ever and ever ;
never again to be to me what she had been in the
past, but to be to him fo. evermore all that a good
and earnest woman can be to the man who loves her, and
whom she loves, with a love " stronger than death."
Is it well ? was the son'o^vf ul question of my heart, as
with tearful eyes I watched the carriage disappearing in
the distance, and turned to re-enter the house from which
the i-y ornament had fled; and even then, despite my
grief aiid loneliness, I could sincerely utter to myself the
reply — It is well.
CHAPTER IX.
WANTED, A COMPANION.
FTER Helen's marriage we fell back into our old
routine, and I resumed my daily walks to D ,
which had for more than a month been interrupt-
ed ; but now, instead of pursuing my own studies,
as before, I had undertaken to superintend those of the
little Mannerings (Helen's late pupils), Mr. Mannering
having voluntarily offered me the situation on Helen's re-
signation ; and as twelve pounds per annum was to me
in those days no insignificant sum, I was content to ac-
k
!i
WANTED, A COMPANION.
r»7
.
cept the kind offer, until I should have an opportunity of
bettering my fortunes.
\s it was my intention to seek such opportunity as
soon as possible, I conceived it my duty to inform my
employer that I desired to enter into no engagement for
a longer period than three months; and as my candidly
stated reason met with the minister's full approval, we
had no difficulty in coming to an amicable arrangement.
Consistent with my resolution to seek a more lucrative
situation, and one which should of necessity separate me
from my step-mother's relations, I immediately took the
fii"st step, as I supposed, towards securing the fulfilment
of m}' desires; but if I except the privilege I enjoyed every
morning, of reading my advertisement in the pages of the
daily newspapers, nothing whatever resulted from these
maiden efibrts ; and at length I became thoroughly dis-
gusted with the formula, which stared me in the face
every time I lifted the paper : " Wanted by a young lady,
a situation as Governess in a family w^here the children
are young," &;c., &c., &c.
As I could not afford to continue the advert «N'5ment for
an indefinite period, 1 next essayed to find something in
the same column, which might suit a young lady of my
age and attainments ; but the list of those who wanted
situations being much larger than those who were in
search of employees, my opportunities of setting forth the
list of my accomplishments for the benefit of the minority
were very few and far between ; and as to these rare com-
munications, I was never fortunate enough to r< ceive a
reph^ I l>egan at length to despair of ever securing the
much-coveted position of private governess, in a family
where the children were of tender yeare.
Curious to ascertain the wherefore of my ill-success,
and whether there might be anything defective in my
mode of application, or in the testimonials of efficiency,
received from my present employer and late teacher, I re-
solved that in place of my late advertisement, which had
E
m f
58
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
I
borne so little fruit, I would insert another to this effect :
" Wanted a Governess, &c., &c. Salary £20. Apply, with
copies of testimonials, to L. T. S., D P. O.", and wait
the result of this i-ash pursuit of knowledge.
What was my amazement, mingled with chagrin,
when, two days after, the village postmaster laid before
me no fewer than fifty-two envelopes, all bearing
the address signified in my advertisement, saying, with a
twinkle of amusement as he did so, " Folks would think,
Miss, you had been advertising for a governess." Feeling
that my secret was discovered, with tingling cheeks I left
the shop, and quickly gained the retired path, where the
curious eyes of the villagei's could not pursue me, and
with more shame than curiosity, hastily opened some of
these numerous, but now unwelcome communications.
Alas ! the record of those, to whom £20 seemed to be of
the last importance, judging from the haste with which
they had applied for the supposed vacant situation, and
the trouble they had undergone, in copying the testi-
monials enclosed for my approval, was a melancholy
chapter in my experience of the world, and one whicli
I vainly strive to forget.
My compunction for what I now felt to be an act of
cruel treachery towards these needy applicants, was ex-
treme ; and with all my heart I wished that I could rejoice
that of at least one of the niunber by employing her in
the coveted capacity. It was not till I remembered, that
supposing my advertisement had really been a bona fide
affair, I could then only have accepted the serWces of a
single candidate, and that fifty -one must perforce suffer
the disappointment, which all were now called on to en-
dure, that I felt in the least degi'ee consoled, for the result
of my adventurous project, and as it was, a long time
elapsed, before I could entirely lift the burden of these
fifty-two communications from off" my sincerely repentant
heart.
More than a year had passed away in these fruitless
WANTED, A COMPANION.
59
a
efforts, and I continued to fulfil the duties of governess to
the little Mannerings, Edmund's and Helen's weekly visits,
(for the Sunday visits were for a time continued as of old,)
and an occasional Saturday afternoon spent with them at
their own home, was all the pleasure I now enjoyed in my
quiet and monotonous existency, and somehow the plea-
sure of Helen's society was not so unalloyed as it had
been, when she was Helen Stuart only, with no nearer
and dearer candidate for her affection than myself.
I do not think she was less affectionate towards me or
less considerate of my happiness than in her girlhood
days, when we were all in all to each other, but my heart
still ached sometimes, with a bitter repining, that I could
never again be the recipient of her first and dearest regard;
that our daily lives could never again run in the same
channel, — but that I must henceforth tread through this
cold and cheerless world alone, while she continued to bask
in the sunshine of the happy home, she and Edmund
had made for each other, and rejoiced in the treasure
which had lately come to them, the little babe in whom
their affection centred, as it is natural the love of youthful
parents should centre in the child who is now to l)e to
them the object of their united and most tender care ; and
who thus becomes another link in the chain of holy affec-
tion which binds them to each other,
I shall never forget the emotions of wonder and long-
ing tenderness which thrilled me even to trembling, when
I first beheld Helen's first born ; and as I stooped beside
the proud and happy mother, and gazed for a while in
silence into the dark and enquiring baby eyes which met
my own, I could have wept with mingled emotions of ten-
derness and joy, as in that moment I received into my
heart of hearts the lovely babe, whose existence yet
seemed but a strange and hfjipy dream, Vjut one to
which I knew there should come no rude awakening.
" I see that you like my baby," said Helen smiling,
" though you have not yet condescended to utter one com-
60
LIUAN S REH^OSPECT.
r
i:
!:
!
plimentary remark." " It is time you had informed me
that he is a remarkably fine child, as everyone has been
assuring me for the last three weeks. You needn't deny
that he is a perfect beauty, for I know he is ; so there
Miss, if you wont praise him, his foolish old mudder will,"
and she hugged him to her breast in an ectasy of motherly
fondness, with which I entirely sympathized ; but it filled
me with something akin to wonder, to see Helen in this
novel character, and unable yet fully to realize the situa-
tion, 1 replied soberly : " He is lovely Helen, veiy very
lovely ; but where did he get these dark eyes ? They
seem full of — I know not what, something I feel, but can-
not explain ; — what is it Helen ? "
" What is it ? " exclaimed Helen, looking, not at me,
but at the child on her lap, and speaking in the broken
syllables, which mothei*s love and learn so quickly. " It
is doodness to be sure ; sese eyes is as full of doodness as
zay can be. Fare did he get 'em ? he dot 'em from his
Aunt Illie, dat he did. Kind Aunt Illie, to dive the baby
such bootiful eyes."
" Why Helen you are joking, but you needn't Hatter
me at baby's expense ; our e^^es are both dark, and there
all resemblance ceases ; don't pay the little darling so poor
a compliment."
" She is modest sis Auntie of ours, is she not ? " con-
tinued Helen in her former strain, " she does not tare to
be bootiful ; she would rather be intellectually plain I
suppose ; pity baby she wont share sese eyes wis you."
" I should be but too glad to .share them with him," I re-
joined laughing, " but dear Helen your flattery cannot
deceive me ; I fear I am like Emma Jaae Worboise, hero-
ine Evelyn, * unfortunately plain.' "
Helen now looked at me for the first time seriously as
she said, " My little siii^r is not a beauty, but she has
lovely eyes ; Mamma Lillie's eyes," she softly added ; " are
you not glad darling ? "
I was glad, but wondered why Helen had never told
1
WANTED, A COMPANION.
61
me this before. The pleasure I felt in the knowledge
that I had really inherited fi'om my mother one personal
attraction, which might redeem the homeliness of my other
features, must I suppose, have shown itself in my face, for
Helen exclaimed, " Do not look so grateful Li Hie dear, I
fear you must have underrated your personal attractions,
when my little compliment has pleased you so much."
" Now don't you want to take this little morsel of hu-
manity on your lap, while I tidy up a little ?"
I sat down, and with the utmost carefulness received
from Helen's arms the " little morsel of humanity "
whose nui*se I was for the time being constituted ; and
Hellen exclaiming, " what confusion a baby does make to
be sure," began armnging the apartment, which was very
much in the condition Maiy Ann was wont to denote as
" a' ril-ral," a sui-prising circumstance in Helen's hitherto
well ordered household. Just at this moment Edmund
entered, and, seeing how I was occupied, a pleased and
happy smile ovei*spread his countenance as he approached
to give me his usual greeting, and then knelt before me
to kiss his little son, saying " Well, sister Lillie, what do
you think of our baby boy ? "
My heart wanned as it had never done before to the father
of Helen's child, and, in an impulse of tenderness, I
leant over the baby in my lap and, clasping my arms in
time sisterly fashion around his neck, bestowed on him
what I had often i-eceived but never returned, a hearty
kiss.
The blood mounted to his forehead with astonishment
and pleasure, and this, and the tears of joy which I dis-
covered in Helen's eves as she watched us, told me Imt
too plainly how my resel•^'e had pained them in the past ;
but it was to pain them no more, for henceforth my sister's
husband was to me a brother indeed, not less dear than
the child who had been the means of drawing us nearer
to each other.
The week which I had arranged to spend with them
■»■' V
62
LILrANS RETROSPECT.
It!
passed a y all too quickly, and it was with keen reluc-
tance that I left behind me the happy little family circle
to which I had been assured again and again I should
prove so welcome an addition, and began once more the
wearisome routine of my daily duties.
One stormy Saturday morning in October, when the
war of the elements had prevented me taking my usual
walk into D for the purpose of fetching the mail I
saw Tom, the stable boy, who had been called on to under-
take the duty, pass the window on his way to the kitchen
door, and, hurriedly putting down my work, went to take
the letters and paper from his hand, not expecting that
any of the former could be for myself, as the receipt of a
letter was an unheard of occmTcnce, but anxious to secure
the newspaper which fancy had almost convinced me
brought this morning my fate with it.
Hastily returning with the lettei'S to the deserted
sitting-room, and putting them in the place where my
uncle would expect to find them on his entrance, I rushed
upstairs tc my own room with the paper in my hand, and
was presently absorbed in searching the columns, which
for me now possessed most interest.
Alas, I had come to the end of the vacant situations,
and a governesship was not in the list. With my usual
sigh of disappointment, I was about to lay down the
paper when my eye again fell on an advertisement which
before (as it was not what I was in search of) I had but
hastily scanned. I read it now more carefully, and it ran
as follows : — " Wanted a young lady as companion. She
must be ladylike and accomplished, and possessed of good
references. Salary £30."
All the stories I had ever heard which had reference to
the disadvantages and imposed drudgery of hired com-
panions now recurred to my mind and I had almost
abandoned the intention which I had begun to entertain
of applying for the vacant situation, but remembering
that no harm could be done by my doing so, and that I
WANTED, A COMPANION.
63
was quite at liberty to decline should it promise to be un-
suitable, I sat down and penned another formal little note,
which I resolved to commit to the post with my own
hands on the following day (Sunday) on my way to
church.
Great was my surprise, a week afterwards, when a
reply to the above was put into my hands. They trem-
bled as I broke the seal, and my excitement was so great
as I perused the enclosure that I could scarce comprehend
the tenor of its contents, which cei*tainly were a little
mysterious ; but when I came to the signature I was
thoroughly aroused, and, with startled surprise, began to
read once more what, even in my first confusion, I had
perceived to be more of a friendly epistle than a formal
reply to my application.
It fii*st expressed the writer's surprise when that appli-
cation was received ; her pleasure on its proving to be
from myself, and her hope that I would undertake the
duties of the position as soon as it would suit my con-
venience to do so. It then concluded with inquiries for my
sister, &;c., kc, and was signed — Isabel Harding.
Wliat a singular freak of fortune that I should actually
be requested to become hired companion to my former
playmate ; stranger still that the young lady in question
should be in a position to require one.
There was no hint in her letter of delicate health, or
any other reason alleged why my ser^^ces should be re-
quired in such a capacity, so I could not avoid coming to
the conclusion that Miss Isabel Harding must still be as
subject to caprice as in our childhood days, and this fancy
for a companion the latest of her extraordinary whims.
The strangeness of the occuri'ence, however, and the
mysterj^ in which it was enveloped, was just what was
most calculated to charm my romantic disposition ; and I
resolved (with some sinking of the heaH it is true, and
shrinking from the unknown future to which this first
step towards independence might lead me), that if I could
rr
64
»
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
I
i !!
gain my step-mother's and Helen's consent to so doing, I
would forthwith accept the favour, which time had thus
kindly put into my hand.
Thus in ignoi-ance and unbelief I credited that fickle
Dame, with the changing events, which an All-wise and
overruling Providence alone can determine ; but in the
light of past experience, and in the exercise of present
faith, I am now able to say : —
* Through all the winding maze of life
Hid hand hath been my pride ;
And tnisfc that I may always be enabled to add : —
* And in that long experienced care
My heart tshall still confide."
iJ' '
•'H.
CHAPTER X.
4
ISABEL.
.^^RE you asleep, Lilian ? " said a dreaming voice
from the depths of a huge arm-chair, which was
drawn up to the hearth opposite my own.
" No, Isabel ; but it is getting too dark to read.
Do you wish me to ring for lights ? "
** I am in no hurry if you are not ; next best to view-
ing things through rose-coloured spectacles, is seeing them
by firelight ; one's thoughts especially ; don't you think
so?"
With a languid assent I resumed a reclining attitude in
the comfortable arm chair which I had chosen, and as we
once more relapsed into silence, suffered my eyes to rest
dreamily on the tigm-e opposite to me, on which the fire-
ISABEL.
65
light threw a semi-ilkimination, which seemed ahnost to
invite investigation.
Isabel's dark velvet robe, which swept the floor in care-
less folds, caught some of the amber hue, and seemed in-
vested with a richness greater than its own, as the flicker-
ing firelight danced upon it, and blending with its sombre
shade, produced a combination of colour, at once peculiar
and harmonious. From the robe itself to the soft lace
which encircled the white throat of the wearer, and thence
to the loops of rose-coloured velvet which nestled among
the dark tresses, (almost invisible now against the back
ground on which they reclined), my eyes wandered up
and down with dreamy pleasure, as my thoughts bore them
company, and I mentally reviewed the events of the last
six months, at the beginning of which I had entered on
the duties of companion to the young lady, whose figure
I was now so intently studying.
Bye-and-bye, however, I forgot to admire the beautiful
effect which had first engaged my attention, and allowed
my eyes to rest on the face, the profile of which was
turned towards me.
The low forehead, straight nose, and full-liped mouth,
produced a combination somewhat unusual, but one which
was generally admitted to be interesting, while the inno-
cent and child-like expression which rested on the features
now as I gazed upon them, rendered them (as I had men-
tally decided on the evening of my arrival,) more than
interesting, both piquant, and beautiful.
Isabel's beauty did not charm me now however, as it
had done then, for I knew that in the morning I should
probably find her haggard and ennuyd, and that possibly
the child-like expression, so charming now, might then be
replaced by a fretful look, and the soft voice, which had
addressed me a few minutes ago, changed into peevish
tones, by no means so disagi*eeable, and especially to the
companion, who, as a matter of course, was wont to
receive the full benefit of the changing moods.
T
60
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
1 I
; "
I
Ji
By morning light a close observer was apt to notice,
that Miss Harding's beauty had to some extent " gone off,"
as had also her simple-hearted mother informed me, the
many lovers, who, at one time or other, sighed at the feet
of her darling.
" I cannot understand it," said the fond mother, who
could see no fault in the child of her devoted affection,
*' Isabel has had a great many admirers, and I cannot
but think not a few lovers, and yet would you believe it?
she has not yet received one proposal." " Her father, who
is very anxious to have her well-married, is somewhat
impatient of these man}?^ failures in procuring a suitable
settlement for her ; but, as for me, I am in no hurry to
part with my only child, and care not if she be with me for
several years to come." " Mr. Harding," she continued,
'* partly blames me for the non-success of his matrimonial
projects, and perhaps with some reason, for truly I care
not to have Isabel brilliantly wedded, but only hope, that
when she does marry, she will choose a good man, who
will guide and counsel her, as I have not been able to do;
perhaps if she had new ties, and more engrossing interests
than now, she would be happier ; do you not think so ? "
" Perhaps so," had been my gentle reply. " She has
been so much alone all her life that it is not to be won-
dered at if she has longed for other companionship. A
sister; for instance, how much happier would she have
been had she possessed a sister. Like mine," I softly
added, for I had learned to open my heart in turn to the
gentle woman who thus confided in my sympathy and to
trust the motherly tenderness which I had missed so much
all my life and which now came to me in no small degree
from the hand of a stranger.
I longed to comfort the poor mother, who had lavished
all her tenderness and indulgence on the child, whom still
she had failed to render happy, 'and a heart-felt sigh of
sympathy echoed to her own as she sadly acknowledged
how much she had failed in guiding aright the child com-
i
ISABEL.
67
J
I
mitted to her care and trusted in a hope — the pleasure of
which must have been largely mixed with pain — that
others should succeed, in what— though she had made it
her life work she had utterly come short — making her
child happ3\
Isabel was now a woman, and in amiable mood, a
beautiful woman, but a happy one she was not, nor was
likely to become ; for the seeds of parental indulgence had
borne fruit, and the petted and wilful child had but
grown into the wayward and wilful woman to wliom the
practice of self-denial was a thing unknown, and filial sub-
mission a virtue of which she scarce knew the name.
She was not naturally unamiable and in cheerful mood,
none knew better than myself how charming she could
be ; for, otf course, as we worked and read together in the
cheerful apartment she had chosen as her own, we had
our girlish talks of the past, and more matured hopes and
plans for the future wherewith to make the time
]^ass pleasantly ; and as we strolled in company on the
dear old beach, which, during the last few years of what
I had felt to be almost semi-banishment, my feet had
so often longed to touch,' we were at no loss for subjects
of mutual interest which served to occupy the hours thus
spent both pleasantly and well.
Though thus friendly, however, we never waxed thor-
oughly confidential ; and though, I believe, we both knew
that there were recesses in the heai*t of each, into which
the other never entered, we were mutually content to
have it so, nor sought a closer intimacy.
The duties of my position were certainly not onerous
ones, but as I conscientiously strove to fulfil the object,
for which I believe my services had been engaged —
though never informed of the fact in so many words —
viz., to keep Isabel tolerably cheerful and contented ; and
as this task at times demanded no small amount of tact
and patience, I considered myself quite justified in accept-
ing the liberal salary offered in requital thereof, though
■
68
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
failing not to appreciate the kindness and consideration I
received and especially from the mistress of the house,
which tended in a great degree to smooth the little rough-
nesses of my daily life.
Yes, in spite of some disadvantages (and what position
has them not ?) the last six months had been happy ones and
passed very quickly. More quickly than I had supposed
it possible they could pass, and to-night I was the proud
possessor of fifteen pounds sterling, the six month's salary
I had justly earned and which I was free to spend as I
would.
The feeling was a very pleasurable one, with which
withdrawing my thoughts from more serious matters, I
set myself mentally to expend the sum which was to me
almost a fortune, if the sweetness of its being, as the chil-
dren, say " all my own to do what I like with," could make
it such ; and having arrived at the conclusion, that a new
silk dress — my only silk which had been an old one of
Helen's to begin with, was now, metapohrically speaking,
in the sere and yellow leaf — must necessarily be one of
many purchases, I had begun to debate the important
point as to how much it should Cost when I was startled
from my reverie by the opening of the door and the en-
trance of the master of the house.
Mr. Harding had advanced almost to the place where
we were sitting, without becoming aware that the room
had occupants, and seemed not a little startled when he
perceived our presence. Hastily assuming a cheerful
demeanour — which the careworn expression I had per-
ceived on his countenance as he entered, somewhat belied
— he laughingly pulled Isabel from her chair and seating
himself therein drew her on his lap, and presently they
were engaged in the tender little scene which generally
took place between Isabel and himself on his return from
business in the adjoining city.
Meantime, I wondered what had occurred to put Mr.
Harding out, as his wife expressed it, for that he was
"
ISABEL.
(39
" put out," I did not fop a moment doubt, though not in
the way wJiich the expression was usually meant to denote.
The look which I had perceived on his face was more like
that of anxiety or distress than of impatience or anger,
and as, so far as I knew, it was one entirely new to the
countenance of the Master of Abbeylands, I was propor-
tionably at a loss to assign a reason for it now.
Thinking that perhaps he had something to confide to
his daughter, which he might not wish me to hear, I rose
to retire ; but ere I had reached the door, Mr. Harding
exclaimed in his usual hearty tones, " come Lilian, give us
some music before the lights are brought in," and nothing
loathe to comply with the request, I retraced my steps to
the organ, which occupied one end of the apartment, and
presently began playing softly, a piece from one of the old
mastei*s, which was an especial favourite with Isabel's
father, who signified his approval now, by a soft " hush,"
as his daughter was about to resume their conversation.
As my reader knows, my opportunities for the study of
music had been very slight ; but as I had thoroughly mas-
tered the rudiments of the science at the academy of this
same town, several years before, it was not difficult for me
now, to recall what I had knovni, and as practice was all
that I required, and this splendid organ offered both faci-
lity and inspiration, I bid fair to become in time a toler-
able musician.
I loved to play thus in the semi-light which the fire
afforded ; and soon becoming lost in the pleasure of my
own performance, and oblivious of those for whose enter-
tainment I was supposed to be calling forth the melody of
the grand old instrument, I positively revelled in the
strains which my fingers evoked, nor tired of their har-
mony, as one piece followed another, in uninterrupted
succession.
The entrance of Susan to light the gas and draw the
curtains for the evening, recalled me to the fact that I had
been playing for nearly an hour, and to the discovery
70
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
n i !
hi
ti
fl
ff '
that my audience had, in the meantime, bid a temporary
farewell to the material objects around them, and had
been listening to my music (if at all), in the far-away
haunts of dreamland.
As Isabel languidly rose from the couch on which she
had been reclining, and shook out the folds of her hand-
some dress (a late present from her father), the latter
exclaimed in sui-prise, and I thought also in regret, "Why,
Isabel, how grand you are ; have we company to-night?"
" No papa, I dressed to please myself, and you," she
added, as if in afterthought. " You know I like to wear
my nice dresses whether we have company or not. Are
you not pleased then with my toilet, papa mia ?"
" Oh yes, darling ; dress to please yourself and you will
please me ; but it is an exti-avagant puss, to be sure, is it
not Lilian?"
I did not reply, as I am sure no answer was expected,
but my ear caught the suppressed sigh, which followed the
light words, giving them a significance, undreamed of by
her, to whom they were addressed, as with a saucy look
of childish triumph, out of the dark eyes now flashing with
conscious beauty, she swept before us to the dining-room,
to which we were summoned to partake of the evening
meal, half dinner and half tea, the only one of which we
were accustomed to partake altogether, and by far the
pleasantest of the day.
The apartment to which we adjourned was lofty and of
circular foim, and occupied the entire ground floor of the
ancient part of the building, which, in years gone by, had
been the scene of our childish adventures.
On the floor above was a sort of library or museum, and
higher still, a billiard-room to which Mr. Harding and his
guests were wont to betake themselves, when at rare
interv^als the former entertained his busmess associates
from the neighbouring city, or the magnates of our own
small town ; to which also Isabel and I often ascended,
H i
ISABEL.
n
when at a loss for other amusement, or when the weather
would not admit of more active recreation.
From the billiard-room a narrow staircase led to the
roof of the towei', from which could be seen a magnificent
expanse of wood and water, which well repaid the fatigue
of the ascent, and which often tempted me to retire for
solitaiy reverie, to a place, the surrounding scenery of
which was so well calculated to call it forth.
The adjoining portion of the Abbej^ had been pulled
down, being in too great a state of decay to admit of repair,
and in its place Mr. Harding had erected a handsome dwel-
ling house, which, but for a faint imitation of the remain-
ing portion of the old Abbey, with which it was connected,
would have conveyed to the mind of the beholder, no
suggestion either of sacredness or antiquity, but which, so
far as space or comfort were concerned, was certainly all
that could be desired.
At Isabel's suggestion, the semi-new mansion received
its name of Abbeylands, which was now generally adopted
by the inhabitants ; but taking into consideration, that
the * lands " surrounding Mr. Harding's residence, were, in
proportion therewith, exceedingly limited, the name was
i*ather an unsuitable one. However,as this was not the only
incongruity connected with the establishment (and incon-
gruities are sure to be numerous in one, which to the
.owners, is based on entirely new and unaccustomed prin-
ciples), none of the family seemed to have become aware
of its existence, and remained as much contented with the
name which Isabel had at first bestowed, as if it were in
peculiar mamier the name most suited to the property.
#
72
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
CHAFfER XL
AN INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW.
!
u.
if
\
\ II;
|i
^^
I
\
lOTWITHSTANDING the facilities which this
spacious mansion afforded for the entertainment
of company, pai-ties of any description rarely took
place within its walls ; and mixed parties, that is
to say, those to which ladies and gentlemen were inWted
together, were of rarer occurrence still, for Mrs. Harding
was a retiring woman, to whom the entertainment of
guests was unmistakeabl}^ a burden, and who, therefore,
made very few personal friends, and her daughter did
not care to cultivate lady friendships, which she informed
me, she had ever found to be more a bore than a comfort,
and had seldom aftbrded her ought but dissatisfaction.
I did not wonder that Isabel should not assimilate with
girls of her own age, for she was essentially different from
any girls I had ever met, though it puzzled me not a little
to define to myself in what the ditterence consisted, and
sometimes I wondered how it happened that she and I
contrived to get on so well together, since I could not but
be aware that she differed from myself as from all the
rest, and understood me as little as despite our six months*
intimacy, I understood the nature of my quondam
playmate.
Isabel did not seek the society of gentlemen either,
though she was for the most pai-t gi-acious and affable to
her father's guests and apparently did her best to further
his projects on her behalf, by receiving with encourage-
ment, the attentions paid to her by several of their number.
During the last two months of my stay at Abbeylands
AN INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW.
73
\
the attentions of one whom I fancied Mr. Harding }»ar-
ticularly favoured, became more marked than tliose of
Isabel's other admirers, and I am certain Mi*. Harding
confidently expected that he should soon receive proposals
for his daughter's hand.
What were Isabel's feelings towards Mr. Castleton, I
could not determine, but I did not doubt that whatever
they were, she intended when the momentous question
should be addressed to her, to give the reply which should
satisfy the querist, and be the means of fulfilling her
father's wishes.
As concerned the gentleman himself I was at no loss
to determine the state of his heart. He was deeply in
love with the young lady whom we believed he should
very soon solicit as his wife, and, so far as I could judge,
his affection deserved a sincere return from her whom he
had honoured by its bestowal.
Notwithstanding, however, the eligibility of the favoured
suitor, and he was a man both of intelligence and wealth,
I could not comprehend Mr. Harding's haste to have his
only daughter, who was to him as the light of the eyes,
transferred to the care of a comparative stranger, and his
home denuded of the cherished idol, for whose apparent
gratification and pleasure all its luxurious appointments
had been obtained, and I marvelled much how any parent,
circumstanced as he was, should even negatively advance
a marriage which he could not feel certain should be for
his daughter's happiness, and which I concluded must
surely be greatly for his own loss and disadvantage.
One afternoon when Isabel was suffering from a cold,
and on that account could not accompany me on our usual
walk, I had betaken myself for a stroll on the shore,
always my favourite resort, and especially when alone.
Returning after more than an hour's absence, without
going up-stiiii*s to remove my out-door garments, I hastily
entered the drawing-room, for the purpose of (jbtainirig a
book, which I wished to take to my room, when, after ad-
s' . ^
i
It
I
i !
i| I
n
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
vancing a few steps into the apartmemt, I perceived Isabel
and Mr. Castleton seated together in the recesses of one
of the deep windows, and apparently engaged in earnest
conversation.
Hoping that my entrance had been unobserved, I quickly
turned to retire, when Isabel rose in some confusion, say-
ing, " Do not run away, Lilian ; Mr. Castleton has come to
bid us g(jodbye ; he stalls on p journey to-morrow.
Compelled to advance, I mustered composure to inquire
Mr. Castleton's destination, length of absence, etc., — my
confusion increasing, as I Ijecame more certain, from the
gentleman's manner, that my enti-ance had been de trop ;
and, murmuring something al.Kjut removing my hat, I was
retracing my steps to the door, when visiters were an-
nounced, effecting by their presence a more effectual inter-
ruption, than I believe my short stay would have occa-
sioned.
Angry with myself for having been guilty of such a pro-
voking, though unintentional blunder, I ran up-staii*s to
my own apartment, and sought to forget my humiliation
in the duties of the toilet — the performance of which my
lengthened exposure to sea-breezes had rendered some-
what necessary.
Half-an-hour afterwards, I saw, from my window, Mr.
Castleton take his dej^arture, and shortly afterwards heard
Isabel and her mother dismiss theii* other visitors, and the
former ascend to her own room.
Joining her there, I hastened to apologize for my in-
voluntary intrusion, but was interrupted by Isabel, exclaim-
ing, "Never mind, Lilian, it is of no const -uence what-
ever. What makes you fancy it a matter of importance ? "
" From Mr. Castleton's manner I judged that my
entrance was peculiarly ill-timed ; was it not so then ?
and did my fancy run away with me ? "
" As to that, I believe Mr, Castleton did find your pre-
sence somewhat undesii*able," was Isabel's reply, accom-
panied by a ripple of gleeful laughter.
AS INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW.
75
.
tt-
e-
" Why Isalxjl," I sairl boldly, " I believe he was just on
the point of proposing to you."
" And I know he was : he had just got fairly stalled
when you came in."
" Oh ! Isabel, why did you recall me when I was about
to retire ? It was too bad ; I feel so annoyed."
" Oh ! oh ; Ls my sober Lillian in the conspiracy to get
me married ; I thought such a proper damsel would abhor
such iniquity."
" I am not at all anxious to see you married, unless it
should be for your happiness ; but I fancied you meant to
accept Mr. Castleton ; if I have spared you the pain of a
refusal, I ought to be glad rather than sorry."
Isabel laughed, " but I did not mean to refuse him. I
fully intend to accept him on his return, when he vnW no
doubt seize the fii-st opportunity of renewing the conver-
sation you inteiTupted to-day. I am not sorry to have
three weeks more to think about it, so do not distress
youreelf on my account."
Even my inexperience told me that Isabel did not talk
of her intended husband or of her marriage, as a woman
would, wliose heart was engaged in the subject, and I
exclaimed hastily, and with unwonted freedom, " Excuse
my bluntness Isabel, but do you love the man you have
elected to be your future husband ? "
At fii'st she seemed inclined to resent my freedom, and
the hot blood i*ushed to cheek and forehead, but suddenly
her mood changed, and she said almost sadly, " No, I do
not love him Lilian, but I have never loved anyone, and I
suppose never will, so I may as well marry to please my
father ; I suppose I am too selfish to love anyone but my-
self, and I do not think many people will love me, though
some may be in love with my beauty. Mr. Castleton
among the number.
" You do him injustice, Isabel, Mr. Castleton truly loves
you."
" Yes, but would he love me were I deprived of the out-
H
■ jj
If
76
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
ward charms which have fascinated him, I wonder how
it will be when my beauty fades, as it is beginning to do
already. Will he begin then I wonder, to discover the
wicked propensities of my heart, and hate me."
" No, no, Isabel, do not talk thus," for the last words
were said bitterly, and the small teeth closed on each
other as if in passion, " you can retain your trust and
affection if you will. Think how your father loves you,
and surely he knows all your faults ; your mother also, is
not her heart bound up in you ? "
True, but they are my father and mother and can't help
loving me ; perhaps you do not know, that all my lovers,
and I have had a good many, have found me out before
they committed themselves by a proposal ; so I need not
expect my husband's credulity to last for ever ; you see, I
have good reason to accept Mr. Castleton's offer if it is
ever made, for perhaps I shall never have another."
" I would not accept it on that account ; rather never
marry, than marry without love. Do not Isabel, you will
be unhappy for life."
" You are a simple child, Lilian ; am I happy now, tell
me ? You know I am not, so what difference if I be mar-
ried or single so far as that is concerned. Let us change
the subject, and please forget what I have said."
Seeing already that Isabel already regi'etted her un-
wonted frankness, I strove to make her forget it by seek-
ing to interest her in other and more accustomed subjects,
but my heart was heavy as in secret I brooded over the
revelation of her feelings now made to me, and as my
fingers busied themselves about the work which occupied
them, my brain was engaged in weaving a plan whereby
I might win Isabel to greater happiness, and shed an un-
wonted brightness over the inmates of my temporary
home.
■ ^
MINNIE.
77
CHAPTER XII.
MINNIE.
id
ISABEL'S cold did not readily leave her, and for
H more than a week I continued to take my daily
^^ walk on the beach with only my own thoughts for
company. Strolling generally along the margin of
the water for about a mile, till I reached a cluster of jagged
rocks, which stretched for some distance into the sea, I
would seat myself on one of the flatter of their number,
and give myself up to thoughts of the dear ones from whom
I had so long been absent, or to pleasant anticipations of
the meeting which I hoped another month would bring
about, for Isabel had promised me then two weeks' holi-
days, which were of course to be spent with Helen, and
it afforded me no small delight to anticipate a reunion,
which to me, and I doubted iiot to both of us, must be
such a happy one.
Consistent with my resolve to benefit Isabel, and seek
to awake her moral sense to truer views of life's respon-
sibilities, I had written to Helen, requesting her to extend
an invitation to her, to accompany me on my visit, for I
hoped that the companionship of my sister — in my doting
eyes near akin to perfection — and the cheerful and do-
mestic aspect of the home she continually brightened by
her presence, must surely win the spoiled chil<l of indul-
gence to more womanly views of marriage and its duties,
and, mayhap, ])revent a union which I could not but fore-
see should end in nothing but unhappiness. Though the
presence of a stranger must necessarily interrupt, in some
measure, the freedom of our intercourse with each other,
U
f
78
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
- »•■
If-'-
m
W'
:lt|
f* r
: 'I
^
T sought to hanisb from my heart selfish thoiiglits of my
own gratification, and anticipate i-ather the reward which
my self-denial was to receive, for I was truly intciested
in Isabel, and earnestly desired, in some way or other, to
be the means of compassing her happiness.
Helen's reply, in which a most cordial invitation was
enclosed, and of which I had already o]>tained Isabel's ac-
ceptance, had quickly followed the request, so now, with my
other thoughts of the expected visit, came many plans by
which I might make it an enjoyable one to my companion,
and avert the possibility of regret on her part, that she
had acjquiesced .so readily in my desire for the companion-
ship.
Besides the romance and wild beauty of the spot I had
chosen as my resting place, there was also the charm
of retirement which it possessed in a greater degree than
any other j)oi*tion of the beach to tempt the weary one
to rest the tired limljs, and maylje lay aside the hea<i-gear
which fashion has imposed, and which often proves
more a burden than a solace, and don for a time the
thinking cap, which, if the thoughts it brings be but
pleasant ones, afford to the tired and heated brow a
grattjful relief, and often brings to the heart also fresh
supplies of encoui-agement and strength.
In the distance might l^e seen gay parties of ladies
and gentlemen enjoying the afternoon piomenade which
the visitors to S — seldom neglected, however un-
suitable the weather should prove for such exertion, con-
sidering, no doubt, that as they honoured our pretty
town with their presence, for the purpose of benefiting
by the sea-breezes Mnth which it was so abundantly
favoured, their sacred duty consisted in making as much
as possible of the commodity so strongly recommended
by their medical adxnsei-s, and which the ladies of the
paity themselves no doubt imagined was to restore
their physical indivitluality to all its pristine loveliness
and health.
i
MINNIE.
79
Children also, with their attendant nui-ses, disported
themselves in gi'oups on the soft white sand, whicli
afforded for the little ones so safe and })leasant a play-
ground, and threatened to soil the dainty garments
on which fashion had in a greater or less degree set her
seal and thus rendered them unfit for the tear and wear
of healthy romping children.
For the most part I was left to the enjoyment of my
favourite resort alone, but occasionally some of the idlers
would extend their walk within a short distance of the
place where I was seated, and ofbener some children from
the houses, whose garden gates opened on to the shore,
would emerge from the respective apertures, and begin
playing together in front of their temporary homes, the
cottages being almost without exception deserted by their
proper owners, and given up to the strangers who were in
search of sea-bathing quarters.
For several days I observed a little girl accompanied by
her nurse, emerge from one of the above-mentioned houses,
and as the latter seated herself on the sand, and com-
menced the knitting which she carried with her, the little
maiden's tiny fingers would soon become equally busy in
building the little sand-heaps which she the next moment
destoyed, or in constructing diminutive tunnels which
generally came to an untimely annihilation by the soft
sand falling into the arch and burying the little hand so
actively engaged in their construction.
As I idly observed the childish perseverance, with
which she renewed the oft-defeated attempts, or watched
the little feet which sometimes strayed in search of shells
or other alluring treasures, a few yards from her nui'se's
feet. I became so interested in the little flaxen-haired and
blue-eyed maiden, that I longed for an excuse to make
her acquaintance, though unaVile to invent any other mode
of attracting her attention than the signs which I was
afraid her nurse, happening suddenly to look up, might
i
w^
j; ii
80
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
Mi
discover, and perhaps resent by removing to a greater
distance.
At length one day, when my gaze was turned in an
opposite direction, the little maid had voluntarily ap-
proached me, and I was surprised on looking round at
the sound of a slight movement, to discover her standing
quite close by my side. Eagerly holding out my hand to
draw her towards me, I smiled into the pretty childish face
which was so earnestly regarding my own, and inquired
softly, " What is your name, little one ? "
■ *' My name is Ninnie," said the child, with the
sweetest intonation I had ever heard, and a peculiar
pronunciation of the M, which was perfectly irresistible.
" Minnie, that is a sweet name, and what other have
" No other name but Ninnie," came the sweet syllables,
as the child swayed joyously on the lap to which I had
lifted her, and plaj^ed with the ri})bon which fluttered
from the hat I held in my hand.
** What is your name ?" she inquired suddenly, as if she
considered it was now her turn to play the querest, is it
as nice as mine ? "
" I do not know ; it is Lilian Stuart ; do you like it ? "
" Lilian Stuart ; yes, 1 like it ; it is pretty, I think ?"
Indeed, my name had never sounded so sweet as when
pronounced by the baby lips, and I exclaimed fondly,
" I am glad you like it, darling ; you are a dear little
girl, and I love you very much. Will you come and
speak to me again to-morrow ? "
" Yes, I will come, I think you are a nice lady, and
your eyes are like my mamma's."
At this moment the nurse's voice called the child, and
without further leave-taking, she sprang from ray lap
and lightly ran to obey the summons.
Shortly afterwards thf^y were joined by a white-haired
gentleman and a young lady whom I presumed to be
his daughter, and the mother of my little favourite. After
''
|i
MINNIE.
81
a short colloquy with the nurse, and saluting in turn the
little sprite confided to her care, they joined a young
gentleman who had followed them from the house, and
who, having seen him on a ])revious occasion in the com-
pany of the child, I judged to be her father, and bent
their steps together towards the busy scene, I have
already described ; and soon becoming lost to view, de-
parted also for a time from the thoughts of the narrator
of this story, which, as she retraced her steps home-
wards, were engaged with other and more intimate sub-
jects for meditation.
The next day something or other occurred to prevent
my walk, so I lost the opportunity I had hoped to enjoy
of improving my acquaintance with the child, who had so
captivated my fancy ; but the following one I was in my
accustomed place, and eagerly on the lookout for the little
stranger, of whom I knew nothing but her name uf
Minnie, but who I felt certain, from the sweet beauty of
her countenance, must always be good and lovable, and
worthy of the affection for which she had inspired me.
At length she appeared, accompanied as usual, and
whether at the child's request, I do not know, but instead
of taking up their accustomed position on the sand the nurse
gently guided her little charge among the slippery rocks,
and seated herself, with the child on her lap, on one of
those at a con.^iderable distance from my own perch, and
in greater proximity to the water, which, a shoit time
before their arrival, had reached its greatest altitude, and
was now beginning to recede.
Opening a book which she carried in her hand in place
of the work which generally occupied her busy fingers,
and apparently leaving the child entirely to the company
of her own sweet thoughts, the woman presently became
absorbed in the enjoyment of the unaccustomed, and I
could not help fancying also, the forbidden pursuit, in
which sjie was engaged, and oblivious I feared of the
t;-
^B
■B
n
i:
i
I
i, I
82
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
watcliful guardiaiishi]) of tljc cliild, wliich her mistress
must ceitainly have expected and desired.
Tired of watching the motions of the chiM, whose ges-
tures of delight had at first amused me, and being at too
great a distance to overhear the childish lisping, which
would no doubt have enthralled my attention, I also
opened th'^ litei'ary companion I had brought v/ith me,
and presently became lost in the adventures of some im-
aginary heroine.
An exclamation of terror, followed by the sound of
something falling into the water, recalled me suddenly to
outward objects, and I quickly raised my head to find the
nurse wringing her hands in direst agony, as she stood on
a point of rock which jutted out into the sea, and from
which I inferi'ed the child must have fallen into the water,
since the little maid was nowhere to be seen, and the
distress of her nurse witnessed to the occurrence of some
dire catastrophe.
Shouting to the woman in mingled terror and indigna-
tion, to stoop down and seize the child who could scarcely
be beyond the reach of her hand, in desperate haste
I made my way among the impeding rocks till I reached
the place where she stood. Where did she fall ? oh ! tell
me quick, was my agonizing cry to the stupified creature,
whose distress seemed only to have the eflfect of unfitting
her for exertion ; but catching sight of the child's clothes,
at little more than a yard distance, I lost no more time
in useless lamentation, but laying myself flat on the rock,
and commanding the woman to compose herself, and assist
me by sustaining my weight as I stretched my body as
far as possible over its edge I presently succeeded in res-
cuing the infant, who would probably in a few minutes have
been carried by the receding tide far beyond our feeble
efibrts.
Delivering the child into the nurse's arms, I told the
latter to hasten with all speed to the house, that necessary
precautions might be taken, to prevent the little one's ad-
MINNIE,
83
"
y
)
B
t
S
I-
e
e
venture frcuii ending in more serious conse(| nonces ; for
the little figure lay so still and mute, and the hreath which
came from between the parte<l lips, was so slow and faint,
that I almost feared the little darlin<x mii^ht still he lost to
the parents, whom I doubted not so f()n<lly adored her, and
tlieir heaits bereft of the joy which I am sure her presence
must afford.
Hurrying home in no little exeitement at the strange
and distressing event which had taken place, I had no
sooner reached my room, than my overwrought feelings
compelled me to give way to the hysteric fit of weeping,
which I had been endeavouring to suppress all the way,
and which witnessed to the fact, that though my presence
of mind had not deserted me in the past emergency, I was
by no means the strong-minded woman I had imagined
myself to be, as I reproached the inefficiency of Minnie's
guai-dian, and myself assumed the office which of right
should have been hers.
In thinking over the unfortunate occurrence, I was
forced to the conclusion, that, taking advantage of the
nurse's absoi*ption in her book, the child must have quietly
slii)ped from her lap, and possibly crept (at times it must
have been on hands and knees,) to the dangerous position,
from which she must have fallen into the water.
Wondering when I should be able to ascertain any news
of the child's condition, and unwilling to intrude myself
on the notice of her parents by a personal call of enquiry,
I could only resolve to betake myself on the morrow to
my accustomed place, and trust in the hope that some-
thing might occur from which I might infer the little
one's safety.
e
rw ; ,m .wW
84
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
I
'. I
i t
I
It
\
!
' I
'Ml 1 f
CHAPER XIII.
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
|F you please, Miss Lilian," said Susan, the house-
l| maid, as I replied to her gentle knock, on the fol-
'iJ^S lowing day, " there's a lady and gentleman in the
^^1^ drawing-room, to see you ; here are fcheir cards."
In astonishment I took the cards from her hand, and,
as they bore a name utterly unknown to me, exclaimed,
" Are you certain they inquires for me, Susan ? I think
you must have made a mistake. It is probably Miss
Harding they wish to see ; cany the cards to her, she
is in the breakfast-room, I think."
" If you please, ma'am, it was MisK Stuart they asked
for."
" Oh, very well, Susan," I rejoined calmly, " I will join
them in a few minutes ;" but my heart was fluttering wildly,
for I could not imagine who this Dr. and Mrs. Hazelby
could be, unless some of my unknown relations, who at
this distant date had resolved to look up my father's or-
phans, but whose friendship now was as unwelcome to my
independent spirit, as the present visit with which they
had favoured me.
Hurriedly finishing the toilet, which before I had been
performing with considerable deliberation, and with the
pleasant conviction that it bore marks of having been
hastily assumed, and that my hair, with the contrariety
of hair in general, had contrived to look its worst, just
when I was most anxious to make a good appearance in
the eyes of these relations, who I fancied had come to ])a-
tronise me, I descended to the drawing-room, and softly
I
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
85
t
Y
Y
a
e
Q
y
it
n
i-
y
I
opening the door, stood trembling, with assumed compo-
sure, in the presence of my visitors. The lady and gen-
tleman were standing with their backs turned towards
me, in the embrasure of one of the farther windows, and
aj)peared not to have heard my quiet entrance.
There was something familiar to me in the outlines of
the figures, or in the apparel they wore, which made me
fancy I had seen my visitors before, though under what
circumstances I could not recall. Convinced, however,
that they were no relations of mine, I regarded the com-
ing interview in a more favourable light, and only wished
they would turn round and perceive my presence, and
thus give me an opportunity of receiving them with some
degree of gracefulness.
At a loss how to attract their attention, I stood for a
few moments in emban-assed silence, which was increased,
when, beginning to talk to each other, they unconsciously
placed me in the position of an eavesdropper, and rendered
it more difficult for me to make known my presence.
" Ekiward," exclaimed the lad}^ in soft and musical ac-
cents, which also sounded somewhat familiar, " I wish wf^
had l>rought Minnie with us. Her presence would have
served as an introduction to this unknown Miss Stuart.
I hope she is as nice as our little darling fancies her to
be, for I feel so grateful to her, that I hope I shall be able
to love her."
" My dear Edith, I believe you would love her were
she the most unamiable spinster in existence ; but I fancy
she must be agreeable. Trust Minnie to distinguish be-
tween the gold and the baser metal. I assure you I ex-
pect to like the lady, but can scarcely tell you wherefore."
" Isn't this a queer house, Edward ? It seems like a
house in a story, does it not ? These ov'al windows in
that tower look just like those through which heroines
generally make their escape, aided by a rope, or "
" Or the bedclothes," chimed in Dr. Hazelby, laughing,
and the laugh, though half-suppressed, was deep and
I
' I]
!,
it '
i>fi
;•',
!).'
|5!i;
I '
:' t t
80
LILIANS RETROSPECT,
musical. " What a romantic woman you are, Edith, con-
stantly discovering houses in books, <^irls in books, and so
on. Don't you know you are as like a girl in a l)ook
yourself as anyone I ever saw ? As to this house it is
queer, and looks as if it had a history attached to it.
Supposing you set yourself to discover what that history
is ; I am sure it will prove a congenial pursuit."
Feeling the utter necessity of introducing myself in
some way or other, and my slight movements made to
attract their notice proving of no avail, I <.*anie to the con-
clusion that there was nothing left for me but to address
them, v/ithout further deia^', so advancins: till I wa.s within
a short distiince of the place where they stood, I faltered
timidly, " I beg your pardon for having been, for the last
few minutes, a listener to yoiu* conversation ; but my
entrance not having been perceived, I was at a loss how
to make you aware of my presence.
Somewhat startled at the sudden address, and confused
no doubt by the ingenuous confession I had just made,
they turned quickly, and with embarrassment on both
sides, we exchanged bows.
I had of course already been made aware by the con-
versation I had overheard of the interest my visitor
possessed in the little girl who had been the subject of my
thoughts when they were announced, so was not surprised,
when Mrs. Hagelby exclaimed, as we seated oui*selves,
" We have called. Miss Stuart, to thank you for the brave
act, by which I believe you saved my child's life yester-
day. I cannot express the gratitude I feel for your timely
assistance, but I shall never forget your kindness, and
sincerely hope that the acquaintance which it has been
.the means of commencing, may yet ripen into a greater
friendship between us. Aie you willing that so it should
be ? " continued the soft voice, whicli left me in no doubt
as to the source ot Minnie's dulcet intonation.
" I fear, Mrs. Hazelby, I nuist disclaim the gratitude you
so kindly express, for my act of yesterday was only what
N
!WW— ^JH^B™
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
87
\
anyone who liad happened to be in the vicinity wouhl
have performed."
" \ our kind ofter of friendship," I added smilingly, " I
gratefully accept, for I confess I am very much interested
in your little daughter, and I should like to be on good
terms with her father and mother. I sincerely hope the
child is none the worse for her involuntary l)ath."
" 1 assure you, Miss Stuart," said Dr. Hazelby, joining
in the conversation, " the little wdtch is as well as ever.
The only evil which threatens her now, is Miss 'Tuart
on the brain ; whether this is likely to prove a serious
disease my professional skill does not inform me."
" Your little daughter highly compliments me. Dr.
Hazelby, and T would not wish her quit of the disease you
mention, unless, indeed. Miss 'Tuart on the heart were
substituted for it."
While I was speaking, the deep grey eyes of the gentle-
man were laughingly regarding me, and with a comical
shrug of the shoulders, and a glance of amusement to-
wards the lady he had addressed as Edith, he responded,
" Allow me to set you right, Miss Stuart, on a most im-
portant point. Though deeply interested in the subject
of our conversation, I can lay no parental claim to the
young lady. On the contrary, the lady who is her mother
is also mine, and you have already made her acquaintance."
In puzzled surprise 1 looked from one to the otl)er,and
the truth dawning upon me, I exclaimed hastily, "oh ! I
beg your pardon ; Mrs. Hazelby is I presume, your step-
mother, but — but — you,"
" Do not hesitate to express yourself, Miss Stuart," said
Dr. Hazelby, as I paused in confusion, and obliged to
finish the sentence I had unthinkingly begun, I blush-
ingly continued, " I thought I heard you call her E<lith."
- " You are right ; I have not yet learned to call her
mother, and the title fiom me would certainly l>e some-
what absurd," laughed the gentleman. " 1 am schooling
myself, however, to address her as Mrs. Hazelby when
88
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
I
II
I H
among strangers, and had I been aware of your })re.sence,
should not have made use of the familiar address ; but
when alone this little mother of mine must be Edith
still."
The " little mother " as she returned the tender smile,
with which the last words were accompanied, seemed very
much amused at the misundei-standing which had neces-
sitated the explanation, but laughingly declared how
natural it was. " I hope Miss Stuart, I shall very soon
have an opportunity of introducing 5'ou to my husband,
who is a little more reverend in appearance than the
gentleman before you ; though I believe, equally young
in heart."
After this we glided into almost familiar conversation,
during which I ascertained that they had obtained my
address at the Post Office : my name they had already
learned from the lips of the little heroine, whose adventure
had been the means of our present interview.
The time usually allotted to a visit of ceremony had
" already elapsed, when it suddenly* occurred to me, that I
should only be treating my visitors with the respect to
which they were entitled, by requesting their permission
to introduce to them, Mi-s. Harding and Isabel, my presence
in whose family, I had already been careful to explain, so
that, should Mrs. Hazelby, when she learned my true
position, be inclined to withdi'aw the friendship she had
so freely oftered, she might be able to do so, without
further committing herself by other acts of courtesy.
" I hope you will give me the pleasure of introducing to
you Mrs. Harding and her daughter," I said rising, and
receiviijg a cordial acquiescence, excused myself for a few
minutes, while I went to acquaint them with the names
and presence of my visitoi*s.
When Mrs. Hardin«r and Isal)el had returned with me
to the drawing-room, and intriiductions had been exchanged,
we glided again quite naturally into the conversation
interrupted by my withdrawal ; and from the cordiality
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
89
evinced by all, it seemed more than likely that the ac-
quaintanceship, thus abruptly began, might lead to no
small degree of friendship between the families.
Mrs. Hazelby had made some remarks about the lovely
view which she said Dr. Hazelby and herself had l>een
admiring from the farther win<low.s, and Isabel, who was
seated next to the former, rising, at his retjuest, to point
out the different \allages, ^vhich on such a clear day as
this, were distinctly visible on the opposite coast, we got
divided into sepai-ate gi'oups, and the conversation natur-
ally glided into two distinct channels.
While taking part in that which was going on between
Mrs. Hazelby, Sli-s. Harding and myself, I could not help
listening also, to that in which the other two occupants
of the room were engaged ; and with more tha n accus-
tomed curiosity, found myself eagerly seeking to catch
the soft syllables of Isabel, or the deeper tones of her com-
panion, as they convened together, at some yards dis-
tance from my own position. This unwonted curiosity,
was I believe chiefly owing to two things, viz : the inter-
est which I had ah-eady begun to feel in the convei-sation
of the gentleman, who talked with more ease, and culti-
vated purity than anyone I had ever met, and the fact,
that I had observed on his countenance when Isabel en-
tered, a look of such unmistakeable admiration, that I
doubted not he shoidd soon become another in the train
of those, whom Isabel's beauty, had already charmed into
loving her.
As this thought came to me, though knowing little as I
did of the man whom I had met that day for the first
time, and conversed with him for one short half -hour, I
ejaculated mentally, " this one is ditterent from all the
rest. I wonder if Isabel has already discovered it."
Whether she had discovered it or no, Isabel was very
courteous to this new acquaintance, and their convei'sa-
tion, which appeared to be mutually interesting, was some-
what prolonged.
o
1)0
LILIAN S RETUOSPECT.
I
11': :
f!
■I I',
" Til is is truly a iiuignificent country, is it not, Miss
Harding?" were the first words I could distinctly catch ;
" T do not believe that the natural scenery of Scotland,
though limited in extent, can be surpassed by that of any
country under heaven. I am sure this must also be your
opinion, though being, I believe, Scottish born, and thus
[)robably more prejudiced than I, your opinion is worth
less than mine."
" You are English ? " said Isabel in(piiringly, her dark
eyes raised to his.
" No ! my parents were of the same country as your-
self ; but 1 was born in Canada, and I call myself a Cana-
dian. You see, however, that I am by no means indifferent
to the beauties of the mother country.
"I should think not," said Isabel warmly, "but surely."
she added, "Mrs. Hazelby is English?"
"You are right, she is of English descent, though most
of her life has been spent in Scotland. She has, as you
may have observed, the fluent sprightliness of conversa-
tion which characterizes the former nation, beautifully
blended with the softer intonations of your own country."
Isabel did not seem to have observed it and did not
give a direct reply. "I think you then must have the
same," were her next words, "as you speak very much
alike."
"I receive that as a compliment, Miss Harding," said
Dr. Hazelby smiling, "though an undeserved one."
At this moment Mrs. Hazelby engrossed my attention
by some remark, and I was obliged to give my undivided
attention to the subject under discussion, to the exclusion
of that, which I confess, possessed for me the greatest
intjrest.
Shortly afterwards the lady rose to take leave, and
with reiterated expressions of gi-atitude towards myself,
and exacting a joint promise, that the present visit should
soon be returned, they took their departure.
Later in the day when Mr. Harding had returned from
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
91
the city, and his slaughter was regaling him with an
account of the afternoon call, I could not but observe the
unwonted animation with which Isabel discussed our
visitors. .
"They are very nice, papa, and I am sure you will like
them. We have promised soon to return the visit, so I
hope you will coax mamma to break through her usual
reserve and go with us."
"But who are they?" exclaimed Mr. Harding, smiling
at his daughter's enthusiasm. " Have you discovered any-
thing of their antecedents or present circumstances?"
" Oh, yes," returned Isabel, ** Mr. Hazelby is a retired
gentleman, whose wife had been dead for a number of
years, but who has lately married again. If you saw
Mi*s. Hazelby, papa, you would not wonder at an old
man's folly. I think he made his money in Canada, and
has come home to settle ; for Dr. Hazelby told me that
he himself was born in Canada, and in conversation
allowed me to infer the rest. Quite a romantic history, is
it not ? "
" Well Isabel, I hope you won't be in too gieat a hurry
to become intimate with these strangers, until you know
more about them. How long do they remain here ? "
" 'Till the end of October," I replied, as Mrs. Hazelby
had given me the information. " They have a house some
miles out of Edinburgh, where they usually reside, but
rented one here for the summer months, for the benefit of
change of air and scene, of which Dr. Hazelby especially,
who has been studying very hard and has just taken his
degree, stood very much in need."
*' I trust you foolish girls won't become too susceptible
to the charms of this newly fledged physician," said Mr.
Harding, with what I thought was rather an uneasy
lauffh. " Forewarned is forearmed " vou know, and so I
give you this wise counsel,
" No danger," I rejoined, laughing, but Isabel flushed
i
1
92
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
.sli<j^htly, ami turned away as if offended at her father's
wonls.
She thinks he means them seriously, and is w arnin<^" her
that she is intended for another, was my mental comment ;
and I could not assure mvself that it was not so.
Poor Isahel ! you nuist guard well your heart, if you
would have strength to fulfil the sacrifice to which, so far
at least as your father is concerned, you have already
tacitly pledged yourself.
n
CHAPTER XIV.
ii
" COMING EVENTS CAST THEIll SHADOWS BEFORE."
FORTNIGHT had elapsed during which an un-
wonted excitement had crept into our quiet lives,
for since our return of the Hazelby's first visit,
tx"^- several othei"s had been exchanged, and now the
intimate teniis on which the families stood with each
other, admitted of many opportunities for their several
membei's meeting often, and attaining a still greater degree
of intimacy with each other.
The pleasiu'es of walking, boating, and driving, were now
often partaken of together, and the days flew past in un-
accustomed engagements, which so pleasantly filled their
hours. " We took no note of time but from its fliirht."
This at least I can say was true of myself, for my life
hitherto had been spent so much in the shady paths
which the ln-ightness of a noon-day gladness so seldom
penetrated, that now in the congenial society of these new
frien<ls, I seemed transported to the mountain tops of
youthful pleasure, whence I could catch a glimpse of the
many sources of delight which mother eaith so freely
"COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE." 93
ths
om
ew
of
the
ely
ofti^rs to her chil«hen, and sun myself in tlie rays of social
intercourse witli those wliose lives were not "1 torn for
pleasure and delight alone," hut were also fraught with
an earnest purpose, which as yet had never entered into
the stream of my own existence.
In Mrs. Hazel! >y, though several years older than my-
self, and when I met her, already a wife and a mother, I
had found my first girl-friend ; and the more I knew of
her, the more I loved the frank uirlishneys of maimer and
sweetness of disposition, which had at first won my regard,
and was daily chaining me to her in stronger bonds of
friendship an<l esteem.
Her hushand also I had learned to res])ect, and won-
dered less the more I knew of him that lie had won to
himself the priceless treasure of Edith's love.
In their child, I possessed a never-failing source of
amusement and pleasure which, though Minnie's ways
were enough to charm the most indifferent heart, came to
me I suppose, with greater freshness and enjoyment, be-
cause I had never, since I ceased to be a child myself,
been brought into familiar intercourse with the little
beings who charm our fancies with the thousand arts
of childish witchery, and win without effort, the warm
affection which to a yesterday's acipiaintance of riper
years, however worthy, prudence would deny the priceless
gift.
And what had Edward Hazelby become to me ? As
yet — an amusing companion — an intelligent instructor —
a wise counsellor — a true friend — and what he was to me,
I believe he was at that time to Isabel also. What more
he was, or was to become to either of us, the coui-se of
this story must alone discover.
His manner towards both, was, so far as I could judge,
etpially kind, attentive, and respectful, and this was true
also of the other member's of the family, for there never
occurred anything in my intercourse w ith them, which
could have disagreeably reminded me of the grave dis-
'
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94
LILIAN S ilKTROSPECT.
1'
il
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i-
ki-
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u
If
i
i
tinctioM iK'tweon Miss Isabel Harding, (lau<j^lit('r and
heiress of tlie owner of Abbeylands, and Lilian Stuart,
the portionless orphan of a poor minister, who had to
earn her living by serving in the capacity of hired com-
panion to the above mentioned young lady.
On the contrary, so far at least as Mrs. Hazelby was
concerned, my modesty could not conceal from me the fact,
that my own society was very often preferred to that of
the more brilliant Isabel ; an(. that my new friend Seemed
desirous by special attentions of marking towards myself
the unforgotten gratitude which had been the basis of
our friendshi]) ; a friendship which had come to me so
unexpectedly, from one to whom my heart had from the
first gone out joyously in answering regard.
Sometimes a feeling of discomfort would steal over me
that thus it should be, for if others forgot the inferior posi-
tion I occupied, I did not ; and feared that Isabel or her
parents might resent my acceptance of the privileges which
fell to my lot as a partaker in all the engagements and
recreations, which, at this time, so delightfully occupied
the quickly-passing days.
As, however, nothing in the manner of any of them had,
as yet, testified to such a state of feeling, and as Mrs. Hard-
ing had systematically encouraged my participation in all
Isabel's enjoyments, the feeling had lain tolerably quies-
cent, until at this time a trifiing incident occurred, which
I fancied had awakened in the mind of Isabel a feeling of
irritation towards myself, which might yet be followed by
more disagreeable results.
Since the occurrence of Minnie's accident, Mrs. Hazelby
had been afraid to trust the child, as much as before, to
the guardianship of her nurse, and now often took her
out herself for her usual walk, carefully guiding by the
hand the little creature, who skipped along in childish
ecstasy by her mother's side, her Sense of importance — at
no time diminutive — considei"al)ly enhanced by the honour
of " going for a 'alk with mamma."
"COMING EVENTS CAST THETR SHADOWS BEFOUF:." 05
■•»T
Soinetiines as wo sat on thu sliore with Ixjoks or work,
Minnie would ha playing at our foet, with the doll oi- spade,
which were the means of her entertainment, and contri-
buting at intervals her share in the conversation, which,
however often we met, never seemed to Hag among us,
either when Mrs. Hazelhy, Isabel, nnd myself, constituted
the party, or when we were joined by the gentlemen, to
whom, at present, life was almost as much a holiday as to
ourselves, but whose presence generally iiitroduce<l more
solid sul)jeets than usually occupied our feminine tongues.
Occasionally, at Isabel's and my own joint re(|uest, Min-
nie had been permitted to spend a few hours with us at
home, the nurse brinuinir and returninii: for her ; and as I
believe we both love<l the child, these visits from the
prattling little maiden, were both welcome an<l amusing.
She made h<3rself entirely at home among us, running
about at her own sweet will, through every part of the
house, and making fiiends with every occupant thereof ;
for by this time Miss Minnie had become as great a favor-
ite among the i»residing geniuses of the kitchen as with
the more important members of the family, and figurat-
ively speaking of cour.se, was in the habit of poking her
little nose into the numerous occupations which «'ngaged
the busy hours of these useful individuals.
It was something new to have a child at Al)beylands,
and very anuising to us was the baby -prattle of oui- little
visitor, as she skipped out and in, and up and down,
through the different a|)artments of which she chose to
designate, ''Miss 'Tuart's house"; and we always found
that the time had passed all too quickly when the nurse
came to take her away.
One day when she was thus visiting us, and Isabel and
I had been particularly entertained by the winsome drol-
lery of our little companion, the child seeming at length
to grow tired of her play, suddenly became quiet and
serious, as was habitual at times with the little maid, and
throwing herself on the rug, with the little curly head
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96
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
n.'cliiiiiij^ a«:aifu>t the eouch, on which Isalnjl was sitting
A%ith Ikt work, the blue eyes l>egan pensively to regard
the wliiti' ting^Ts which were engaged in weaving the deli-
cate lace, in tlie manufacture of which the worker
excelle<l.
I thought as I looked at them, what a lovely picture
they would make ; the dark and blooming woman, (for it
seemeil lately as if Lsaljel's face had lost the haggard look
which sometimes marred its beauty, and recovered all the
fi-eslmess which should surely yet have belonged to it,)
and the fair blue-eye«l darling who iVKjlined in an attitude
of childish grace at her feet, offering to hei-self so perfect a
contrast, and yet to the Ijeholder so pleasing an associa-
tion.
Isabel, whose thoughts during the last half-hour had
eWdently l»een running in some channel of their own,
seemed suddenly to Ijecome awan* of the stillness which
piwailed, and looking up to perceive the child in the atti-
tude I have dessc- ,bed^ drew a little nearer to her, and be-
gan softly twisting round her fingere the flaxen ringlets
which droope«l on the plump white neck, and caressing
in turn the little liand, on which the tiny head was sup-
ported.
Minnie lay perfectly still, neither responding to nor re-
jecting the atTfCtionate caress, but now no longer having
Isabels fingers to watch, the blue eyes sti'ayed to the
place where I was seate«l, |>en in hand, engaged in writ-
ing a letter to Helen, and a.s my hitherto busy pen had
become susix*nde«l while I watche<l with interest the pic-
ture liefori' alludeal to, and waited an opportunity to ad-
dress Isabel, I wa-s at full liberty to return the glance
which met my own, with less gravity it is true than now
filled the baby eyes, but with t^ie most affectionate smiles
of sincere love toi»*ards the little a*eature who was day
by day becoming to me moix' <lear,
Isaliel stooping down, half whisjK^red in the child's
" COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE." 1)7
ear, in tones of real affection, "Isabel loves Minnie so
much; does Minnie darling love Isabel?"
The blue eyes still regarded nie as their owner made
reply, with the droll delibei*ation which had often amuse<i
us, " Yes I 'hink I love Isabel, but I love Miss 'Tuart the
best. She pulled Minnie out of the cold water, and she
has eyes like my mamma."
At fii*st a look of disappointment overspread Isabels
face; but as she rose rather hastily and crossed the room,
as if in search of something she required, 1 distinctly saw
the expression on her face, which 1 had but seen there
once before, and which had then so staitled me, I never
wished to see it again. The closed teeth denoted an
amount of passion, of which I could scarcely have believed
their owner capable; her bearing a displeasure, which I
could not but think was altogether uncalled for. Was
my lot in life in comparison with her own, such an en-
viable one, that she nmst needs grudge me the affection
of the babe, who, but for me, might now be sleeping the
"last long sleep," 'neath the cruel waters from which I
had rescued her. Was she jealous of the love the child
bore me? I could not but ask myself. — Surely not; and
as I came to the conclusion that it could not be, the feel-
ing of anger which had filled my breast for a moment
died away, as I thought almost sadly, " it is but Isabel's
usual love of self-indulgence. She cannot bear to be
denied even a momentarily wished acciuisition. What
wonder then, that she coveted a return of affection which
I am sure she bears towards our little Minnie.
Looking up I discovered Minnie in her old position on
the tioor, but now the bright eyes were closed, and slu;
was fast asleep.
Tenderly raising the little form, and laying her on the
couch, where she might enjoy her nap in greater couifort,
I returned to my desk, and forthwith addressed to Isabel
the question I had l)een waiting to put :
" Isaliel when shall we leave on our visit tu Helen V
98
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
i :
fi
11
i Ji
It is now less than two weeks till the time we had decid-
ed on, and I would like to tell her definitely when to
expect us." A pause, and then Isabel replied in haughty
tones, " I have changed my mind ; T do not intend joining
you on your visit. You can leave at your own con-
venience."
" Isaliel," I exclaimed hastily, and in renewed anger,
which I strove to subdue, " you have accepted Helen's
invitation, v»*hat reason can you assign for your change of
plans ? "
" I did not imagine it was necessary to assign a reason.
Is it not enough that I have changed nvy mind ? "
Her haughty indifference galled me, as it had never
done before, and the words were on my lips, *' It is not
enough ? My sister is as worthy of res])ectful considei'a-
tion as any lady in the land, and at least you must offer
some polite excuse ; " Imt wisely restraining them in time,
I merely replied, " very well, if it will suit you, I will fix
the tenth day from this for my own journey. Have you
any objections ? "
" None whatever," wa.s the re[)ly ; and accordingly the
day was fixed, and my letter finished, but the pleasure
of my long expected visit somewhat marred by this
disagreeable episode.
CHAPTER XV.
GAY AND GRAVE.
|T was almost the eve of the day when I wa^ oo leave
Abbeylands for the first time since I had been a
sojourner within its walls, but the reader may be
_ sure that it waa with no sorrowful emotions 1 re-
garded the coming two weeks' absence, from what, though
OAV AND ORAVK.
99
)f
I couM lay no nu>re claim to any other, was, after all. only a
temporary home, for was not that precious space to he
spent with Helen, whom I had not seen for nearly eight
months, and with those dear to her, and dear to me also,
who completed the happy little circle, l^^as so to join.
My pidses quickened as I busied myself with the toilet,
which was to gnce a dinner-party at the Hazelbvs*, f<r»r
the thought that to-morrow, at this hour, I should pn>baV>ly
be drinking tea, in the dear little dining-room of Helen s
paradise, seemed so good, I could scarce believe it true ;
and this dinner-party, enjoyable, though I expected it to
be, shnmk into insignificance beside the greater treat in
store for me on the coming day.
Isabel adhered to her resolution of not accompanying
me on my visit, and, though I had in the first instance
been disappointed, I could not help secretly rejoicing to-
night that that visit was to be made alone.
As I donned my new black silk dress, and aiijusted the
rose-colouretl ribbons, worn to relieve its dark colour, some-
what unsuitable to the mild summer evening, I congratu-
lated myself on having earned a dress in which I could
make such a goo<l appearance before my relations, for my
silk was a handsome one, and handsomely made and suiteil
me better, I thought, than any other dress of which 1 was
possessed.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches to what
was, after all, a simple toilet, Isabel knocked and entered,
exclaiming, " Oh Lilian, I wish you would help me with
these braids; I cannot get them adjusted properly. Why
you are all ready, and I have scarcely began to dress ! **
As I busied myself with the task I had cheerfully un-
dertaken, for I loved to coil the braids of beautiful hair
around the queenly little head to which they belonged,
I suddenly became aware, that Isabel was earnestly gazing
at my reflection in the mirror before which she was seated.
Presently she exclaimed, as if she had but that moment
made a discovery, ** Why Lilian, are you wearing your
100
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
black silk again ? you wore that you know th(; last time.
Hadn't you better have something else to-night ? "
" But Isabel," I returned laughing, " you know this is
the only approach to a dinner dress 1 possess. 1 cannot
afford to change my toilets as you can, and must be con-
tent to appear as the woman in black, for some time to
come."
" Nonsense ; the dress is too dark and heavy for this
mild evening. Why not wear 3'our blue grenadine ? It
is more becoming to you, if not so handsome."
" Oh Isabel, it is too paltry ; you know several are ex-
pected from Edinburgh, and it will be quite a party ; "
and, as I spoke, I remembered tliat I had always thought
the dress alluded to, peculiarly unbecoming to my pale
complexion, and marvelled that Isabel should aver the
contrary.
I knew also that the dress I wore was becoming to me
if anything could be so to a girl, who in humbler mo-
ments, I felt to be hopelessly plain ; and girl like, 1 wished
to make the best appearance I could, before the strangers
we were to meet, and the dear friends, whose good
opinion I valued nmch more.
" What made Isabel say that ? " I wondered again, as I
pinned the last braid in its appointed place and witli ar-
tistic Relight surveyed my completed work. Can it be,
arose once more the involuntary question, that she is
jealous of me ; me, Lilian Stuart, with my plain face, and
my one silk dn ss ? Nay, nay, it is indeed not possible ;
and I chid myself for the conceit, which I fancied could
only have given rise to such an absurd idea, and remarki^d
cheerfully as Isabel was about to leave the room : " Well
Isabel, perhaps I am old-maidish in my tastes, but I feel
so comfoi-table in my present dress, that I think I will nt)t
be at the trouble of changing."
" Oh very well, please youi-self ; it is all the same to me
of coui'se," and Isabel left to finish her own toilet.
Whtni she re-appeareil it was in a dress of palest blue
r,AY AND (IRAVE.
101
silk, with hlack lace trimming, which titt<Kl to perfection
lier rounded an<l graceful figure, and enhance<l to the ut-
most, the pi<[uant loveliness of a face, which many had
found so channing, and which to-night, was more radi-
antly licautiful, than I had ever seen it. Isaliel was in
excellent spirits too, and evidently well pleased at the
eanh'stly spoken compliment, with which I ha*! gix'ettxl
her entmnce, went " ott' again to huny her father, who
w^as to accompany us, and whose ex|)ecteil praLse of her
beauty, no doubt provetl more pleasant to the heart of his
nuich loved daughter, even than my own.
Smilling to myself at the thought, that fiflteen minutes
ago, I ha*! been considering the possibility, that this
queenly l>eauty could be jealous of my own insignificant
self, [ quickly made my final preparations, and soon after,
we were whirling along in the cab, which was to convey
us to the destination, it was high time we had already
reached.
We entered the drawing room a few minutes later, to
fiml that the expected company had already arrived, and
shortly afterwards we were summoned to dinner.
Besides ourselves the party consisted of a white-haired
gentleman, doctor by profession, and despite his advanced
years, a great friend of Dr. Hazelby's ; his son and two
daughters, and other two young gentlemen, also from the
city.
l)r. Orson took in Mi's. Hazelby ; Mr. Hazel by, I.sal>el ;
and Dr. Hazelby fell to myself. The two young la<lies
paired off with the young gentlemen, with whom they
seemed to be on intimate terms, and Dr. Orson's son
brought up the rear.
It was a happy sociable party that gathereil around the
cheerful dining table, which at the Hazelby's wasalxaiiys
graced as much by the accom})animents of animated and
interesting conversation, as by the more substantial pre-
paration for the gratification of the invited guests, and at
first the convei*8ation was for the most part general.
102
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
When the desert, however, was placed on the tJible, and
more leisure invited more confidential exchange of senti-
ments, voices sank to a lower ke}^ and next door neigh-
lx)urs becanie apparently more occupied with each other.
During dinner there had been considerable talk about
Canada, a subject introduced I think, by Mr. Hazelby, but
one which had seemed to be of gener.al interest ; the
above mentioned gentleman expatiating elo(|uentiy on the
advantages and delights of a country which had for so
long a time been his home, and the others seeking from
him various items of inforination having reference to the
New World.
As my own interest had been not a little excited in
the subject, which with the others, was now disposed
of, and had given place to others, I continued to ask (ques-
tions on my own account relative thereto, to all which
my companion replied, as if it really afforded him pleasure
to satisfy my curiosity.
It suddenly occurred to me as strange, that Mr. Haz-
elby and his son, who both seemed to be so enamoured
of the old home, should have voluntarily left it to make
Scotland their future one; and I exclaimed hastily, "I
wonder that your father, who loves Canada so much,
should have turned his back on it, and come to spend the
remainder of his life here."
•'Don't you know Miss Lilian, that the desire to return,
and spend one's declining days in the haunts of a vanished
youth, is a very general one with those who have spent
most of their lives in a foreign country, and amassed a
competency which they fancy they could best enjoy
amid old scenes. This desire and this fancy my father
has not escaped, and lo! — we are here."
"You say fancy; is the fancy not likely to be gratified
then?"
"I fear not; or rather I should say, I think not, for it
affords me no regret to return to the haunts of my youth,
from which 1 have been absent only four years."
.. GAY AND GRAVE.
103
ind
nti-
gh-
ler.
but
the
ithe
n' so
from
> the
jd in '
x)sed
ques-
v^hich
asure
Haz-
oured
make
ly, "I
much,
id the
•etum,
nished
spent
pssed a
enjoy
father
ratified
t, for it
youth,
" But — but," I exclaimeti startled, " you do not intend
to return ? "
" My father does, and of course I shall accompany him.
He would probably have returned before this time, but
waited till 1 had finished my course and taken my degree.
I have now begged for another year to gain more experi-
ence, and then — Westward ho ! — and a snug little pi-actice
in my native town.
With sinking heart at the thought that so soon I should
lose the new friends, whose acquaintance had been such
a pleasant em in my existence, and that Mre. Hazel by
especially, should so soon leave me for a country, which
to her at least could sui-ely be no home, 1 let nly de-
spondent thoughts rise to my lips in the words,
" Oh, I am so sony, and I shall lose the only friend I
have ever made. Surely Mrs. Hazelby cannot wish to go
to Canada."
" Between ourselves I believe she dislikes the idea very
much ; but she is as you know, a devoted wife and
mother, and is willing to gratify her husband and son by
a graceful acquiescence in their wishes. Have you dis-
covered Miss Lilian, that my little mother is a noble wo-
man ? " he added with feeling.
" Indeed I have," I responded warmly, but was utterly
at a loss for further comment.
" Now I«am going to take you to task for something
you said just now," began Dr. Hazelby after a slight
pause, you said " Mrs. Hazelby was the only friend you
had ever made. Was that intended as a reflection on your
own sociable qualities, or on the members of the family,
who have now the honour to call you guest ? "
The words were said gravely, but a smile lurked at the
corners of the mouth which pronounced them, and gave
me courage to retort in a similar spirit of mischief, " Which
do you think for i leave you to decide ? "
** Well I fear it must be your own unsociability," he re-
turned, laughing now, " for I cannot charge my father or
I I !)
104
LILIAN S RETROSPECT,
II
m>-self with having neglectcrl to cultivate your friendship.
Will you plead guilty Mis;* Lilian Stuart ? "
"Did you ever know a woman plead guilty to such
a charjje?" I returned laughing as we rose from table,
and accompanied the others to the di*awing-room, after
our entrance into which the conversation wixs necessarily
intemiptcNl, and I did not speak to Edward Hazel by
again until quite late in the evening.
He came then to the coraer in which I had been seated,
in a tSte-ii'Me with Mrs. Hazelby, who had now gone to
some of her other guests, saying as he approached,
"And so you leave us to-morrow, Miss Lilian?**
" Yes, to-morrow morning. Is it not a delightful thought
that in a few more houi*s 1 shall be with Helen?**
" Ju<lging from your countenance I should say that it
was; but you forget that I do not know the young lady.
Does she resemble yourself?"
"Ah, no ! Helen and I are altogether different.**
"Indeed," wherein does the ditterence consist?**
"Well, in the first place, she is very pretty, very ami-
able, a great deal more sociable than myself, and makes
friends wherever she goes. She is also more sympathetic,
and loving, and last, but not least, her whole life is
animated by a principle, of which experimentally, I know
nothing."
"What is that?" was asked with grave emphasis.
"Christianity," I half whispered, afraid that others
might catch the tenour of our convei*sation.
It was not the fii-st time that conversation had taken
a .serious turn between Etlward Hazelby and myself, but
before, it had always been given to it by the former.
Now I felt half ashamed of having expressed myself as I
had done, and in my confusion could think of nothing to
fill up the pause after my last wonls.
" Dear Miss Lilian," at length came in earnest tones
from the lips of the man, to whom I always loved best to
listen when in graver mood, " I trust you will know ere
OAT AND GRAVE.
105
loTiif, the blessedness of this animating principle yourself.
What doth hinder you, that you do not now realize it ? *
" Because my heart Is so cold and indi fie rent, I cannot
receive Him who alone can give me a heai-t to love him.'*
" We both noticed at this moment, several of the group
at the other end of the room looking toward us, and Dr.
Hazelby half whispered, " With your permission, we will
resume this conversation on youi* return. It has taken
too grave a turn for an evening party, has it not ? " he
added with a grave smile.
" Lilian, we will all miss you while you are away," he
said after a pause. " Forgive me, but I like your name
best without the prefix ; may I indulge at rare intervals?"
"As often as you like. You think you will all miss me
a little, I am very glad."
" Of what are you glad ? " exclaimed Mrs. Hazelby,
whose near approach I had not observed ; " That I have
come to ask you to play ? "
" No, not exactly," I returned smiling, as I went to
comply with the request.
Edward Hazelby did not forget his promise, that the
preceding conversation should be resumed, and in after
vdays it was often renewed ; but it was not through his
gentle invitations, that I was to be led to trust an offered
Saviour. No, it was through much undreamed of sorrow,
and bitter disappointment, that I was to test the healing
efficacy of a personal salvation.
When I rose from the piano, the guests were beginning
to retire, and Isabel end I also went to prepare for the
drive home.
After a hurried visit to the sleeping Minnie, and cor-
dial leave of the other members of the family, we got
into the carriage, and were soon on our homeward way ;
my thoughts busy with the events of the past evening,
and those which were to occur on the coming day.
Isabel seemed listless and a little cross, and Mr. Harding
gave himself up to a short nap, so I had my thoughts to
H
I
106
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
myself, ancl retumod home, to go over them again in the
dreams which haunted my pillow, during the hours which
must elapse before their realization could commence.
I
i^
ft
V
S!
CHAPTER XVI. .
OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES.
jHERE have been periods in the lives of most of us,
unmarked in themselves by any peculiar incidents
which would be of interest to a third party ; from
which indeed, we can scarce ourselves select an
occurrence worthy of particular remembrance,yet to which
we have ever looked back with fond and grateful memory,
as having been a coinplete and harmonious whole of rest
and happiness, to which we would neither seek to add,
nor from which we would wish to withdraw a single note
of interest or occupation.
Periods also, in themselves thus undistinguished by
unusual or startling adventure, which we have neverthe-
less ever afterwards recalled as a prelude to incidents of
deeper and romantic interest in our perhaps hitherto
imeventful lives, unguessed at while we basked in present
enjoyment, ignorant or unmindful that more importfint
joys, or yet untasted son*ows might await our after
existence.
Such — and such — w^as my \Tsit to Helen. A whole of
restful enjoyment which filled my heart with a wonder-
ful and sweet content, but of which I can recall no more
exciting events, than a cosy comfortable chat with Helen
or Edmund, or with both together ; playing the part of
devoted Aunt in a game of romps with their baby boy,
or an aft.emoon spent at the " Willows," with the three
OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES.
107
of
who now constituted that quiet household, or at the house
of some of the neighbours with whom my brother and
sistcT tliought it worth while to keep up a visiting ac-
quaintance, and whose claims to respect I was now more
capable of perceiving than in my younger <lays, when all
my Aunt's visitors were alike distasteful.
If the united testimony of an affectionate though can-
did sister, and of those who hitherto had never found
anything to approve in my significant self, is to be be-
lieved, my six months "independence" had not spoiled
me.
On the contrary, Helen's loving, though delicate com-
pliments, an<l the unwonted friendliness of my other re-
lations, whispered to me the hope, that in appearance and
manner I had improved since last they saw me. And as
my mirror kindly echoed to me the first, and my self-
love soon discovered a reason for the second, I was fain
to receive into my grateful heart the pleasant conviction,
and enjoy all the satisfaction which such a belief was
calculated to afford.
When in justice to myself I aver, that I then thouglit,
and continued to think, that there still remaine<l abun-
dant room for improvement, I trust that I shall be ac-
quitted of undue vanity. Was there ever a woman who
did not wish to be at least moderately gooJ-looking?
I think not reader — do you agree with me?
Notwithstanding, however, that I thought it probable
my own more considerate and respectful conduct towards
them might be the reason of the greater kindliness in
my aunt and uncle's manner, I was puzzled by the change
in the former, which, both physically and mentally, was
very striking for a short six months to have brought about.
In body he seemed to be visibly failing day by day,
while his mind* retained all its accustomed vigour, and
his manner lost much of the acid solemnity, which in my
remembrance, had, at all times, characterized it.
To Helen he was particularly kind and gentle; but
r
.^R t
:i :
108
LILIAN S KETROSPECT.
what filled me with wonder, was his friendliness to myself,
manifested in his own dry and serious manner, but unmis-
takeably sincere, and meant to be undei-stood.
My heart warmed to him, as on a former occasion it
had once done and been repulsed ; and um-ebuked, I did
not now hesitate to manifest towards him the affection of
a niece ; nor did I feel his presence the incubus which be-
fore it had ever proved to be.
I have often recalled his last words to me, as I was
leaving the Willows on the occasion of my farewell visit
before returning to S . Holding my hand in his
own, as he bade me good-bye, he repeated the seemingly
inappropriate words, " And now remaineth these three,
Faith, Hope, Charity, but the greatest of these is charity."
What he meant by the seemingly ill-timed quotation, I
cannot tell ; but I have sometimes felt, that he intended
thus to appeal to me, to forget the coldness and neglect of
former days, which had indeed, been merely of a negative
character, but the cruelty of which, the higher atmosphere
into which he had seemingly entered, had perhaps revealed
to his hitherto limited and narrow vision.
Whether tliis were so or not, I did, then and there, cover
with the mantle of charity the faults and failings of which
I had been so impatient in days gone by, nor waited till
he had entered that home, of which Love is the essence,
to accord the forgiveness I cannot feel certain he meant
to crave.
If there was anything during my visit forcibly to remind
me how long had been my absence, or one incident more
worthy of record than another, it was this change in Uncle
Thomas, and the singular words which marked his farewell.
On the following morning, I once more said goodbye to
the loved ones, who had often, during my three weeks
sojourn with them, entreated me to relinquish the life on
which I had entered, and stay with them, and set my face
towards S ; and the friends, the hope of meeting
whom, robbed the parting with Helen of much of its for-
OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES.
109
ind
lore
Lcle
rell.
|e to
jeks
on
I face
[ting
for-
mer bitterness and my heart of the loneliness which had
filled it to overtiowing, when first I set out into the world
" to earn my own living."
A sweet picture of Helen, with the little Walter in her
arms, standing in the doorway, both throwing me kisses
as I drove ofi" with Edmund to the station, rested on my
heai*t during my homeward journey — rests on my heai*t
now, though years have intervened — as one of love and
contentment, seldom equalled, and I think, never suqiassed,
in this world of strife and disquietude.
The eyes of the proud and happy husband and father
rested on them, as well as mv own, as the distance increased
between us, and then turned to me with brotherly fond-
ness and sympathy in their azure depths, to discover the
tears, which, notwithstanding my unusual strength of
mind, I covdd not entirely repress, but meeting the tender
glance >^^hich spoke a volume of attection and api»reciation,
I soon recovered the serenity, of which, from its rarity, I
was justly proud, and presently we were chatting as gaily
as if we were merely setting forth on one of the drives,
which, during my stay, had often been Uie a tete with
Edmund and myself.
Though I knew it not then, when I left the peaceful
shelter of Helen's home, I left also my girlhood behind
me, and crossed the Rubicon, on the other side of which
lay the strange shores of Womanhood, and the unexperi-
enced joys and sorrows which pertain thereto. Was I
ever to come back to that home, vsorel}' in need of the
peace which ever seemed to reign within its walls ? This
question I might have asked myself, but did not for though
I had often before sought to peer into the shady future
which lay before me, my heart was then in the present
only ; and the sealed book of fate lay unluie<l(Ml in my
^)ath, myself forgetful of the eagerness with which I ha<l
sometimes sought to undo the clasps of mystery by which
its contents are enveloped.
110
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER XVII.
A CHANGE FN ISABEL.
PsHE next dav saw me once more domesticated at
Abbeylaniis, and the renewal of my duties as Miss
Harding's companion; but strange to say, as this
and other <lays passed, I began to perceive that the
young lady who )iaid me thirty pounds per annum for
such companionship, had suddenly ceased to attach to the
purchase the value she had hitherto done ; that indeed,
she appeared to be endeavouring to engross as little of
my lime and talents, as it was possible to do, living under
the S(ime roof, and destitute, for the most part, of other
society, to occupy her time or share her occupations.
What did it portend? I could not tell; but recalled the
coldness which had been apparent in Isabel's manner,
even before I left on my visit, and concluded, that 1 i . lUst
have done something to offend her, which she had not
yet forgiven, and of which her pride would not sutler her
to demand explanation.
When, however, I one day timidly expressed a hope
that I hail not displeased her, and sought forgivenes.« if
such had been the case ; I was met by so much hauteur
and indifference that m\^ pride rose in arms, and I re-
solved never again to humble myself to this proud and
capricious girl, but merely try so long as I remained in
my present position, to adapt . yself as much as possible
to circumsbmct^, and, if these did not after a time im-
pn>ve, relinqui.sh the situation I was just beginning to
enjoy, and look out for one, which would not demand
quite so much tact and forbearance, qualities not by any
means pre-eminently mine.
t
A CHANGE IN ISABEL,
111
Though the Hazelbys, mother and child, came often
and Minnie's mamma was as afiectionate as ever, a cloud
seemed now to overshadow even this friendship, and we
did not obtain so much of each other's society, as I hoped
we should do, during their stay in S . Edith Haz-
elby was sweet and kind as ever during the minutes we
spent together; but now, whether in house or walk,
whenever we were comfortably subsiding into interest-
ing and coniidental conversation, Isabel would glide like
a shadow between us, and usurp the place next Edith,
which had been my own.
I felt this all the more bitterly, that Mrs. Hazelby did
not seem to perceive it; and when this occurred entered
into Isabel's lively chat, and trilling badinage, as if she
enjoyed the society of the fair tritler quite as much as
my own, and did not miss the more interesting subjects
on which we had been engaged.
We are all well accjuainted with the evil nature and
sinful propensities of the green-eyed monster, and would
be willing to subscribe to the wickedness of indulging in
his deteriorating companionship ; but, at this time, I con-
fess he was often by my side, whispei'ing in my ear his
evil insinuations, and torturing the wounds of my amour
propre from which I was sutfering.
I was jealous of Isabel, and did not seek to deny it to
myself, It was very hard I thought, that this, my first
and only friend, shoidd be stolen from me by one, who
did not win the friendship I coveted by fair and lawful
means, but by a species of hypocrisy seen only by myself,
and I am certain utterly unguessed at by tho^e who
admired the beauty and enjoyed the wit, ignorant that
the lovely picture had another side, visible only to the
initiated, and at present carefully eonceahid from the
outer world.
I had little comfort however in these thoughts, for
they only made me unhappy and unamiable, and threat-
Jl Xli--
112
Lilian's retrospect
>i
ened to rob me of the esteem I had won unsought, but
now vahied too highly to wish to lose.
Edith was my first girl friend, (for she was a girl, both
in heart and age, though wife and mother); and she has
yet proved, in the strict sense of the word, my only one ;
for though I have since met those, to whom I thought I
might in time give an equal friendship, they have sooner
or later disappointed me, and I have been obliged to sep-
erate them from the few whose presence I would wish to
retain in the holy of holies of sacred affectioij.
Has this been my experience only, or is the fact a melan-
choly but true one, that girls now-a-days are mostly des-
titute of the attributes, which only can retain a faithful
love? I would seek to banish my ovrn fear; and leave it
to those whose hearts and homes are in their keeping to
answer the question.
Since my return I had seen very little of the Hazelby's
father and son. The former, who was an enthusiastic
sportsman, was often absent on such expeditions as the
taste led to ; and the latter had been more than usually
occupied with professional duties, so that what inter-
change of visits had taken })lace, had been mostly be-
tween the women-kind.
When this ceased to be the case, and once more the
gentlemen enlivened us with their presence, I began to
think I had discovered the reason for some of the puzzling
tactics, which had been mystifying me for the last two
weeks, and resolved to watch the game I fancied was
being played within my view, and if might be, discover
what chance of success awaited the fair gamester, who, in
carefu^^'- shielding her " hand " from those whose esteem
was t ..ake for which she played, unwittingly reveal *^d
it to the " companion," whose praise or blame were of
little consequence.
I had not before this time been blind to Isabel's faidts
and failings ; but now it seemed, as if the thin mask she
had worn in my presence, heretofore, she had entirely
A CHANGE IN ISABEL.
113
discarded, and ceased to care, whether or not she alienated
for ever, the measure of esteem with which she hail in-
spired me.
WT)enever I became convinced that from her conduct
to myself, if for no other reason, she was undeserxdng of
the esteem she seemed to covet as she did no other, mv
jealousy died out, and I felt, that even though she <lid
for a time supplant me in the aflection of Eklitli HazelVjy,
I could atibrd to wait, till the latter should be able to take
a tiller estimate of our claims to such.
Though Isabel's attentions were principally given to
Mi-s. Hazelby, I had already more than suspected that
her's was not the only aft'ection she coveted, and a cir-
cumstance, which had taken place in my absence, coming
to my knowledge about a month after my return, I felt
convinced that the invulnerable heart of Isabel Hanling
had at length been entered by the aiTOw which sooner or
later pierces the heart of every man and woman, and that
she could now no longer assure me, with truth, of what
she had so distinctly affirmed on an occasion before referred
to, that she " had never loved," and supposed " she was too
selfish to do so." Ah ! Isabel, was not your love the very
thing which was to prove your utter selfishness ?
The fact alluded to came to my knowledge in the fol-
lowing manner : As I was now convinced that my com-
pany, for some mj'sterious reason, had ceased to be agree-
able to Isabel, tliat, in fact, it often proved distasteful. I
resolved to speak to Mrs. Harding on the subject, and, with
her consent, dissolve the six-months' engagement on which
I had already entered. I fully expected that as what was
so apparent to me must also be apparent to Mr. Harding
and herself, viz.: "that I was, so far as Isabel was con-
cerned, an unwelcome intruder, where I was also a |>aid
dependant, she would at once acquiesce in my request that
the engagement should be broken."
What was my surprise then, when, almost with tears,
the gentle mother besought me to remain, and advanced
114
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
^
Mr. Harding's desire that I should do so, as an additional
persuasion. I felt that there was surely some mystery
in the Harding family, which I had not yet penetrated,
and to some extent gave utterance to the thought in the
words, " It is strange that I should be requested to remain
as companion to a young lady, who makes it so apparent
that my presence in the house is neitlier desired nor wel-
come. Can you explain why you desire me to do so ? "
Then Mrs. Hardinj; faltered somethinfj about Mr. Cassel-
ton, from which I indistinctly gathered, that during my
absence he had })ropost'd to Isabel, and much to her
mother's surprise, and her father's indignation, and in
spite of the lattei's entreaties and anger, been rejected.
This was seemingly intended as the explanation I had
demanded ; but " after all," I asked myself as I retired,
" what has this to do with the present question ? " " Am
I ex;)ected to influence where father and mother have
failed ? "
Convinced that such must be the case, and enlightened
as I supposed, on the reason for the additional gloom
which now rested on Mr. Harding's countenance, I re-
solved to " tough it out " for a little longer, believing
that ere long, something must occur to alter my position
for the better, or secure my withdrawal from the Harding
mansion. This resolution made, I experienced a feeling
of gladness, that events had shaped themselves as they
had done, and that I had not yet arrived at the closing
scene in the experiences of my " tirst situation."
I i
LOVE versus friei'IDSHIP.
115
CHAPTER XVTII.
LOVE versus friendship.
lESPITE the ^act, that at this time we saw more
company than dunn«^ any {>eriod of my stay at
Abbeylands, an added and mysterious gloom
seemed to pervade the atmosphere of the house,
except at'those times when comj>any was ex|>ected, when
what I instinctively felt were manufactured smiles,
wreathed the countenances of the different membei*s of the
family, and Isabel especially, dresse<l in the pretty toilets,
which more than ever now she loved to wear, would
talk and smile, as I had never seen her talk and smile,
enslaving by her wit and beauty, and ma3'hap her re-
puted wealth, many, who before had seemed indifferent
to the charms of the fair heiress, and content to let
others, of whom there had always been some anxious,
and willing to appropriate the treasure they now seemed
inclined to claim for themselves. Isabel no longer dressed
to, "please herself," and perhaps on this account, au added
gi-ace lent itself to the costly robes which had always been
a part of her beauty, and a more witching animation
lighted up the countenance, which at other times could
look so haggard and ennui which had sometimes lately
looked more than these, when none but myself wei-e by
to note the abandonment of the mask which passed muster
in society as the reflector of Miss Harding's inmost feel-
ings and emotions, and gained for her the esteem of those,
who lacked such good opportunity as myself of judging
how far Isabel was capable of promoting or enjoying
domestic happiness.
Though a subtle change had come over Isabel during
116
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
the past weeks, her course was still the same as regarded
the admirers who followed in her train ; polite and affable
to all, distingnishingly so to none, but I, who had possessed
myself of the key to Isabel's thoughts, could discover the
side glances, which, in the midst of the most animated
convei'sation, would seek the spot where one of the guests
was seated ; the pretty ear turned in the direction of the
rich full voice which I know had awakened echoes in her
heart no other voice had ever done. " Poor Isabel," were
the words which formed themselves in my heart as I noted
these signs ; but why my thoughts should have been thus
I know not. Certainly it was not that I doubted Isabel's
jiower to win a return from one whom nevertheless I felt
it would be difficult to win, for did I not daily behold fresh
admirei-s swelling the train of those who hovered around
her, and why should Dr. Hazelby prove an exception to
the rule ? No ! I doubted not that soon Dr. Hazelby
should be one of the many from whom Isabel seemed to
have it in her power to choose, and felt that she would be
all too content to rest her choice on him. Why then this
sad refraiii, " Poor Isabel " ?
Unknowingly and unintentionally I began to watch
Dr. Hazelby almost as I had been watching Isabel.
I could not help having an interest in these two, and
in the chain of associations which I supposed was draw-
ing them together.
This observation had a result which I had not anti-
cipated.
One evening when several guests had been invited, I
was seated in a quiet corner, expending my conversation
on one of their number, an insipid lady on the shady side
of forty, my thoughts and eyes meanwhile occupied with
the suljject, which now often engrossed them, when I
observed Dr. Hazelby, who had been for a considerable
time in conversation with Isabel, lead the latter to the
organ, and presently he approached, and seated himself
by my side. " I think this is the safest position for me,"
LDVE ver»us friendship.
117
»
he said smilingly, as he took the third seat on the lounge,
which my fair (?) companion and myself already occupied.
" Safest ? " I said sui-prised, " of what are you in
danger ? "
" I ^11 tell you, though you must excuse me mention-
ing mames. I have been under surveillance for a large
portion of the evening, from a pair of dark eyes, which
I am afraid, if I do not render it impossible, will soon
make themselves mistress of my most inmost thoughts,
which I confess, are not at present such, as I should wish
to become the property of a third party. In this comer
I feel safer than in my former position. I hope you will
excuse me explaining how that came about.'*
I felt the hot blood mounting to my face, for I could
not mistake the allusion which, nevertheless, I was most
anxious not to appeal* to underetand; so I replied laugh-
ingly, how disagreeable that must have been; I do not
wonder you took refuge beside an unobservant person like
myself. An amused smile was my answer, but the dai'k
eyes mischievously noted the carmine on cheek and brow.
A pause ensued which I did not know how to break.
What must he think of me? was my thought, staring
him out of countenance in such a disagi'eeable mejiner.
In my vexation I forgot to feign the ignorance, which I
at first simulated, and I suppose my inward feeling must
have betrayed itself in my face, for, in quite a changed
tone he exclaimed, forgive me Miss Lilian; I feai' my love
of mischief has earned me too far, even to the brink of
i-udeness. Nay, I said, smilingly; and recoveiing my
serenity at the kind and respectful tone; it is I who
should crave forgiveness; my eyes have an unfortunate
tendency to follow my thoughts, I added innocently. In
my greater experience of the world I now know, that
most men would have misunderstood such a remark, and
perhaps despised the young lady, whose candour so far
outstripped her reserve as to utter it. Not so Dr. Haz-
elby. His look of kind and respectful regard had noth
118
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
i
ing in it to remind me of the iinsuitability of my words
uttered by a young lady to a young gentleman. On the
contrar}', the words uttered in a low and heartfelt tone,
"you do me too much honour," proved to me that the re-
spect of the man who uttered them, was already ^ine,
and with this I was well content. That this should not
always suffice, or that having gained much more, I should
still lose even this, I dreamed not in that moment, yet
looking back, I know, that on that evening my heart
awoke to a vague necessity, which I had never felt be-
fore and did not understand, but which I now regard as
the tirst faint echo of my heart strings to the hand of
the master, with whom lay the power to attune my life
to sweetest melody.
While the guests remained. Dr. Hazelby continued
seated l>y my side, and as my former tete-n-t^**'^ no doubt
feeling hei"self neglected, went off in search of more
agreeable neighbours, we were soon launched into one of
the interesting, but mostly grave conversations, which
were common between us ; and it was not till Mrs.
Hazelby approached, saying, " come Eldward, it is time to
retire," that I remembered how long it had continued.
As I helped Edith with her wraps, my heart felt light
with an undefined gladness that I had won the esteem of
such a umn as Dr. Hazelby, and was counted worthy to
be called his friend, as he had called me a little while ago.
I thought also that Mrs. Hazelby 's manner was even
more affectionate than usual, as we bade each other good
night in the hall, and this added to my content.
" It is so pleasant to have the friendship of such nice
people," I thought, as a few minutes later I retired to
my room. " I must try to deserve and retain it/' —
my resolution as I laid my head on my pillow, and sunk
into blissful slumber.
Was this then the only tenor of my thoughts and reso-
lutions as concerned these two ?
•* Only this, and nothing more." i
FRIENDSHIP versus IX)VE.
119
CHAPTER XIX.
FRIENDSHIP vermis LOVE.
|UT the time had come when I was to begin the great
lesson of mv life, all unconscious for a while of the
mighty change which this was to exercise over all
my future existence ; unconscious also, that I had
already entered on the first scene in the fulfilment of my
girlhood dreams of the future in which Love should throw
her spell around me, and one, erstwhile a stranger, become
to me, " mor*» than all the world beside," the lover of my
youth, the husl>and of my choice, the companion of my
life, the first, the dearest, and the best of all friends, from
whom Death alone could part me, and with whom death
itself would be sweeter than life without.
As the days glided past, bringing each one some pleasure
or occupation in which the Hazelbys almost invariably
shared, my opportunities were not few of becoming inti-
mately acquainted with them ; and the more I knew of
one and all, the more I learned to esteem -them, and the
more necessaiy to my happiness did their society become.
Minnie was as devoted as ever to her dear Miss 'Tuart, and
never lost an opportunity of con.stituting herself my com-
panion ; and, as day by daj', the child, in her witchery of
beauty and childish affection, twined herself around the
fibres of my heart, I knew not how I was to part with
her when the time of parting should arrive, and wondered
if there should ever be a child who could supply to me
the place of little " Ninnie."
Edith Hazelby, whose equal friendship with Isabel had
for a time excited my jealousy, was now more affectionate
toward myself than ever, and though she still seemed to
120
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
'
favour the society of the latter, as much as my own, I
often found her, when engaged with others, regarding me
with a wistful earnestness, savouring of mingled love and
curiosity, which gave me a strange, sweet confidence in
the l)lis.ifeil dreams which had come to me in this haj^py
summer-time, and whispered to me the conviction, that
these dreams were not mine alone, but formed a duet of
sweetest harmony with those of another heart, with whom
lay the power to bring about their fulfilment.
And what had wrought this mighty cliange in my
thoughts and feelings since the evening when 1 layed my
unconscious head on my pillow, and thought the friend-
ship of these " nice people," was all my heart recjuired ?
Nothing but a few s[)eaking glances ; a few tender tones ;
a few grave and serious conversations ; a few interchanges
of mirthful badinage ; a few hand-clasps ; a few misunder-
standings and a few explanations ; sweetest of all the
misunderstandings and the explanations, which serve but
to bind, the hearts of those who love, in stronger sympathy,
and often in discovering the weakness of eacli to the eyes
of the other reveal also the compensating (qualities, which
but endear our veiy faults to those who love us.
This was all on which I had to found the belief that
the deepest afiection of Eldward Hazelby's heart was all
my own , and yet I never doubted that he truly loved
me. An absolute certainty, bom of an instinct which
love alone can give, that Edward Hazelby's fate and my
own were linked together in bonds which should never
be broken, filled my heart with an ecstasy of gladness I
had never felt before ; which, though deeper joy has filled
my heart since then I have never felt again — the gladness
of a heart, which first experiences the bliss of loving, and
of being beloved.
But all my days were not so blissful as they might
have been, if Isabel's relations towards me had been of a
different character ; if they had even been such as they
were, when first I took up my abode in the family. Some-
FRIENDSHIP Ver8li8 LOVE.
121
times now, I almost feared that Isabel was beginning to
hate me ; and, as the hate of any human being is a fearful
thing to possess, my heart often trembled with a feeling of
dread I coukl scarcely understand, and feared to analize,
but which, when struggling against an emotion I sometimes
felt was a great injustice to Isabel, would return again
and again, and cloud my days with a shadow which tho
companionship of one alone, could wholly dispel.
But events now occurred, so unlooked for and so sud-
den that I was for a time drawn out of self, and tho
thoughts which most tilled my heart, these all of life, and
joy, and love, had to give place to others, in which death
held sway, and sadness, and not joy, was the key-note of
loving ones.
I was seated one afternoon with little Minnie, who was
spending the day, as she often did, at Abbey lands, look-
ing over a picture book in which the child took extreme
delight, and which I was, as I had often done before,
illustrating by fanciful recitals of my own, connected
with the drawings it contained, when Edward Hazelby
suddenly entered the room, saying as he approached us,
" Nurse has cone for Minnie." " Run away, little one,
and get ready."
The child, ever obedient to her brother's command, flew
to get ready to accompany her nurse ; then suddenly re-
turning, and climbing on my lap, clasped her little hands
around my neck — as was her habit in saying farewell —
exclaiming as she did so, " Goodbye, Miss 'Tuart ; you
won't miss Ninnie now brother has come, will you ? "
" Yes, darling, I will," said I, smiling and blushing at
the innocent words ; " Minnie is Minnie, and even brother
can't supply her place ; but I will see you again to-mor-
row, and will look forward to that. Bring your picture-
book with you, and I will tell you some more stories."
As the door closed on Minnie, Dr. Hazelby, who held
his hands behind him, said, " Please excuse. Miss Lilian,
my unceremonious entrance, and also the fact that I in
I
I
122
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
!•
tercepted a piece of property of youre in the hall just now.
How much will you give to have it handed to its proper
owner ? "
" A letter ! " I exclaimed ; " oh ! do give it to me. I am
too poor to offer any reward, so have pity."
"But first," he returned more grav^ely, "have you any
correspondents in mourning at present?"
"In mourning," I faltered, "No! if it is a mourning
envelope, it must be from some stranger."
"Well here it is, you can soon ascertain."
Recognizing at a glance, as the letter was handed to
me, Helen's hand-writing in the address, I tore open the
envelope in great excitement, and scanned the first few
lines of tlie letter it contained.
"My uncle !" I faltered, as I took in the sense of what
I was reading. "My uncle — is — dead," I managed to
add, in answer to Dr. Hazelby's look of enquiry and
sympathy; and then I had to hurry from the room. I
could not stand there and read this sad and solemn com-
munication, in the presence of anyone, however beloved.
Rushing to my own room, alone and immolested, I read
the remaninder of Helen's letter, and learned, that uncle
Thomas, who had apparently been in his usual health
until seized with his fatal illness, had died suddenly the
day before from (the doctors said) heart disease, a ma-
lady to which his family had been subject for genera-
tions, and from the eftects of which he had suffered
more or less all his life.
I could not at first realize the truth of what I was read-
ing. That Uncle Thomas, whose peculiarities I was only
just beginning to view with leniency, was never to meet
from me the filial tenderness and consideration, which I
had resolved at our last meeting should ever characterize
our future intercourse, was a fact so strange and solemn,
I sat there for hours lost in the thoughts which this sud-
den call gave rise to, nor realized how long it was since I
had left Dr. Hazelby in the drawing-room, till the gather-
FRIENDSHIP versus LOVE.
123
now.
roper
I am
1 any
rnmg
led to
m the
it few
■ what
red to
Y and
)in. I
1 coni-
oved.
. read
uncle
lealth
y the
a ina-
enera-
Li tiered
s read-
is only
o meet
hich I
cterize
olemn,
is siid-
since I
father-
ing twilight told me the lateness of the hour, and warned
me that the dinner hour at which we expected the presence
of several guests, was close at hand.
Uncle Thomas's sudden death 8i)oke to me a lesson,
which I think I have never wholly forgotten ; a lesson of
charity, and a lesson of forbearance with the faults and
foibles of others, the truest means of meeting the like,
from those who have as equal a right to judge us as
we have to judge them; and whose charitable judgment
may be of no little consequence in our life's career.
The grief, such as one feels at the death of some dear
and loved one, with whom our hearts and lives have been
linked in close and atiectionate sympathy, had no part in
my feelings at the death of Uncle Thomas ; and yet I
cannot say that no tribute of affection is raised to him in
a heart, which in the light of experience and closer com-
panionship might in time have learned to love him. As
Helen said nothing about my presence at the funeral I
concluded that such was not expected ; and as the journey
was really a very unnecessary one, seeing that my [)re-
sence would neither benefit the deceased, nor contribute to
the consolation of the living, I quietly set about the pre-
paration of the simple mourning of which my finances
would admit, and after penning a letter of sympathy
with Aunt Janet and her son in their sad and sudden
bereavement, patiently awaited the receipt of further
tidings from Helen.
124
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER XX.
A arroRY and what came of it.
^1
»WO thoQsand pounds! Lilian Stuart the actual pos-
sessor of two thousand pounds ! I could not cre-
dit anything so extraordinary, yet there lay before
me, in black and white, the lawyer's announce-
ment, that I was m^" uncle's heiress to that amount,
coupled with the request, that I should meet my co-heirs
at hLs office on a certain day, when the necessary docu-
ments would be presented to us for signature.
I know not reader what magnitude two thousand
pounds might possess in your estimation, or how far the
bequest of such a sum might affect your mode of life,
or lead you to alter the path you had already marked
out for yourself in life's journey, but to me, the sum was
an enormous one, and the bequest, so marvellous and un-
expected, it seemed not only to change henceforth all the
cuiTent of my life, but for a time also even my individu-
aUty itself. That I, the daughter and orphan of a poor
minister, with no rich relations on whose bounty I could
possibly have built the suiallest expectations, should sud-
denly find mvself an heiress, and that of no mean
amount of this world's filthy lucre, was almost too wonder-
ful for credence, so far did this " independence," which
had come to me so quickly, surpass the highest flights
to which the imaginary one I had often carved out for
myself, had ever attained.
"It is real, quite real," I repeated to myself twenty
times a day, and yet &iled to realize how real it was.
Pounds, shillings, and pence, had never occupied so
large a place in my thoughts as during the first few days
i i
A STORY AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
125
Ipos-
t cre-
)efore
unce-
lount,
"lieii*s
docu-
11 sand
ar the
If life,
arked
n was
id un-
til the
ividu-
i poor
could
i sud-
iiiean
)nder-
which
lights
t for
wenty
,s.
ed so
days
of my heiresship when wonderful visions of how I
should spend my income floated through my brain, and
dazzling thoughts of what could be purchased for two
thousand pounds, distracted the usual calmness of my
mind.
But by-and-by, when I had gone through all the neces-
sary steps and come into actual possession of my uncle's
legacy; when I had had a quiet talk with Edmund and
Helen, after the transaction of the business which had
brought about our unexpected meeting in E whither
they, with my step-mother, aunt Janet, and myself, had
been summoned by the lawyer, who had charge of my
uncle's affairs, I had time to recover in some degree from
the shock, which such a sudden accession of wealth had
occasioned to my nervous system, and permit my thoughts
to run in a healthier and more common-sense channel
than they had been doing since the late change in my
worldly affairs.
Still my thoughts were not such as I should have
liked another to share, for though not so sordid as those
which at first had filled my mind, they were selfish still,
and my rejoicing was for myself alone; for now I con-
gratulated myself not so much on what this money could
do for me, as on the fact, that when — when someone
asked me to link my fate with his, I should not go alto-
gether penniless to my husband, whose affection never-
theless my poverty, had given me the joy of knowing,
was for myself alone, and not for any worldly goods I
might possess.
I cannot tell exactly what prompted me to the course
I now adopted, but I resolved to keep this change in my
affairs, for the present, to myself, and, though now un-
necessary, still retain my situation as Miss Harding's com-
panion. I was mostly actuated, I think, by the dislike I
felt to be the subject of remark or conjecture by the Hard-
ing's acquaintance, and partly also by the feeling that it
would seem unnatural to retain my present situation when
126
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
''tf .
■4 •
L i
il
11..
circumstances had changed my position in life, and ren-
dered it at least possible for me to increase my income by
easier and more congenial means.
To resign my situation at present I was not prepared,
as I feared such a step might lead to miscomprehension
on the part of one by whom I would not then have been
misjudged for the whole world.
And so it happemed that I went on the even tenor of
my way, and no one guessed that my uncle's death had
made any alteration in my circumstances other than the
sable garments which are supposed to mark our regard for
those whom death has removed far beyond any other means
of testifying our affection. •
The amount and disposition of my uncle's money sur-
prised no one more than myself.
It was natural, I suppose, that he should have bequeathed
some portion of his wealth to his only and widowed sister
(and my step-mother had a legacy equal to my own);
natural also, that Helen, his son's wife, should also have
two thousand settled upon her ; but that I, who was no
manner of relation, and had never been a fa.vourite either
with himself or wife, should have come in for so handsome
a bequest, did seem extraordinary.
Aunt Janet was life-rented in the Willows, and all my
uncle's other estate, real and personal, was left, as was
natural, to Edmund, his only and much-beloved son, to
whom also Aunt Janet's farm would revert, at her death.
Everyone seemed contented with the arrangement of
my uncle's affairs, and I can testify that one, at least, never
ceased to be grateful to his memory.
Shortly after his death, Helen's letters informed me
that our step-mother had decided to leave D , and
return to the North, where all her surviving relatives re-
sided, and where, she said, she felt she should be more
contented, now that her brother was no more.
A letter from my step-mother herself soon substantiated
Helen's tidings, and a week more witnessed her farewell
A STORY AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
127
me
md
re-
ore
,ted
rell
visit to myself before proceeding on her journey to the
far North, whither, it seemed to me (and in my own case
the presentiment proved to be a true one), as if she were
winging her flight from us for ever.
This farewell visit, though marked by no great emotion
on either side, and strangely destitute of the affectionate-
ness which might have been expected between those who
stood in the two nearest relationships to a deceased hus-
band and father, yet it proved a farewell one indeed be-
tv/een my step-mother and myself, for I never saw her
again. How this came about, the sequel of my tale will
show.
Once more my days resumed their old routine, and
ceased to be marked by any more startling incident than
the imaginar}' one which again and again, in fancy's x-ision,
I had rehearsed, and which I knew must some dav ere
long, become a true one, bringing me joy and peace, such
as I had never known before, yet for ever ending the
sweet piquancy of expectation one can never know, except
when waiting the decisive moment, when one's " other
self " claims openly that which we know, and oftenest he
knows also, has been already accorded, and demands from
us the promise — in the giving of which we lose forever
the sweet freedom of our girlhood, and willingly assume
a yoke, which, even though it be a yoke, is sweeter stilL
When I took my work one day, and summoning Minnie
as my companion, ascended the turret steps of the old
tower to my favourite seat on the roof, I did not exjject
that that hour was to be momentous to me either for good
or evil.
I believe we never know exactly when the great crisis
of our lives are at hand, nay, I believe we often pass
through the greatest crisis and know it not.
Feeling more than was often the case now, that I should
probably be free from interruption for the aftemuon, I set-
tled myself for a quiet hour with Minnie and my oviti
thoughts, companions which seldom clashed with each
m
i:
c *
■
■'' i
1
- 1!
128
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
other, and did not on the present occasion. When we
reached our favourite comer, my sweet little companion
settled herself at my feet with doll and picture book,
while I idly drew forth the work, which I had brought
with me merely as an excuse for idleness, and sunk
into reverie.
My thoughts were chiefly of the quickly approaching
time when the Hazelbys would be leaving S . This
was the middle of October, and at the end of the month
they would return to the house which they rented a few
miles out of E , and my opportunities then of enjoy-
ing their society would be very few.
To-day, Mrs. Hazelby, with her husband and son had
gone to make arrangements for their re-occupying the
house, which had been shut up during their stay in
S , and were not expected to return till the following
day, Minnie being left at Abbeylands during their ab-
fience, this being of coui*se the reason of our unusual quiet-
ness, and of the fact, that I was thus alone and free for
meditation, at an hour when we generally shared each
other's company and occupations, and when the thoughts,
which now engaged my busy brain, would not have been
possible, from the presence of their object.
How selfish were my thoughts in these days, how en-
grossed was I with the happiness I felt sure was near at
hand ; how comparatively indifferent to the pain, which
my joy would bring to another heart ; which loved as sin-
cerely as my own, and yet would never meet a response
from him, who had passed by the beautiful and wealthy
Miss Harding, to love me, even me, plain and insignificant
Lilian Stuart, utterly unworthy of the love of such a man ;
but oh ! how blessed in the possession.
You see reader, how sure I felt of the affection of Ed-
ward Hazelby ; how confident that it soon should find ex-
pression.
I know not how long I had been lost to outward objects,
Minnie among the number, when the latter suddenly broke
A STORY AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
129
in
into my reverie ; now MisvS 'Tuaii,, Minnie has put dollie
nicely to bed, and is ready for a *toiy, please ? The last
word in its coaxing inquiry, was more than my ready
heart required to acquiesce in the little ones request.
" Well darling, what shall it be about ?".
After a moment of droll consideration, the answer came,
" I want a 'tory about my very own self. Tell me a 'tory
about Ninnie ".
" Oh about the rocks and the sea", said I, thinking she
wanted to hear the oft repeated but never exhausted re-
cital of her adventures on that memorable day, when I
first made her acquaintance.
" No, not that to-day ", replied the child some other
'tory to day please. Is there another 'tory about Ninnie ?"
" Oh plenty," I said laughing " wait a minute and I
will tell you one." " There was once a little maiden."
" What's a maiden ? " "A little girl," I replied, brought
up short by the sudden demand. " Well this little girl
was very good and sweet, and somebody loved her so
much, she did not know how she was to part with her,
and often felt like crying when she remembered, that the
little girl would soon go away, and leave this somebody
all alone."
" Who was somebody?" broke in the child, '* was it a
lady or a gentleman ? "
" A lady," I replied, about to resume, but Miss Minnie
had more questions to put.
" Was the lady very good and sweet too ? **
" No indeed, she wasn't, but she did love this little girl
so much, and felt better and sweeter always, when the
little girl was near."
"Had the little girl a Mamma ?" "Yes." And a Papa."
" Yes." " And a brother?" " Yes." " Did the lady love
them too ? " asked the rosy lips upturned to m\" face.
" Yes she did," I answered hesitatingly, and flushing
though no one was near but guileless Minnie
" Then why didn't she go with the little girl ?
again
an
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130
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
demanded the little pmttler, folding her hands now, and
soberly regarding the rosettes on the dainty little shoes,
which rested on my own more imposing slippers.
" Oh because she couldn't."
" Why she couldn't ? " again demanded Minnie.
But this time I was saved a reply, for something soft
spread itself over my face, and darkness was the result.
" Is it you, Isabel ? " I asked, not a little startled to find
that a third party shared our retreat and might possibly
have also been a listener to our conversation.
" No ; it is not Isabel," replied a voice, which startled
me more, and made Minnie, who had paid no heed to my
last words, look up in wonder. " Ah ! brother, why for
did you come back ? Do not shut Miss 'TuaH's eyes : she
is telling me a 'torie."
" I know, little one, and I will let her open her eyes if
she will promise to answer the question I heard Minnie
put a little ago." " Why she couldn't ? " Will you promise,
Miss Lilian ?
" Ah ! yes," I replied desperately. " Do take off your
hands, please, and I will do anything."
" You will ? " said Dr. Hazelby, significantly, as he re-
leased me, and his dark eyes met my own with a look
there was no misinterpreting. " Very good ; to begin, then,
sit down here (for I had risen when first I felt his hands
on my eyes) and tell Minnie and I ' Why she couldn't ? ' "
" Just because she couldn't," I replied, trying to appear
nonchalant : " isn't that enough ? "
" Not quite ; run, Minnie, and see if you can catch that
butterfly for Miss Stuart ; quick, or you will be no match
for it."
" Couldn't or wouldn't ? " he whispered, drawing near
and taking the hand I had no power to withhold.
Trembling with the consciousness that a minute more
would probably decide my fate for ever, in maiden bash-
fulness I hesitated to reply. Just at this moment another
intruder appeared upon the scene, in the person of Isabel,
1
as
A STORY AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
131
'
1
of whose presence T became aware from the sudden with-
drawal of Dr. Hazelby from my side, and his tones to her
in greeting.
" I thought you were absent for the day," said Isabel,
when they had shaken hands.
" So I intended," he replied, " but found that I had left
behind me something which Edith required, and returned
for it. I will rejoin her in E to-morrow morning,
as it is connected with business to be transacted there."
When I had sufficiently recovered to look at Isabel, I
was startled by the exceeding pallor of her face, and ex-
claimed in anxiety, " are you ill, Isabel, for you look veiy
pale."
" Do I ? " she replied, smilling, in apparent good
humour, " I cannot say the same for you, for I do not
think I ever saw you so rosy before. I am quite well,
thanks, and now what do you say to going down stairs
and having some music ? "
Nothing was to be gained by disputing a dictum so
agreeably worded, so taking Minnie in my arms, I pre-
pared to follow Isabel down the narrow staircase, where
" single file " was the only manner of descent.
" Miss Stuart, you do not surely mean to carry that
heavy child ; give her to me," exclaimed Dr. Hazelby,
who came behind me, and as I turned to give the child
into his arms, 1 caught the whisper : " If the roses never
bloomed so red before, remember, darling, that the love
which called them forth will never paler grow."
It was enough, and I was happy ; oh ! so happy ;
what mattered it if we must wait another opportunity
for exchanging the vows which for life should bind us to
each other.
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I
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132
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER XXI.
A DOUBLE PARTING.
|UT the days came and went until it was within a
very few of the Hazelby 's departure, and no other
wordof love or promise had been exchanged between
Eklward Hazelby and myself. At first I merely
thought it strange, that after what had occurred on the
day when he had all but asked me to be his wife, he
should suffer any opportunity to pass of renewing
the conversation which had then been inteiTupted, but
could not believe that he did so permit many opportuni-
ties to pass away unimproved, without some ^)od and
sufficient reason, which, did I know it, would, doubtless,
meet with my full approval.
Perhaps he was but waiting the eve of his departure when
he would speak the words, which more than ever now, I
knew were needed to my happiness ; and in the mean-
time I must still my troubled heart, and trust a little
longer; and Ekiward Hazelby could never be fickle or
untrue. When I gave him my love, did I not give him
my faith also ? and yet here was I, for so slight a cause,
almost doubting the truth and sincerity of the man, to
whom nevertheless did he but ask me, I was prepai*ed to
entrust all my future existence.
But what if, and oh ! on that if, hung a world of joy or
misery ; what if he realty should go away and make no
sign, and I should never know what had wrought this
mysterious change in his feelings and intentions towards
myself, a change which I felt sure would blight all my
after life, and cloud my days with a miserable wonder
'
ilJi^
aK
A DOUBLE PARTING.
133
,
which would be harder to bear now even than the cer-
tainty of his indifference.
But whatever were Edward Hazelby's feelings towards
nie at this time, I could not but be certain that they were
not yet those of complete indifference ; else why the con-
sciousness of his manner when we met, or when we hap-
pened to be seated together, and obliged to converse on
the topics which might be under discussion ; the averted
eye when his happened to meet my own, as if my gaze
held for him a reproach he could not meet ; the paleness
of his countenance, which, ever since I knew him, had
possessed the niddy glow of health ; and distraitness of
his manner, which I never knew to be ought but gentle-
manly and self-possessed. Were not these rather the
signs of conscious meanness, and was he not even now
struggling to subdue a lov^e, which had still existence,
but the gratification of which, would no doubt deprive
him of a lovelier and a nobler bride, who, though far
advanced of my humble self in intellect and worldly
station, would think it no mean destiny to become the
wife of such a man.
Thus I questioned with myself but could andve at no
definite conclusion on the subject, on which I was too
deeply interested to be an impartial judge ; and mean-
time the days sped on, and soon I feared, my misery
would be complete. The friends, whom I had trusted
were to be life-long, were about to go out of my life for-
ever, and the place they had occupied in my heart become,
not a blank, (would that it might be so,) but a rankling
sore, for which there would be no healing, and a bitter
memory which all the blessings left to me, could never
sweeten.
At lengrth the dav arrived when I must bid them a last
and formal fai*ewell, (we had met the previous evening,
and were then supposed to have exchanged our real good-
byes.) I could scaice conceal the anguish of spirit with
which the day began, and possessed a humiliating con-
134
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
ttciousness during the morning hours, that Isabel was
watching ine, and noting the pallor which witnessed to
my state of mind ; but as the hour approached, when I
knew the carriage which was to convey them to the station,
would <lrive up to the door, and I should have to go
through the ceremony of bidding them a friendly good-
bye. Pride, who, though oft an enemy, is sometimes also
a friend, came to my aid, and I resolved that none of the
party shoidd guess, that this was other to me than the
farewell of friendship, or the parting more bitter than to
the rest of those concerned. In tolerable composure, I
said farewell to Mr. and Mi-s. Hazelby, but broke down
when it came to Minnie's turn.
" Good-bye dear Miss 'Tuart, darling M iss 'Tuart. Do
not cry ; Minnie loves you, and papa or brother will bring
her to see you, won't they mamma ? "
" Yes, my pet," said Edith, looking pleased that my
tears should How at her darling's words, " and if they do
not, mamma will bring you herself."
While the others were exchanging greeting, Edith sud-
denly leant over the can-iage and putting her arms around
my neck wispered, " Oh ! Lilian darling, I am so sorry ;
but bye and bye you will come and see us, when all this is
forgotten ; promise me darling" ?
Startled by her words, which seemed to intimate that
she knew my secret, and pitied me on its account, I could
not reply, and presently Dr. Hazelby 's hand was outstretch-
ed to bid me good-bye. " good-bye Miss Stuart, I hope
we will soon see you at our Country Estate ". The words
were said smilingly, and then turning to the others, he
continued, when we get settled, Edith will let you know,
and I trust you will all come and make us a visit. The
words were echoed by the rest of the party, and the car-
riage drove otf.
Scarcely knowing whether Edith's pity or Dr. Hazelby 's
friendliness stung me most, in heaviness of heart I
dragged m^ steps to my own room. " Is it possible," I
A DOUBLE PARTING.
135
.
asked myself, " that I have been mistaken in this man
after all ? " " Can it be that I have myself been but the
plaything of an hour, and the love I have bestowed,
neither sought for nor desired. But, if this were so, of
what a depth of meanness had he not been capable, when
even sacred and serious suljects, had not been too sacred,
to be used as helps to ' a passing flirtation. " Can it l>e,
that I have deceived myself altogether, and the fancy
that he loved me, be but a chimera of my own brain ; but
why then these words on the turret tower ? and whence
the glances, which long before that day had assured me
that he loved me ?
My thoughts were all confusion : I felt too stunned
even to be rebellious ; that was to come, and then the
bitterness of my cup would be full. During the days
that followed, I seemed to be walking in a miseraV)le
dream, utterly indifferent to all around me, and even at
times to life itself ; but I managed to fulfil my duties in
automaton fashion, and maintain, while in the presence of
others, some degree of calmness and composure ; for still,
I was anxious that my secret should remain my own, and
loathed the idea that Isabel should despise or pity me.
I must keep up a little longer ; a little longer, was my
sad conclusion, and then, when not too soon to excite sus-
picion, I will go home to Helen, home to Helen ; the
only being that loves me ; the only one in this world who
will never fail me. Helen's love was the one ray of light
in the darkness that now encompassed me ; her home, the
only refuge to which I looked forward as a safe retreat,
*n the midst of a world which had used me so cruelly.
In my owr pain and disappointment, I almost forgot
that Isabel must be as miserable as myself, and instead of
feeling for her that sympathy which a fellow-feeling is
supposed to engender, my heart seemed to be as completely
closed to her, as if I saw in her the rival, who had stolen
from me my happiness, and rejoiced in the miseiy, of
which she had been the cause.
136
Lilian's retrospect.
' 5
I
When November had passed and December had began,
I felt that I could no longer stand the strain of the past
month, for my health was failing under the burden of
concealment with which I had charged myself. So one
day I betook myself, not to Mrs. Harding, who I feared,
would still advance her entreaties that I should prolong
"ny stay, but to Mr. Harding, who would no doubt receive
my resignation in business fashion, and save me the pain
and trouble of refusing a request with which it was no
longer possible for me to comply.
My knock at the door of Mr. Harding's private room
— where of late he had spent most of his evening hours —
was replied to by a short and husky, " who's there ? "
" It is I," I replied. " If you please, Mr. Harding, I
should like to speak to you for a few minutes."
" Come in," was the laconic, and I thought, impatient
rejoinder. Considerably abashed by the curt manner in
which I had been received, I said shortly as I entered the
room, " I have come, Mr. Harding, to resign my situation
as companion to your daughter. As I stated before, I
feel that it would be agreeable to Isabel that I should do
so ; and, at any rate, I am sure that so far as my own
health is concerned, a change will be beneficial."
Mr. Harding raised his head from the ledgers which lay
on the table before him, and giving me, what I thought
was an unnecessarily searching glance. " I am very sorry,
Lilian — permit me still to call you so — that you should
feel it to be for your happiness to leave us ; but to be
candid with you, it was my intention on the first oppor-
port unity to ask you to do the veiy thing you have now
done of your own accord, and therefore I at once acquiesce
in your request and shall consider you at perfect liberty
to depart whenever it may suit your convenience. I shall
now hand you the balance which is lying in my hand to
your account," he continued, going to the desk to get the
money. But my indignation was aroused at the — to say
A DOUBLE PARTING.
137
began,
e past
len of
50 one
feared,
I'olong
•eceive
le pain
vas no
3 room
ours —
?"
iing, I
patient
iner in
red the
tuation
jfore, I
)uld do
y own
ichlay
lought
sorry,
hould
to be
oppor-
e now
[juiesce
iberty
I shall
and to
get the
-to say
s
the least of it — indifferent manner in which my resigna-
tion had been received. I rejoined haughtily,
" Your money debts to me, Mr. Harding, I consider you
have already discharged. Those of friendship and polite-
ness you seem strangely to have forgotten ; and as I spoke
I advanced to the door, intending to leave the room, but
was aiTested by an eager, " Come here, Lilian. We are
misundei*standing each other. I thought you had guessed
my position and hence your present proposal ; but I find
that notwithstanding your usual shrewdness, you are still
in ignorance. Know then, that your late employer is now
a bankrupt, and no longer possesses the means to accom-
modate his daughter with a companion, oi- any other
luxury. This house will soon be sold by my creditor
with all it contains, and God knows where I am then to
find a home for my \ fe and child."
The strong man su denly bowed his head and wept ;
and utterly melted by such a revelation, I stood awe-
struck for a moment, and then exclaimed impulsively. Oh !
Mr. Harding* I have two thousand pounds ; take it and
give it to your creditors ; you can pay me back, when you
have recovered from your present ditficulties.
He looked at me in momentary surprise, and then ex-
claimed, "You are a generous girl, Lilian Stuart; but
twice two thousand pounds would be as nothing, to avert
a calamity which has already occurred, Though all my
dreams of pride and of ambition have been frustrated,
and that b}^ the object of them all," he continued bitterly,
" even in my despair I do not think I shall ever forget
your generous offer. Leave me now please ; we will speak
of your departure to morrow. Leaving the stricken hus-
band and father alone with a grief, in which 1 could
off*er neither help nor consolation, I went out and softly
closed the door behind me. " Ah me ! what a weary world it
is," was the burden of my thought, as this fresh view of
its pain and disappointment burst upon me.
" What wonder if Mr. Hardinj^ who has worked and
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J38
LILLAirs RETROSPECT.
waited for forty years, for the fulfilment of his cherished
desires, and has still to exclaim "it is vanity," what
wonder that I, in the flush of youth and untried exper-
ience, should have failed to attain all my heart would
have wished to make its own ; and tasted some share of
the " vexation of spirit," to which all are liable, and from
which none are wholly exempted.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE END.
i
\
^8 yHREE years have passed since I cahie hohie
to Helen ; years comparatively uneventful in them*
selves, but momentous ones to me,, for had I not
during these three j'eai^s, known what it was to
sufler the keenest anguish youth can know, but also
leamefl through Helen's tender sympathy and loving
counsel, how " to sufl*er and 1 »e strong."
Blessed years \ during which He who " knows our frame
and remembers that we are dust," in His matchless loving
kindness, not only healetl the wound which earthly passion
had created, but sweetened also by his love and presence,
the bitter memory which once I thought could never be
assuageil. and taught me to know in some degiee, " the
love of Christ which passeth knowledge," a love which
filled my heart with a gladness, no earthly affection could
ever have bestowed.
I had gone down into the valley of humiliation, and in
my rebeUion,had accused God of cruelty in this cup which
he had presented to my lips ; but I had also risen from
the valley and set my feet upon the "rock," "anew
creature in Christ Jesus."
THE END.
139
shed
yhat
cper-
^ould
ire of
from
home
L them-
1 1 not
was to
it also
loving
r frame
loving
)assion
Jesence,
iver be
|e, " the
which
could
and in
which
m from
" a new
Had I then quite forgotten the love of the past, or was
my resignation to God's will resignation only, and that
human love which had brightened my existence for a
while, not dead, but sleeping, ready to awake again when
circumstances arose to call it forth.
. . . . " Lilian dear," said Helen suddenly, as we
were sitting at work one day in the little parlour, which
had been the scene of many a tender colloquy between my
sister and myself, since I took up my abode in her happy
home.
" Do you know, it is exactly three j^ears to-day since
you came to us. Have you ever regretted the " indepen-
dence" you abandoned, when you made your home with
Ednuind and mvself ? "
" Oh ! Helen," I returned reproachfully, " j^ou know I
have not. I would not have the past three years blotted
out, for all the independence the world could afford.
Why did you ask me such a question? for you knew
well what my answer would be."
" Only this," she replied soberly, but a mischievous
smile lurked at the corners of her rosy lips, " someone was
asking me to-day if you still felt as independent as you
used, or whether I thought there was any chance that
you might be pei*suaded to forego such independence in
his favour as you did in mine."
"Oh! Helen, what did you say?" I asked in distress
" I hope you utterly discouraged such an expectation."
" But why dear Lillie, is it always to be thus ? I
beseech you, do not let a vanished dream rob you of the
happiness which may still be within your reach. What
possible objection can you have to James Edmonstone ? Is
he not in every respect unexceptionable, a gentleman, a
scholar and a christian; and last, but not least, an agree-
able companion and fascinating friend ? W^hat would you
more, sister mine?"
Helen's matronly air, as she delivered this sage inquiry,
was too much for my gravity, and I burst out laughing.
l |L l . i | I MJ *«l
Mi
gg
140
LILIANS RETROSPECT.
M
»
( {
ii
u
1
Was this then the kind of reasoning that went on in that
graceful little head of yours, when your first and last
suitor was on the tapis ? Oh ! women are "deceivers ever,"
for simple I, thought the only thing that occupied your
brain at such a time, was how to conjugate the verb " I
love." "Mrs. Edmund Ogilvie, I have found you out,
though I never should have done so, had you not your-
self enlightened me."
Helen looked as if she saw the matter in a new light.
So great is the difference between " meuni " and " teurriy'
even with the best of people, that even loving, doting,
self-sacrificing Helen, would have had me make a sacri-
fice she would never have dreamed of performing her-
self, and would indeed, have despised herself had she been
capable of giving " her hand where her heart could never
be."
I was surprised a few days after the preceding conver-
sation, by the receipt of a letter, bearing, as I supposed,
an unfamiliar handwriting in the address, and hesitated
to open it, on account of the^ shaky caligraphy which
seemed to intimate that the writer was either unpractised
in the art, or prostrated by a sickness which robbed them
of the strength needed to control the pen. "Who can it
be from, Helen ?" I asked again and again, as T turned
the envelope in my hand and examined and re-examined
the post mark.
"Why, open it and see ; that is the best plan. Why
do you hesitate?"
" I have a queer feeling that it contains something dis-
agi'eeable," I returned, as I nervously broke the seal.
Ah ! nonsense, you but Helen's sentence was sud-
denly brought to a close, by the cr}^ of surprise and dis-
tress which issued from my lips, a.i I read the short
scrawl. It ran thus : —
" Lilian Stuart, I must make atonement before I die.
I told Edward Hazelby a lie ; I said you were engaged
when I knew it was false, he believed me, and you know
THE END.
141
ti that
d last
. ever,"
i your
erb " I
u out,
, your-
v^ light.
doting.
El sacri-
lor her-
le been
i never
conver-
ipposed,
esitated
^ which
ractised
d them
can it
turned
amined
Why
mg dis-
al.
as sud-
Und dis-
short
e I die.
jngaged
u know
the rest. Forgive and pity is my only request. I have
written to Dr. Hazelby, and pray God you may still be
happy."
" Isabel."
" If you would heap coals of fire on my depaited heail,
be kind to m^- mother."
" OK, Helen, I must go to her. I must go to her at
once," was m}' cry when Helen also had read this .sad and
solemn communication, from one who might be even now
beyond the reach of human sympathy and foi*giveness.
" I woidd go too, if I could leave baby, but Edmund will
take you. Do all you can for her, dear Lillie, and should
she be beyond your help, and her father also dead, as from
her letter I suspect, bring Mrs. Harding here. Poor mother ;
what a sad fate is hers."
And sad indeed I found it, when I reached the end of
my journey. A widow in reduced circumstances, as politely
it would be expressed ; her only daughter just depailed
from a world which had brought them both so much sor-
row and disappointment. She had need of all the sym-
pathy I could afford ; so when the last sad offices to the
departed had been performed, I brought her home to
Helen, whence she removed, after a time, to Aunt Janet's
home, where, at the latter's request, she is to remain for
life ; and where, also, the affectionate wife and too tender
and too indulgent mother, has learned to trust where she
cannot see, and breathe from the fulness of a heart resigned,
" Thy will be done."
Two months later I received another letter, bearing this
time the Canadian ostmark.
What it asked, and what I answered, can best be told
in the fact that I am to-day the proud and happy wife of
a rising physician in one of our larger eastern cities, and
his name is Eklward Hazelby.
The friends of seven yeare ago are around me still:
142
LILIAN S RETROSPECT.
Editli Hazelby, as ever, my dearest womaix-friend ; and
little Minnie, not less dear because a blue-eyed darling of
my own rests her curly head upon my skirts as I con-
clude my tale ; and my husband leans upon my shoulder,
saying, as I pen the words, " God bless my wife Lilian/*
[f^ f
ii '
! i
THE END.
i I