IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ^ U£ 120 I I 1.6 ^1^^ •^Iv '/ o. ^ .^'% , (meaning CONTINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Lee images suivantes ont AtA reproduites avec le plus grand soin. compte tenu de la condition at de la rtettetA de I'ttxemplaire film*, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Un dee symboles suivants apparattra sur la der- niAre image de cftaque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE". le symbols V signifie "HN". The original copy was borrowed from, and filmed with, the kind consent of the following institution: Univtrsit* de Sherbrooke L'exemplaire filmA fut reproduit grAce A la gAnArositA de I'Atablissement prAteur suivant : Unhrtniti d* Sherbrookt Maps or plates too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes ou les planches trop grandcM pour Atre reproduites en un seul clichA sont filmAes A partir de Tangle supArieure gauche, de gaurha A droite et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mAthode : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 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 brily 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 anowering 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 inecame 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 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 proveegan 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 Harresented 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*stanil««>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 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»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 rMnivin« 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 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* Monnfiriy 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;al 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 chiltained 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 hearought 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 Ee 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 winy, 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 <^ ^\ A y.<^ ..^o iV 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 excelleen in hand, engaged in writ- ing a letter to Helen, and a.s my hitherto busy pen had become susix*nde«l while I watchere 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*, fbaV>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 gooeauty 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 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^^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 unluieve, 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 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, dressey 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 ■■! I T » 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. \ i ■"^T" I ?! 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 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 ■'* K^ 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