HONOR EDgEWORTH; 
 
 OR 
 
 Ottawa's Present Tense. 
 
 BY 
 
 "VERA." 
 
 ,*'An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told." 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 «£ 
 
 OTTAWA : 
 A. S. WOODBURN. 
 
 1882. 
 
ti^ttomU 
 
 Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight 
 hundred and eighty-two, by A. 8. Woodburn, in the Office of the Minister of 
 Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa. 
 
 ■ '■.r»-. ; 
 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In these days of plenty, when books of every subject 
 and nature have become as commonly familiar to men as 
 the blades of grass by the roadside, it seems superfluous to 
 say any word of introduction or explanation on ushering a 
 volume into the world of letters ; but, lest the question arise 
 as regards tl^ direct intention or motive of an author, it is 
 always safer that he make a plain statement of his object, 
 in the preface page of his work, thus making sure that he 
 will be rightly interpreted by his reiiders. , , - . 
 
 In the unpretending volume entitled " Honor Edge- 
 worth," or "Ottawa's Present Tense," the writer has not' 
 proposed to make any display of the learning she has 
 acquired by a few years' study, and she would therefore 
 seek to remove, in anticipation, any impression the reader 
 may be inclined to harbor, of her motives having been either 
 selfish or uncharitable. 
 
 The world of art and science is already a;5low with the 
 dazzling bsauty of the genius of her many pitrons,— the 
 world of letters has in our day a population as thick as the 
 stars in the heavens, or the grains of sand on the beach — 
 and hence it is that rivalry is almost a passi stimulant in this 
 sphere; the heroes and heroines of the pen aim at individual, 
 independent and not comparative, merit. In nine cases out 
 of ten, the author of a work, apart from the gratification it 
 gives himself tc indulge his faculties, and whatever influence 
 
tl Preface. 
 
 for better or worse his opinions may have, in the political 
 social or religious world, knows no other aim. 
 
 In " Honor Edgeworth " the sole and sincere motive 
 of the authoress has been to hold np to the mass the little 
 picture of society, in one of its most marked phases, that 
 she has sketched, as she watched its freaks and caprices from 
 behind the scenes. 
 
 Ottawa, in this w^ork, ^s taken merely as a representative 
 of all other fashionable cities, for the simple reason that it 
 is better known to the writer than any other city of social 
 repute. Her object in publishing the voiume at all, if not 
 clearly defined throughout the work, may be discovered 
 here : it is primarily, to attract the attention of those who, 
 if they wished, could exercise a beneficial influtnce over the 
 sphere in which they live, to the moral depravities that at 
 present are allowed so passively to float on the surface of 
 the social tide. It would with the same word appeal to 
 the minds and hearts of those women who are satisfied to 
 remain slaves to the exactions of an unscrupulous society, 
 at the sacrifice of their most womanly impulses, and their 
 noblest energies ; and would also remind some reckless sons 
 of Ottawa, of how miserably they are contributing towards 
 the future prosperity of t>eir country, by adopting, as the 
 only aim of their li' cs, tb ^ paltry ambition of an unworthy 
 self-indulgence. 
 
 The predominant feeling throughout the entire compo- 
 sition has been one of pure philanthropy, as the authoress 
 desires to benefit her fellow-creatures, in as far as it lies in 
 her very limited power. The book has not been composed 
 with any other ambition than the one mentioned ; it aspires 
 to no position on the scroll as a literary work of merit ; it is 
 going forth clad in its humble garment of deficiencies and 
 faults, to perform, if possible, the little mission appointed it. 
 
Preface. Hi 
 
 When it falls into the hands of an impartial reader, it asks 
 only the reception and appreciation it merits, in proportion 
 to that given by one another to society's patrons, — in other 
 words, it would ask to be dealt with as generously as the 
 world's sycophants deal with the faults and foibles of their 
 fashionable friends. 
 
 Any imaginative person, choosing to use his pen, knows 
 full well that the sensational department of letters, in our 
 day, affords a freer and fuller scope than has ever been 
 tolerated before ; it is therefore left to the author's own 
 choice to secure his favorites, numerously and easily, if he 
 but pay attention to give his work the exact tinge of the 
 " couleicr locale " which predominates in the spot where his 
 plot is laid ; but because the eye of the critic has become 
 familiar with such unworthy productions as these, it must 
 scan with more eager justice any pages which are a happy 
 exception to this miserable reality ; it must not hesitate to 
 -discern whether the motive has been merely to arouse 
 emotional tendencies, by clothing life's dangerous forms 
 in unreal fascinations, or (where the author's hand, guided 
 by his unsullied heart, has taken up the quill as a mighty 
 weapon) to preserve or defend the morals of his country. 
 
 Let not the over-sinister reader censure the writer of 
 * Honor Edgeworth " because she has appeared to him to 
 subject to a merciless criticism, society in several of her 
 moods ; her object has not been to dwell upon the good 
 points of her subject, for she knows too well that they will 
 never be neglected ; it is the drawbacks and the failings of 
 the pampered goddess. Society, that need to be borne in mind 
 and Carefully dealt with, and unfortunately, in our day, her 
 enamored victims voluntarily blindfold themselves to her 
 evil influence, and extravagantly magnify the extent of her 
 good. 
 
 Without another word of justification, therefore, does 
 
rv. IVtface. 
 
 the authoress of this little work, send out her simple, humble 
 donation towards the social reformation that is so sorely 
 needed in our day. ' ' ' •' '' ''- -''''' ■■ '■■-... ^ :'' • 
 
 Whether the seed be sown on fertile or on barren 
 ground, time alone, the unraveler of all hidden truths, will 
 tell j coming years will break the secret to the authoress as 
 she would want to know it ; in the meantime she makes her 
 most respectful curtsey to the world of readers, wishing 
 her humble effort a bon voyage, , , 
 
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CHAPTER I. 
 
 ** His life was pjentlc, and the elements 
 So mixed in him, that nauite mij^ht stand up » 
 
 And say to all the world, riiis was a man." 
 
 — Shakespeare, 
 
 T is night I Not the cold, wet, chilly night, that is 
 settling down on the forlorn-looking city outside ; not 
 the cheerless night, that makes the news-boy gather 
 his rags more closely about him, and stand under the 
 projecting doorway of some dilapidated, tenantless building, 
 as he cries " Free Press, only two cents : " not the awful night 
 on which the gaunt haggard children, who thrive on star- 
 vation, crouch shiveringly around the last hissing fagot on 
 the fire-i)lace, with big, hungry eyes wandering over the low 
 ceiling and the mouldy walls, or resting perchance on the wet, 
 dirty panes, with their stuffings of tattered clothing, or gazing 
 in a wilder longing still, on the bare shelves and the empty 
 bread-box : Oh no ! There are no such nights as these in 
 reality ; such a scene never existed out of the imaginations 
 of men ; there are no cries rending the very heavens this 
 night for bread while handfuls are being flung to pet poodles 
 or terriers. There are no benumbed limbs aching in the 
 dingy corners of half-tumbled down houses, no wrinkled, 
 aged jaws chattering, no infants moaning at their mother's 
 breasts with cold, while many a pampered lady grows peevish 
 and irritated, if, Dobbs' forgets the jars of warm water for 
 the end of her cosy bed. Merciful God ! and ihis is to 
 live ! But no ! t/iis is to dream ! 
 
 I said it was night, so it was, but the heavy curtains 
 were drawn, the gas was lighted, the grate-fire roared up the 
 chimney, the lounge was supplied with its cushions, the 
 fauteuil was drawn up to the fender-stool, the decanter and 
 glass stood on the silver salver and in his velvet slippers and 
 embroidered cap, Henry Rayne smoked the " pipe of peace" 
 before his cheerful fire. As we intrude upon him in his 
 sanctuary, he lays down his meerschaum, stretches his 
 
Iio7ior Ed^cwortli ; or. 
 
 silver bell, on the table beside him ; simultaneously, good 
 old Mrs. Potts' slippers clap up the basement stairs, and her 
 head popping in at the door, betrays her face full of broad 
 smiles as she utters her well learned words of announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Is't annything ye'd be wantin sur ? " 
 
 " Yes Potts," Rayne answers, still lying back among his 
 crimson cushions, " (lo and ask Fitts if he called for the 
 mail at my office to-day, he knows what his duty is when 1 
 am not well enough to f)e stirring." 
 
 '' Och, doant fret Misther Kayne sur, shure he did 
 bring the little bundles, ivery wan o' them, an' it's meself 
 jest knows wharc to lay the palm o' me hand on 'em this 
 very minit 'idout troublin Mr. Fitts at all, at all," and away 
 she darted again on a clatter down the inlaid passage to the 
 letter box, and gathering up the contents, brought them 
 back to her master's sitting-room. She was eyeing them 
 closely as she laid them down beside him, exclaiming half 
 audibly as she did so " Well now thin : that I may niver die 
 iv it isn't jest the quarest thing in life ! " 
 
 "What is that. Potts?" Henry Rayne asked good 
 naturedly. " Well, yer honor, began his confiding old ser- 
 vant shyly, " I larned to do many's the nate job in me day, 
 but if gettin' th' inside o' these in, 'ithout tearin' th' outsider 
 don't bang all iver I larnt, my name's not Johanna Potts," 
 and as she spoke she looked curiously at the bundle of letters 
 before her. Potts' good sayings were never lost on her 
 generous master, and this was no exception ; he leaned back 
 on his chair and fairly shook with laughter. " Why Potts :" 
 he said at last, " You don't mean to say you never saw 
 envelopes before they were sealed, do you ? " 
 
 *' Faith it's not the only thing I've lived to this 'ithout 
 seein " Potts answered resignedly. 
 
 " Well, I must show you Potts," her master said kindly, 
 and there and then he took the trouble to exi)lain to good 
 ignorant Mrs. Potts how " th' insides were got in 'ithout 
 tearin' th' outsides," and greatly satisfied with her new infor- 
 mation, she clattered off down stairs, shaking her head all 
 the while, and repeating absently to herself "Well now, 
 there's nothin' can bate 'em, nothin' at all, at all." 
 
 As soon as Henry Rayne was alone again, he poked the 
 now smouldering fire into a bright blaze, drew his chair 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. ' 5 
 
 close to the table and began in a business-like way to break 
 the seals of his letters and packages and as he sits in his cosy 
 room, with the gas light falling on his pleasing face, we will 
 take the liberty to sketch his form ana features in their 
 most natural state . They are those of a stout, well built, 
 good humored sort of man, of about fifty, with just enough 
 of the " silver threads " among his curly black locks to show 
 that he had met with a little of the tear and wear of life — 
 just a few lines of sadness on his clean shaved face, but for 
 all that, looking the jolly, good sort of fellow that everyone 
 acknowledged him to be, with a tender heart and a ready 
 hand for the unfortunate, always honest and upright, yet 
 thoroughly practical and business-like in all his undertakings. 
 Henry Rayne was descended from a good old English 
 family, whose name he bore proudly and honorably, and 
 many an interesting anecdote he was wont to tell at his din- 
 ner table of the *' Stephens," '' Edwards," and " Henrys," of 
 the bygone generations of" Raynes." 
 
 AA'ith his private life was connected a sad little 
 secret. He had been a young man in his day, and 
 the charms of the weaker sex had not fallen vainly 
 on his susceptible soul, oh dear no ! Henry Rayne 
 had loved once, earnestly and well, and had offered 
 his proud name and comfortable fortune to the object of his 
 devotion, but though he, to day, was the same hale hearty 
 Henry Rayne of the past, the young bud he had cherished 
 so fondly, lay withered in the churchjard far away in old 
 England. Death had come between them, and in the grief 
 that followed, Rayne outlived his susceptibilities, preferring 
 to dwell fondly on the memory of the old tie, than to re- 
 open his heart to any new appeal. Hut a day came when 
 Henry Rayne had to incline his car again to the winning 
 voice of a woman, when his forced indifference had to give 
 place to the old warmth and the old enthusiasm, when the 
 withering heart revived and bloomed afresh under the tender 
 influence of a woman's smile, a woman's care and a woman's 
 sympathy. Of the causes of this happy revival we will have 
 to deal in the course of our narrative. Let us return to the 
 scene by the fireside where Henry Rayne sits opening his 
 letters. 
 
 Three or four dry-as-dust laconic productions, of no 
 earthly interest to anyone but the unromantic writers, one 
 
6 ■ • Honor Edgeioorth ; or, 
 
 formal note soliciting a generous subscription to an hospital 
 fund, two postal cards, one begging his })atronage towards 
 the tailoring department of an up-town dry goods store, and 
 the other notifying him of a meeting of prominent citizens 
 to be held in the City Hall, a couple of newspapers and 
 legal documents, and there remained still two letters, less 
 formidable looking, less business-like than the rest. 
 
 As he tore open one of these he chuckled a low laugh 
 to himself, saying : — 
 
 " It's Guy, the rascal, 1 suppose he has just been dun- 
 ned for some little account that requires immediate })ayment, 
 it must be some mercenary cloud that hangs over him." 
 He was right, it was only another of these little periodicals 
 that Guy Elersley was accustomed to ' drop ' his uncle, 
 mainly to ask after his health and welfare, generally sliding 
 in a P. S. which explained the last difficulty in his balance 
 account with the tailor or boarding-house keeper ; but Mr. 
 Rayne made no objection, he never tired of indulging this 
 handsome nephew of his, for besides being of an upright and 
 affectionate disposition, his uncle loved him as the only 
 child of a favorite deceased sister, since whose death, which 
 happened when Guy was a mere child, Henry Rayne had 
 been at once a kind, indulgent uncle and a just solicitous 
 father to the boy. 
 
 But this particular letter which Mr. Rayne now glanced 
 over, had another object besides the post-script and the 
 uncle's health. 
 
 *' I write so soon after my last," he says, " to tell you 
 that I met a gentleman in the Windsor House the other 
 night who interested me for a full hour in an account of an 
 old friend of yours ; this fellow's name is Orbury, it appears 
 he was in Europe some years ago and was one of a 
 company of card players one evening in a hotel at Dublin, 
 when, out of a conversation of miscellaneous details, came 
 a very jeering remark, made by some one present, relative 
 to some rascally act under discussion. " It is worthy " 
 said the speaker " of a man named Rayne, whom I blush to 
 own was once a school-fellow of mine." — But the words 
 were scarcely uttered when some one beside the speaker 
 brought the back of a sinewy hand a little forcibly across 
 his face, telling him at the same time to measure the 
 words he dealt out on an honorable man's name. Of course 
 
Ottciwa's Present Tense. 
 
 a scene ensued, everybody present was of respectable stand- 
 ing and the thing assumed a serious look. Not to interrupt 
 t^^e game, the two antagonists left the room to settle their 
 difference elsewhere, and everyone wondered who the 
 ardent defender of the man ' Rayne ' could be. 
 
 After a while the interesting unknown returned holding 
 his handkerchief to a wound in his temple which bled pro- 
 fusely, and having apologized to those present for the inter- 
 ruption he had caused, he proceeded to inform them that 
 Henry Rayne stood in such a relation with him, as justified 
 him in silencing any man who took his name in jest ; the 
 little wound he had just received, he thought was well 
 earned, when he knew he had the satisfaction of horse- 
 whipping the meanest man in creation, "for any other 
 offence, gentlemen " said the stranger " I could not lay hands 
 on him, for 'he that toucheth pitch shall be defiled ' " but 
 to pronounce my friend's name in a slanderous lie, I could 
 not endure. " Perhaps," he continued, " it is like kicking 
 a man when he's down, to tell you now, gentlemen, that the 
 fellow who had just maligned an honest man was once 
 thrashed within an inch of his life by this same Henry 
 Rayne at college, for a cowardl)', disrespectful deed of his 
 towards some lady friends of ours. The hatred born of 
 the moment that he lay in the dust of the college yard, with 
 the finger of scorn raised at him from every hand, has never 
 flickered in its steadiness. As you see, he thought to gratify 
 himself somewhat by abusing this gentleman when he saw 
 no friend of the absent one near, but he will likely look the 
 next time before he speaks ;" " and now," said he, taking his 
 hat, " once more I apologize and express my regret r^t hav- 
 ing been forced to disturb you, but I feel that you will easily 
 forgive me under the circumstances," and dear uncle, what 
 do you think, but every man there shook him by the hand 
 and stroked him on the shoulder, speaking his i)raises loudly 
 and all they knew of the chivalrous stranger was that he was 
 a transient guest at the house, who was passing through 
 Dublin on his way farther south, and that his name was 
 " Edgeworth." " So is this not an exciting piece of news, dear 
 uncle ; think while you are living placidly in America, your 
 wrongs are being enthusiastically righted in the old world." 
 
 Henry Rayne laid down the letter and looked steadily 
 into the fire. What a torrent inemor)- had let loose ui)on 
 
8 Manor Edgein'orth : or^ 
 
 him ! he lived the old years all over again, he saw the dear 
 familiar scenes buried in the half-burned coab, the smiling 
 associations of the past. " Poor Bob " he said, '* and I have 
 never seen him once in all these years, to think he should 
 have stood by me now as he did that day at college when I 
 punished that rascal 'J'remaine. How I wish T could find 
 him out ! good honest friend that he is, can I ever repay 
 him, I wonder, for this noble action done me ? " Here 
 Rayne lost himself in a long reverie, he went over the days 
 of his boyhood again, and as he thought, a smile half sad 
 stole over his face, and in the end a tear was actually glisten- 
 ing in each eye. It was the old old story over again, mem- 
 ory weeping over dead joys, experience sighing for the 
 happy long ago. The same influence was upon him now as 
 guided the pen of Blair when it wrote " How painful the 
 remembrance of joys departed never to return," and as in- 
 spired Byron when he sighed " Ah, happy years ! once 
 more who would not be a boy ? " 
 
 We may wonder how long Henry Rayne would have sat 
 motionless in his chair by the fireside, with his inclined head 
 resting on his hand, while he brooded over the years of his 
 life and clasped anew in their old warmth, hards that had 
 long grown cold, either in the gloominess of death, or for 
 need of the responsive touch, from those that were extend- 
 ed to them in far-off climes ; but as tl e clock struck eleven 
 Vitts appeared in the doorway, breaki g the spell by asking 
 his master if he " need replenish the g^ate before retiring ? '" 
 " Yes — No," replied Mr. Rayne, " you may go Fitts, I 
 want nothing else to-night." 
 
 Drawing a long sigh, he gathered up the scattered 
 letters and was about to consign them to the flames 
 but in turning to do so, he knocked his arm vio- 
 lently against the back of his chair, dropping them all again 
 at his feet. Stooping to gather them, he noticed for the first 
 time the heavy letter with the foreign post-marks and large 
 legible hand-writing which, had it not been for this timely 
 accident, would have been thrust unconsciously into the fire, 
 thus forcing our narrative to close here, but instead he raised 
 it hurriedly, throwing the rest back on the floor, and scruti- 
 nized it with a searching, confused look, but the more he saw 
 it the more it i)uzzled h'ni, he was evidently in the dark ; 
 
Oitaica's Present Tense. 9 
 
 finally he tore it open and readjusting his gold spectacles, 
 straightened out its creases and began to read. 
 
 It was a very long time afterwards, when the paper dropped 
 from the cold, trembling hands of Henry Rayne ; a sort of 
 stupor had been creeping slowly over him while he read ; now 
 : he had finished the last word but he did not move, the coals 
 had fallen to ashes, the wind had risen and howled around 
 the house, the room bad grown chilly and damp, the rain 
 lashed in huge drops against the panes, but Henry Rayne 
 saw not, felt not, heeded not, he was far far away by the 
 side of an esteemed friend, he was swearing a vow of eternal 
 friendship, and was accepting gladly, gratefully from his 
 hands a precious charge, a weighty responsibility — how 
 could he hesitate ? he was pouring out all the consolation 
 and sympathy of his ardent soul to the man he had loved as 
 a boy, and he never felt the chill that was stiffening all his 
 joints, he never heeded the ceaseless patter of the dreary 
 rain. The clock had stopped and the fire had gone out, 
 and still he sat crouched in his chair, with the strange letter 
 lying listlessly between his fingers. 
 
 What a queer phase of life was dawning upon him ! 
 what a strange mission was coming to him from over the 
 seas ! v/hat freak had destiny taken to send him his nephew's 
 letter with its interesting detail, and this other one, on the 
 same night ! (xuy's letter brought back an old friend in the 
 freshness and vigor of his youth, with hand uplifted to de- 
 fend ///>;/, this other one revealed the same dear friend, but 
 worn and wasted from premature age, with the daring hand 
 laid quietly on his breast, sleeping the last long sleep — yes ; 
 this puzzling letter had been traced by the feeble hand of 
 Robert Edgeworth and had been forwarded to Henry Rayne 
 at his death. It contained an anxious, serious request. It 
 asked of Henry Rayne to open his heart and home, to the 
 only child of an old friend, to father an orphan girl for the 
 sake of " old times," and the happy "long ago." It would 
 not have meant much for some others, but it seemed the 
 greatest of all responsibilities to Henry Rayne, who had be- 
 come an utter stranger to the female sex, and who had 
 settled down in an old bachelor's home for the rest of his 
 life. He tried to think it all out, but the fragile form of a 
 young, beautiful girl, glided between him and his thought, and 
 he saw upon her face the sweet, sad sn:ile, of a parentless 
 
lO lionor Edgeii'orth ; or, 
 
 child pleading for protection. He was lost — he was dream- 
 ing ; he never stirred for hours, until the dawn streaked in 
 between the drawn curtains, giving the room an unnatural 
 look, with its glare of gas-light and the straggling rays of the 
 misty morning's sun crossing one another, until " Potts " 
 stole down wirh her slippers under her arm, and in her be- 
 •vilderment at the sight of the gas-light, put her head in at 
 the door. 
 
 When she saw her master's firm, set face and vacant 
 eyes, and the letters laying around the floor, her heart gave 
 a bound, and she screamed outright. 
 
 Henry Rayne raised his head, rubbed his eyes, and 
 tried to stretch his limbs, now numb with the damp 
 chillness of the night. Potts had run to him and was asking 
 the " matter," with dilated eyes and anxious voice. 
 
 " Don't be afraid. Potts," he said at last, " I have been 
 reading a very very strange letter, and ^ forgot the hours ; 
 I will go and lie down now ; don't make any fuss about it, 
 and I'll tell you the important news after breakfast." «- 
 
 Poor Potts went off to the kitchen shaking her head as 
 usual, and murmuring to herself all the while, such excla- 
 mations as "Well, well now." " That's quare now." "Well to 
 be sure." It was with her brain quite in a whirl that she went 
 about her morning duties, wondering very much what could 
 have come over her master, to make him forget to go to bed. 
 When Fitts came in at the back door, with an armful of 
 wood, Mrs. Potts could not conceal her gratification at 
 having been the first to discover the secret, and she rattled 
 on ( to herself, as it were ) with her back turned to Fitts, 
 " Well shure 'tis the quarest thing in life—all through the 
 night, too ; dear, oh dear ! Such a life's enough to turn 
 one gray in no time." 
 
 " What have you there all to yourself now, dear Mrs. 
 Potts," came from Htts as he flung the wood into the box, 
 • come now, I heard you ; what's throublin'; what's inside 
 your purty border this time, your mind I mane ? " 
 
 "Be off with you now mister Fitts ; 'tis other people's 
 minds that's bothered, an' I'm only sorry for it : but y'ell 
 know soon eaough -, the master 'ill tell ye when he sees fit, 
 and ye can be preparin' for it till then." 
 
 " Well now, that's funny," says he. " How did yon 
 come to know anything since last night ? " and there was a 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 11 
 
 suspicion of jealousy in his voice, " I left the master meself 
 the last thing, last night, an' he's not up this mornin' yet, so 
 what are ye dhrivin' at ? " 
 
 " I know what I know," said the irritating Potts, " and 
 I'm sorry I can't tell ye (?) but its a saycret yet awhile ; be 
 patient." 
 
 -' ^Vho wants to know it anyway ? " said Fitts, who was 
 quite vexed now, *' I'm sure / don't," and he went out with 
 a slight intimation thai he had securely closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 At nine o'clock Henry Rayne came downstairs, look- 
 ing tired and pale, and instead of his usual hearty breakfast, 
 he merely drank a cup of warm coffee. He had just finished 
 this, and was balancing his spoon on the edge of his cup, 
 as he cogitated upon the strange mission that had been 
 thrust upon him, when Potts came in to serve his "second 
 cup," but instead of this, he bade her summons P'itts, that 
 he had something to tell them both. When a few moments 
 later Henry Rayne turned to confront his servants, who 
 stood expectant before him, his troubled face and serious 
 air made them start perceptibly; in an earnest tone he 
 said, 
 
 " I have received an important letter from a friend of 
 mine, who has died since the writing thereof ; he has en- 
 trusted me with the care of his only child, and to comply 
 with his dying request I must make immediate preparations 
 to leave home, for I have a long wax to travel before I can 
 accomplish his desire ; I therefore want you to understand 
 that I may be a very long or a very short while away from 
 home, but I wish you both to serve me as faithfully on this 
 occasion as you have on all others. Don't talk about my 
 absence more than you can help ; I can give all the neces- 
 sary explanation on my return." " Potts," he said, address- 
 ing the solemn looking old woman separately, " you must 
 renovate the house a little, I think ; those spare bedrooms 
 must be well aired and touched up somewhat, for we will 
 need them henceforth. My little charge happens to be a 
 girl, and unless you can contribute towards making things 
 to her liking, I am lost. Spare no expense to make the 
 house comfortable in every respect, for the protigh of mine 
 is a lady, I know. And you, Fitts," he continued, turning to 
 the dignified male servant, " will, I am sure, lend a hand 
 
12 tfonot" Eugeii'orth ; or^ 
 
 towards the general improvemeni. See that the phaeton 
 and sleighs be in good order, and, in fact, I think you will 
 each do your duties well, without my enumerating them. 
 You know I have full confidence in both of you, and I 
 think you will not abuse of it." The two devoted attend- 
 ants answered sincerely, each with a suspicion of moisture 
 in their eyes that answered Mr. Rayne more than anything 
 else. 
 
 On the following afternoon Mr. Rayne left Ottawa, on 
 his extended trip, much to the surprise of his friends, and 
 according to promise, his servants displayed the greatest 
 discretion possible. Within the week, Mr. Fitts was de- 
 lighted to receive news from his master, informing him that 
 in a few days he would sail for Liverpool. 
 
 The voyage across the majestic ocean, was a fair and 
 enjoyable one, and Mr. Rayne spent the days out on the 
 deck of the splendid " Parisian," smoking and thinking, and 
 wondering at the unusual turn things had taken for him, 
 since last he crossed that same Atlantic. He was anxious 
 to know how it would all end, and whether he would be 
 able for this new responsibility brought to him so suddenly. 
 Heaven had not willed him the experience of a wedded life, 
 and so he resolved to devote himself to this little charge as 
 though she were his own flesh and blood ; he would teach 
 liCr to give him a father's love, and if he could help it, she 
 would never know the want of a father's care. 
 
 The first duty of Henry Rayne, on landing at Liverpool, 
 was to consult the letter of his deceased friend, and write to 
 the address given therein, to inform the parties alluded to, 
 of his arrival. Special mention was made of one, " Anne 
 Palmer," who was spoken of highly, as a faithful and trust- 
 worthy woman, who had nursed the child from her infancy. 
 This gratified Henry Rayne immensely, for he resolved, at 
 any cost, to secure her, knowing how necessary her long 
 and untiring attendance must have made her to the girl's 
 existence. 
 
 A reply to his kind letter reached Henry Rayne some 
 days before he had expected it, informing him that Honor 
 Edgeworth and her maid had left on the day following the 
 receipt of his letter, and would shortly join him at Liverpool. 
 Such mdeed was the case, for even as Henry Rayne read the 
 words over to himself, as fast as steam ?nd water could carry 
 
Ottawa'' a J 'resent Tense. 13 
 
 hnx, Honor Edgeworth was travelling away from her native 
 home. She saw not, heeded not, the passengers, the scenery, 
 the bustle, and confusion that surrounded her ; she only 
 leant her head on the shoulder of her old nurse, and wept 
 silent, bitter tears all the while. Poor Nanette strove hard 
 to console her in her woe, but the swelling never left the 
 pretty eyes, and the sighs never ceased escaping from the 
 dainty lips during the whole voyage. 
 
 " It is such a queer destiny, Nanette,'' .she said re])eat- 
 edly, "this man may hate me: he was only a boy when 
 ])apa knew him ; perhaps he has grown up a wicked man 
 that will detest me, you know Nanette, people change a 
 great deal sometimes." 
 
 "Don't fret, my beauty," was all the disconsolate 
 woman could say. "You may be sure your father did not 
 act in the dark, where his little girl was concerned. He 
 had great trouble in fmding the gentleman's address at all, 
 so you may be sure he looked for other information at the 
 
 same tmie." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose he did," Honor sighed, half resignedly. 
 " What the end will be, time will tell." 
 
 From London they telegraphed to Mr. Rayne, telling 
 him of their safe arrival thus far, and seized with an insuper- 
 able impatience to become known to his little protigie, he 
 answered them immediately, that he would meet them in 
 Manchester. The night was wet and dark and cheerless, as 
 Nanette and her pretty charge rolled into this large manu- 
 facturing city of England. All the other passengers had 
 hurried out, they alone remained, careless whether they 
 went or stayed, sadly and listlessly, they proceeded to 
 gather up their little belongings, dashing away as they did 
 so, scalding tears that welled into their eyes. 
 
 "Are you ready, love?" Nanette asked plaintively, 
 turning towards Honor. 
 
 " Yes I am," the girl answered with a sigh, "ready for 
 the battle of life — come along, Nanette." 
 
 Just as she uttered the words, and before she had step- 
 l)ed from the railway carriage, the guard, accompanied by a 
 gentleman, thrust his head in, and hurriedly announcing 
 " Mr. Rayne, ladies," darted ofif again, leaving them together. 
 The long looked for moment had arrived : the first meeting, 
 upon which so many thoughts were spent by all three, was 
 
14 Honor Ed^i^eii'ori/i .- ot\ 
 
 already over. Honor Kdgeworth raised her eyes to the 
 gentleman-announced, and a smile of infinite relief broke 
 over her face ; Mr Rayne raised his hat to the younger lady, 
 and a mysterious smile of infinite admiration stole over his 
 face. He broke the silence by addressing Nanette. 
 
 " I presume, madam," he began, "you are the person 
 in charge of Miss Edgeworth, the young lady recommended 
 to my future care?" and before she had time to answer, | 
 he had extended both hands to Honor. ' 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Nanette, a little nervously, " I give 
 into your hands all that I hold dearest in life ;" and then, 
 lowering her voice, she continued, almost to herself, "I can 
 go back again to my poor old home, but the sunshine is 
 gone out of it forever." 
 
 Henry Rayne looked cjuickly up at her : he was assist- 
 ing Honor out, as she spoke. 
 
 " Is it possible that you are not coming to Canada 
 with us ? " he asked in a confounded tone. 
 
 "Ah, sir!' answered the poor creature, "I will go in 
 heart, indeed, but there was no provision made to send me 
 all the way with the child." 
 
 "Oh this can never be," Henry Rayne interrupted, 
 hurriedly, " I have intended from the first, that you should 
 not be left. Come, come, we will manage everything 
 smoothly by and by. Do not leave one another now, 
 unnecessarily, when you have been together all your lives." 
 There was a shout of delight from both, and clasped in each 
 other's arms, never to part again, they thanked Ciod sincerely 
 for His goodness to them, so far. 
 
 "The dear child, sir, I'd have died without her." 
 Nanette sobbed through the tears of joy. 
 
 " Of course you would," Henry Rayne answered, hand- 
 ing them into the carriage that awaited them. He cast an 
 admiring glance on "the child" in question, as he sat him- 
 self opposite to her on the leather buttoned seat of the hack. 
 If " child " she must be, she would undoubtedly prove an 
 interesting one, for she was now, to all appearances, in her 
 seventeenth year, and showed promises of future develop- 
 ment into a splendid woman. For the first few moments 
 Nanette never ceased her protestations of gratitude, and 
 when at last she finished them in a great sob behind her 
 
Ottin^'O's Present Tense. 15 
 
 handkerchief, Honor looked sweetly up in Mr. Rayne's face 
 and said : 
 
 " V'our first act, dear guardian, was one of unsolicited 
 kindness. What will after years bring, when we have 
 learned to respect and love you, and do you good turns as 
 well ? The future seems so bright, now that Nanette is 
 coming, for," she explained " you must know, Mr. Rayne, 
 she is the only mother I have ever known, and when dear 
 |)ai)a lived he treated Nanette just as he would a member 
 of his own family." 
 
 "■ And 1 will never be the one to make the first differ- 
 ence," answered Mr. Rayne. " My house is large ; I am a 
 crusty old bachelor, with no other tie binding me to the 
 world, except this new link that has just filled me with a 
 desire to live anew from this out. v\ll I have is at your 
 disposal : you must make yourself perfectly at home with 
 me. I don't know much about winning the confidence and 
 iiearts of young girls now, but I shall expect you to come to 
 nie with yours, because henceforth you are going to be all 
 my own." 
 
 " I do not wish to dispute it, Mr. Rayne," Honor 
 answered sweetly, " but I have a presentiment that you are 
 going to spoil me." 
 
 " Oh I won't be very cross with you, unless you steal 
 my spectacles or court my footman, or do anything like that," 
 Henry Rayne answered playfully. 
 
 'I'hus, in the pleasantest manner possible, were the first 
 hours of their rencontre spent. When their drive ended, 
 they alighted before a handsome hotel, ablaze with light, 
 where a tempting supper awaited them. Henry Rayne,- 
 fancying that it was the right thing to do to young girls 
 who had been travelling a great deal, told Honor she must 
 retire immediately. " We have our lives long to chat," he 
 said, "so rest yourselves well to night." 
 
 When they had reached their rooms, Honor turned 
 with a bright smile on her face, and said to Nanette, 
 
 " Don't you think he will be just lovely and kind, 
 dear Nanette ? He is a perfect gentleman." 
 
 " God bless him," answered Nanette, "he is a good man 
 and has a good heart, and we must never have him regret 
 what he has done for us." 
 
 " Well, it is a great weight off my -Ind anyhow," said 
 
1^ Honor Ed^eu<ortli ; or. 
 
 Honor, with a sigh of relief; " I am full of hopes now for 
 the future, and I know we cannot help loving dear kind Mr. 
 Rayne ;" and over such enthusiastic words Honor and 
 Nanette fell into their deep calm sleep. 
 
 All this time Henry Rayne was smoking quietly in the 
 parlor below, and thinking of the lovely face that was going 
 to shed its radiance henceforth on his silent home. Already 
 he longed for the morning to come, that he might look 
 on it again. In the course of his meditation, a thought 
 came to him, which had not suggested itself before, and it 
 was this 
 
 *' If the world should chose to attach its own 
 interpretation to this new relationship, if a word was cast 
 afloat which could scatter the germs of a suspicion, what 
 then ? If those venomous tongues that keep the world 
 buzzing with scandal chose to attack //<v', how was he to 
 prevent it ? " A cloud overshadowed his face, there was a 
 momentary pang in his heart, but he consoled himself that 
 he had thought of it in time — he would defy the world, his 
 manner towards her would dare gossiping tongues, he was 
 nearly three times her age now, and had his life not been 
 such as could defy the babbling of the whole world ? 
 
 But It was only the old tale, a woman's name is a 
 tempting bit to society, in one of its particular phases, 
 though, of course, even society in this, its calumniated 
 epoch yet retains its discrimination, its rules are not so 
 arbitrary as its enemies declare them, and its heart is at 
 times susceptible to the pleadings of misfortune for mercy. 
 Woman, alas ! has her fallen sister on every rung of the 
 social ladder, though from general appearances one would 
 be led to judge, that wealth and position and fame, claim 
 virtue as all their own, it seems, that vice and error thrive 
 only where poverty and ignorance and destitution abide, 
 is this so ? Ye who know the secrets of a fashionable 
 world, ye, who have seen laid bare, the hearts full of secrets 
 of pampered ladies, and pretentious dames, say, are they so 
 guileless, so spotless, so blameless as society would have them ? 
 Is it only the poor seamstress, or the working-girl that is 
 human enough to err ? Is it only the breast which heaves 
 under tatters and rags, that bears tie impress of the 
 trembling hand that has struck the " mea culpa " in its woe ? 
 O, I doubt it, I for one deny it. True it is, painfully, 
 
Ottawa s JVt'SfNt Tense. 17 
 
 . ■ — — " — ■ ■- ■ ' ■ ' ' 
 
 shamefully true it is, that the " nobodies " of the world who 
 meet misfortune are mercilessly forced to stand in the 
 corridors of time, that those, who domineer in virtue, may 
 ostentatiously compassionate them, but will such a paltry 
 show of charity as this, blind the world, as it tr'.es to do ? 
 Let us hope not. Let the pampered daughter of wealth and 
 social fame, who goes astray, share the i)itiless fate of the 
 beggar who does likewise ; or, better still, let the beggar be 
 shown such mercy, and justification and pardon as is granted 
 her sister in high life. In the sight of (lod crime is the one 
 color, why not so wi'.h men ? If anything, vice repels far 
 more forcibly, when attired in its velvets and silks, than 
 when it looks out from scanty rags, which after all, may be 
 turned more tasily to sack cloth ! Who can doubt that 
 there are hundreds of outcasts, living in persistent wrong 
 doing, on account of this lack of humanity, this total 
 abstinence of Christian charity, whose exercise could redeem 
 just as many as its scarcity ruins. Poor foolish souls ! Why 
 need they thirst for mercy or sympathy that is human, know 
 t \ey not, that they are as justified in spurning the world's 
 great ones, as those great ones are in spurning them. What 
 can human mercy avail them, after all, is there not a Good 
 Shepherd, so eager, so ready, so anxious to grant forgiveness 
 for the asking ? Why do ye not seek Him, ye whom a 
 rigorous society has cast out of its pale ? be not content 
 to live on as drudges and slaves to such a heartless world 
 when there is a harvest for you to gather so near, and you 
 have only to learn the words of Him who spoke truth and 
 wisdom themselves to encourage you onward, that " there 
 is more joy in heaven over the conversion of one sinner 
 than at the perseverance of ninety-nine ;ust." 
 
18 JJotior Ed^eworth ; or^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Ah ! poor child, with heart of woman ! 
 
 Solitary, quiet, grave ; 
 Strong of will and firm of purpose 
 
 Self absorbed in silence brave." 
 
 PAGE or two, of the record of time, turned over 
 unnoticed, will not be missed out of the careers of our 
 characters, it will include the days that have elapsed 
 since that night that Honor Edge>|'orth lay wide 
 awake on her pillow, playing with the shadowy visions of a 
 possible future, as they danced around her bed, since that 
 night in Manchester, when Nanette slept so contentedly 
 and Henry Rayne smoked in moody silence by the 
 fire-place in the hotel parlor. When we become interested 
 again, it is a clear, bright day, blue and white threads of 
 filmy loveliness flit along the sky, a soft, gentle breeze is 
 blowing, and over the restless waves of the broad Atlantic 
 the " Parisian " is skipping gracefully. She is nearing the 
 port, and many are the anxious, weary faces that turn 
 landward with a sigh upon their lips. 
 
 Among the others that are gathered here and there on 
 her broad decks, on this lovely glorious afternoon, we are 
 compelled to notice the graceful, slender form, of a young 
 girl, who sits a little away from the others, with her head 
 leaning on her folded hands, and her sad eyes resting on the 
 troubled waters in a fixed, but vacant stare, she is thinking ! 
 it is evident, and thinking deeply, there is not a muscle 
 moving in her handsome face, her lips are set, her chin is 
 slightly raised, the loose locks are blowing with the wind 
 now and then from off her brow, but her eyes ever seek the 
 deepest depth of the green blue sea. She might be a perfect 
 statue, only for the gentle heaving of her breast, that rises 
 and falls in little sighs. 
 
 Every one has noticed her, but none would intrude 
 upon her in this reverie, that seems to be her normal state, 
 her face has assumed that expression of intense emotion that 
 could fascinate the most unwilling victim, and indeed they 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 19 
 
 are very few who are not willing to pay a tribute at that 
 shrine, while she in her unconsciousness, is living the long 
 sunny hours, down in the bottomless sea, trying to penetrate 
 it with the eyes of her soul, trying to fathom the fathomless, 
 to understand the mysterious, and to shape into existence 
 the uncreated, these are the strange things that rivet the 
 gaze of Honor Edgeworth on the spray of the billows 
 below. At last sh© starts up, as if in broken slumber, and 
 turns suddenly 'round. 
 
 Two heavy hands have been laid on her slender 
 shoulders, two eyes full of glowing admiration are turned 
 upon her, and Henry Rayne, in a low, loving voice says in 
 her ear 
 
 " Come back to the deck of the ' Parisian ' Honor 
 for a little while, you have been down with the ' whales and 
 little fishes' long enough now." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tenderness as she looked up to the 
 good face bending over her. 
 
 " Oh Mr. Rayne, is it you ! " she said " I was wonder- 
 ing where you were, is Nanette sleeping yet ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he answered, drawing a seat near hers, 
 " and I've been amused by the little window there for fifteen 
 minutes, wondering what there was existing capable of 
 making any one strike such a thoughtful attitude as yours." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Rayne, all I could condense into my poor 
 little brain at opce, is not worth attracting your grand 
 attention. But, I love to think : I have so many little 
 ethereal friends that flock around me when I sit down to 
 think, they are all my ideals, you know." She continued, 
 clasping her hands enthusiastically, *' In that little world of 
 thought, where I drift so often in the day, there is none 
 of that coldness nor selfishness that characterizes your 
 material world. We are all equal, and we love one another 
 so much ! I don't know when it fascinated me first, but it 
 seems so natural to me now to steal away there from the 
 din of active life. But how is it you always catch me just 
 when I've forgotten that there is any reality at all ? " 
 
 " Because, I suppose," laughed Mr. Rayne *' you are 
 always in that state of blissful forgetfulness, and if you don't 
 mind yourself you'll fall into a chronic state of dreaming, 
 and then be no more to us than a veritable somnambulist| 
 now, you wouldn't like that, would you ? " 
 
20 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 " Oh, there is no fear of that, I am not spiritual enough 
 yet to abandon stern reality altogether, but I fancy you will 
 often tire of me before you grow quite accustomed to my 
 strange caprices ? " 
 
 " Why my dear little Honor, is that the color you 
 would have me paint your future ? surely not. If Destiny 
 has raised my hand to blend the colors in the fair scenery of 
 your life, I will stain the canvas a " couleur de rose^' and 
 make it a lovely thing to contemplate, if I possibly can, so 
 do not ever sigh to-day for to-morrow, know beforehand 
 that it will be just as you will ha^e it." 
 
 " Ah, ha ! Mr. Rayne, who is waxing romantic now," 
 the girl cried playfully, " I'm so glad to have caught you 
 once. But do you know, I sometimes wonder, if all these 
 days have not really been spent in my fairy land, for things 
 have happened as harmoniously as though life were not a 
 series of discords at its best, Nanette was not forced to 
 leave me, and you did not get bored at my eccentricities, 
 and I liked you so much right away, and our safe journe^ , 
 and everything together." 
 
 " Well, I hope it will convince you my child," said 
 Rayne earnestly, " that life in its common-place acceptation 
 is not so dreadful as you have pronounced it — wait a while 
 — a little practical experience will serve to persuade you, 
 that there are a few redeeming traits in the big, nasty world 
 after all, and will force you to give up these wild theories of 
 idealism that are strangely out of place in a young girl of 
 our period." 
 
 " So many tell me that," said Honor distractedly, " but 
 I can't know of course, just yet, what difference all the 
 complicated circumstances that wind themselves around 
 other girl's lives, will make in mine, if they change me at all, 
 they must make an entirely different person of me, and 
 if they are baffled, I will only be stronger and more 
 obstinate than ever in my own views. Either of these must 
 be my destiny, as yet I know no partiality towards either 
 one, but I think it is because I feel so safe in myself that I 
 defy other influences to do their worst" 
 
 " AVell, dear," said Mr. Rayne, rising, " You won't 
 blame me for the consequences, when you really want my 
 opinion I'll give it to you, I'll try to show you fairly and 
 honestly both sides of the picture of life, I would like to see 
 
OttmvaU Present Tense. 21 
 
 you stand by its colossal works of art, you may perhaps care 
 to imitate the artists. All that is great and good within my 
 reach, you will see, and yet, I think it wise that you should 
 turn from the luxury of wealth and self-indulgence now and 
 then, to look unshrinkingly upon the squalid misery and 
 wantonness that haunt the greater half of the world. But, 
 come, we will go inside, the air is somewhat chilly, and if 
 Nanette intends to wake at all, she must be looking for us now." 
 Leaning on the arm of her guardian. Honor slowly 
 walked towards the door of the entrance, followed by many 
 an admiring glance from the other passengers. They found 
 Nanette rubbing her tell-tale eyes, and avowing that she had 
 not " slept a wink " all day. 
 
 Under the roof of Henry Rayne's comfortable house 
 everything has undergone a change ; there is a primness 
 and a fitness about the rooms that used not to be there, a 
 cosy look peeps out from every turn and corner of the well- 
 furnished apartments. The pantry shelves are whole rows of 
 temptations. Very tame lions looking meekly out with their 
 " jelly " eyes, and rare birds perched in trembling dignity on 
 some wumbling pudding that has come " beautifully " out of 
 the mould. In fact it seems that good Mrs. Potts has con- 
 verted her whole " receipt book " into shelves of substantial 
 and dainty representatives, but such fruitful contemplations 
 as these will surely rouse one to action, and appropriate 
 ' action " in a well-filled pantry forebodes merciless slaughter 
 for these culinary imitations of animal life. 
 
 Upstairs appeals less dangerously to the material ele- 
 ment. It is neat and enticing everywhere. I'here is the 
 sitting room where Mr. Rayne spent his long, thoughtful 
 night under the gaslight with Robert Edgeworth's letter 
 lying between his numbed fingers. The fire burns there 
 cheerfully now— there is no other light than that cast by the 
 fitful flames which leap and dwindle in shadows through the 
 twilight that lingers still, huge fanciful phantoms skipping 
 over the walls and the ceiling and floor, a little flickering 
 subdued light that trembles on the great armchairs. " Flo" 
 is curled up, with both ends saluting one another, on the 
 velvet rug before the fender, and at a civil distance away is 
 a purring bundle of gray and Avhitc pussy, with her paws 
 
22 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 doubled in and her eyes blinking at the half-burned coals. 
 There is a- bird cage in each window, and an odd little 
 lullaby chirp or the grating of the little iron swings is the 
 only sound besides the loosening and falling of the embers 
 every now and then. 
 
 Opposite to this is the large drawing room with its deep 
 bay window, its rich carpet and massive furnishings. Not 
 the stiff formal looking parlor of a lone bachelor, but the 
 comfortable, tastily arranged room of a man who had con- 
 fided such things to the better judgment and defter hands of a 
 woman. There are fine statues and splendid paintings, and 
 bric-a-brac enough to deceive anyone into believing it to be the 
 home of a bevy of girls. There is a grand piano in the end 
 of the room, and a violin in its case in the corner — this latter 
 had been the faithful companion of Henry Rayne through 
 many years of his life, and held as conspicuous a place in 
 his drawing room as it did in his esteem. Upstairs again, 
 we find the strangest little room of all. A girl's bedroom, 
 richly, handsomely furnished, a heavy carpet of dark colored 
 pattern covers the floor \ a massive walnut sett is also 
 there, a cosy lounge is crossways in the corner, near the 
 bay window, which is a perfect little conservatory of bloom- 
 ing flowers. A handsome pair of brackets adorn the tinted 
 walls, holding on one side a fine statue of the " Blessed 
 Virgin and Child," and on the other that of a " Guardian 
 Angel.'' Hanging opposite the bed is an oil painting of 
 " Mater Dolorosa," besides sundry little chromos and photo- 
 graphs that destroy the monotony of bare walls. There is 
 nothing left to wish for—beauty, utility, grandeur have been 
 harmoniously blended here, and this is the nook that Henry 
 Rayne offers Honor Edgeworth, one worthy of a princess, 
 indeed. Mrs. Potts had promised herself that nothing 
 should be left undone on the arrival of the travellers, and 
 very well she kept her word too. When the violent ring of 
 the bell that announced their coming echoed through the 
 house, Mrs. Potts had only to roll down the sleeves of her 
 best wincey and button them at her wrists. The clattering 
 slippers had been superannuated, and a neat pair of prunella 
 gaiters, showed their patent toes from under the hem of her 
 cleanest gown. A broad grin of unmistakeable joy lights 
 up the old creature's face as she hastens to welcome her 
 master, and this changes to a solemn look of profound ad- 
 
Ottaivd's Present Tense. 23 
 
 miration as Henry Rayne presents her to Honor Edgeworth, 
 and asks her to show the young lady to her room. 
 
 "You must make yourself at home, Honor, for the 
 present, with things as they are. After a while we can 
 make things more comfortable, may be ; but this is my little 
 home as it was intended for the last days of an old bachelor, 
 to be spent all by himself," and as he spoke, Henry laughed 
 out right, and beckoned her to follow Mrs. Potts. 
 -* When Honor stood upon the rich red rug at the thres- 
 hold of her door, she uttered a low exclamation of wonder. 
 
 "This can't be for me, Mrs. Potts !" she said, folding 
 her hands and looking in dismay around her. 
 
 " Indeed it is, miss, and not a bit too good is it aither, 
 for yer jewel ov a face to smile on. Och, shure it'll be doin' 
 me old eyes good from this out to be lookin' at yer purty 
 face. But come now, miss, you must be bate out entirely 
 wid the joultin'o'the cars. Let me onfasten them things for ye." 
 
 Mrs. Potts was quite at home with the " dear young 
 lady " all at once. As she helped to undo the girl's wrap- 
 pings she grew less shy and reserved, and prattled on, 
 "Shure it'll be the life o' the master altogether, to have ye 
 around the big house that was allays so lonesome like for 
 the wont ov a lady like yerself is, to cheer it up." 
 
 " I hope I may do that," said Honor earnestly, " for 
 Mr. Rayne deserves all the comfort it is in our power to 
 give him." 
 
 " Oh, troth ! yer right there, missy, an' its only half 
 what he desarves the whole of us together could give him, 
 but shure, if we give him all we're able, an' our good intin 
 shions along wid that, he won't be the man to grumble at 
 that same." 
 
 Honor began to understand the character of this old 
 servant immediately. She recognized all those traits that 
 invariably betray the Irish nationality. Such whole-souled 
 creatures are of too universal r. type ever to be mistaken. 
 
 " Well, then, ye'r ready now, miss, are you ?" Mrs. 
 Potts queried when all was ever. " Well, if ye like, ye can 
 go an' wait for the ould lady, for she's not fixed up yet, an' 
 I'll jist run and throw an eye over the table, ye know ; I'm 
 Jack of all thrades for a while." 
 
 " Go, my good woman, by all means," Honor answered, 
 " we will be down directly ; don't wait for us." 
 
24 Honor Edgeivortli ; or^ 
 
 Potts, who rather suspected an odor of over-done 
 victuals, bounded down to the kitchen, leaving Honor in 
 Nanette's care. Nanette's room was next to Honor's, and 
 had been used as a sort of spare room up to the present 
 time. It was now intensely comfortable and neat, without 
 anything costly or expensive which could make i)Oor Nanette 
 feel out of her element 
 
 " Is Mr. Kayne not the verv impersonation of goodness 
 itself, Nanny dear ?" said Honor. She was standing with 
 her back to the door, watching her old nurse undoing their 
 valises, when she uttered this exclamation. 
 
 " Come now, Honor, spare a fellow when he's right be- 
 hind you," said the good-natured voice of the person thus 
 eulogized. Honor started around, looking very pretty in 
 her confusion. 
 
 " I thought 'listeners never heard well of themselves," 
 said she in a pout, " but this time it seems to be reversed." 
 
 "And you won't take it back for all that," said he, 
 " the oldest of us likes a little praise now and then, you may 
 as well let me keep it." 
 
 " Oh yes indeed, Mr. Rayne, you may have that little 
 bit, for you know how good you are and how kind to me." 
 
 " Well, that will do after tea, but just now we will give 
 our attention to something more substantial \ come Honor — 
 come Nanette." 
 
 " Don't wait for me sir, the old nurse answered respect- 
 fully, I'll find Mrs. Potts in the kitchen and we'll sip our 
 tea together there." 
 
 Henry Rayne looked quickly at Honor and detected 
 the slightest shadow of a disappointment flitting across her 
 face, this decided him. 
 
 "It is my intention that you and Potts will not be 
 ([uite such good friends," he said, " I am sure that Honor 
 would rather you made the tea at our table." 
 
 " Don't appeal to me," Honor answered as she met his 
 enquiring glance, "it is superfluous, you always anticipate 
 my wishes. I've never drunk another cup but the tea Na- 
 nette made." 
 
 " Nor shall you, so long as we are spared a happy 
 trinity," cried Henry Rayne, " so let's be off, I cry — to tea — 
 to tea — to tea." 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " The Autumn clouds arc flyiiij;. 
 Homeless over me, 
 The homeless birds are crying, 
 '^ In the naked tree. 
 
 rtf — George Macdonalrl . 
 
 {^|fT was a very pleasant, little tableau that followed? 
 - ' those three happy souls, gathered around a well-spread 
 table laughing and chatting merrily. Honor no longer 
 felt ariy timidity or reserve before Mr. Rayne, his ad- 
 vanced years commanded a confidence and trust that she 
 would hav^ otherwise perhaps been slow to give, and the un- 
 limited generosity he betrayed in even anticipating her every 
 wish, gave her no opportunity to feel that she was under the 
 patronage of a perfect stranger. He had shown himself as a 
 kind, indulgent father from the first, and was as solicitous 
 about her as though she had been his very own, or that he 
 had been accustomed to administer to the wants and wishes 
 of a young unripened girl all his life, l^ut this is no mystery 
 to the interi3reter of the human heart. Henry Rayne could 
 hardly act otherwise to any lone helpless creature without 
 sacrificing the impulses of his own generous, noble soul, and 
 trampling upon the desire that continually influenced him 
 towards being the direct cause of happiness and comfort to 
 others. Taking away any supernatural motive that might 
 lead him to such generous action, yet leaves the deed a 
 worthy one, and the heart a christian one, for, to gratify 
 others was to gratify himself, and this alone is characteristic 
 of a great soul. As the orphan child of a friend of his youth, 
 I doubt not that Henry Rayne would protect her at his life's 
 peril. We all know what a firm knot it is that binds the 
 sympathetic souls of rollicking college ' chums ' which, tied 
 once, is tied forever. It has always been so ; it is one of 
 those strictly conservative principles that grows with man- 
 kind in every generation, and is yet never found extravagant, 
 if not because of the noble character of the sentiment itself, 
 at least because our forefathers never condemned it, and the 
 world generally continues to favor such an alliance. Such 
 
26 Honor Ed^/ivorth ; or, 
 
 was the nature of the staunch friendship that existed between 
 Henry Rayne and Bob Edgeworth, a friendship that had 
 only strengthened itself by pledges and vows, as the youths 
 shook hands in a fond farewell over the threshold of their 
 college home. 
 
 It was now many many years ago since they had 
 turned from their boyhood's home, each to tread a widely 
 different path in the journey of life. Like so many before 
 them, they had taken their first uncertain stride over that 
 humble threshold, which would lead them, may be to fame, 
 honor and wealth, may be to disgrace, dishonor and ruin, 
 but there was one hallowed memory filled the boys' hearts, 
 one vow of fidelity was registered in their secret souls, and 
 that was a vow of their friendship. And now when time had 
 wrought its inevitable changes over both, when Other memo- 
 ries and other ambitions had faded from their^*hearts, we 
 find Robert Edgeworth avenging, with all the fiery enthu- 
 siasm of old, the insult offered to his absent friend, and 
 Henry Rayne, with all his boyish eagerness over again, lov- 
 ing to stand by the ' chum ' of former days, and fulfil to its 
 very letter the promise of the " long ago." 
 
 From the day on which Honor Edgeworth settled in 
 her new home, life began to assume its most indulgent phase. 
 Everything around her met her eye for the first time, no 
 sorrowful associations hung in misty veils over anything that 
 entered into the charms of her new life. Nanette was the 
 only breathing, living testimony of the years that had gone, 
 and the home of her childhood that she had left forever. A 
 few old books of literature and of music, a few little trifling 
 souvenirs from her dead mother's jewel box, an inlaid ma- 
 hogony writing-desk and a miniature likeness of her proud 
 handsome father, were all the visible reminders she now held 
 of the fair, sunny home, under the far foreign skies. 
 
 Mr. Rayne resumed his duties immediately on his re- 
 turn, and lost no time in propagating among his most inti- 
 mate and influential friends, the story of the odd legacy left 
 him by a " distant relation." At first Mr. Rayne feared 
 greatly that Honor would find the days long and tedious, 
 while he was absent and unable to ferret out distraction for 
 her, but he grew resigned very soon when she assured him 
 how much more to her taste it was to have the quiet hours 
 of the day to herself, and "in fact," she said, " as the occasion 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 27 
 
 presented itself, she would beg of Mr. Rayne not to expect 
 her to share in any amusement, at least for some time, for 
 besides the mourning she wore for her father, her knowledge 
 of the country and its customs was not yet sufficient to 
 satisfy her with herself," and putting it to him as a request, 
 she knew it would be acceded to on the spot 
 
 The light of the sumr.ier days had begun to wane. 
 The leaves had begun to turn. Out door pleasures were 
 being forsaken for the seat by the fireside. The world looked 
 as if 'twere waiting. The autumn months had a particular 
 effect on Honor Edgeworth, she would stand at the window, 
 and look sadly through the panes at the red and yellow 
 leaves falling softly, noiselessly down to the cold wet ground, 
 and a shiver would pass through her as she realized even in 
 this the mortality that hangs like an unseen pall over all 
 things below. Just a moment ago, a pretty golden leaf 
 danced on the bough, but the cold wind, surrounding it, 
 bore it away on its fated pinions down into the cold stiff 
 gutter, where it was either trampled heedlessly down by the 
 reckless passer-by, or wafted farther away out of sight, left 
 to wither and die by the roadside. But, perhaps not, either, 
 may be the slender, delicate hand of an admirer of nature 
 stooped to gather the fallen leaf, to wipe the dust from its 
 golden front, and lay it tenderly by as a souvenir of the 
 dead year, to lie among the gathered blossoms of some 
 dear one's grave, with bitter tears of sad remembrance 
 and grief to bathe it, as its evening dew. And is not this 
 life ! How many golden leaves are hurled into the mire of 
 sin, and upon how much marvellous beauty the heavy foot 
 of worldly scorn is stamped forever ! How many pretty 
 little amber leaves drift on through the cold wide world, 
 until their beauty is spent, and until wrecked and faded they 
 lay themselves down by the withered blades to die. But 
 oh ! there are again those stainless leaves that glide into the 
 fingers of the Great Gatherer of Beauty, to find in His 
 compassion and His mercy a refuge from the coldest blasts. 
 The pity is that these last are, like the leaves of the Autumn 
 trees, the scarcest in number ; or, after all is the happy life 
 of one summer month, price enough for a "forever" of 
 withered beauty and faded grace ? 
 
 Poor Honor turned away with a heavy sigh ; she could 
 not learn a cheerful lesson from nature's gigantic book, she 
 
28 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 had stood by the window for nearly an hour in silent 
 communion with the dumb eloquent world : there was a 
 strange empty feeling in her heart, that she longed to stifle, 
 somehow her reverie had made her feel a little lonesome, for 
 whom she knew not. She was now tasting a little of Life's 
 bitter sweet, and like every other girl of eighteen, was madly 
 wishing for the dinouement to come. Poor foolish eighteen ! 
 Why will you extract from Destiny the pain that will be 
 yours soon enough : not contented to be free, unfettered, 
 and all your own ? You want a sad change, you make an 
 unwise bargain. Do not envy the future its darkness, nor 
 the "to be " its mystery, it is painful enough that in time 
 your poor weary eyes must weep salt bitter tears as they 
 view the unravelling of each. The love that you long for 
 to-day is coming to you, slowly but surely, out of the iron 
 heart of Destiny, but beware ! Were it not for Love there 
 would bj no hatred, were it not for Fidelity there would be 
 no deception, were it not for Happiness there would be no 
 misery. " 'Tis Heaven to love," as love-sick poets have 
 sung. But 'tis Hell to love as well, as love duped ^vretches 
 
 have wailed. 
 
 Turning from the window, Honor Edgeworth sighed 
 as deep a sigh as if a pain had dwelt within her 
 heart — she was telling herself that she must wait and 
 hope, hope and realize, and so when it did not come to-day, 
 she only sighed again as she laid her w^ary head upon its 
 pillow, and whispered "To-morrow." When she turned 
 towards the firelight to shut out the cheerless vision of the 
 dreary world from her tired eyes, she started to notice how 
 quickly the shadows had crept over the room. She could 
 see them chasing one another by the quivering light of the 
 grate, and as the silent voices of the gloaming whispered to 
 her heart, her eyes lit up with an unusual brightness and her 
 lips broke apart in a slow dreamy smile. It was nearly six by 
 the marble clock on the mantel, Mr. Rayne would be home 
 in another little while, and with this thought she turned 
 languidly to the iiagere in the corner, in her search for 
 distraction, and drew from a shelf a small volume which 
 attracted her eye. She then poked a large black coal until 
 it sent a bright lurid flame up the chimney, and filled the 
 room with a cheerful light : slowly, almost tastelessly, she 
 proceeded to turn the pages over, scanning here and there 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 29 
 
 a line or two ; at length, smiling, she said to herself, " I used 
 to know these verses long ago. I wonder if I have forgotten 
 them." 
 
 She stood up as she spoke, and glancing at the 
 first word, folded her hands behind her back still holding 
 the volume, with one finger inserted on this particular part. 
 She leanea one shoulder gently against the mantel-corner 
 and looked into the fire. Why did she not look towards 
 the window ? A moment before, the garden gate had closed 
 noiselessly behind the tall, well-built figure of a man, who 
 before entering the house, had turned to look aimlessly in 
 at the large square window from which was reflected the 
 warm light of the grate. But how soon his eyes became 
 riveted to the spot : standing in front of the fire was the 
 fairest creature he had ever looked on before, the fitful flames 
 were casting their light upon her handsome face, her eyes 
 looked almost wild to-night in their sadness, and her cheeks 
 had an unusual glow. Standing with her hands behind her 
 back, she showed to advantage the perfect contour of her 
 figure, and while he feasted his eyes on her physical love- 
 liness he caught a little word in a sweet sad voice, that 
 recalled lines he was fond of repeating himself ; he strained 
 every nerve to catch the tones within. Knowing the verses 
 himself enabled him to understand her readily as she 
 (juoted — 
 
 " I have said my life is a beautiful thing," 
 
 " I will crown me with its flowers ; 
 I will sing of its glory all day long, 
 For my harp is young and sweet and strong, 
 And the passionate power within my song 
 Shall thrill all the golden hours ; 
 And over the sand and over the stone 
 Forever and ever the waves rolled on. " 
 
 She paused a moment, and puckering her brow slightly as if 
 in an effort to remember, she continued, 
 
 ** For under the sky there is not for me 
 A kindred soul or sympathy, 
 Must I stand alone in Life's busy crowd 
 A living heart in a death-like shroud, 
 And the voice of my wailing o'er sand and stone. 
 Must it die on the waves as they e'er roll on. " 
 
 " That verse is her own," said the still watcher at the 
 window. 
 
 The gu-l's voice faded to a sigh, she drew her hands 
 
80 Honor Ed^noorth : or^ 
 
 apart and opened the book again, the face outside pressed 
 more eagerly. still against the cold pane. 
 
 " Why ! " she suddenly exclaimed, " the words are all 
 marked in pencil ! underlined, just where I have been 
 accustomed to emphasize them, does Mr. Rayne ? — Oh 
 impossible. — Whose can it be ? " She turned impatiently to 
 the fly leaf and there in a clear masculine hand she saw, 
 " G. E. from the only true friend and bitter enemy he has 
 in the world— himself." 
 
 The book fell from her fingers. She looked earnestly 
 into the fire, and a sad expression stole over her face. 
 
 " G. E. ! Who was CJ. E. ? Who was it that seemed to 
 sympathise with her already ? Who else in the world 
 considered one's self a friend and an enemy, except herself?" 
 She was beginning to long for him, to feel a loneliness for 
 this kindred soul, asif he had come into her life and then had 
 gone suddenly out of it again, leaving her in a melancholy, 
 despair. And as she sat there, lost in a long, tangled 
 reverie, the eager face vanished from the window, for another 
 figure strode up the little avenue, and quietly opening the 
 door, passed in. Then the tall young stranger emerged 
 from his hiding place, and noiselessly went out through the 
 rusti': gateway, trampling beneath his feet, the fallen leaves, 
 ovtr whose inevitable fate, Honor had spent so many sighs ; 
 but his heart was beating quickly, and his face was aglow 
 with a new-lit flame. .> strange transformation had appa- 
 rently settled over all his surroundings. The moon was 
 mounting over the house-tops and shedding a pale, soft 
 light un his way. The world looked fairer and brighter far, 
 than it did a little while ago. The tall trees swaying their 
 naked boughs on the chill night air of mid-autumn, only gave 
 out a responsive sigh to the new longing within his breast, 
 and the crisp rustling of the withered leaves only chimed in 
 harmoniously with the echo of the love lay that was linger- 
 ing on the chords of his heart ; and where the moon in her 
 silent loveliness cast shadows here and there on his way, he 
 saw a vision of the loveliest face that ever haunted a mortal ; 
 and wherever quietude reigned profound, he heard the echo 
 of the grave sweet voice saying : 
 
 *' Must I stand alone in life's busy crowd, 
 A living heart in a death-like shroud ? " 
 
 And then his heart burst out its passionate * No," He had 
 
Ottiwa's Present Tense. 81 
 
 not recognized those responsive emotions in that lovely girl 
 to forget them so soon again ; he had been searching for 
 them too long not to prize them now. He had thought he 
 was anchoring at despair, and now that a star broke through 
 the clouded heavens, beckoning him on, was he mad to scorn 
 the hope that lay within his grasp ? No, indeed ; and that 
 very night, under the immediate impulse of his new-born 
 emotions, (iuy Elersley made up his mind. 
 
 We cannot he surprised at this sudden change in (iuy, 
 although it was the most unexpected and unlooked for 
 circumstance that could possibly have come to him. Fall- 
 ing in and out of love is almost so certain a portion of our 
 destiny, that we should never be surprised by it. V\e 
 know of love as we do of death, that it is to come some 
 day, if not now, by and by. We wait for it without expect- 
 ing it : we recognize the symptoms that foretell its approach, 
 but of its real bearing on our future lives, we can tell 
 nothing. Time alone, as it unravels the strange mysteries, 
 shows us in what way our love can prove a blessing or a 
 curse. If we were so constituted, in general, as to make up 
 our minds coolly and calculatingly, to fall in love sensibly, 
 but no, with most of us, a look, a word, a pressure of the 
 hand, a sigh, a flower or some such trifling thing, has 
 sufficed to plunge us hoplessly into the delirium of "love." 
 Dreamy eyes that fascinate us, pretty words that gratify us, 
 little signs of preference, have been the prices of human 
 hearts from time immemorial. The pity is, that love so often 
 dies of its own excess, making the dreamy eyes fiery with 
 anger and hatred, turning the pretty words into violent 
 reproaches, and substituting the deeds of preference by cold- 
 ness and neglect. 'Tis better to have hated all our lives, 
 than to learn the lesson from a blighted love. Life is never 
 bitter, but for those whose misplaced love has caused their 
 faith in men to wither, filling their hearts with that hopelessness 
 of regret, by which misery is recognised in any of its 
 disguises. But these are inconsistent reflections, when 
 proceeding from such suggestive sources as "first love," 
 " moonlight quietude," etc. Let us draw a veil across them 
 for the present. If there must be bitter drops in the deep 
 chalice, let us not spoil the taste of the sweeter ones, by 
 anticipating the loathsoinento. of the rest In another 
 sense we may cry "let us 1^'e to-day, for to-morrow we die." 
 
32 Honor Edgeicort/i ; or. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' We talked with open heart and tongue, 
 
 Affectionate and true, 
 A pair of friends though I was young." 
 
 — Wordsnvorth. 
 
 ^"y^ H E morning following (iuy's visit to his uncle's 
 
 window panes, as Henry Rayne was sipping his rich 
 
 ^5;^1^. brown chocolate, with Honor and Nanette, at break- 
 
 ^ <^ fast, Fitts brought in a note and laid it before hi*; 
 
 master. The usual broad smile came over Rayne's face, as 
 
 he recognized his nephew's handwriting. 
 
 " So he's in town," he soliloquized, as he opened the 
 folds of the crisp paper and read : 
 
 *'De:ar Uncle, 
 
 I came to town last evening, and wish to see you when you 
 will be quite alone. 
 
 Guy." 
 
 "There's an ansur wanted, sur," Fitts said timidly. 
 "Oh, say this afternoon at five, Fitts, that will do." 
 Evidently, it was not Mr. Rayne's intention to mention 
 the existence of his nephew j'et, to his new comers, for he 
 quietly slipped thelittle note into hispocketand said no more 
 of it. The day wore on, and at five o'clock Fitts brought 
 around the " ponies " to take " Miss Honor " for a drive. 
 They had scarcely gone a block away, before Guy Elersley 
 opened the gate leading up to his uncle's house, and 
 admitted himself. He went into the sitting-room, but it was 
 empty, that is, his uncle was not there, or any other living 
 intruder ; but there arose between him and the gloomy 
 coals, the same sweet face and graceful figure that had kept 
 a ceaseless vigil over his slumber last night. The same sad 
 voice filled the room with its wailing echo, and as he listened 
 again to its appealing pathos, he strode idly towards the 
 little etagere and took up his little volume from which he 
 had ^ttn her read. A strong impulse rose within him. 
 He imagined himself under the same spell as the romantic 
 hero of " Led Astray," and taking out his pencil, he traced 
 at the bottom of the pape, under the words she had recited, 
 this little verse : 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 33 
 
 " There is another life I long to meet, 
 
 Without which life my lite is incomplete. 
 
 Oh sweeter self! like me, thou art astray, 
 
 Trying with all thy heart to find the way 
 
 To mine. Straying, like mine, to find the breast, 
 
 On whioh alone can weary heart find rest." 
 
 He had scarcely closed and replaced the book, when the 
 door opened and his uncle bustled in. 
 
 " Hallo, Guy ! dear old boy, welcome ! welcome ! " 
 and Henry Rayne extended both hands to his nephew as 
 he spoke. "And so here you are in Ottawa, eh ? What's 
 the trouble now ? " and before seating himself to chat, Henry 
 Rayne poked the fire into a roaring blaze. 
 
 " No trouble this time, uncle \ at least no ' yellow 
 envelopes ' trouble ; but I've been promised an appoint- 
 ment in the Civil Service, and I've come to you for the 
 ' slap on the back ' that makes a fellow stiff when he's in 
 there. Now you know it's all right for a petty clerk in those 
 solemn Parliament Buildings, when he has an uncle that is 
 precious to the government, for the thousands he owns and 
 that he can scarce count. This is why I ask you to come 
 forward, for your assistance is all I want, to make a neat little 
 job of the whole thing. Just snap your fingers over my 
 head, and none will dare oppose me. It is not the career 
 I had planned, you know, uncle, but ' half a loaf is better 
 than a whole loafer,' and that is what I threatened to be, if 
 I remained a s^^udent in Montreal any longer. The boys 
 are too jolly there in proportion to their means, and 
 I pride myself I escaped in time. I'd just as soon live 
 on the bounty of the people for a while, and eat my lunch 
 perched on an office stool, with plenty of good ice water at 
 hand, and a chance of a cosy ' smoke ' now and then, if I 
 don't burn out my pockets hiding the pipe when the digni- 
 fied ' Boss ' approaches." 
 
 " Well, well, well, Guy, you are a reckless boy, you 
 know I could have secured you a position in the Civil Ser- 
 vice long ago, but you aimed still higher and — missed the 
 mark. I thought you had chosen a profession exacting too 
 much labor for a lover of self-indulgence such as you are ; 
 however, I suppose you don't want me to say a single word 
 of rebuke now, and I have grown so accustomed to spoiling 
 you, that I must only give in. You can make yourself easy 
 as far as I am concerned, I will make matters all right." 
 
34 Ho7W7- Ed^eiiwrth ; or, 
 
 " You're the best old uncle that ever had a sister mar- 
 ried to the father of a fellow like me," Guy said, shaking the 
 hand of his benefactor warmly ; "and by and by, when I'm 
 a clever cabinet minister, I'll show you what gratitude is." 
 
 " I am afraid such a ' by and by ' as that is as far in 
 the past as it is in the future," Henry Rayne said, laughing. 
 
 " Oh well, if I am not clever enough to be a solemn 
 minister, they'll make a IJeutenant-Ciovernor of me, or a 
 Judge; Lieutenant-Governor Elersley ! By Jove the name 
 was intended to be worn with a title." 
 
 " Well, when you're done all these nonsensical licenses, 
 you are giving your common sense, I will tell you something 
 nice," Mr. Rayne interrupted, as Guy rattled off his idle 
 chat. In a moment Guy's limbs that had been lying care- 
 lessly around in the vicinity of his chair, were jerked into a 
 respectable sitting posture, as leaning his face eagerly to- 
 wards his uncle he asked, 
 
 "Something to tell me? Now that is a surprise ; I 
 generally do all the talking when I come here." 
 
 " Well," Henry Rayne began slowly, and with a look of 
 unusual merriment twinkling in his eyes, " It has taken a 
 long time you see for this surprise to come, but it was worth 
 the trouble of waiting. May be you think that at fifty years 
 all the romance has died out of a man's life, but I am going 
 to show you that such is not the case." (Great Heavens ! Guy 
 thought, has the dear old man fallen in love ?) "A new life 
 has begun of late for me ; henceforth, my love, that has been 
 all yours, must be divided. I have assumed a series of new 
 and trying duties—" 
 
 " Pardon me, uncle ; but you don't mean — you can't 
 possibly be insinuating that you have — have — have done such 
 a desperate thing as to " 
 
 " I have indeed, Guy. I suppose you thought I had no 
 soft corner left in my heart that would be a ready victim to 
 a woman's wiles ? but I had, you see." There was a mis- 
 chevious twinkle in the old man's eye as he spoke. This joke 
 on his clever nephew amused him immensely, while poor Guy 
 was feeling the tight clutch of despair upon his heart. Of 
 all the horrors conceivable, Guy had never dreamt of such 
 a thing as his uncle's marriage, and now it was quite evident 
 that his words implied this terrible catastrophe. He saw the 
 long cherished project of his insured welfare passing away so 
 
Ottaivd's Present Tejise. 35 
 
 noiselessly from him, dropping through a wedding ring into 
 the clutching fingers of a new-born heir. And when it struck 
 him/ that the beautiful vision he had feasted his eyes upon 
 last evening was, undoubtedly, the fair destroyer of his every 
 hope, a conflict of violent feelings began to gnaw at his poor 
 heart, making a genuine picture of woeful misery out of the 
 laughing face of a moment before ; but he battled against 
 his moral foes, at least — he must not show his uncle that 
 any selfishness of his could mar the sincerity of his felicita- 
 tions. 
 
 " I suppose I am justified in congratulating you ?" Guy 
 said in a tone something like that in which one says " 'Tis 
 nothing," when three hundred pounds of fashionable human- 
 ity apologises for having left its foot print on our toes. 
 
 " I know that you do congratulate me warmly," Guy's 
 uncle said, emphatically, " and indeed it is as much for your 
 sake, nearly, as for my own that I rejoice ; the benefit will 
 be divided between us." Guy didn't see how — unless his 
 uncle fell into the ordinary routine of wedded life, and grew 
 regretful by degrees— he could share those sentiments very 
 plentifully ; but his better nature still revolted against such 
 selfishness, and obeying a generous impulse, he stood up and 
 shook his uncle warmly by the hand. 
 
 " I am glad indeed, uncle," he said sincerely, " that at 
 last your earthly happiness is complete. It was poor gratifi- 
 cation to you, to trust to me for an ample return for all your 
 unmerited kindness. You deserved some one more faithful 
 and more demonstrative than I. This new tie you have 
 formed will, of course, exclude me from a great portion if not 
 from all of your heart ; but, at least, I can still continue to appre- 
 ciate and love you as though there had been no change. 
 After all, it is the most natural thing in the world for a man 
 to marry." 
 
 " VVhc o married ? " Henry Rayne exclaimed in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " VVhy, yourself, to be sure," Guy answered, " I was 
 alluding to you." 
 
 Henry Rayne threw back his curly head and laughed 
 iieartily and loud ; Guy looked on in open-mouthed as- 
 tonishment, suspecting a tv^mporary aberration of mind in 
 his uncle. 
 
 " Oh ! that is a splendid one," Mr. Rayne cried slapping 
 
3G Hono7- Ed^eworth ; or, 
 
 his knees violently, and blinking away the tears that were 
 gathering in his eyes from excessive laughter. " You had 
 just better circulate such a piece of slander about me> and 
 see how it would be received ; why, the dogs oji the road 
 would laugh at your simple credulity." Then assuming a 
 becoming air of mock gravity the old man continued, " This 
 is terrible, Ciuy, that you should openly accuse me of such 
 a serious piece of forget fulness is, 1 fear, more than I can 
 readily forgive — I dare say I do a great many surprising 
 things now and then — but to get married — Oh no, Guy, you 
 wrong me — wrong me terribly . " 
 
 Guy had to laugh at this, though still lost in the mystery. 
 
 " Perhaps now that you have laughed quite enough at 
 me, you will kindly explain all," he said in an anxious tone. 
 
 " Well, the truth is, Guy," his uncle began in earnest, 
 " there is a woman at the bottom of it, of course, and though 
 I have pledged myself at the altar of friendship to love and 
 protect her, there is no such thing as ' till death do us part ' 
 in the transaction. I have been left the odd legacy of an 
 only daughter by an old school-friend of mine," Guy blushed 
 inwardly, and felt guilty, " she is a dear, lovely little 
 creature, and will, I am sure, make my home a different 
 one altogether, from what solitary bachelordom has brought 
 it to. I hope you will agree, both of you, I know you will 
 like her just as soon as you see her, you have no idea how 
 lovely ?^ e is." (Oh fie ! Elersley ! how innocent you look). 
 
 " ell, really uncle, you are a little more demonstra- 
 tive ovf: female superiority than I would expect," Guy said 
 lazily, as if he had made up his mind that he would not be 
 so enthusiastic. 
 
 " Because she deserves it," Mr. Rayne said, earnestly. 
 "Don'tthink, my boy," he continued, "that I am a perfect old 
 ogre with regard to women, for I am not, I have travelled 
 over and seen more of the world than you, and I know the 
 difference, vast and mysterious as it is, that lies between 
 woman and woman. The word, has, of all words, two 
 meanings, the most antithetical and contradictory ; one is 
 the limit of the Beautiful, the other the limit of the Repul- 
 sive ; one is synonymous with purity, truth and excellence, 
 and the other with vice and diplomacy. The world is often 
 imposed upon when the latter counterfeits the former. 
 Men are dazzled by the glitter and gaudy show of the pre- 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 37 
 
 tended, and pass by, unnoticed, the less flashy attractions of 
 the real, but I pride myself that I have never been deceived 
 in this way. The girl that I have brought to my home is as 
 genuine a sample of noble, good, pure and honorable women, 
 as could exist ; if you had known her father I would tell you, 
 she is Bob Edgeworth's child and you could not then doubt 
 the truth of all I say." 
 
 " Edgeworth ? " Guy queried, " It seems to me I have 
 heard that name before." 
 
 " It was you who revived all my precious memories of 
 him," Henry Rayne said thoughtfully. " That letter you 
 wrote me before leaving Montreal, telling me of an interview 
 you had with a traveller who had seen Edgeworth defend 
 me so bravely and gallantly abroad, was the first I had 
 heard of my dear old friend for many many years." 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember now ! " Guy exclaimed, " but how 
 in the world did he trace you up after all these years ? " 
 
 " That was easy enough, I am happy to say. I am 
 pretty well known now, and Edgeworth took the most direct 
 way to me, by applying to our family solicitors at home ; but 
 I blame him for not having sought me while he had his 
 health and strength — he is dead now, poor fellow, and all 
 he had prized in this world he has left to me. When I 
 wrote you, that important business called me to Europe, I 
 was starting to execute the first part of my friend's dying 
 request. I did not talk about it much beforehand, but now 
 that we are safely back, the whole world is free to know that 
 I am in charge of the sweetest girl under the sun, let who 
 can, deny it ; if you are as anxious to meet her as I was, stay 
 and drink tea with us this evening— they are out driving 
 now, but they wont be much longer — do stay." 
 
 " Not this evening," Guy said hastily, as he rose, " I 
 am not prepared, uncle ; besides, she is strange yet, and it 
 is as well not to thrust too many new faces on her at once, 
 you can mention my name to her if you will, she will feel 
 more at home when we meet." There was a pause of a 
 moment, and then Guy, as he appropriated a cigar from a 
 china stand that tempted him close by, resumed, " this cer- 
 tainly is a strange, unlooked-for incident in your hum-drum 
 life, but it is also a very fortunate one, since she is such a 
 comfort to you and such an acquisition to your home — I 
 fancy, from your description (?) she could scarcely be other- 
 
38 Manor Edgeivofth ; or, 
 
 wise. I hope we will all be an agreeable and sociable family 
 yet, and now," it I don't want to be caught, I had better be 
 off at once," saying which, Henry Rayne's handsome nephew 
 shook himself out of comfort's wrinkles, lighted his cheroot, 
 put on his becoming hat, bade his uncle a temporary 'good 
 bye,' and departed. 
 
 I would undertake too common-place a theme, were I 
 to try and interpret the. feelings that struggled for ascendancy 
 in the breast of Guy Elersley. How many pens have been 
 stowed away rusty and old from having told no other tale 
 than that of new-born love ? How many gray-haired bards 
 have tuned their lay to the sighs from the human breast 
 under the ' first loves ' influence ? How many eyes, even 
 among those that rest upon this very page, have wept the 
 overflowing of their hearts away, at the moment that love's 
 first whispers stole into their souls ? How many tired and 
 weary hands are folded on the laps of those who are sitting 
 in the twilight of their years dreaming all over again in 
 bitter joy their "Loves young dream?" Ah! they are 
 many indeed ! and so it is superfluous almost to tell the 
 world what it is to love for the first time. That trembling 
 existence that is balancing on Hope and Despair, is an 
 experience so well learned that no one thinks of telling it. 
 It is a strange part of destiny, that even those who have 
 never heard what it is to love, are not surprised when 
 called to teach it to themselves. Instinctively, we hide our 
 emotion, we steady our hand, we check our words. There 
 is the pity ; there are grand unspoken thoughts, burning in 
 the souls of many to-day, that may never reach the thres- 
 hold of the lips. Men are gliding through the world 
 disinterestedly, day by day, and they know not, often care 
 not to know, that there are devoted hearts existing on their 
 memories alone. There are pretty blue eyes weeping over 
 the ' garden gate ' where ' some one ' is ' waiting ' and 
 ' wishing in vain.' Let them weep. There are miseries in 
 life, that can be learned only by many repetitions. If they 
 don't break the heart at first they perseveringly 'try again.' 
 
 If my belief be not a popular one, I hardly like to be 
 the first to preach it, but it seems to me that few can study 
 society as it is to-day, without concluding very disagreable 
 things ; one of these is I'le deplorable fact that, in our day, 
 the purest selfishness seems to have established itself as the 
 
Ottawd!s Present Tense. 3l> 
 
 source and promoter of, not only the indifferent, but the 
 apparently best impulses of the human heart. It is a pity 
 indeed, that our analysing tendency has been so strengthened 
 by cultivation, for most often, by prying into the very 
 remotest origin and causes of things we learn a lesson that 
 for ourselves or the world, would have been infinitely better 
 unlearned. Hence it is that in our own day we are not 
 satisfied that certain lavish displays of generosity pass for 
 Christian charity, simply, and without more ado, we will not 
 look upon the givers, with an admiring eye, and spend our 
 enthusiasm, on a religion which teaches the love of our 
 neighbor so effectively, oh no ! we must "open the drum 
 to find where the noise is kept," and how, unfortunately, 
 often, do we find, that practical virtues, or at least, what are 
 so called by the world, have nothing more solid at base than 
 the hollow drum. It sounds deplorable, to say that nine- 
 teenth century charity is a Dead Sea apple, even the guilty 
 ones will not like to hear that they have subscribed to this 
 fund, or built that asylum, through policy, or ?,s an advertise- 
 ment, or for the less harmful but still unworthy reason that 
 they like to give something, when there is plenty around 
 them. Nevertheless, is it not true that m all countries, in 
 our own little city, there are men, who drive the starving 
 beggar from their doors, and who yet head a public charity 
 list handsomely. There are people, who, under their 
 parson's eye, wear down-cast look and thump their breasts, 
 but, who behind his back, would much sooner thump any 
 one else's breast, or cast down any other person's eyes. 
 There are members of high society, who feel it their duty to 
 set good example for their social inferiors, and so they feast 
 and dance and gratify themselves all through the hours of 
 the night, and then in half spoiled frizzes and sleepy looks 
 repair to church in the early morning. This may all be 
 right enough, but if so, there is more than one version of 
 right and wrong, and that is impossible. This omnipotent 
 selfishness has even crept into our loves. Men kiss the 
 dainty finger tips of their lady-loves, to-day, with a passionate 
 fondness that is proportionate to the bulk of lucre that 
 dainty hand can hold. The words " be mine " so sweetly 
 answered by fair trusting damsels, are addressed to them, 
 because estates and dowries cannot si)eak of themselves, 
 and must consequently be wooed and won by proxy. The 
 
40 Honor Edge^uorth ; or, 
 
 divine institution as marriage was wont to be considered, is 
 better understood in our day as a ' linking transaction ' a 
 ' speculation in the matrimonial market,' or for the man 
 alone, he is either ' spliced ' or ' fleeced.' 
 
 At least our century has succeeded in one thing : 
 it is the grandest parody on all that is lofty, or elevated 
 or holy, it is an uparalleled burlesque on any exalted 
 sentiment or practical good. Every ennobling tendency, 
 every redeeming trait is cunningly caricatured, and so 
 cleverly ridiculed that is impossible to respect them after- 
 wards. It is hard to tell what another era may bring forth 
 of good, but it is certain that ours has killed, to the very 
 possibility of a future regeneration, every germ and atom of 
 solid morality, that sustained it. Perhaps that is what was 
 wanted, the end may be achieved now. It has been clearly 
 and undeniably proved to the world, that there is no longer 
 any (iod, there is no eternity, no atonement, no recompense. 
 We are left to wonder whose business it was to call some of 
 us into this miserable existence, to take us out of it again 
 before we have culled any real happiness, and send us back 
 
 to Well, we are not allowed to say where, because 
 
 there is some inconsistency mixed up with it, but w^e are 
 sure to go there at all events. 
 
 This may seem a most exaggerated deviation from 
 the smooth course of the narrative,but in reality it is 
 not so. The little reflections made may serve to remind 
 the reader, that those great universal movements, social, 
 political and religious, floating as they are at random 
 in the atmosphere, cannot fail, when breathed by our 
 youth to develop into substance with their growth, and 
 to manifest their poisonous influences later, in the lives of 
 their wretched victims. After pondering over such re- 
 minders for a moment or more, there will be no call for 
 surprise, when our young men are pictured in their true 
 colors. The mind need not hesitate to enquire, when it 
 views youth and manhood, beautiful and blase, attractive 
 and cynical, credulous to simplicity in many things, and 
 infidels in the one great act of faith that alone merits any- 
 thing. 
 
 From the taint of this evil, and all its sorrowful conse- 
 quences I am tempted to exempt Guy Elersley, so handsome, 
 so young, so winning ; but I cannot give the lie to obstinate 
 
Ottmvd's Present Tense. 41 
 
 reality. Of course, Guy Elersley was not a bad man, he was 
 exactly what most young men of to-day are — what you, my 
 reader, know them to be, what all the world, but themselves, 
 know them to be. Guy thought he " wasn't such a bad sort 
 of fellow at all," and yet in every movement of his, one could 
 detect him — the victim of the age. He had never pro- 
 fessed any direct code of belief He would have been very 
 much offended if any one called him an "atheist." He knew 
 there was some reason why a fellow should go to church now 
 and then, and not be everlastingly doing mischief. He con- 
 fided to himself in strict secret that " to die " was about the 
 very last thing he'd like to do ; but, somehow, such serious 
 considerations as these never lingered long, a good cigar or 
 "half-a-glass" easily sufficing to turn the current of his thought 
 into a more pleasant course. He had all the "might-have-beens" 
 in the collection of qualities that he possessed, to make any 
 one sorry, but as fast as a new trait developed itself in him, 
 he put it to the worst possible advantage, and made those 
 who took an interest in him intensely sorry for his grave 
 mistakes. 
 
 He had early fallen in with the tide, and learned to love 
 himself before and above all else. 
 
 One hardly likes to say that this new born enthusiasm of 
 his was a selfish gratification, and yet in its radical sense it 
 was thoroughly so. He delighted in it because of the benefit 
 it brought himself He had long felt a void within his heart, 
 a want or craving for something, something indefinite, in- 
 tangible certainly — something that no sensual indulgence 
 could appease, that no light pleasure could distract, and now 
 all at once it seemed to him that long-felt vacuum was filling 
 up. A something, just as ethereal as his craving had been, 
 was creeping into his heart. It felt like the liquid music of 
 a low, serious voice, or it may have been a passion, such as 
 he had seen in the depths of two large, sad, gray eyes, or it 
 might have been the soft soothing influence of a sweet, 
 dreamy smile. It was just as abstract as any of these, and 
 yet just as fascinating and just as exquisite. This was Love 
 for him, a beautiful but a dreadful thing ! feeding his hungry 
 soul and quenching his heart's awful thirst, yet swaying him 
 with a merciless tyranny, for love caresses with one hand and 
 smites with the other. If it can be the exponent of certain 
 delicate phases in our spiritual nature, it can also, alas ! 
 
42 Honor Edgeiuorth ; or^ 
 
 almost smother the good it does by the pain it so cruelly 
 inflicts. It has a double mission, for in the cry of joy that 
 escapes the lips under its influence there is an echo of pain 
 and despair, and hence it is that love is so violent a passion. 
 If it were a pleasure only to love, we could never prize the 
 object of our wild affection as when it has cost us sighs and 
 tears, and anxiety untold. 
 
 It was thus Guy Elersley ruminated as he sauntered 
 through the streets this sear October day, whistling silently 
 to himself, and knocking the clotted leaves recklessly from 
 side to side with his slender cane. He was persuading 
 himself that at last his destiny was beginning to accom- 
 plish itself. She would surely see the lines he had traced 
 for her eye in the book he had been reading, and if she 
 were what he supposed her to be, they would be an eloquent 
 appeal in his behalf — but — . Here the misery came in — 
 " Love was never yet without 
 The pang, the agony, the doubt." 
 
 What if she never reciprocated ? — if there did not linger 
 in her breast a single responsive sigh ? But he dared 
 not ask. What then ? Not until hope had quite faded 
 away and left the bare, truthful reality to confront him by 
 itself^ 
 
 #fe' 
 
Ottmva's Present Tense. 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "And then I met with one who was my fate, he saw ' ; 
 
 me and I knew 
 'Twas Love, like swift lightning darted through 
 My spirit : 'ere I thought, my heart was won — 
 Spell-bound to his, forever and forever !" 
 
 (^|N this interesting meanwhile, life was unfolding its 
 l^^l strange mysteries just as unexpectedly to HonorEdge- 
 vS^ worth as to Guy Elersley. After she had returned from 
 ^ her pleasant drive, a half hour after Guy's departure 
 from his uncle's house, dinner was announced, immediately 
 after which Mr. Rayne had to excuse himself, having had an 
 engagement "uptown." Honor, left to her own resources 
 for distractions, repaired, as usual, to the sitting room, 
 and seated herself on the floor before the grate. Her eyes 
 assumed their old hazy look; she clasped her hands over 
 her knees and looked vacantly into the fire. What a strange 
 girl this was ! So dreamy, so pensive. She was reasoning 
 with herself now as she often did, trying to feel thankful for all 
 the good things with which her life was blest ; but though 
 she acknowledged to herself that youth and health, and 
 comfort and kind friends were grand gifts of Providence, she 
 could not stifle the dissatisfaction that filled her as she 
 yearned for " something else." She could not say what it 
 was, only she knew that she yearned for a gratification that 
 is not found in any of those things that she enjoyed so pro- 
 fusely. 
 
 Oh, that "something else !" Why do we not stop 
 and gather it by the roadside we are passing now ? We 
 will not find it farther on. That which is enticing us onward 
 is only the illusionary flicker of a will o'-the-wisp ! We will 
 stretch out our hands too late — when we have been caught 
 in its fatal snares, and then in the darkness and misery that 
 will surround us, we will feel how foolish we have been, and 
 our cries of despair and distress will be echoed back to our own 
 ears in sounds of mockery and scorn. Let us not build upon 
 
44 Honor Ed^eworih ; or^ 
 
 that " something else" that is always buried in the to-mor- 
 rows, for we are losing the present and risking the future 
 thereby. 
 
 Poor Honor, after thinking until her head sank wearily 
 upon her shoulder, sighed and rose up, pacing the room 
 with her hands behind her back. As she passed by the little 
 ita^ere she smiled curiously, and stretching out her hand 
 drew towards her Guy's book of poetic selections. As she 
 slid the pages through her delicate fingers, she murmui°H 
 slowly — 
 
 " I have said that my life is a terrible thing, 
 All ruined and- " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, for her eyes had fallen on the pencil 
 marks traced under these little verses she was accustomed to 
 recite — her heart gave a sudden bound — 
 
 '• Oh, sweeter self, like me art thou astray !" 
 
 She quoted the words in bewilderment. What did it mean ? 
 There was no one in the house to write such meaning words 
 there! That pretty, legible penmanship did not correspond 
 with anyone's she had ever known — except — where was it 
 she had noticed something just the same? Suddenly she 
 remembered. On the fly-leaf of the book were words traced 
 in the same hand. She turned over the leaves and com- 
 pared them. There was no doubting their identity. It was, 
 then, G. E. who had written this passionate little quotation. 
 "G. E. ! How strange !" she muttered. Was it her 'fairy 
 prince ' had come to visit her while she was away ? She 
 could not fathom it — some hidden meaning lay stowed away 
 under those pretty words. " They were not there when last 
 I had the book, of that I am sure," Honor said meditatively. 
 " Some one has been in here since, and that ' some one ' 
 sympathises with me ; that ' some one,' I feel, is my long- 
 sought ideal. Has destiny changed its frown into a smile at 
 last for this lone, eccentric girl, I wonder ?" She dropped 
 her hands negligently, still clasping the mysterious volume, 
 and looked wistfully into the space before her. She was un- 
 dergoing the change that comes over each of us as soon as 
 we yield our hearts to the strange influence that fascinates 
 them. We have been told that " Love is a great trans- 
 former," and if we had never heard it we would have found 
 it out for ourselves. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 45 
 
 Honor Rdgeworth, sitting alone in the cosy enclosures 
 of a cushioned fauteitil, thought out the f[ueer circum- 
 stance that had visited her to-night ; never noticing 
 how fast time flitted by, never heeding the stillness of 
 advancing night, until Mr. Rayne's late arrival roused her 
 from lier reverie, and brought her suddenly back from the 
 sunlight of her dreams to the grim darkness of the reality. 
 Kissing him a sleepy good-night, Honor left the room, 
 henceforth haunted by the sjjirits of her earliest conceptions 
 of love, and went silently, almost gloomily, up to her own 
 handsome litde room, bringing to her friendly pillow all the 
 hazardous hopes and fears, and interesting experiences ot 
 a love unborn but well conceived. 
 
 In the gray of the following morning, the angels of 
 slumber on their upward flight must have borne one another 
 an interesting message, for Honor's guardian sjjirit had noted 
 the happy smile creejMiig over her face, as in her dreams she 
 saw the noble hero of her waking reverie — and Guy, as he 
 tossed restlessly on his pillow, betrayed to his *' silent 
 watcher " a heart overflowing with a new-born love for a 
 creature to whom he had yet spoken no word. And how 
 those angels must have smiled, knowing, as they did, that 'ere 
 another day had passed those two would have met, to recog- 
 nize in one another the destiny of each ! 
 
 " It will soon be four o'clock," Honor said to herself on 
 the afternoon of this same day, looking, as she spoke, to- 
 wards the delicately tinted window-sill. She had whiled 
 away so many afternoons in this little boudoir, or family sitting 
 room, that she could tell by the progress of the sun on the 
 broad sill when to expect Mr. Rayne home from his office. 
 " He will be here in half-an-hour," she soliloquized, then 
 looking aimlessly around for distraction. Honor spied a half- 
 knitted stocking and a ponderous looking pair of gold- 
 mounted spectacles lying carefully on a side table. Smiling 
 mischievously, she adjusted the glasses, very low down on 
 her nose, for of course she can see much better over than 
 through them, and unwinding a yard or two of the wool, 
 tucked the ball professionally under her arm, and began slowly 
 to penetrate the intricate mysteries of " narrowing the gore." 
 She had just seated herself in the great rocking chair, when 
 a very familiar sort of tap at the door caused her to look up. 
 She thought to make a joke for Fitts, and feigned "Nanette " 
 
46 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 accordingly — she dropped her head on her shoulder, slowly 
 moving her needles all the while — and with closed lids, and 
 mouth half-way open, she considered the tableau perfect. 
 The knock was not repeated, but she knew that the door 
 had been opened. For a few seconds longer she remained 
 in her interesting attitude, and then considering that Fitts 
 was rather slow to appreciate a joke, she opened her eyes, 
 and was about to close her mouth, but the exclamation of 
 surprise that rose to her lips, kept it wide open for a second 
 or two longer. The blankest of blank, stupid wonder looked 
 out from her eyes over the old-fashioned, gold-rimmed spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 " I hope you won't think I am intruding," said the per- 
 son at the door, "but being quite at home in the house, and 
 having received no answer when I announced myself, I 
 thought I might admit myself here as usual." 
 
 Honor detected an effort in the speaker's voice to refrain 
 from laughing outright, and did not feel too comfortable at 
 the success of her joke. 
 
 " Did you — did you wish to see Mr. Rayne ?" she 
 stammered, dragging the unsightly spectacles off her nose, 
 and throwing them back on the table. 
 
 " I certainly expected he was here," the stranger 
 answered mischievously, " but I had mistaken you for him 
 on coming suddenly in." 
 
 Honor felt mortified, while her companion evidently 
 was very much amused. She looked at him suddenly, her 
 pretty face suffused with blushes, but on raising her eyes 
 they met his in a quick glance — the large, passionate gray 
 and the deep, dreamy blue penetrated each other's depths in 
 an instant — only during one short breath, and then Honor's 
 fell. She had been about to speak, but the mischief in his 
 look reminded her of the absurdity of this recontre, and she 
 could only turn aside, and show him by her shaking 
 shoulders that she was forced to laugh. 
 
 At last the situation became too ridiculous, and Honor, 
 between smothered fits of laughter, said, 
 
 " If you have made any appointment with Mr. Rayne, 
 he will not detain you, I know. Be seated ; I will enquire 
 if he has yet arrived." 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself," her companion answered. 
 " My uncle, Mr. Rayne makes no ceremony for me, I assurq 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 4t 
 
 you. I must only await his pleasure. But lest I have dis- 
 turbed you — " 
 
 " Not ot all," Honor interrupted, " I was only amusing 
 myself." 
 
 " \Ve may as well not be strangers," Guy said, cour- 
 teously advancing towards Honor, " for we are likely to 
 meet very often henceforward. 1 am Mr. Rayne's nephew, 
 his sister's son, and I was the only toy in the big nursery of 
 his heart until Miss Edgeworth appeared, which young lady 
 I think I have at present the honor to address." 
 
 Honor bowed, and, extending her hand, said in her 
 sweetest voice — 
 
 " For Mr. Rayne's sake we must certainly be friends," 
 — then feeling a little more at home with her visitor, she 
 continued, " As no one comes in here unannounced, I 
 ventured to attempt a little disguise this afternoon. I mis- 
 took your knock for some one's of the household, and had 
 just struck the last attitude of my assumed character when 
 you caught me — I hope the effect on your nerves was nothing 
 serious," and as she spoke this in her bewitching confusion 
 Ciuy felt i'ke taking her up in his arms, little bundle of 
 blushes and smiles as she looked, and devouring her, but 
 before he had time for word or action, the door opened 
 again, and this time Henry Rayne bustled in, glaring in 
 bewilderment upon them — 
 
 " Why ! You two young rascals, how did you come 
 together ? Here you've cheated me out of anticipated 
 pleasure by finding one another out behind my back —this 
 \z too bad ! " and Mr. Rayne as he spoke looked suspiciously 
 at each of them. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Rayne," and " Really, uncle," broke simul- 
 taneously from their lips, and then Guy, advancing, explained 
 the interesting circumstances of their premature introduction. 
 
 " Well, it's just as well," Henry Rayne said, laughing, 
 " we are all to be the one family henceforth, and the sooner 
 it began the better — sit down Honor —sit down my boy," 
 continued he, drawing chairs towards the fire, " come Guy, 
 tell us the news, you have nothing else to do but gather it.'' 
 
 It was all over and done, those hands that had been 
 groping in the darkness for so long, had met at length in 
 one another's clasp. True it was, that no word had yet 
 betrayed the feeling of either heart, no action, no sign had 
 
48 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 been made, and yet each knew full well that they had met 
 
 at a threshold which they were both destined to cross, hand 
 
 in hand. It was not presumption on either side, but each 
 
 felt so truly that it would be easy now to love, that they 
 
 had met. It seemed as though one had sought the other 
 
 for a long time, and that now they had met never, never 
 
 to part. 
 
 It will avail us nothing to dwell upon the details that 
 
 made up the happy days of Honor Edgeworth's life after her 
 
 meeting with Ciuy Elersley. To those who know what it is 
 
 to breathe, live, and act under the soothing influence of a 
 
 first love, the page would be a superfluous one, and to those 
 
 for whom such a blessed phase of life is yet among the things 
 
 to be, mine must not be the pen that will spoil the luxury 
 
 thereof by anticipating its joy — and again, to the wrinkled 
 
 brows and aching hearts for which such a thing lies among 
 
 the ' might have beens,' oh, I will not surely speak — I see 
 
 their blinding tears — I hear a long, mournful sigh — som^^^ 
 
 body's fate is cursed, somebody's hope is trampled, somebo ly's 
 
 heart is withered and dead ! There remain only those who 
 
 live their love-days in a holy remembrance, those who, in 
 
 going backward through time go 
 
 " — hand in hand 
 With spirits from the shadowland," 
 
 and to those I whisper the words of our poet, and say — 
 
 ** 'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
 Than never to have loved at all. " 
 
 All I will say is, that the sun which set upon the world on 
 the day when, for the first time, Guy and Honor linked hands, 
 never, since nor before, went down ui)on any two creatures 
 who were more thoroughly satisfied with themselves than 
 were these two. 
 
 When Cluy left Mr. Rayne's house, the evening was far 
 spent — and such an evening ! If an exclamation point 
 cannot imply its happiness it must remain a mystery, l.ong 
 after he had bade his earnest * good-night,' Honor and her 
 guardian sat together over the dying coals and chatted 
 pleasantly. It was their custom to hold this nightly gossip 
 no matter at how late an hour their visitors left them. 
 
 *' And so that is my brave nephew for you," Henry 
 Rayne said, as Honor stood up and placed her chair against 
 the wall, " How do you like him ? " 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. -# 
 
 Like him ? If he could have seen her averted face — 
 her eyes — her mouth ! 
 
 " Don't you ask an opinion a little soon ? " she replied, 
 so carelessly, that the shrewdest observer would be baffled. 
 
 *' Well, I don't mean to ask you if you're crazy about 
 him, or anything like that," Mr. Rayne said, half-laughing, 
 " but do you take to him, do you think you will ht friends ? 
 That's what I'd like to know." 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, disguising her excitement in a 
 smile of surprise, " I do not doubt that, at least so far as / 
 am concerned, I have been friends with more — with less — I 
 mean with more — no, with less intereresting people." 
 
 " Gracious ! it seems to have puzzled you if you have," 
 Henry Rayne said, mischievously, as he saw her color and 
 grow impatient with herself, " you seem at a loss to know 
 on what equality you would put poor Guy's interest." 
 
 " Now, you needn't teaze, just because I'm dreadfully 
 sleepy and can't talk right ; I won't say another word, only 
 — Good-night," and kissing him brusquely on the cheek, she 
 skipped out of the room. 
 
 But the subject had not dropped through with these 
 remarks. 
 
 The following day as Honor sat in the library alone, 
 Mr. Rayne bustled in, and sat down beside her, as he 
 said, to read her some interesting item from the morning 
 Citizen, but instead of leaving her again. Honor saw that he 
 was lingering in the room purposely. (I wonder if anyone 
 ever yet loitered around a place pretendingly to no purpose 
 without immediately betraying that he was full of purpose.) 
 After Henry Rayne had looked at the titles of several books, 
 and gazed vacantly at the paintings that decorated the walls, 
 and raised the cover of a massive ink-stand just to drop it 
 aga.n, he made a bold stroke and began his subject as 
 though it had only entered his head at that very moment. 
 
 " Honor," he said somewhat timidly, " I was going to 
 ask you to do something, last night, but you left me so sud- 
 denly that I had to put it off." 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry," Honor answered, raising her lace 
 frame to her mouth, not to hide her face, but only to bite 
 off an obstinate knot of thread that provoked her. '* Is it 
 too late, now ?" she queried anxiously, looking at him. 
 
 " Oh, no ; it's not too late. It's about Guy." 
 
 4 
 
•^0 ILmor Edgeicmi/i : or, 
 
 "Guy?" 
 
 "Yes." . ■■ ■■■'^ ■:■ 
 
 " Why, what can /have to do with Guy ?" 
 
 "Well, I just want you to promise me you will do all 
 you are able. If you do that, I can almost promise you I 
 will never ask you to do me a favor again." 
 
 The puzzled, asking look in her gray eyes deepened ; 
 a curious smile stole round her lips. 
 
 " I need not tell you how strange this is to me," she 
 said slowly, " you must know that you proposed an enigma 
 which 1 cannot solve." 
 
 " Come here. Honor," Mr. Rayne said seriously. She 
 laid down her work and went towards him. He was sitting 
 in a velvet arm-chair, and she knelt beside him, with her 
 whi;e, delicate hands clasped on the ruby upholstering. He 
 put one arm gently around her, and as he smoothed 
 her wavy hair with one hand, he asked her earnestly, 
 
 " Honor, you know how much good is done in the 
 world by mere contact, do you not ?" 
 
 " Of course I do, Mr. Rayne ; good and evil alike have 
 been kept circulating from the beginning by individuals." 
 
 " That is so. Well, now, don't you think it is a pity 
 when there is a very susceptible person, one who would be 
 good if he was led, or who would be wicked if he was led — 
 don't you think it a pity, I ask, that such a person as that 
 should go to ruin because there is no good influence open to 
 him in his life ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly," the girl answered seriously. " But 
 Mr. Rayne, no one need be wicked if he wishes to be good ; 
 evil is not forced on us you know." 
 
 " I know that, my child, but we are not always as strong 
 as our inclinations — the spirit is one thing and the flesh 
 another. Now, I want to appoint you a mission — you are 
 :i good girl, and your pleasure is in doing good. Supposing 
 you would favor me by doing good at my request ?" 
 
 Honor started a little, and looked enquiringly into his 
 fare. 
 
 " You know you have only to tell me your wish, dear 
 Mr. Rayne. I wish I could have anticipated it ; but as 
 that could not be, I pray you tell me immediately. What 
 can I do for you worth the asking ?" 
 
 " I want you to promise me that you will begin right 
 
Oftmcas Present Tense. 51 
 
 away to work your influence over Guy." The color rose to 
 her cheeks, and the smile faded out of her eyes and mouth. 
 "This, mind, is a profound secret; Guy has neither 
 father nor mother — he has no home, nor no real friends, I, 
 like the rest, have spoiled him : but God has sent me you 
 in time. I know that my dead sister would rebuke me 
 severely were she to see her boy, my charge, so reckless and 
 so dissipated. But I fancy it is not so much my fault — my 
 influence could never change him much : I want you, for 
 my sake, to try yours. You have only to meet him often, 
 and talk with him. If he has eyes at all he must see in 
 your practical life all the theories he has heard preached to 
 him so often. Shew him in all the indirect ways you can, 
 how foolish and frivolous are the ways of society to-day. He 
 is a clever boy, and susceptible, and your trouble will not be 
 lost. Come, now ! will you promise me only to try, for my 
 sake ?" 
 
 " How you exaggerate the capacity of a weak woman," 
 she said a little sadly ; then, after a moment's pause, she 
 continued — " It is no trifling mission you appoint to me, 
 Mr. Rayne ; it is full of responsibilities. But there !" and 
 she clapped her little hand firmly into his, " That means my 
 strongest resolution — I will do my best. You can ask no 
 
 more." 
 
 " God bless you !" the old man murmured slowly, 
 squeezing the slender fingers tenderly between both his 
 hands, " I am sure you will never regret it." 
 
 No other word was spoken. Henry Rayne had left the 
 room, and Honor stood there alone — stood with folded 
 hands and dreamy eyes — thinking. What a strange request 
 this had been ! How was she going to fulfil her promise 
 without betraying the real impulse that had spurred her to 
 make it ? How was she going to work her way into his 
 confidence, and yet guard her own? Oh, if this were a task 
 for Mr. Rayne's sake only, how easily she would convert it 
 into a pleasure ! but she had promised, that cancelled 
 all her misgivings. She would do it now, if it were in 
 woman's power, she would make it her duty, and with a 
 resolute will and an anxious heart, surely the accomplish- 
 ment would not prove too hard — " Only — if I had not seen 
 my want supplied in him —if I had not recognized in him 
 the hero of my life's dream. Oh, Guy ! What a joy it will 
 
52 Honor Edgeivort/i ; oi\ 
 
 be to me if I can teach you to come to me, turning your 
 back upon gaiety, and pleasure, and temptation, to sit by my 
 side, when the voice of a more powerful tempter is stifling 
 mine. What joy for me then ! — but no, I am wrong ! — it is 
 not my gratification I have been sent to seek ; this is a mere 
 duty. If I had loathed you at this moment, my duty is still 
 the same. Just now, it is not yoiir sake nor viine — it is 
 Henry Rayne's." 
 
 The door opened slowly and the croaky voice of the 
 
 old male servant broke upon her reverie. ; ; . 
 
 " Beg pardon Miss, but dinner is served." 
 
 Heroically she stowed away her emotions, the old 
 
 pleasant smile stole back into its home, and with a beaming 
 
 face and cheerful step she passed into the dining-room. 
 
 1 ) 
 
 4 
 
 l 
 
 ^' 
 
 ■■ I. ... ■■:■ '!•! 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. 53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Oh the snow, the beautiful snow- 
 Filling the sky and the earth below.' 
 
 [T will be a stormy night I think," Honor says, shrug- 
 ging her pretty shoulders behind the window-blind 
 she is just lowering, " I wish I had the stout brawny 
 arms of a man to-night . . . . " 
 
 " Around your waist?" says a voice from behind her, 
 and, suiting the action to the word, some one encircles her 
 slender waist with " stout brawny arms." 
 
 " Guy ! ! I have told you in plain English that I will 
 not allow you to take such freedom with me. This time, I 
 say, "y<? vous defends sirieusement de mettre vos bras. ... 
 
 " Oh ! that's enough, by Jove, you'd drive a fellow 
 crazy if he'd listen to you long enough, with your recitals 
 on maidenly propriety. Now, there's Miss Bella Dash — 
 many a season's belle — ^just chuckles with delight when I 
 get this broad cloth sleeve fairly around her blue satin basque." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say ! but society gives * poetical licences * 
 to her adopted children, which outside of her pale would 
 be simply atrocious. If Bella Dash saw your coat sleeve 
 around Betsy, the house-maid's basque, it would mean 
 another thing altogether, though Betsy's eyes are as fine as 
 Miss Bella's any day. 13esides, you must have learned by 
 now that the ' Bella Dash's ' of Ottawa society to-day are 
 )wthing to me. My sympathy for my sex goes out to the 
 whole species and when I offer it to individuals, I exclude 
 the ' Miss Dash's' that make the ^tableaux vivants^ of the 
 modern drawing-room." 
 
 " By Jove ! that is a fine speech Honor ; now see here 
 between you and me (I might also add the only two sensible 
 people in Ottawa) what do you think would become of us 
 young enthusiastic fellows if all the ' girls ' stood on their 
 high-heeled dignity like you ? Why of course the monas- 
 teries and lunatic asylimis would have more to do, and by 
 and by, the lunatic asylum would have it all ; but destiny is 
 
54 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 not so cruel a tyrant as you, so she makes your haughty 
 kind the exception and not the rule. " 
 
 Honor laughed, a low curious laugh, and said : - 
 
 "Then she is very kind to me^ to have made me realize 
 soon enough how much too worthy I am to be any man's 
 pastime ; a toy for him to play with until the paint is rubb- 
 ed off — then to be flung aside for something new. If that 
 is all Bella Dash and her prototypes, are worth in your es- 
 timation, it is no wonder they are proud, and no wonder 
 they hold their heads high enough to sniff the air over the 
 heads of girls, who, were you to use their names as you do 
 Miss Dash's, would level you to the ground." 
 
 " My most supreme stand-ollfish friend, I hope sincerely 
 you won't i)reach any of these theories around our gay little 
 city. \Vhy, the young ladies here are just a jolly crowd, 
 who don't transmogrify their whole faces because a fellow 
 likes to spoon now and then to kill time. By Jove ! you'd 
 spoil the fun for the winter, and as soon as spring came the 
 whole male element of Ottawa City would ' make ' for the 
 fresh pastures of the North-West." 
 
 " That is a worthy declaration Mr. Elersly, I must say. 
 I hope you are aware that in speaking thus, you risk the 
 good opinion of your respectable sensible friends — if you 
 have any — outside of this house. It is cold so near 
 the window ; let me pass please. I prefer a seat by the fire 
 to this stupid argument here in the window recess." 
 
 The mischievous smile died out of Guy's handsome 
 face, as he looked earnestly into the beautiful eyes of the 
 girl standing by him. 
 
 " Oh yes ! of course " said he, with a sigh, " anything 
 is stupid in my company ; although I come to you when I'm 
 in good spirits for sympathy, as well as when I'm * blue ' for 
 consolation : you always find it dull and stupid, and you 
 don't hesitate to tell me either. If I bore you so dreadfully, 
 I'll be off." 
 
 Honor looked up suddenly ; she stretched out her 
 hand and laid it on his shoulder ; her voice was changed 
 and earnest as she said : ' Stay Guy, and we'll talk it over 
 in a friendly way. There are two seats by the grate, and I 
 will be very amiable — I promise you." 
 
 There was a moment of hesitation — temptation — both 
 ways for Guy. At last he looked up, saying : ' I'm really 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 55 
 
 sorry, Honor, but I made an engagement for eight o'clock, 
 and I've only ten minutes to walk over half a mile ; so 
 we'll have to postpone our little ' veilUeT 
 
 She turned from him and looked into the fire. "Very 
 well," she answered quietly, " the night is stormy, but I sup- 
 pose you don't mind that." 
 
 " Not much," a fellow has to humour the weather for 
 the weather won't humour him. 
 
 " But by Jove ! its eight o'clock," said Guy, looking at 
 his watch, " and I'll be puckering my patrician brow to 
 invent an excuse for this delay. So ' ta-ta.' " 
 
 " (iood night," Honor said in a low voice, extending 
 her hand as Guy approached the fire to light his cigar. 
 Another moment, and the young girl was alone with her 
 thoughts. 
 
 We might stop here and wonder at the mysterious con- 
 ventionality that is influencing all our lives now-a-days. It is 
 not a deception, and yet its consequences are often the 
 same. Here was a striking instance of its existence. It 
 might have been noticed from the beginning of the last 
 interyiew that Honor and Guy had grown somewhat more 
 familiar with one another. It was Mr. Rayne's doings ; for 
 had he not interfered, the same cold mysterious distance 
 would still have been between them ; but there was no 
 sacrifice too great where he was concerned, and it was purely 
 for his sake the young people dispensed with the formality 
 of their early acquaintance. And yet, how superficial this 
 familiarity was on both sides ! Just now, look at them — 
 read their thoughts — see their hearts. 
 
 Guy closed the front door with a heavy bang and went 
 out into the street troubled. He was talking to himself: 
 " Such a farce, by Jove ! one would think she was a little 
 sister, by the way I try to speak, and if she only knew how 
 I struggle to suhocate the passion that rises within me, 
 when she looks up so earnestly out of her big dreaming 
 eyes ; it is sheer folly and I'll go mad if it must continue — 
 and yet — if uncle ever suspected my love he would separatt; 
 us then and there. But it is dangerous dust I am flinging 
 in his eyes by being free and easy with her in this way. In 
 a little while more I won't be able to trust myself, and (rod 
 liulp me then. Confound those Tea/le girls, only for their 
 invitation 1 would have stayed with Honor lo-nighl, but u 
 
66 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 fellow belongs to every one in this city before himself, and I 
 can't expect to escape." 
 
 ' ' Alas ! for the larity 
 Of Christian charity 
 Under the sun." 
 
 By this time he was mounting the steps of his board- 
 ing-house, and he flung the butt of his cigar violently at a 
 gaunt spare cat that just ventured its pinched countenance 
 from under the verandah. As he turned the latch-key, he 
 was indulging in a strain of " In the gloaming, oh ! my 
 darling " as though he were the happiest of living creatures. 
 
 For some moments after Guy left his uncle's house 
 Honor sat motionless reading the coals. She was troubled : 
 Mr. Rayne expected her to be able to entice his nephew 
 away from these never ending parties of pleasure, and she 
 could not. If she did not care for him quite so much, her 
 task would indeed be easier, indifference spurs on so to a 
 task that is mere duty. How miserable she was, here, all 
 alone, on his account, while he, where was he spending these 
 moments fraught with so much anxiety for her ? 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Rayne bustled in and, somewhat 
 surprised to find his little girl alone, he took the seat Honor 
 had placed for Guy, and settled himself for a comfortable 
 fireside chat. ' ' 
 
 SV 
 
 ■^m'' 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 57 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : 
 A thousand hearts beat happily : and when 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage-bell. " 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 ET US now contrast the two pictures which present 
 themselves to the imagination on this stormy winter 
 evening. One is quiet, usual, familiar ; the other is 
 noisy, glittering, but also familiar. One is the drawing- 
 room in Mr. Rayne's comfortable house, with the gaslight 
 falling gently over the silent room — it is not turned very 
 high. Mr. Rayne is dozing in an arm-chair. His hands 
 are folded across his breast, and his limbs are extended at 
 full length — he is dreaming. Honor is seated at the piano, 
 stealing her slender fingers over the ivory keys. It is a low, 
 rippling strain — Valse des Soupirs — such as fairies might 
 bring from their magic touch. 'Tis the music of her own 
 heart — the sound of her sighs, and she plays on softly, heed- 
 lessly. She is lost in the ecstacy of her own reverie. 
 
 We turn to the other side of the picture. Noisy strains 
 of dance music, merry peals of laughter, little snatches of 
 society gossip, beaming faces, silk and lace and flimsy love- 
 liness, bouquets and gloves, trains, handkerchiefs, fans and 
 flirtation, all in a sweet confusion. This is Ottawa at its 
 best, as every one allows when the Misses Teazle throw 
 aside their family portals for their annual ball. Every one 
 is there — married and single, young and old, homely and 
 pretty, rich and — (no ! not rich and poor), the rich only, 
 the powerful only, the most influential papas and the best- 
 dressed mammas that Ottawa can afford, and the "juveniles" 
 get in on pa's and ma's qualifications. It is the first private 
 ball since the opening of Parliament, and every one feels 
 very fresh for pleasure. The Misses Teazle themselves look 
 charming (what hostesses ever did not in Ottawa ?) and the 
 rest vie with one another. 
 
 We are somewhat confused on our entrance into the 
 
68 Honor Edgeivortti ; or^ 
 
 brilliant room, but some glaring objects attract our atten- 
 tion, thereby kindly taking that look of vacant bewilderment 
 out of our eyes. We have often wondered what the scene 
 was like inside those closed shutters, and here we are now, 
 transported all at once to the very midst of the interesting 
 proceedings. 
 
 There is a group near the door that we readily take in, 
 in our first sweeping glance round the room. Mrs. Moun- 
 tainhead, a lady prodigiously inclined to emhoyipomt^ looking 
 exceedingly warm and uncomfortable, is the central figure. 
 Her two daughters and their attendant cavaliers are also 
 there. But it is plain to see that Mrs. Mountainhead does 
 not enjoy the ball. She stands in holy awe of her aristocratic 
 daughters, who are just " fresh " from a very modern board- 
 ing-school. Every word she utters has an accompanying 
 look thrown either to the short-sighted full-complexioned 
 eldest daughter or to the slim, unprepossessing younger one, 
 seeking approval from their responsive glances. And, after 
 all, poor Mamma Mountainhead, in her ruby velvet and 
 Chantilly lace, has, by far, more brains of her own — if she 
 could get a license to use them — than either of her daughters 
 have ever admitted within the limits of their well-frizzed 
 heads. But who is the apparently devoted admirer of Miss 
 (lerty Mountainhead, who is leaning over her chair from be- 
 hind, with the top of his aquiline nose in ridiculous 
 proximity to her very red face ? Who but Mr. Guy Elersley ? 
 There he is, whispering all kinds of nothings into the 
 blushing, susceptible ear of dear Miss Gerty, never heeding 
 the thought of the lonely girl at the piano in the quiet home 
 of hj^ uncle. 
 
 Then there is a silvery laugh, and you hear the words — 
 
 " Well, between the Racquet court and the skating rink, 
 and calls, and going out, what do you think I could ever do ? 
 Why, the day is not half long enough as it is." 
 
 " Surely not, Miss Dash," a deep voice makes answer 
 in a tone of ouiet amusement, " you must be dreadfull)' 
 worried in trying to make things harmonize. You are so 
 tired at night that half the morning must go for repose, and 
 then—" 
 
 Here the speakers moved on and it was seen that Bella 
 1 )ash was hapj)y on the arm of a wealthy bachelor who was 
 fust becoming interesting to all female friends, mauuiii and 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. 60 
 
 daughters. It is easy to see at a glance that every one is 
 fooling every one else, and the male element in the room is 
 absorbing all the real fun. 
 
 With the exception of a few newly-appointed civil 
 servants who have " made their calls " and run an account 
 at the tailors, the other gentlemen are mostly well-versed in 
 the drawing-room slang and will certainly not bore their 
 fair partners by discussing anything outside of Rideau Hall, 
 or the other fashionable and interesting haunts of gay 
 winter festivities. These gallant knights are easily distinguish- 
 ed looking around the ball room with half-closed eyes (they 
 are mostly short-sighted), or parading their audible element 
 through the room with such a lazy drawl ! beautifully 
 substituting the r's with a perfectly Italianized "aw." 
 
 Among these indispensables, were Jack Fairmay, Willie 
 Aircy and a great many more of our " Sparks Street " 
 elegants. How much better they look on a freezing 
 afternoon with their noses blue and their fur caps pulled 
 comfortably down over their ears, than in the painfully 
 proper looking long-tailed broad cloth and white kids, 
 exactions of society's absolute laws. 
 
 All the blondes and brunettes of Centre Town and 
 Upper Town and Sandy Hill, all the " tony " Post Ofifice 
 clerks, all the young, flourishing, embryo and genuine 
 lawyers, doctors, engineers, rich lumber merchants, and civil 
 servants, ad infinitum were there. 
 
 What a gay picture ! What an interesting sight ! Who 
 would not love Ottawa for its self-made gouty papas and 
 its fat, airy, comfortable mamas ? Think of the wonderful , 
 influence of these thoroughly Christian women on the sphere 
 in which the)' shine. Even in this one gathering can we not 
 realize how the improvements and customs of the day cast 
 their benign influence over a mighty world,, through the 
 rising generation. Those dear pretty pink and white dimpled 
 darlings done up in ' illusion " and silks, how happy it 
 makes one feel only to look at them ! This must be 
 the nature of the remarks, Guy and another male friend 
 exchange in the bay window. Let us draw nearer. 
 
 " You're wrong, Bob my dear," Guy is saying, " I 
 agree with you they do look like fish-hooks strung in a row, 
 but I heard Miss Nellie Teazle tell Mrs. John Prim, that 
 
Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 that was the * Montagu ' style ; so excuse me for contradict- 
 ing you." 
 
 *' Oh ! don't mention it, the name almost redeems the 
 folly of the thing. By the way Elersley, you have been 
 * going it ' in rather a pronounced way with Miss Mountain- 
 head to-night. Is it too soon to be the tirst to congratulate ? " 
 
 " Oh Lord ! " Guy smothers the exclamation under his 
 heavy moustache. " You might try the names of all the 
 dear ones in succession on me. They're just immensely 
 jolly, you know, but I never heard of a young Ottawaite in 
 his sane sober senses, go choose his future wife in a ball- 
 room." 
 
 Just here, Miss Dash comes up and throws a coquettish 
 look at Guy through the opening in the curtains. He nods 
 a temporary good-bye to his companion and goes off to 
 claim the next waltz which Miss Dash has promised him ; 
 and, oh Guy ! naughty boy ! if he is not saying over the 
 identical pretty nothings to Miss Bella, that are yet filling 
 the heart of Miss Mountainhead with a delicious souvenir 
 of him. 
 
 In another corner of the room Bob Aplcy is " spooning " 
 most suggestively with the same Miss MacArgent whose 
 " fish-hooks " he has just been ridiculing so mercilessly. 
 This of course is pardonable according to the world's wise 
 indulgent maxims, especially when we consider that Miss 
 MacArgent's father's income, daily, is almost identical with 
 the amount of dollars and cents that find their way to the 
 pockets of the impecunious Bob in a whole year. 
 
 Besides Emily is rather a good-looking specimen of the 
 " foreign " belles that winter in Ottawa, and some one even 
 said last winter that one of the Governor-General's Aides-de 
 
 Camp and she oh ! we all know how the green-eyed 
 
 monster tortured the hearts of the poor belles of countless 
 seasons, when they saw their indisputable rights usurped by 
 a comparative stranger. The two Misses Begg, for instance, 
 who have been twenty-five and iwenty-six respectively for 
 the last eight years, waiting for the turn in their lives, that 
 will never come, have cause for bitter complaint. The same 
 faces are here that are ever on exhibition as the champion 
 tennis player, the champion skater, another an unrivalled 
 waltzer, and some more distinguished vocalists and instru- 
 mental performers. These grow wearisome once the 
 
Ottawa^ s Fresetit Tense. 61 
 
 novelty wears off. There is nothing in them besides the 
 foam that blows away after a little and leaves no trace of its 
 once august presence. 
 
 We will make our adieus gladly to the affected civil ser- 
 vants, the young embryo professionals, the rich independent 
 bachelors, the corpulent papas and mamas, the famous 
 tennis, skating, singing, dancing and playing heroines, and 
 go joyfully back to the snug little parlor of Henry Rayne, 
 where sits the only one sensible girl we^have seen to-night. 
 
 She has ceased playing ; and is now sitting by a low 
 table with her lovely head bent earnestly over a lap full of 
 wool-work. The little clock goes ticking on through the 
 noiseless moments that come and go and still her busy 
 fingers ply hurriedly through the stitches. At last it is ten 
 o'clock and instinctively she rises, puts away her wools and 
 needle, and goes over to the chair which yet supports the 
 sleeping figure of Henry Rayne. 
 
 " Good night, Grandpapa," she says softly in his ear. 
 
 He hears the low sweet whisper. Her voice would pene- 
 trate the depth of death itself for him, he fancies. She said 
 "(irandpapa." She only calls him that when she is sad, 
 whenever a sense of bitter loneliness fills her heart, making 
 her miss a kind mother and her dear handsome father most. 
 
 He opens his eyes instantly and raises his hand to 
 draw the pretty bowed head closer still to his. 
 
 " Good-night, my dear little child. How stupid of me 
 to have dozed here all night leaving you by yourself" 
 
 " Don't fret. Grandpa dear, I love your company, and 
 all that, but remember I am never less alone than when 
 alone, and an evening by myself is never lost to me." 
 
 " No, my pretty one, but you must grow tired some 
 day thinking so incessantly, I must try and clistract you ; it 
 is dreadful of me to keep you housed up, so secluded, when 
 there is so much for your youth and beauty to enjoy out- 
 side. May be I'm responsible for many a sigh you've 
 heaved lately, but it never struck me you see, my pretty 
 darling, that our sentiments and sympathies run so widely 
 apart, it is not very surprising if an old prosy bachelor 
 should forget to ferret out the pleasures of youth, to bestow 
 them on a fair young beautiful thing like you," 
 
 " Oh -ho, now dear old Grandpa, you have been sleep- 
 ing and dreaming of somebody you are mistaking for me. 
 
62 
 
 Honor Edgeivorth : or, 
 
 Don't fret for not spoiling me more than you do. I am 
 pampered enough dear knows. Good-night, I am sleepy 
 too, and I think a night's rest would not be detrimental to 
 either of us, eh grandfather ? " and kissing him tenderly on 
 both cheeks, she skipped out through the open doorway 
 and ran up to her own little room. 
 
 * 
 
Ottau'd's Present Jefise. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' Grace was in all her steps 
 
 Heaven in her eye 
 In every ji^esture, dignity and love. 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 ^^^OHERE was no nonsense about Honor F^dgeworth. 
 /\^ Anyone should like her. There may have been traits 
 ^'^^i;:^ in her character that would elicit no sympathy from 
 a^^ some, but they either forget the extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances that influenced her young life, or else they are 
 l)rejudiced against such individuals as she, whose eyes are 
 widely opened to all the existing follies and extravagances 
 of her species. 
 
 Honor would have grown up and bloomed to ornament 
 a far fairer land than Canada ; her too enthusiastic nature 
 would have been infinitely better developed in another 
 world, but it is useless to sit down and mourn over the 
 *' might have beens " that are always such a loss to us, 
 because we see them, devoid of all the disadvantages 
 realization brings to bear on our own sad experience. 
 
 Honor was not even one of those exceptionable women 
 created, not out of the slime of the earth, but conceived in 
 the romantic mind of some extravagant novelist, and brought 
 into the world by his magic pen. No 'adeed, she had 
 certainly a beautiful face, almost a faultless face, but how 
 many have cursed the day when first they knew their own 
 beauty ! How many look back over pages and pages of 
 awful crimes and shameful deeds, and the index page, the 
 starting point, is their beautiful face. So do not be too 
 hasty in envying the physical perfection or loveliness of 
 others. Rejoice that you have it not ; the want of it must 
 be your salvation. Know well that if it is not yours, it is 
 because the possession and consciousness thereof would 
 lead you to evil, and it is one of those things for which God 
 has his own wise ends. 
 
 Perhaps if Honor had mixed with the feminine world 
 more intimately she would not be the standard of maidenly 
 modesty and reserve that she was in her nineteenth year ; 
 
64 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 but in her there was an utter absence of that self- 
 sufificiency and loudness that is painfully prominent now- 
 a-days in the very city we inhabit. And yet in all her 
 meekness and mildness if you by look or word injured the 
 extreme sense of delicacy that was the under current of all 
 her movements, then — she reared her aristocratic chin high 
 in the air and looked down upon you in such scorn and 
 anger, as wounded innocence alone can assume. One curl 
 of that splendid lip, one flash from that cold grey eye and 
 you did not lake long to feel how basely you had lowered 
 yourself, and that a pardon craved on your knees could 
 scarce half atone for the offence. 
 
 What a loss to the social world that women of her 
 stamp are not more plentiful ! What on earth else can 
 redress social evils if not the redeeming influence of good 
 Christian determined women ? Why should they not hold 
 the key to the good impulses, the moral treasures of man- 
 kind as well as they wind themselves into the evil nature by 
 enticing the susceptible, dealing out gratification to the 
 willing, and dragging souls blindfolded into an irremediable 
 eternity? 
 
 Physiognomists tell us, if we can not observe it for 
 ourselves, that there exists not only that universal difference 
 among things, which makes genus, species, classes, etc., but 
 that even among individuals there is no perfect resemblance 
 found. There are the general prominent traits that serve to 
 classify them, but perhaps there is more difference among 
 the individuals of a species, when examined minutely, than 
 there would be between individuals of a different genus. 
 
 This is so true of the human species, which is difficult to 
 judge individually on account of the incessant mysterious 
 hidden workings of that ever active faculty of the soul, 
 which manifests itself so differently to other eyes through 
 actions and words of greater or less import. 
 
 This is a digression, but, it came from contemplating 
 the singular beauty of one woman's soul, among the tarnished 
 multitude of victims to that social levity and those superficial 
 virtues that society honors, and with which our modern 
 fashionable women persuade themselves they are doing 
 marvels in the vrorld of good. 
 
 If I niake a paragon of Honor Edgeworth, it is because 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 65 
 
 I can defy any broad-minded, unprejudiced critic to find a 
 single grievous fault in her character. 
 
 Besides the ordinary cultivation of her mind in all its 
 faculties, Honor had another and a nobler ambition. She 
 had accjuired all the requisite knowledge to fit her for any 
 station in life, from that of a nursery governess to that of the 
 highest lady in the land. Her learning was not a smattering 
 of this and that — a few words of German, a great deal too 
 many of her own tongue, a well-studied enthusiasm for Ten- 
 nyson and Longfellow, and may be now and then a word for 
 the " Lake " school poets. AVho has not met in their long 
 or short run of experience with the modern graduate who 
 " perfectly idolized " Tennyson or Byron, who " raved " 
 about Shelley's poetical mysticism, or who was " fairly en- 
 chanted " with (ioethe's deep romanticism. In some of her 
 peculiar phases she even reckons as items of her illimitable 
 knowledge selections from her " favorites " among the 
 I'rench romancists, or the realistic school may be more to 
 her taste. She rolls up her eyes for Mozart and Beethoven 
 and Gottschalk, but her heart thumps for Offenbach, La- 
 mothe or Strauss. To make herself* interesting" in society 
 she has " burned the midnight oil " over " David Copj)er- 
 fiekl," "Dombey and Son," " Jane Eyre," " East Lynne,'"' 
 " Kndymion " and other popular volumes as they gain fame. 
 She can sing snatches from all the finest operas, in Italian, 
 German or French. She can dance the Boston and 
 Rush Polka with unrivalled grace ; she can flirt and 
 r.ffect the most b^^coming airs ; she never misses a mathiee 
 jr evening performance at the Grand Opera House ; she 
 can do the " grape-vine " excjuisitely on her silver-plated 
 skates, and can toss the tennis ball with wonderful dexterity. 
 
 All this relates to the effects of the superficial cultiva- 
 tion that our women are getting in this century. A mind 
 polished so that the *' rough " cannot manifest itself; a little 
 veneering of knowledge and showy accomplishment's, but a 
 heart, alas ! — ignored and neglected ; the source of all 
 womanly perfection blocked up and destroyed — that is the 
 sacrifice that will alone appease the world in its most sensual 
 phase of to-day : the sacrifice complete and universal of 
 women's hearts. Ah ! how soon they nourish the briers 
 and thistles of cold indifference and unchristian feeling. In 
 opposition to this sad spectacle I come back to Honor 
 
 5 
 
66 Honor Edgeicort/i ; or, 
 
 Edgeworth by her bedside, on her knees, at her evening 
 prayer. Here' is a woman who has moulded her heart ac- 
 cording to the law of Christ : " Be ye perfect, as your 
 Heavenly Father is perfect." Here is a woman who is 
 learned, wise and simple, gay, light-hearted and pious, con- 
 fiding and discreet ; one who can redeem the loss of many 
 because temptation assailed her and left her the victor. 
 
 Long after Honor lay sleeping peacefully, her pink 
 cheeks buried in the soft pillows, Mr. Rayne sat thinking in 
 the arm chair below. It was growing i)ainfully evident lo 
 him that his darling j)rotegt'e was now budding into all the 
 fullness and maturity of womanhood, and had she been his 
 own daughter he would have introduced her formally into 
 society by now. This was what troubled him. He did not 
 relish the idea of sending this fair delicate morsel out among 
 the chills and dangers of a cold world. And yeL if influenced 
 by this good intention, he deprived her of the seeming advan- 
 tages that active life in society affords, and if in later 
 years she would reproach him as the cause of some misfor- 
 tune or other, what would these probably groundless fears 
 avail him in his defence ? She was old enough to know- 
 danger, and she had spoken to him already of the world as 
 though her experience of it was great and sufficient. Per- 
 haps all she needed for a final confirmation of her opinions 
 of the degradation of that same world was a trial of it. And 
 should he wrong her by depriving her of it through a false 
 motive ? 
 
 Whatever way he turned the argument it looked like a 
 dilemma. He should either send her " out" or not. If he 
 pursued the former course, the advantages were six, tlie 
 disadvantages half-a-dozen. If the latter, the advantages 
 were twelve, the disadvantages a dozen, so that he found 
 himself almost unecjual to the solution of the problem. 
 
 IJye-and-bye however, he resolved to come to some 
 conclusion, and thus by getting angry with himself, he nar- 
 rowed the two inclinations into one, and that assumed the 
 shape of a final decision to give her the same chances as 
 Ottawa's other comfortable daughters. 
 
 Once his resolution was made, matters grew^ easy. He 
 would write to a widowed cousin who was living a secluded 
 life in Western Ontario, inducing her to share his home, and 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 67 
 
 the responsibility that weighed upon him of giving his 
 adopted child her due. 
 
 This lady had mourned her departed husband in soli- 
 tary seclusion for nigh eight years, and it struck Mr. Rayne 
 on this eventful evening tiiat may be she would find pleasure 
 in a change. 
 
 Thus was Honor's destiny slowly deciding itself in the 
 troubled mind of her benefactor while she lay blissfully un- 
 concious, fast asleep among a heap of downy pillows, with 
 one fair hand thrown carelessly over her head and a little 
 stray curl or two nestling on her warm flushed brow. ^ : 
 
 Satisfied with his final judgment, Mr. Rayne called for 
 a light and escorted himself to the downy arms of his 
 comfortable bed, and when we next take a peep — for of 
 course we've not intruded for the few moments he was say- 
 ing his prayers — he is snoring the snore of the truly heavy 
 sleeper, and his big good-natured face scarcely discernible 
 among night-cap, pillows and sheets, easily convinces one 
 of the indisputable quiescence of the mind's consciousness 
 in slumber. 
 
 Is it not almost equivalent to the acomplishment of the 
 deed itself when we have fallen asleep the night before with 
 the resolution of performing it on the morrow ? is not 
 the wrong almost redressed when we have promised our 
 selves to right it at any cost on the morrow ? Is not the 
 thought itself e(jual to the vow if we know that with the 
 morning's sun we shall rise to make it in reality ? One feels 
 all the satisfaction of a deed accomplished in anticipation, 
 and God be thanked for this, for how many weary souls 
 ir.ust have made their last night on earth endurable, by the 
 peace of mind that such resolutions infallibly bring. 
 
 This explains the comfort and utter heedlessness 
 of Mr. Rayne's slumber after such a miserable time as 
 ho passed arguing against himself in his drawing-room. He 
 had vowed that he would broach the tender subject to 
 Honor the very next day, and thus free himself from any 
 more hours of self-reproach. 
 
 '.•■fi'J V/'O'i;': -> • ;' ■: ■ . \ : ■'«< > 
 
i^i^ Jlotwr Ed^eivorth : o?% 
 
 n,', ':''' '' 
 
 \ '--J- 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "They say the maxim is not new, 
 
 That frood and evil mixed must be 
 In every thing this worhl can show." 
 
 — Fairy and the Inr. 
 
 *HE next morning dawned a calm, mild day. The 
 ^ snow was knee-deep on the ground and covered the 
 f^^^ housetops with a thick soft mantle. On how many 
 a*^ utterly different scenes the stray sunbeams rested 
 that winter morning ! Nearly all the heroines of Miss Teazle's 
 ball were sunk in heavy, tired slumber, in rooms strewn with 
 laces and flowers and other fragments of last night's dissi- 
 pation. The poor over-exerted mammas are neither able to 
 rise nor to sleep, and their pitiably puckered brows and sour 
 looking faces would excite the sympathy of the most cyni- 
 cal misanthrope. 
 
 And yet, perhaps if not reminded, some readers 
 would be tasteless enough to overlook the noble sac- 
 rifice these mothers were making of the comfort of their 
 lives in order to "chaperone " their stylish daughters to all 
 the haunts of pleasure. These poor fashionable women 
 must indeed drain life's cup of bitterness to the dregs, if we 
 can judge Irom the worldly girl's soliloquy. 
 
 % 
 
 Who rigs herself in satins light, 
 And goes to parties every night, 
 To chaperone her daughters bright ? - 
 
 My mother. 
 
 \Vho eats late suppers to her grief, 
 (^f jellied turkeys and roast beef, 
 And finds no dyspeptic relief? 
 
 My mother. 
 
 Who tries to talk with pompous air, ... 
 And saturates with dye her hair, 
 To gratify her daughters fair ? 
 
 My mother. 
 
Otiawd!s Present Tense. . 6*J 
 
 Who snubs our neighlwr Mrs. Ik-ll, 
 In poorer days we knew so well, 
 And tales of woe did (jften tell ? 
 » My mother 
 
 Who calls at "Rideau" and all 'round, 
 Where rank and titles do al)()un(l, 
 And boasts of cousins newly found ? 
 
 My mother. 
 
 \Vht) fears to bow to poorer kin, 
 For fear her daughters will begin 
 To growl and scold as though 'twere sin ? 
 
 My mother. 
 
 I give the intelligent reader ten minutes to pause and 
 moralize after digestion. . I 
 
 I anticipate the look of stupid wonder that must neces- 
 sarily envelope the face. If there is so much in individual 
 intluence in the lower circle, what can one expect from the 
 nuiltitude that must submit to a thousand other decrees 
 coming imperatively from the infallible (?) lips of society 
 herself? How can we do otherwise than substitute for 
 truth and simplicity, deception and affectation ? What else 
 can we do but fail to recognize one another in the charac- 
 ters we are forced to assume ? Is it surprising that good 
 and wise men from their corners of seclusion call the world 
 degenerate, and wonder at the persistent wrong-doing of 
 those who are the work of such merciful hands ? Strange 
 to say, most of us know, or pretend to know, that 
 life is all deception ; that the world itself, and those who 
 belong to it are essentially, almost necessarily, selfish ; that 
 the goodness and charity which circulate at rare intervals 
 are only the superfluities of comfort, proceeding from no 
 generous impulse whatever. It is not dealt out at the sacri^ 
 t'lce of a ciust of bread. It is given so that it may not be left. 
 
 Oh, the weakness of humanity after nineteen centuries 
 of fortification ! Oh, the despicable degradation of a race 
 conceived in an Eternal Mind, created by an Infinite Hand, 
 redeemed by the voluntary sacrifice of a Ood, and sanctified 
 by the Spirit that pervades the universe ! 
 
 Knowing this, realizing this, as most of us do, why do 
 wc not make a move towards independence ? Not the in- 
 dependence of the State, that gratifies the paltry ambition of 
 
70 Honor Ed}!;eworth ; or, 
 
 thousands ; not that social independence whose meaning 
 has of late been so shamefully misapplied ; not even the 
 individual independence that satisfies many. These are but 
 names. I mean that independence that leaves one unfet- 
 tered by one's self ; that makes one victor over one's own 
 evil tendencies and impulses — for man has no enemy so 
 cunning as himself If he cannot conquer his own inclina- 
 tions to error, how is he going to subdue them in others ? 
 
 If we are slaves, mentally and morally to our sensual 
 selves— if we raise the material element above the sjMritual 
 within us, we then lose the right of opinion on good or evil, 
 for a man that is passion's slave is the mouth-piece of evil, 
 and an active agent of the enemy of mankind ! If we open 
 our volumes of literature, every page bears a reflection of 
 some kind on these things. 
 
 For instance, see what a great writer says, st)eaking of 
 the dei:eption in life : 
 
 " I am weary . i , . 
 
 Of the Lv,wildt;ring masqueradL- of life — 
 Where strnngers walk as friends and friends as strangers, 
 Where whispers overhead l)etray false hearts ; 
 And through the mazes of the crowd we chase 
 Some form of loveliness that smiles and beckons, 
 And cheats us with fair words, to leave us 
 A mockery and a jest, maddened, confused — 
 Not knowing friend from foe." , , ,,, 
 
 Every one who chooses to think at all has a thought in 
 common on the c[uestion. In a biography of George Eliot, 
 Hutton speaks of the manners of good society as "a kind of 
 social costume or disguise which is in fact much more 
 effective in concealing how much of depth ordinary charac- 
 ters have, and in restraining the expression of universal 
 human instincts and feelings, than in hiding individualities 
 the distinguishing inclinations, talents, bias and tastes of 
 those who assume them. After all, what we care chiefly to 
 know of men and women is not so much their special bias or 
 tastes as the general depths and mass of the human nature 
 that is in them — the breadth and power of their life, its com- 
 prehensiveness of grasp, its tenacity of instinct, its capaqjty 
 for love and its need for trust." 
 
 I fear we will never find this among the leading men 
 and women of our day. (Ireat minds, like George Eliot's, 
 
OUaica's Present Tense. 74' 
 
 ^vhcn they wish to spend their genius in written books, will 
 leave the lighted hall where refinement and Iwn-ton hold 
 their nightly revels, and will descend to the huts of laborers 
 and mechanics that form one distinct phase of ICnglish life. 
 Like Charlotte Bronte, and some others, she seeks substance 
 for her work in a true, open character, and that is rarely 
 found among the educated classes, who learn from books to 
 unlearn the lessons of nature. 
 
 We will now leave the "lollipop" darlings of material 
 nature and pass on out of their dishevelled untidy 
 rooms, leaving their [)ainted faces and powdered heads to 
 spin out the late morning among the blankets, and seek 
 [gratification elsewhere. It is breakfast-time in Henry Rayne's 
 house and the curling steam rises in graceful clouds from 
 the hot tasty dishes that Mrs. Potts concocts with so much 
 an. Honor, Nanette and Mr. Rayne are as usual the only 
 l)arti(ipants of the wholesome things. Honor has just come 
 in, fresh and rosy, all smiles as she teps up to Mr. Rayne's 
 chair with a cheery good-morning. Then kneeling beside 
 her guardian, and looking into his kindly face, she says 
 shyly : 
 
 " I have something to tell you all, a surprise, and 
 don't begin breakfast before you know it. If I were not a 
 little orphan this morning, I would let it pass likely, but 
 having only you and Nanette I must tell you, that you may 
 not spare your kind wishes for me. To-day is my twentieth 
 birthday ! " . . 
 
 Mr. Rayne rose instantly to his feet and his eyes looked 
 suspiciously moist as he kissed her tenderly on the brow. 
 Then Honor turned to Nanette, but the poor woman was 
 weeping mournfully in her blue handkerchief. 
 
 '' I'll never forgive myself," she was saying, " to have 
 forgotten your birthday above everything else, and your dear 
 kind father when he gave you to me, a tiny thing in my 
 arms, said, ' she will be a year the 24th February, don't ever 
 forget the day,' and there it slipped from me this time and 
 I never thought of it." 
 
 Honor flung her arms round the old creature's neck 
 and drowned her re[)roaches in a volley of kisses. 
 
 " Don't mind that Nanny dear, say you wish me a 
 
t2 Honor EdgCK>ortk ; or^ 
 
 good Christian life for the next year and you will have done 
 your duty." 
 
 " (iod grant it you, my pretty child." ^ 
 
 ' " Amen," answered Mr. Rayne's deep voice as he left 
 the room. 
 
 Honor looked up surprised, but in a few moments her 
 guardian returned with a morocco jewel case in his hands. 
 He placed it in hers, saying, " May you live to wear it out 
 in goodness and virtue, and may ( lod spare you from the 
 snares of this wicked world." ' 
 
 With trembling fingers Honor opened the little box 
 which revealed to view a spangling collection of diamonds. 
 It was an oval locket, profusely set with diamonds with her 
 initials turned artfully on the surface. Inside were the 
 miniature pictures of her father and mother. She laid 
 down the costly gift and went over to her benefactor with 
 tear-dimmed eyes. She put both her slender arms around 
 his neck and pressed one long fervent kiss upon the old 
 man's brow. 
 
 " Are you determined, dear Mr. Rayne, to put me 
 under an everlasting obligation to you ? Are you not 
 satisfied with bestowing those tokens that I might in time 
 repay by constant love and care, without forcing such a splen- 
 did gift as this on me ? Really your kindness begins to make 
 me uncomfortable, for it is amounting to a debt I can never 
 repay. And where did you get these dear, dear pictures, 
 and how did you have it ready and all for my birthday ? " 
 
 " ^Vell, my dear, say we sit down and I'll answer all 
 your questions to the music of knives and forks. I have 
 had a miniature likeness of your father in my possession for 
 many years, and it had often struck me, if I could but 
 procure one of your mothei's too, how it would please me 
 to have them set together in a locket for you. The other 
 day I was taken nicely out of my dilemma by finding an 
 old-fashioned locket of yours by the fire in the library. I 
 borrowed it for the short space of a few days until I had 
 coi)ies taken from it, and then Nanette kindly slipped it 
 back into your jewel-case for me. I then ordered the 
 little receptacle that you have admired so much and I only 
 received the whole last night. Strangely enough too, thai 
 it should have come just in time. I would have given it to 
 
Ottawa^ Present Tense. 
 
 73 
 
 you immediately anyway, because of something 1 am going 
 to di^^ uss with you in the library after breakfast." 
 
 Honor was still looking intently down at the open case 
 beside her plate when he fmished the last sentence, but she 
 looked uj) suddenly as he ceased, with a glance of eager 
 inquiry in her eyes. 
 
 " It may startle you, Honor, or may not, but we'll see 
 to that." 
 
 A little more rattling of plates and cutlery, a few more 
 clouds of steam from the rich coffee, a series of disconnected 
 gay sentences and ejaculations and the meal was over. The 
 grave tones of Mr. Rayne's voice filled the room in a prayer 
 of thanksgiving, and with the last echo of the *' Amen," 
 Honor and her guardian came out from the dining-room 
 into the library arm in arm. 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
 ,1 .(■■ 
 
 
 f% 
 
 ..</,' t 
 
 ■.--•':, 't''l^>->t^'-' 
 
74 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 /(i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Her life, I said . . j, 
 
 Will be a volume wherein I have read. 
 Iiut the tirst chapters, and no longer see • . 
 
 To read the rest of the dear history. " 
 
 .,,;,- — Longfellino. i' 
 
 ^ONOR had just taken up her crocheting and was 
 
 /y plying her needle busily when Mr. Rayne drew 
 his heavy leathern chair opposite to the fire 
 and began : 
 
 " WHl, my dear little girl, here you are a young woman 
 all at once on my hands, and to me you are yet the childish 
 little thing you were three years ago in the railway carriage 
 at the Manchester Depot. But the world won't see things 
 to suit a short-sighted old bachelor like me, and according 
 to that omnipotent, omniscient world, it is now my duty to 
 introduce you into society ; to bring you * out ' into Ottawa 
 life, that you may make a display of all the accomplishments 
 which fortune has bestowed upon you. I will introduce you 
 to a world that will not hesitate in v. predating all the 
 })hysical, mental, and moral beauty, you may choose to 
 display in it. My duty will then be completed for another 
 while. Now what is your opinion on it? You will have 
 Mrs. D'Alberg, my widowed cousin from Guelph, to 
 chaperone you, you have ' carte blanche ' as regards toilet 
 expenditure, and my house is open and at your service 
 henceforth." 
 
 All along a smile of slow astonishment had been 
 creeping over Honor's beautiful face, but instead of any 
 showy enthusiasm either way, as Mr. Rayne had 
 certainly expected, she straightened out the rosette of lace 
 work on her knee and clapped it with her little palm. Then 
 drawing a long breath she said : 
 
 '*So ! it has come to this. Well, my dear Mr. Rayne, 
 if my position in your house exacts an entrie into society, 
 I most willingly go forth to it, though had you never spoken 
 of it, it had never entered my mind. I am prejudiced, it is 
 true, against society, but I defy its influence over mc. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. w> 
 
 Every woman owes her mite to the social world, and con- 
 sequently 1 owe mine, so as soon as you wish it Mr. Rayne, 
 1 am yours to command," 
 
 She had scarcely finished the words when the door 
 was flung open and the words and air of " I'll live for love 
 or die " filled the room. Ke was just continuing " I'll 
 live for lo 
 
 " O pardon, a hundred thousand times, Miss Edge- 
 worth and uncle, 1 didn't really think the room was inhabited 
 at such an early hour in the morning, but the fact that it is, 
 only enchants me all the more, I assure you." 
 
 " \Vell, well, Guy ; you are a ' case.' How are you this 
 morning? Have you breakfasted ?" 
 
 " Well, uncle, I thank you ; and to your second kind 
 (|uery, I respectfully beg to inform you that I helped to 
 clear away Mrs. Best's table this morning vjry perceptibly. 
 Not that I had any particular relish for her compositions — 
 which were yesterday's lunch and last night's dinner done 
 over d la /'>rt'«(;77y-Rooshan-hash-up ! but then a fellow by 
 natural instinct owes himself the indispensable duty of eating 
 his breakfast, and as a slave to duty, I, this morning, about 
 an hour ago, ate my breakfast." 
 
 " Well, for goodness sake ! as a duty to your fellow- ' 
 creatures talk sense. Here, sit down," Mr. Rayne contin- 
 ued, rising himself, " I must excuse myself for half-an-hour. 
 I've not nad a look at the Citizen yet, and I must be off 
 soon to official duties." 
 
 Guy Elersley was vvell satisfied to be a substitute in Mr. 
 Rayne's vacant chair. He had not laid himself out for such 
 good luck when he turued into his uncle's on this eventful 
 morning, so his appreciation was consequently all the more 
 vivid. 
 
 " You're bright and early. Honor, for a young lady on 
 a winter morning," he said, as he drew his chair towards the ' 
 
 fire, •/ '" ">; .• ; ■ 
 
 " Not unusiiatly^o for Honor Edgeworth — and that 
 means a young lady, doesn't it ?" 
 
 " That's right ; snub a fellow right and left when he 
 forgets to isolate you from the whole living, breathing crea- 
 tion. Then you are not bright and early -will that do ?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Elersley," said Honor, in a provokingly 
 placid way, " don't exert yourself so violently in contradicting 
 
16 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 your own free, unextracted observations. You can amuse 
 me in a dozen other different ways as well." 
 
 " Oh, bother ! Come now, Honor, leave off that ice 
 water business, and give a fellow a word of welcome after being 
 out in the cold. Put away that bundle of thread you're 
 fooling with there this half-hour. You have not taken your 
 eyes from off it yet, nor spoken a decent word since 1 
 came in." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Honor, drawing a feigned sigh, "I 
 suppose when a child's spoiled it's spoiled, that's all, and 
 you must humor it." "Now," folding up her work, " what 
 have you to say worth the trouble you've given me ?" 
 
 "Oh nothing I could tell you would be that in your 
 opinion. I was at a big ' shine ' last night at Miss Tea/le's, 
 and feasted my eyes on all Ottawa has to show in the way 
 of female loveliness." 
 
 " And you have come to spend the gush of your emo- 
 tions consequent to such a feast on me, have you ?" 
 
 "No, Honor, I have not. I did see deuced pretty girls, 
 but the emotion, as you call it, vanished as I handed the 
 last fair bundle of shawls into her carriage. While the light 
 burns, you know, the moth hangs around it ; but when the 
 flame goes out, spent in a weary flicker, after ' braving it ' 
 for a whole night, the moth goes to roost, when he has not 
 been singed, or otherwise jjersonally damaged without insur- 
 ance. Well, what are you thinking of now? when you cross 
 your arms, bury your gaze in the fire and strike your slipper 
 with such measured beat on the fender, I know you're 
 not paying much attention to what I am saying." 
 
 She drew a long breath as though no answer were re- 
 c^uired, and then in a quiet, low tone she said, 
 
 "Guy, do not talk in that light way of any woman. I know 
 what you men have long accustomed yourselves to believe 
 that woman was made purposely for your pleasure ; ' Man for 
 God only, she for (iod in him,' — but, all the same that do-js 
 not exact the ratification of Heaven. If my sisters cf Ottawa 
 society, with whom you one moment amuse yourself, and 
 the next amuse your listeners with a recital of their follies, 
 are weak enough to seek to gratify you and your kind, 'tis 
 not that such a weakness is a natural inheritance, for every 
 woman who realizes her true worth, knows what a grand 
 mission is before her, and con.jeiiucntly crushes such an 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 77 
 
 absurd theory as fashionable women are brought up to be- 
 lieve from their infancy. Perhaps I am too sensitive on 
 this point, if such a thing could be ; but it is the awful 
 wrong which is being done to our sex that fires my indigna- 
 tion thus. And then there are those poor deluded 'ornamental 
 women ' who sanction that outrage on their own dignity by 
 sitting with folded hands, taking in all the nonsense which 
 is dealt out to them when they should gather up their skirts 
 and shrink aw^ay from you as their inveterate enemies, liaise 
 laces lead them astray ; but there are others who see behind 
 them."' 
 
 " Yes, by Jove ! And you are one who can see through the 
 hair of a fellow's head. Well, Honor, it's plain to see, that you 
 and I cannot agree. There's an involuntary performance of 
 'rhyme' for you ; excuse me for so doing, but I could not 
 withhold it. I said that we don't agree, and it is true. You 
 are (juite too tremendously proper for me, and I am just too 
 ' galoptiously ' awful for you. wSo begin to maul that wool 
 over again, and I'll go to my respectable office in the respec- 
 table Eastern Block, and there I am sure of finding half-a- 
 dozen eager friends with their pens behind their ears 
 wheeled around on their office stools, (juite ready to hear all 
 the ' news ' that you reject with such dignity." 
 
 "Then go. Sow your seed in fertile ground; but if 
 you speak so lightly of any woman in presence of an office 
 full of men, as you do to me, I cry,— shame on you and 
 your listeners." 
 
 She had taken tin. soft bundle of crochet work in her 
 lap again, and as she bent her indignant face over its intricate 
 stitches, (iuy could not help acknowledging to himself, that 
 this was the fairest vision man had ever beheld. How was 
 it that her name never crossed his lips in fun ? He would 
 have torn the tongue from its roots before uttering hers in 
 jest. He stood at the door, with the knob in his hand, 
 trying to extract one word of earnest friendshii) from her. 
 but the serious frown never relaxed itself on her brow, ana 
 her mouth was set and stern. -He could not stand this : he 
 thought if it was only any other girl — -any of Miss 'I eazLe's 
 heroines, he? could pooh-pooh it so easily ; but Honor was 
 not one of them at all — his heart told him that. He left 
 his place at the door and was at her side instantly. She 
 looked quietly up and said nothing. He felt as though the 
 
*78 Honor Edge7uort/i : or, 
 
 words would not come, and the wee small voice said ''another 
 time," so he merely rsassumed his old way, and said ; 
 
 "Good morning, Honor. J)on't send a fellow off in 
 the blues. Come now, smile just the least little bit and 
 si)eed me away with a charitable word." Then the sweet 
 red lips parted, and looking up from her work, she said : 
 :.-"!. "I absolve you, Guy. (iood morning." ' '>■•' 
 
 " Well, 111 make hay while the sun shines, and be off, 
 for if I delay a minute 1 shall have a dozen more pardons 
 lo ask. By, bye !" 
 
 He closed the door and was gone, but though his 
 hurried steps brought him further and further away from the 
 form he loved, yet his thoughts were of her, his heart beat 
 for her, and his memory dwelt upon each little word she 
 had spoken. 
 
 Honor sat as most of us do very often in our lives, 
 with the same smile on her face which had absolved Guy at 
 parting. If we meet a friend and are pleased, the smile of 
 recognition lingers on our faces long after he has passed. 
 If we have heard a pleasant word, the gratification is evident 
 on our countenances, long after the words have died ; and 
 the same with unpleasant or sorrowful things. I suppose 
 our memory is necessarily a slow faculty, and only revives 
 the expression of our emotion just as that caused by the 
 first experience is dying away. Any one could tell by 
 Honor's face, that she was thinking of pleasant things. 
 Thence we may know it was no ' clairvoyant ' tendency on 
 the part of Mr. Rayne, that on entering the room the next 
 moment, he exclaimed : ^^ '• i' ' . •' • ■• :-;■..;■ 
 ^.:-= "So you're spmning your threads in the sunlight, my 
 pet, are you ? " 
 
 Honor started — " Sunlight ? Yes, I think the sun will 
 be up presently." 
 
 " Oh, you distracted child ! I am talking of the sun- 
 • light of your thoughts." Here both joined in a hearty 
 laugh, and Mr. Rayne having thrown aside the well dis- 
 sected Citizen, re-deposited himself in the arm-chair by 
 Honor's side. He came too to make hay while the sun 
 shone, and the smile on Honor's face indicated that much. 
 
 "You see, that fellow Guy interrupted us just in the 
 beginning of our discourse — but perhaps it was just as well, 
 for something has since hap])ened that throws a new light 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 79 
 
 on the subject. With this morning's mail came a document 
 from Turin to me, from your father's bankers, Honor. It 
 seems from the copy of an original letter written by your 
 fluher, that he wished to test my friendship by holding me 
 responsible for his daughters welfare and comfort ; and he 
 therefore apparently represented you to me as entirely de- 
 ])endent on my bounty. Even as such, it was an immense 
 "gratification to me to take you, and at the risk of all I own 
 now I could not let you go, but it seems your diplomatic 
 father and my best friend had arranged it so, that if, after 
 a short period, I had performed the duties of a true friend 
 towards you, supplying you with the necessary comforts and 
 wants out of my own pocket, that on your birthday at the 
 end of that time, which is to-day, this document should be 
 lorA-arded to me. The surprising and intensely gratifying 
 news concerns only you ; it makes not the slightest matter 
 to me," and so speaking, he handed her the least formidable 
 looking letter of a pile of correspondence. She read it with 
 dilated eyes and confused look generally, and laid it down 
 only with this difference actually to her, that she had in her 
 own realization, in one short moment been suddenly trans- 
 formed from Mr. Rayne's dependent waifintoarichly endowed 
 heiress, independent and free. A small change indeed for 
 Honor Edgeworth ! It had not power to chisel in finer 
 style the features of her handsome face, nor the jiower to 
 direct into her heart a purer, holier or more worthy sense of 
 duty than already reigned there. No, it could make ner no 
 better. Her's was not a nature susceptible to the ready 
 influences ot evil, and so she exjierienced none of that 
 material delight which generally is the result of such a change 
 for the world's ordinary ones. The only gratification it 
 afforded her was, that now she could repay Mr. Rayne for 
 his untiring kindness, she could deck Nanette in ' decent ' 
 aiiire, and give such little alms as she longed to distribute 
 with Mr. Rayne's money. She folded the letter carefully 
 back into its primitive creases and handed it to Mr. Rayne, 
 saying, 
 
 " I thought I should have had to repay your unlimited 
 kindness to me by love, sincerity and gratitude alone ; and 
 though this would have been an easy debt to liquidate, so 
 far as my sentiments went, yet, it seems Providence has not 
 tired of heaping favors upon my head, and I can add to my 
 
80 Honor Ed^:!;eii'orth ; or, 
 
 other offering this new found treasure. But I think, Mr. 
 Rayne, had this .gold mine never opened beneath our feet, 
 we would still be the same to one another, I know " — and 
 as she spoke she rose and threw herself into the old man's 
 arms — " you, who have been both parervts to me when I 
 was alone and penniless, who surrounded me with comforts 
 and luxuries, cannot now be cold to me because I no longer 
 need to be dependent. \ou have maae your home and 
 your kind watchfulness a necessity to me, now will you not 
 let us be the same as ever with one another ? I do not want 
 to be a rich heiress if I must thereby cease to be ' your own 
 Honor,' and ' your own favorite.' " 
 
 The old man's eyes were we^ with tears. He pressed 
 the girlish figure close to him and kissed the fair, flushed 
 cheek. 
 
 " We will speak no more of it, darling," he said, " let it 
 be as though nothing had hap[)ened, only you must no 
 longer hesitate to accept the many little favors that, up to 
 this, you persistently refused -henceforth / am yours to 
 command when you want something. But, about your dibui 
 child, I want you to consult some one else on that matter, 
 for you must be as fine to look at as all the rest. You can 
 be ready as soon as you please, for Mrs. D'Alberg will be 
 here shortly ; I requested an immediate answer." 
 
 Honor looked thoughtfully into the fire. " This is all 
 so strange," she said, "but Destiny is Destiny, I suppose, 
 and Fate is Fate " 
 
 \./ 
 
 
 
 '■,♦ 
 
 • 
 
 «w 
 
 .. •!', 
 
 <i 
 
 
 1^ 
 
Ottaica's Present Tense. 81 
 
 
 
 ^.'-"^ 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 *i, ■ ■ 
 
 " A sadder and a wiser man 
 
 
 He rose the morrow-morn." 
 
 t,\ ' 
 
 I — Coleridge. 
 
 ^^-^ELT^, I did not think this at the very worst,'* Mr. 
 Rayne said over a newly received letter to 
 Honor. " Here's the long expected news from 
 Ouelph, and my cousin says she would find it so 
 convenient for you to go up, just for a week and she would 
 come back with you. There are so many things for her to 
 settle, and besides you would see a little bit of life in the 
 meantime. Now, how in the world are we going to live 
 without sunshine or daylight for a week, eh ? 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Rayne, you spoil me ! But, does Mrs. 
 D'Alberg really want me to go to her ? If it is not very far 
 away, and you have no particular objection, I think I'd 
 rather like to go." 
 
 " Of course you would," ecnoed the generous words of 
 Henry Rayne, "and why would'nt you ? I am too selfish 
 to live. It will make a nice little trip and you'll feel all the 
 more refreshed when you get back. But, think of how soon 
 you must go — to-morrow morning at the latest, I tell you. So, 
 now be active, my dear. Run and tell Nanette to get your 
 things ready, and I'll drop a note to Guy to come and make 
 himself useful." 
 
 Honor bounded off under the influence of the first 
 experience of a new anticipation— that of shifting the Scenes, 
 for no matter how short an act. She was going among new 
 faces for a little while. What a break in the monotony of 
 her present quiet life ! . • 
 
 When the hastily written note reached Guy's boai ding- 
 house, he was absent. It was as a rule rather hard to find 
 Guy when he was wanting ; but, I doubt if he ever regretted 
 his absence more than he did on this particular night. I 
 would not care to shock my innocent readers unnecessarily 
 by telling the hours that brought Guy Elersley to his room 
 that night, nor the circumstances that caused him to dream 
 
 
 
82 Honor Edi:^cworth ; or^ 
 
 such frightful things through his broken slumber. Some of 
 them either from having been there before or from close 
 observation could suspect one of (luy's worst failings at the 
 sight of his dim sleepy eyes ; his straggling cravat and half- 
 buttoned coat, as well as by the thick utterances he hummed 
 to himself, intended no doubt for the familiar strains of his 
 favorite " Warrior Bold " or " In the (lloaming ; " but, never- 
 theless differing from them as much as they resembled 
 them. 
 
 Oh, (luy I who, among your high-toned lady friends on 
 Sparks Street to-morrow will recognize in you the fast mid 
 night rambler, that the pale winter moon and the cold silent 
 stars see in you to-night ? You, the brilliant one of Ottawa's 
 best drawing-rooms, ejaculating all the hard words you 
 know, because you can't ojjen the door with a lead pencil, 
 nor find the handle on the wrong side. How well you have 
 learned the art of veneering your character ! Is it then such 
 a breach of Christian charity to discuss on open pages, (iuy 
 Elersley by daylight, and Guy Elersley by lamplight? 
 Any on 2 given to moralizing, may surely ask the ladies 
 of Ottawa, if they have ever stopped to think those 
 simple things over. If all their acknowledged purity, 
 dignity and womanly attraction were worth no more than 
 to lay them within the ready grasp of the sons of this 
 century of materialism ! Do they never realize how infinitely 
 superior they are to the men of their own days, and do they 
 ever treat them with the contempt and indifference that are at 
 best their due ? If such were indeed the case, woman would 
 be more independent in her social standing than she is to- 
 day ; but, I blush to say it — there are those among Ottawa's 
 lair ones, who are flattered by the attentions and compli- 
 ments of such as live these two lives of daylight and lamp- 
 light ; — flattered that an arm should encircle their waists in 
 the dance, which is unworthy of cleaning the shoes they 
 wear, or sweeping the ground they tread ; — flattered by the 
 attentions and flighty words falling from lips across whose 
 threshold comes the foul breath of sin and dissipation. Such 
 is the dignity of the youth of our century ; such is the 
 brazen insolence which causes them to establish themselves 
 as the social equals of well bred women. 
 
 Oh, for the long sought day of woman's emancipation, 
 wh^n she will be free, in her own right, to scorn from the 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense 83 
 
 pedestal of her superiority, the audacity of the man 
 who shows himself by daylight to the world to be that 
 which society exacts from him ; but whose superficia 
 virtues set with the evening sun, leaving in their temporary 
 c'welling place, the craving of material nature to be gratified. 
 Such are the heroes of our po])ular novels ; such are the 
 heroes of our actual society ; such are our male relatives, 
 and yet women seem to be satisfied that things should re- 
 main thus. If every woman would determine within her- 
 self to accomplish the whole or part of the grand mission 
 that is at the mercy of her own hands, how soon would we 
 have cause to rejoice and thank Providence for the great 
 reformation in morals which must be a necessary conse- 
 c[uence of such a determination ? h. 
 
 Perhaps it is wandering too far away from a simple 
 recital, and giving more than its real depth to the tenor of 
 our Ottawa society, to indulge in this strain. If it be 
 just as pleasant, we will return to Guy who has gained 
 admission by this time. He goes over to the table 
 that stands opposite his bedroom door. He has left 
 matches and lamp convenient, and proceeds to light 
 them. The first thing which attracted his stupid glance 
 was the note in his uncle's handwriting, lying conspicu- 
 ously on the white linen cover. But this was, after Guy's 
 nightly carousing — the most usual thing in the world, and 
 with a word that signified how secondary his uncle's note 
 was, beside the attempt to reach the bed, he pushed it 
 carelessly aside and proceeded to get himself out of his 
 clothes as well as his nervous limbs permitted him. We may 
 be a ' little hard ' on (iuy's si)ecies selon the current ideas of 
 justice. We know that many are addressed through (iuy 
 Elersley, and this indirect way is adopted of telling them 
 how far below the mark of feminine appreciation they 
 fall in attempting to throw dust in our eyes. As if every 
 circumstance of the times was not calculated to impress 
 more firmly upon us how unworthy the world is becoming 
 of us ! We may hold out our hands one to another, for 
 there is none else worthy to give the responsive grasp. 
 Young men of the nineteenth century, be assured that 
 because you are tolerated in society, and because ladies 
 deign to blend their lives in a measure with yours, it 
 does not follow that they ap})rove of the masques you are 
 
84 Honor Edgcwort/i ; or, 
 
 wearing, and which deceive yourselves far more than they 
 do others. On. the contrary, it foretells the advent of the 
 day of our freedom ; for, in the perforinance of our re- 
 spective social duties towards you, we make the last acts of 
 humiliation to complete the sacrifice before the reward is 
 given us. Of course, if we met Ouy Elersley to-morrow 
 morning, the fetters of society would force us to feign an 
 utter ignorance of such a mode of living among our gentle- 
 men friends. We must take it for granted that from sunset 
 till sunrise, Ciuy was not "sleeping the sleep of the 
 Bacchanal," and we need not fear that he will betray himself 
 
 With aching head and parched lips, (luy Elersley opened 
 his eyes on the tell-tale surroundings of his room the morn- 
 ing after 'the night before.' With the first break of sleep 
 in the quivering of his lashes memory was at work. So 
 long as she remains a faithful servant at all, her mission is 
 waylaying us early and late. From the confused state of 
 things around him, Guy gathered that he must have reached 
 his resting place under difficulties ; his feet reposed luxuri- 
 antly on the downy pillows, while his poor head was resting 
 on the spare end of Mrs. Best's second worst mattress. That his 
 vest lay in an unpretending heap on the floor, from which 
 his watch had rolled resignedly into an old slipper, did not 
 disconcert him so much as his having left his new gaiters 
 where the household puppy conveniently got at them, 
 destroying any possibility of a future reunion of their parts. 
 
 If a man ever wishes to repent of his yesterdays, let 
 him contemplate them all over during his waking hours in the 
 morning; Then, indeed, is his time. He becomes ashamed 
 before the monotonous rose-bushes that speck the wall, and 
 as his wandering orbs scan the picture-nails and the cobwebs 
 in search of distraction, he will realize the necessity of 
 amendment more fully than the eloquence of a multitude 
 could paint it. It was the weariness of this new realization 
 that caused Guy to stretch out his hand for his uncle's 
 neglected note of last night, seeking as he thought, something 
 therein that need not remind a fellow of what he knew 
 * deuced ' well already. As his glance fell on the page, his 
 brow contracted into a slow puzzled look, and as he finished 
 the last word he started up. It was now after nine o'clock 
 and Honor was far on her journey. The note was dated 
 5 p.m. He would have received it time enough if he had 
 
Ottiuva's Present Tense. 85 
 
 not s(iuandered away his hours from his room ; but now 
 she was gone and there was no excuse he could offer to 
 satisfy himself. 
 
 It is necessary that we should i)art from some friends 
 to know how much we love them ; and this necessity visited 
 Guy in its most cruel phase. Poor fellow .'—After all, he 
 was so much the victim of circumstances. The consciousness 
 of his own weakness only made him weaker, and his know- 
 ledge of the infidelity and inconsistency in his character 
 only caused him to resist, as useless, imi)ulses towards sta- 
 bility and firmness. Now he regretted with his whole soul 
 that he had not come home like any christian, at a proper 
 bed-time, then he would have learned the news soon enough 
 to have bade her good-bye. Even if he had read it when 
 he saw it for the first time, the news it bore would have dis- 
 pelled the mist that other influences had gathered around 
 his senses. What could he do now ? He must make the 
 best of a very bad case and go immediately to his uncle's 
 house where he expected to hear some tidings of the girl he 
 loved. 
 
 If any man ever looked thoroughly disgusted with 
 himself in his life, Guy Elersley surely did, on this eventful 
 morning, as he sauntered along from his boarding-house to 
 Mr. Rayne's. His sentiments were most likely those that 
 form an item of the very smallest experience, when its victim 
 is forced to realize that he has made a very unwilling sacrifice 
 voluntarily ; that he himself is the remote, proximate, direct 
 and indirect cause of his own misfortune. Still, this was 
 the only room for hope left in Guy. So long as a man con- 
 demns himself before his own tribunal, making of his inner 
 self the truthful witness and impartial judge, those interested 
 in his spiritual welfare may know that there is yet a lingering 
 susceptibility, to a better influence than that which caused 
 him to do wrong. That such a susceptibility does yet flicker 
 in the hearts of Ottawa's young sons, I have reason to hope ; 
 for there is an impulse in some of us that leads us into the 
 minds and souls of one another, there to deposit a 
 judgment or a sympathy, or whatever our nature suggests 
 at sight of our neighbor's failings. In obeying such an 
 impulse one can easily peer through the conventional 
 veil which screens such phases of hiiman character under 
 the meaningless appellations of " Blues," or " Indisposi- 
 
86 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 tion." They are truly the visible effect of a secret hidden 
 cause, which • is sometimes brought to the surface by the 
 magnetic power of one who has studied human faces and 
 characters. So, en passant, it may be as well to kindly su^jgest 
 to such " blue " friends that it were often better to lay bare 
 the veritable cause of such a gloomy feeling, for those before 
 whom they wear the veil are surely persons whose opinion 
 they esteem or whose judgment they fear, and if so they arc 
 not so easily blinded as one would think, their deception 
 only serves to render them still more odious. Yet there is no 
 blame to (luy for having gone on his way this morning in 
 such a mood. ^Vhen he met Miss 1 )ash at the first crossing 
 it was the most natural thing in the world for him to say, 
 " this ' dyspeptic ' feeling causes it all," wlien she stared in 
 open-eyed wonder at his worn out face and variegated eyes. 
 It was breakfast-time when he closed his uncle's door after 
 him, and he was sure to obtain tete-d-tcte alone with the old 
 man, now that Honor was gone ; but I e did not think the 
 picture would have changed, into such a sad one as presented 
 itself to his eyes when he opened the door of the breakfast- 
 room. Mr. Rayne was sitting moodily in his chair, staring 
 vacantly at his untasted meal, with his hands folded listlessly 
 before him. At the sound of a voice he smiled and started, 
 but on seeing the intruder the brightness died out again, 
 and he only said, " Good-morning, my boy," in a very cjuiel 
 tone. 
 
 " So you are all alone once more, uncle," said Guj , 
 trying to make the best attempt he could under the circum- 
 stances, •' Honor's flight was rather sudden, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "Too sudden to secure your services when they were 
 needed, I think." 
 
 " Well, yes, uncle, I was not in when your note came, 
 and only saw it this morning for the first time, when it was 
 too late to do anything, but I am really sorry. Will she not 
 be back in a day or two ? " 
 
 "I hope so. I hope so," Mr. Rayne answered, more to 
 himself than to Guy. " I had grown quite accustomed to 
 the darling." 
 
 " Yes, so had I," said Guy, under his moustache, "but' 
 (aloud) " the little trip will make (juite a change for her, and 
 the time won't be long until her return." 
 
 A few more very laconic remarks followed, and then 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 87 
 
 (iuy began to think it was rather stupid, and in consequence 
 made a move towards the door. This made matters a little 
 brighter, for Mr. Rayne became more animated, and 
 turning his chair towards the receding figure of his nephew, 
 said, 
 
 " Hold on a minute, Guy, I want you before you go," 
 and to lessen the moments of waiting, he raised his cup and 
 drank it at one long draught ; then he rose and led (ruy 
 into the cosy library opposite. 
 
 Whenever Mr. Rayne was about to impose any new 
 duty on his nephew, he assumed a stern air that showed a 
 tendency towards the imperative, rather than the interrog- 
 ative. He had never said, " (iuy, will you do this or 
 that," it was always " Ciuy, I wish you to do this -you must 
 do such a thing for me," and accustomed to the like from 
 his early youth, Cluy never sought to hesitate, or disjnite his 
 uncle's will in anything. Whenever Mr. Rayne pushed his 
 glasses up on his forehead and began by saying, " I am getting 
 old and work is no longer light," Guy recognized the avant- 
 coiireur of some new duty devolving upon him, and this was 
 a i)hase of this morning's e.xperience. 
 
 " I wish copies made of all these documents, Guy,'" said 
 his uncle in a business tone, while one hand rested on a 
 prosy looking heap of legal forms, "and as it is serious 
 work I cannot leave it out of my possession, so you must 
 come in during your spare hours, now that Honor is away, 
 and help me to write them over ; it will keep us both busy 
 during her absence, and leave us free on her return. I 
 will expect you this evening before tea, and to make matters 
 more convenient for all hands, I wish you to remain here 
 until Honor's return. \'ou may occupy the spare room, 
 and time will not be quite so dull as otherwise." 
 
 "Very well, uncle," said Guy ; but oh I what a horrible 
 misery crept into his heart at the mention of such a thing. 
 X'isions of al! the most outrageous difficulties i)ossible, in the 
 career of a fast young man, rose before his mind, and the 
 consciousness of his lack of courage caused a shudder to 
 pass through his frame. It must have been apparent, that 
 Mr. Rayne entertained suspicions of this 'boy,' and resolved 
 to stand between him and immediate danger if he could. 
 This might have been Guy's salvation, if his eyes had not 
 been blinded by the delusive llattery of the world to which 
 
88 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 he belonged. He only bowed under it as the most weighty 
 of his crosses, "and trusted to that fate that often shields the 
 wrong-doer from observation, to turn the tables in his favor. 
 
 It was painfully evident to Guy this morning, that his 
 uncle was in very stern humor, and that nothing but square 
 dealing on his own part could sustain even the trembling 
 balance that existed between them. One word, one little 
 wrong deed now, and Guy fancied the fertile looking 
 future realizing itself to him in that awful destitution which 
 haunts the average civil servant, who has no pillar of pedigree 
 to sustain him. It was the hardest policy of his life, to 
 gather all his visible deeds under the approval of his good 
 uncle, and yet he tried to bear these things patiently as 
 one might a kick from the King. He saw a fair vision 
 among the " to he's," if he behaved himself ; and is not such 
 an aim as that, the only one in the sunset of the nineteenth 
 century ? 
 
 Feeling "all over," as he thought, he left his uncle's 
 house that morning filled with a firmer conviction than ever, 
 that he was one of the world's unfortunates. Try as 
 hard as we will, it is tough work living up to other people's 
 principles, for now and then the most clever of us fail to 
 interpret them aright and accordingly commit a fault. 
 
 It seemed rather cruel to poor Guy, as he sauntered 
 along towards his office, that the plans he had so easily 
 made for the next fortnight's distraction, should be frustrated 
 thus in a moment. It is so "deuced" hard for a conceited 
 sensitive fellow to bear the taunts of his more free and 
 independent companions, when he is forced to decline their 
 invitation to "come along." It is not natural that a man, 
 able to stand his ground against evil counsellors, show- 
 ing himself morally superior to them, should then fear 
 their insolent remarks, or their unchristian judgment. 
 We know it, each one for himself, that when we jibe or 
 ridicule a good impulse in another, it is evidence of our 
 weakness and incapacity to experience the same feeling our- 
 selves, and it is the momentary hatred of envy that suggests 
 a taunt or a mocking word on the firm resolution of our 
 companion. But unless the conscience of youth be not 
 obliterated now while it is so weak, the world fears there 
 can be no other such chance again, and what else can hush 
 
Ottmva's Present Tense 89 
 
 its " wee small voice," like the ring of sarcasm or the jeering 
 of brave cowards ? 
 
 Guy's was one of those pliable souls that bent under 
 every influence alike. How then, could he endure the 
 scorn of *' the boys " when he must tell them that his spare 
 moments were already occupied ? He began to miss Honor 
 already, because one word from her would have spurred him 
 on to duty ; but, like his fate, she must be away when he 
 needed her most. What must she have thought of his 
 absence at the hour of her departure ? She would, no doubt, 
 accept it as an indisputable proof of his indifference to her, 
 and this scalded his sensitive nature more than anything. 
 
 Accompanied by these refreshing cogitations, Guy 
 reached his comfortable office, but oh ! how painfully plain 
 an index to his troubled soul was his worried face ! All day 
 he stumbled over office stools, spilt ink, made countless 
 mistakes in his calculations, and, as a consequence, smashed 
 pens and used unsparingly all those little monosyllables that 
 seem to grow spontaneously on the tongue's end of an en- 
 raged man. His difficulties were beginning in earnest ; he 
 had consented to join a party of merry-makers to drive to 
 Aylmer that night, and he could see no possible outlet 
 through which he might escape. He had thought of seeing 
 some of the "fellows " at four o'clock, and of telling them in 
 some off-hand way of his change of determination ; but even this 
 little gratification was denied him, for emerging from his 
 office door, the first one he came across was Mr. Rayne. There 
 was that hopeless resignation, which dire necessity forces, in 
 the very tone of Guy's voice as he addressed his uncle, but 
 now, whether he would or not he must yield. Every cir- 
 cumstance showed him plainly how fettered he really was, 
 although his spirit yearned to belong in gain as well as in 
 name to that band of *' Acephali " that walked the streets of 
 Ottawa, free men under their unpaid-for ulsters and seal caps. 
 No wonder the conversation between Guy and his uncle con- 
 sisted of a series of laconic monosyllables. The one was 
 drinking the bitter dregs of life's awful difficulties ; the other 
 absent-minded and sad, thinking of the dear absent one who 
 held within her hands the happiness of his life. 
 
 Who would have interpreted these things on this bright 
 sunny afternoon as Mr. Rayne and his nephew walked side 
 by side along Sparks Street, through the gay, bustling crowd 
 
DO Honor Edgeivortli ; of, 
 
 of pedestrians and sleighs ? The yoimg ladies went 
 home and told one another that they had met Guy Elersley, 
 and that he looked " just splendid," whilst all the time his 
 brain was on fire from trying to ^olve his dilemma. 
 
 They were reaching Mr. Rayne's house, and Guy, 
 accumulating all the moral courage of his soul, resolved 
 to do the worst. He would go willingly to work and 
 try to find a pleasure in honest labor for Honor's sake. 
 He was realizing, in spite of himself, the truth that had 
 dawned on " Adam Bede," that " all passion becomes 
 strength when it has an outlet from the narrow limits 
 of our personal lot, in the labor of our right arm, the 
 cunning of our right hand, or the still creative activity 
 of our thought." Had he only but had the whisper 
 of encouragement from any one he esteemed while in this 
 vacillating mood, that would indeed have been a turning 
 point in his career ; but it seemed that a good impulse for 
 Guy Elersley vaticinated infallibly an evil action. The fac t 
 that he had tried to vanquish himself by going willingly and 
 deliberately to work, only waylaid him with numberless en- 
 ticing temptations, alluring him on to the forbidden pleasures 
 upon which he had turned his back. What is there so re- 
 sistless and so fatally fascinating in those pastimes which are 
 indulged in after nightfall by our young men ? Is it the 
 staunch proof that it seems to be, of the entire annihilation 
 of conscience ? Is it so certainly the spiritual death that it 
 seems to be ? — and if so, what a sad, sad wreck ! Is there 
 no one whose influence can lead those stray shee^) back to 
 the fold ? No mother, no sister, no lady love to plead as a 
 woman's eloquence alone can plead, in behalf of that fair 
 young soul exposed to every danger ? Is there no volume 
 among that superb collection of books open to all Ottawaites. 
 that would not satisfy you, young foolish souls, by your mid- 
 night coals, burning your midnight oils, if you must needs 
 burn both ? What advantage is there in facing every peril of 
 the material and spiritual darkness, that you must make a 
 daily habit thereof? Is not this the case,that you never entered 
 upon such a course of life alone ? Some one was there who 
 beckoned you on his way. Some one pooh-poohed your 
 scruijles, and smoothed down with false words the obstacles 
 that your conscience raised. Vou never left your fatht r s 
 liouse alone to scjuander the hours of midnight's sacred 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. Ol 
 
 silence in wrong doing. Then I hope you will never forget 
 the debt of gratitude you must owe to such a counsellor and 
 friend (?). 
 
 Then comes ^^•'^ . H 
 
 "The tangled web we weave ' #^ 
 
 / ' '^"' '•''•' ' When first we practice to deceive." • ''-"A-^'/i 
 
 At first you were a little unfortunate, may be. If you could 
 not reach home without elbowing some one's pane of glass, or 
 getting into a scrape of a more or less serious nature, you were 
 helped out of all trouble by those steadfast allies who con- 
 tributed gladly towards making your deception a masteiiuece 
 of its kind. 
 
 After such reflections one is inclined to pity rather than 
 condemn the weakness to which Guy Elersley resigned him- 
 self such a voluntary victim. 
 
 "W^hen he entered the library in his uncle's house, 
 he began to be comforted by his luxurious surroundings ; 
 the same bright fire burned that Honor loved to see and 
 the easy chairs and soft rich carpet suggested satisfaction to 
 the most discontented. A few minutes of fussy preparations 
 and the gloomy twain were immersed in dry business. 
 Ai)art from the monotonous scratching of their hurried pens 
 there was but an occassional short remark uttered until the 
 welcome sound of the tea-bell broke the spell of sullenness 
 that had fallen on both, ,,, ,, 
 
 After a short but comjjaratively lively intermission they 
 returned to their papers and re-attacked them diligently. 
 l\)or Guy's heart was beginning to thump. It would soon 
 be eight o'clock, and it seemed to him in spite of all good 
 arguments to the contrary that " a promise was a promise," 
 and that by staying in to-night he was breaking one almost 
 unnecessarily. The minute hand on the electro-plated 
 clock was fast wending its way towards the half hour after 
 seven, and as his eyes followed its quick movement he felt 
 a hurried palpitation accompany every second on its flight 
 to eternity. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Rayne laid down his pen and rested his 
 bald head in his hands. Guy looked up surprised, and as 
 he did so, his uncle rose from his seat saying : " I have 
 another attack of neuralgia to-night. Guy, and cannot con- 
 tinue this work as I expected. Try, Jiowcver, to finish these 
 
^2 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 single copies for me to-night. I must retire ; I am really 
 unable to endure these pains any longer without rest." 
 
 " Indeed uncle, I am very sorry for that," Guy said, 
 but I fear that though it was ' malgri lui^ still there lurked 
 the faintest sense of intense gratification in his heart on 
 hearing these words. " You certainly will be better in bed 
 uncle, will I help you upstairs." ; . «; ' 
 
 "Thank you, I'm not so weak as that. Remain here and 
 finish those for me, they will be needed to-morrow and must 
 be ready." 
 
 With these words he turned to leave the room, but just 
 as though through inspiration, he stood with the half-ope i 
 door behind him and said in a stern imperative tone : — 
 
 " Guy, mind you do not go out this evening ; when 
 you are tired writing you will find plenty of distraction in* 
 doors, do you hear?" 
 
 " I do, sir," Guy answered coldly, and then the old 
 man closed the door and went up-stairs leaving his distract- 
 ed nephew in the wildest of moods. . . . , .1 
 
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Ottawa's Present Tense. 93 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ^-Tv.^c . 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 For a sweet voice had whispered hope to me. 
 
 Had through my darkness shed a kindly ray : '.' 
 
 , 1 It said : " The past is fixed immutably, 
 
 , , ,, Vet there is comfort in the coming day. 
 ! ' — Household Words 
 
 (^|T was a cold stormy blustering day. The fierce north 
 wind was moaning and wailing in piteous shrieks 
 around the corners, and through the bare swaying 
 branches of the tall elms. It was a dreary scene to 
 look upon from a car window, and yet it was rather a cheer- 
 ful face that peered through the tiny panes into the stormy 
 surroundings outside. Honor was thinking deeply, a 
 medley of sad and pleasant things, and she smiled and grew 
 pensive alternately. She had thought of Guy, and of how 
 pleasant it would be after all to have him there beside her, 
 but she did not trust herself far into the subject. The 
 doubtful halo that encircled all Guy's latest actions towards 
 her was not the sweetest of memories, and yet this lovely 
 girl would not whisper even to her own most secret soul, 
 the words, " I love him." It was so girl-like for her to 
 cherish that secret, and yet not acknowledge it to herself as 
 a secret. She loved to rehearse to herself in silence every 
 look and word and action of Guy's. She pondered wearily 
 over the e7inui of the hours, when he was not by her, and 
 she longed so much to question herself about the sudden 
 blushes and heart-beatings, when she recognized his step in 
 the hall, or heard his deep voice greet her at the door. She 
 knew that his little book with the scribbled verse from " Led 
 Astray" was very often in her hands when he was not there, 
 and yet when the " little voice" asked " Is it love ?" She 
 hid her face in her hands and said, " Oh no." 
 
 All these things she reviewed at leisure on this cold 
 wintry morning, as she was being borne swiftly on to her 
 destination. She could scarcely get accustomed to the idea 
 that she was the same Honor Edgeworth, that had come a 
 short time ago, alone and friendless to Mr. Rayne's house. 
 
04 Honor Ed}!;i'7i>orf/i : or. 
 
 And as she sped on leaving each dancing drifting snow-flake 
 far behind, she became tangled up again in the web of 
 fanciful reflections that had so often led her far far away into 
 those transcendental regions of thought where Venus, and 
 Cupid, and CalIioi)e, and other sister muses bask in filmy 
 clouds of golden maze. Here she realized among her ideal 
 heroes and heroines, life as she wished it to be. Perhaps 
 this was why her inclinations were just a little ske])tical when 
 she viewed life in its matter-of-fact phases. 
 
 Honor was started from her reverie by a loud long shriek 
 from the engine, and seeing the other ])assengers gather \i\\ 
 their fragments of baggage she followed suit. A few moments 
 more and they were ushered into the dei)ot at Guelph. All 
 the usual bustle, talk and confusion characteristic of lailway 
 stations were noticeable here. Omnibus drivers shouted in 
 crescendo the names of their respective hotels. Poor Honor 
 scarcely knew what to do. Cries of " Royal Hotel,' 
 " Windsor House," " Sleigh Miss," deafened her ears on all 
 sides, but great was her relief when a prim middle-aged lady 
 accompanied by a half bashful youth stepped up to her smil- 
 ingly and said : 
 
 " My dear I think you are my guest. Miss Edgeworth ?" 
 
 " That is my name," Honor said, and then the prim 
 lady handed Honor a card inscribed " Mde. Jean d'Alberg." 
 
 They became friends immediately and no wonder under 
 the circumstances. Circumstances have so much to do with 
 the turn and tide of our busy lives. We can make a friend 
 of the most hideous creature in an hour of dire necessity. 
 
 Honor was just thinking she might have fared so much 
 worse than come across a lady such as Madame d'Alberg 
 proved to be. To look at her one could read the evidences 
 of worldliness in her face. This woman had graced many 
 "a drawing-room as Senator d'Alberg's wife, and when the 
 session time called her to the capital many a faipshaired 
 damsel of eighteen summers had envied the fine face and 
 faultless figure^ that had captivated even the fastidious 
 nature of the dignified Senator. 
 
 To-day, although somewhat older, the ordinary critic 
 and observer could still detect no flaw of age or tendency 
 to fade in the sparkling black eyes and fair delicate com- 
 plexion. As Honor saw almost at a first glance, this 
 woman's theory of life began and ended in " self." Not so 
 
Otfinca's Prcsctit Tone. 95 
 
 niiicli as to exclude any impulse towards sympathy or 
 generosity. By no means — if there remained anything, 
 after one had satisfied one's own wants, then let that surplus 
 go to the less fortunate, according to the owners impulse 
 whether limited or great. 
 
 In matters less material Madame d'Alberg took as 
 director the great authority of Shakspeare, and none can tell 
 how many countless times she justified herself by repeating 
 in the most suasory tone this little extract from Hamlet : 
 
 ,/ 
 
 " This above all.: to thine own self he true 
 And it nuist follow as the night the day 
 f, ->■ ', Thou cann't not then he false to any man." 
 
 This was an end worth attaining surely,, and so easily won as 
 hy being fair with one's self 
 
 Honor and her new friend chatted gaily all the way. 
 The awkward youth had received instructions about the 
 baggage. Thus freed from all inconvenience and respon- 
 sibility, these two became as conversant and as communi- 
 cative as if they had known each other for years. 
 
 Let it not shock the scrupulous reader to know that, in 
 point of fact, Madame d'Alberg did not really care a straw 
 for either Henry Rayne or his beautiful protdgie^ only inso- 
 much as their existence was conducive to her own personal 
 welfare. It was no effort whatever for her, to love in that 
 subdued sort of way in which we are expected by the 
 Church to " love our neighbor as ourselves." To be 
 amiable and agreable to all was by far more convenient to 
 her than to play the ro/e of a grumbler, and so long as she 
 could count on her smiles being worth their representatives 
 in substance to her, her countenance was fairly suffused 
 therewith and her purse or her moutb open for the proceeds. 
 Such women generally live easily— die easily enough too, 
 •^and scarcely ever leave a memory of any sort behind them. 
 
 The first points of criticism that suggested themselves 
 to this world^bred woman on seeing Honor were such as 
 never entered the head of any other acquaintance the girl 
 made before or after Madame d'Alberg's. This lady, physiog- 
 nomist from tact and experience, sought to learn from the 
 expression and features of Honor's countenance, whether 
 their hidden depths held any of that diplomacy and finesse 
 that are the inevitable characteristics of society's most brilliant 
 
96 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, ■ • 
 
 graduates. Not that it would have mattered one iota to this 
 indifferent creature, for she never interested herself particu- 
 larly in anyone ; but if certain latent tendencies in this girl 
 could actually be brought to the surface so as to sympathize 
 with her own, would it not be as well for them to join hands 
 and share the spoils ? As yet, however, she thought there 
 was no telling ; she must wait and see. - , ■ " 
 
 The drive from the depot was short, and to Honor's 
 great delight the merry sleigh-bells stopped jingling as they 
 drew up to the neatest and cosiest looking cottage imaginable. 
 The first greeting on entering was the sight of a roaring fire 
 and the next the intensely gratifying welcome of cups steam- 
 ing at the end of a neat but well-spread table. 
 
 Honor's own room reminded her somewhat of the one 
 in Ottawa, except that the idea of exquisite comfort was 
 more pronounced in everything here. In this respect Honor 
 found Madame d'Alberg different from that other class of 
 society women whose ideas of self-gratification are far sub- 
 servient to the re(|uisites of Iwn-ton and fashion, and who 
 endure heroically the discomfort of the latest absurdities in 
 articles of toilet and street wear. 
 
 This was the only point in which Jean d'Alberg did not 
 acknowledge the tyrannical yoke of society. Anything that 
 tended to exclude the supreme ease and comfort of her 
 home was discarded by her, and no one ever dared to find 
 any fault therein. 
 
 After a hearty luncheon by the grate fire, Honor and 
 Madame d'Alberg drew up their chairs closer to the fender 
 and began to talk familiarly. The wind still whistled and 
 shrieked around the street corners ; little blinding atoms of 
 snow drifted violently in the air, and it made one freeze just 
 to watch the muffled pedestrians as they sped along with 
 their heads bowed against the sleet and wind, holding their 
 half-frozen ears, stamping their feet or pinching the ^ids of 
 their blue noses. ^ 
 
 " The day is too stormy for outdoor amusements, my 
 dear," said Jean d'Alberg, as she poked the fire, " so I must 
 try to distract you as much as possible in the house." 
 
 " Th'^t will be an easy matter if you like," said Honor, 
 " do but leave me lost in these spacious cushions, before 
 that cheerful fire, and I can prophesy the treat that is in 
 store for me," 
 
Ottami's Present Tense. Vf 
 
 Mde. d'Alberg smiled slowly. She turned and took, 
 from a small wicker basket near her a bundle of misty look- 
 ing thread and lace, and with her needle in one hand and 
 the end of her thread between her teeth, she said, 
 
 "Whether you know it or not, my dear, you have given 
 me a big peep into your character by that much of an 
 assertion." 
 
 Honor looked suddenly up. She was beginning to feel 
 a little nervous with this cool, calculating, all-seeing woman. 
 Hut not to show what she felt, she sank back imperceptibly 
 among the cushions, and answered, with an effort at in 
 difference, 
 
 " I hope I betray my good symptoms first, at least to 
 strangers who are inclined to judge from appearances." 
 
 'J'he elder lady looked interested. Her face wore a 
 half-i)leasing, half-teazing exjjression, but like Honor she was 
 seeking to veneer the real truth under assumed veils at the 
 same time that she was dying to draw out the latent phases 
 of her companion's nature. 
 
 " The word 'good,'" she said, stitching rapidly, "is such 
 a mysterious one, and has in these days of general improve- 
 ment, secured for itself a relative meaning which benefits as 
 many as it injures ; and particularly, as regards one's personal 
 virtues or defects, which are many or few according to the 
 disposition of the speaker towards the one spoken of. 
 Nevertheless I must tell you that your tendency to dreami- 
 ness, and your exalted ideas of sentiment, are what mostly 
 constitute the modern young lady. Take those elements 
 out of human life, and one-third of our fiction volumes 
 crumble on the shelf. Society limps into retirement, for 
 her most prominent limbs have been amputated. The 
 curtain must drop for good on the stage, for there is no 
 other part for actors to play in the nineteenth century. Our 
 streets would be almost desolate, except for fussy business- 
 men and maricet women, and those dear few privileged ones, 
 who have the priceless reputation of being sans camr^ 
 
 Honor grew deeply interested. She had not expected 
 to find such a woman as this. Mr. Rayne had spoken of 
 her as one does of any superannuated person or thing that is 
 always on hand if wanted. It was such a long time since 
 she had indulged in any such abstract conversations, that it 
 was with renewed delight she hailed her turn to speak, 
 
 7 
 
08 I foil or Edgc7i<orth ; or^ 
 
 " I think it only fair," said she, looking straight into the 
 fire, " that I should take my turn at interpreting you." 
 
 " By all means, my dear ; what have you found worth 
 finding?" nv\ f <; xim-ja 
 
 " Well, I think," said Honor, speaking slowly and em- 
 phatically, " that fifteen or twenty years ago you could not 
 have spoken those words, for I recognize, as far as a limited 
 observation and a small experience allow me, the ruin of a 
 heart full of sentiment, under the new structure that you pre- 
 sent to the world to-day, and I also think that at that time 
 you must have felt a superfluity of emotion. Yoiir 
 craving was for trust, for confidence and love, and the cyni- 
 cism of your words now means something like sour grapes. 
 Don't be offended, dear Madame d'Alberg, the thoughts sug- 
 gest themselves. If you do not despise sentiment and 
 romance, because they did not yield you what you sought 
 from them, then I throw up my perception as faulty, and my 
 judgment as something worse." 
 
 She had not moved her eyes from their fixed gaze on 
 the coals, but as no answer came from her companion, she 
 looked across in expectation. The work lay still in her lap, 
 but her face had grown dreamy and sad. The sudden silence 
 woke her, and she turned to meet Honor's steadfast gaze. 
 The thin compressed lips parted slightly in a nervous motion, 
 and Honor thought she could see a struggle for ascendancy 
 in the workings of the usually calm face. Suddenly, a tear 
 dropped from each downcast lid, and then the die was cast. 
 Jean d'Alberg drew her chair closer to the young girl, and 
 clasped her hands over her pile of work ; then, looking 
 straight at the fire, she began- 
 
 *' Whatever ])ower has inspired you, you have touched 
 a spring over which the cobwebs of wilful neglect have lain 
 during twenty years. It must be because you are so good 
 and pure, that the truth, surh as I am striving to hide, is so 
 plain to you. You have uttered the secret of my life in the 
 simple words you spoke. Twenty years ago, I was a young 
 and beautiful girl, with a heart as full of susceptibilities and a 
 mind as full of ambition as any one of you to-day. My face 
 was, beautiful, and I knew it; my figure was faultless, I knew 
 that too. But vanity never entered into my heart foramoment. 
 I had a dream that kept such trifling thoughts away. I 
 wfinted to endear myself to som^ one. I wanted to make 
 
Ottmvas Present Tense, 9i) 
 
 some one so utterly dependent on me, that a separation 
 should be almost death to him. Where I got this crazy 
 longing I could not tell exactly, but it seized me like a 
 mania. I felt that such must be my fate, or a lifelong of 
 misery instead. While I was in the heat of this emotion 
 my father told me to prepare myself, that I was to appear 
 with him at the grand military ball of the season. This was 
 the great event oi the year in our town, for a detachment of 
 British troops always stayed over for the occasion. The 
 girls of the old country, at that time, were different from what 
 they are now on this continent. Most of us had, as a rule, 
 those conservative fathers, whose ideas of maidenly propriety 
 had been handed down to them from unknown ages, and 
 from constant preaching on the subject, I, like most others, 
 grew into their way of thinking, but I did not, all the same, 
 ever censure an impulsive girl who, by gratifying her own 
 caprice, violated these stern views of her father's." 
 
 It was getting dark in the little sitting room. At this 
 point of her story Jean d'Alberg rose, and going over to- 
 wards the window that faced the west she rolled up the 
 blind to let in the last wintry rays of the setting sun. Then, 
 coming back, she rang for the maid to bring more coals, for 
 the fire was dying out. 
 
 ■ V-^r- 
 
100 Honor FAh^cn'ortli ; or, 
 
 ' V u r 
 
 j\ \ ,■ 'i • ■' ■■ - ■::'-i ',:>:. ' ' •■•!* - .**■' 
 
 ■■-.:.< .V 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. ' '^^' 
 
 ^' 
 
 ' "Alas, how easily inings go wrong, '' t^ 
 
 A sigh too much or a kiss too long, *^-''- ; 
 
 i ,.!• I And there conies a mist ami a blinding rain, J-\ ■^.L 
 And life is never thj same again." , r - 
 
 , ■' ■ ' —George McDonald. 
 
 C^i\ Oc^^^'^ ^'' ^^''^^ comfortably arranged once more. 
 J}[-^\7) Jean d'Alberg resumed her seat and her st )ry. 
 V^^^Aq) " ^'^^ eventful night of the ball came at last, and 
 '^6 I know not what nervous presentiment caused 
 
 me to fasten my palest crush roses in my hair, and to take from 
 their old resting place the diamonds set in heavy gold, that 
 my maternal grandmother had worn ages before. I knew 
 full well, as I leaned on the arm of my tall, dignified father 
 that night, that he recognized in me more strongly than ever, 
 the likeness to his dead wife, my mother. The only feeling 
 of pride that visited me was when I knew that my 
 father was proud of me as his daughter and his dead 
 wife's living image. My father was an officer in the — th 
 regiment and, as a matter of course, I was to be treated with 
 more than ordinary courtesy. When we entered the ball- 
 room at the lower end I could hear suppressed whispers on 
 all sides. It was my first appearance in any public place, 
 and even if I had not beenthere, all eyes would have been rivet- 
 ed on my handsome father, who looked the embodiment of 
 manliness and nobility in his regimentals. Perhaps it was 
 the haughty tone of his voice, when he introduced his 
 * daughter ' to the hostess of the evening, that caused them 
 to look upon me with no little wonder. Any way I became 
 painfully conscious that we were isolated, as it were, from 
 all the others, and the blush of confusion and excitement 
 that suffused my face, was, as they told me afterwards, my 
 finest feature. I had scarcely finished paying my respects 
 to the hostess, when my father was surrounded by friends 
 who greeted him earnestly, yet distantly. To each of these 
 I was presented in turn, and agreed to dance once with each 
 of them. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 101 
 
 " But I had not yet ceased to feel that nervous presenti- 
 ment that had haunted me all the evening. Suddenly, the 
 low, sweet strains of a waltz vibrated through the room, and 
 gay, laughing couples wheeled off into its diz/y maze 
 Among my many partners, none had secured the first waltz 
 and I was beginning to congratulate myself that I could 
 take a good view of everything and everybody before com- 
 mencing my first dance. While I was scanning the room — ' 
 
 Here a large coal fell into the ashes causing both ladies 
 to start. Madame d'Alberg poked the glowing embers into a 
 cheerful blaze, and moved closer to the work-table, and as 
 her fingers traced imaginary patterns on its surface, she re- 
 sumed her story in the .same .sad monotonous voice. 
 
 "I said I raised my eyes to scan the room, but as I did 
 so the blush faded quickly out of my face, and a cold shiver 
 rrept through me. I felt for the first time the sensation 
 which all persons experience at some irAterval in their lives 
 It was the same as when we know without looking, that 
 someone is watching our movements ; the same that causes 
 us iofeet the ai)proach of someone, though we may have been 
 persuaded that such a one was far away. I felt that I was 
 being stared at, and following a sudden impulse, I looked 
 towards the shaded recess of a large wi low, and there I saw 
 the tall figure of a man dressed in uniform, with medals and 
 stars upon his breast ; his eyes, the largest, deej^est, and 
 most passionate blue I have ever seen, were riveted upon 
 me. As soon as he perceived that I was conscious of his 
 attention he left the recess, and though my eyes did not fol- 
 low him, I felt that his every step brought him closer to 
 where we stood. At last my heart seemed to give one great 
 leap, for I heard him address my father in a low sad voice 
 fiill^of meaning and pathos. The next instant I was bow- 
 ing at the sound of both our names, to the handsome 
 stranger. The first glances we exchanged must have told a 
 tale, for I read in the limitless depths of his sad blue eyes, 
 all that mysterious, silent pain that entreats and commands 
 a woman's sympathy ; he in his turn must have seen in mine 
 the ready response to the calm pleading of his own. 
 
 " I cannot remember the first words that passed between 
 us. It was the mute language of soul speaking unto soul 
 that had charmed me, and the next thing I realized was, that 
 
102 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 we had glided'in with the laughing throng of merry dancers, 
 among theiti, but not of them. 
 
 " Our steps suited exactly, and as fate would have it, the 
 music was the dreamiest and most suggestive I had everheard. 
 We never spoke a word, but he must have felt my heart 
 throbbing against his breast, like a captive bird, struggling 
 for its freedom. For once, when all was excitement and 
 pleasure, he pressed my hand ever so little, atid I felt his 
 warm breath very near my flushed cheek. All the emotion 
 that had ever rested latent within me, struggled through 
 the fetters that moment, and I lelt that now I loved, madly 
 and hopelessly, and that as it had all been born of a second, 
 so might one other second break my heart. 
 
 " While such reflections chased one another through my 
 confused brain, ray partner led me mechanically into the 
 long narrow conservatory to the left. Outlines of rich and 
 delicately fragrant plants were visible in the soft hazy light 
 that pervaded the spot, and we were near enough to the ball 
 room to hear the subdued strains of orchestra music that 
 yet filled the air. I dared not trust myself to silence, so I 
 said, trying to assume the most indifferent tone : 
 
 " * How pleasant it is in here !' 
 
 " I'll never forget the distracted far-away look in his eyes 
 as he anr.wered in that dangerously, low, sweet voice. 
 
 " * " leasant ? Yes, when the heart is young and untried, 
 all that IS beautiful touches it with pleasure, but the heart 
 that is withered and dead, gets its sweetest pain from the 
 very same source.' 
 
 " To say I did not understand him would not be quite 
 true. We English girls, who have lived with s<-ern fathers, and 
 with no mother for the best part of our lives, seem to learn 
 by intuition, the saddest phases of a life's experience. We 
 personify the heroes of our old books, until the worst of ji^it- 
 ten fates, become as natural to us as though such had Been 
 items of our own existence. And so I knew immediately, 
 that this man's life had been blighted bitterly. Some awful 
 storm cloud had shaded the sunniest portion of his life, and 
 the memory of that affliction would cast an immortal gloom 
 over the rest. 
 
 " After he had uttered those strange words he looked 
 calmly into my face. What could I do ? I had too often 
 persuaded myself that a woman is the weakest of all things, 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 103 
 
 under the influence of a first love. I could summon no moral 
 courage now to my assistance, and, childlike, I thought 
 this great, sad looking man would never betray to another 
 how efficaciously he had worked his influence over me. 
 Yielding to these resistless impulses, I drew a little closer 
 to his stalwart form, and then he took my hand in both of 
 his, and I could not help showing what all the passion of a 
 lifetime was, when concentrated into one awful moment of 
 existence. I only looked up into those full dreamy eyes, 
 and said, ' Why are you so sad ? ' 
 
 «^" There must have been in those few v/ords, eloquence 
 enough to teach even his heart the truth, for he rose, and 
 stooping over me, he said in a voice that sounded like a sigh, 
 ' I am sad for the same reason that you will cause others to be 
 some day, if not more careful and kind. Do not sadden and 
 ruin as worthy a heart as mine.' Then before I realized my 
 position, there was butthe memory in my heartofhislipshaving 
 touched mine, followed by the feeling of secret dread and 
 horror, that sprung from the awe in which I stood, of my 
 father. I woke suddenly from the listless apathy that came 
 over me. I looked up with all the emotion of fear, excite- 
 ment and love visible in my face, looked to find the pale 
 angry countenance of my father before me, with all the 
 insulted dignity and slighted authority he felt, pictured 
 therein. 
 
 " He did not say much just then. He trusted to the 
 power of his look to wither the heart within me. He told 
 me sternly, to procure my wraps, that T must leave immc'- 
 diately ; we could pass out unnoticed by the side door. In 
 a few moments we were in our carriage, rolling in solemn 
 silence along the road that led to our homestead. My 
 father spoke not a word, and I could not imagine any fate 
 ill^i^ough to befall me, before h's wrath would subside. I 
 planned no excuses ; I promised myself not to vacillate in 
 any way when accused, I knew that neither attempt would 
 blind my rigid parent for an instant. When we reached our 
 home, my father with all his usual courtesy, helped me 
 to dismount, and gathering my superfluous wraps himself, he 
 gave me his arm and led me into the house. But all this 
 only foreboded the determination, changeless and cruel, that 
 comes from the cold deliberate anger of a just, stern man, 
 ^>Vhen I reached my room, I heard the bell rung for Donnelly, 
 
1 04 Manor Ed^eworth ; or^ 
 
 our old housekeeper, and then my heart quaked in earnest 
 with its fearful presentiment. I could not stand it any 
 longer, so I stole down stairs, dressed as I was in my white 
 brocaded ball dress, and hid myself behind the folding-doors 
 that stood half open between the drawing-room, which was 
 in darkness, and my father's study, where a single gas-jet 
 was lighting I had scarcely gathered in my skirts in 
 breathless teiror, when I heard the cold, sonorous voice of 
 my father speaking in low grave tones. Our faithful old 
 housekeeper standing by him, looked scared and white. I 
 strained my ears to overhear the conversation, but failed to 
 do so. Only as the old servant passed out I heard her say, 
 ' It is not for me to dictate sir, but I hope you'll think 
 better of this before it is too late — for her dead mothers 
 sake.' 
 
 "I was mortified beyond expression. A servant was 
 pleading for me, before my own father, and he refusing to 
 listen ! No wonder I felt the blood rushing hotly to my 
 face. No wonder that I was too proud to wait quietly there 
 for him to punish me at will. He had been severe and 
 exacting all his life, but there was a limit to his authority. 
 The very worst possible anticipations crowded into my brain, 
 when I saw the tears falling unrestrained from poor Donnelly's 
 eyes, as she turned to leave the man with whom all remon- 
 strance was vain. I stole out from my hiding-place again, 
 and on reaching the hall I saw the bundle of shawls my 
 father had carried in for me. A sudden impulse inspired 
 me, I wrapped myself in their woollen folds as best I could, 
 I turned the great bolts of the front door noiselessly, and 
 went out into the cold, chilly starlight, without a friend or a 
 home, shivering, and not having where to lay my head.' 
 
 Here she paused, and the intense malice and scorn 
 that sparkled in her fine black eyes almost frightened Ho^or 
 Edgeworth. When she resumed her story, her tone was 
 more calm and subdued. 
 
 " I walked on," she continued, " until my feet and 
 hands were numb with cold. The north-east wind pierced 
 its bitterness through my bared breast ; I pulled the shawl 
 tighter around me, clutching as I did so, a circlet of diamonds, 
 that would hj.ve purchased all the comforts in the land for 
 nie, and yet I was alone and freezing. He was coriifortable 
 and warm, whose cruelty had driven me into the street, and 
 
Ottmva^s Present 2\nse. 105 
 
 yet I was his own flesh and blood. He could listen to the 
 wailing of the winter wind, and know that it was the pitiful 
 cry of his child — his daughter, and yet remain unmoved. 
 It was then I missed the tender solicitude of a mother, and 
 I looked up into the cold silence of the stars, seeking in 
 their still, watchful expression, some stimulus, for I thought 
 I must go mad, or lie down to die on the earth's fro/en 
 bosom. I did not rashly censure anyone for my misfortune, 
 but that night the coldness and cruelty of life, as it unravelled 
 itself to me, blighted every womanly sentiment within my 
 heart. From that moment dates the cynicism that marked 
 my after life. My old self died out, and the flickering flame 
 that started afresh into existence, was no longer the (juiet 
 subdued one of older days. I had passed from a gay happy 
 girl, into a hardened reckless woman, and I have never 
 regretted it. 
 
 " Cold, and miserable, and friendless, I went in search of 
 a refuge, to an old nurse of mine, who lived at a short 
 distance from the si)ot to which I had wandered. I reached 
 the house and looked in the narrow window. A greasy 
 looking candle burned on the rough table, casting flickering 
 shadows around the low ceiling and walls, over the pewter 
 dishes and shining delf. It was a kind of comfort to my 
 poor heart, when I saw old Nanny herself, seated on a 
 rocking chair before the fire. I can never forget the expres- 
 sion of genuine horror that covered the old creature's face, 
 as she saw me at the door of her little cottage, shivering in 
 my ball dress. 
 
 '"Is it Miss Jean?' she said, with both hands up in 
 consternation ; ' sure I declare its more like the ghost of 
 your dead sweet mother comin' to me this blessed night, as 
 I just sat thinkin" of her.' 
 
 " In silence I entered and crouched by Nanny's cheerful 
 fire^ Great Heavens ! as I review the agony and pain of 
 those moments of my existence, I wonder that I ever sur- 
 vived it. I did ail that was left me under the circumstances. 
 I made a truthful declaration to Nanny and then left it to 
 her to do what she wished with me — but I weary you child, 
 with these details," Mde. d'Alberg said, hesitating slightly. 
 But Honor, with the flush of excitement on her cheek, 
 begged of her companion to continue. Thus pressed, she 
 proceeded: "Whether it was Nanny's intention to befriend 
 
106 Hotior Edgeii'orth ; or, 
 
 me or not, I was thrust upon her, for i slow fever followed 
 the chills and shivering that had seized me, and for seven long 
 weeks I lay between life and death on Nanny's neat old bed. 
 On the third morning of the seventh week I regained con- 
 sciousness, experiencing all that vacant wonder at the strange 
 surroundings of Nanny's little room. My memory was 
 struggling with the confusion and exhaustion, brought on by 
 my illness, but I did not care to think. I turned my head 
 peevishly away, and closed my eyes again. When next I 
 opened them it was growing dusk ; large grey shadows were 
 trooping out over the little room, leaving but the outlines of 
 Nanny's old-fashioned furniture, visible through their mist. 
 A small, broad clock was ticking out its monotonous notes 
 from the mantle-piece, and the crackling noise of the fire 
 somewhat relieved the great stillness. 
 
 " While I was thinking, Nanny's stooped figure cast a 
 shadow across the doorway, and came stealthily overto my bed. 
 I can yet see the look of relief and thanksgiving that came into 
 her dear old face, when she saw that I recognized her. She 
 bent over me smiling, and I stretched out my arms and clasped 
 them around her neck. That night she sat at the foot of my 
 bed, and we talked matters over. Despite all her arguments 
 and entreaties to the contrary, I was determined to leave 
 her as soon as my health allowed me. In the course of our 
 conversation, Nanny alluded to the night of my separation 
 from my father, to see how it would affect me. As I never 
 changed nor moved a muscle, she came nearer and knelt 
 before me. I knew by the strange look on her kind old 
 face, that there were words on her tongue's end, awaiting 
 utterance. 
 
 " ' What is it, Nanny ?" I said, ' speak it out ; there is 
 nothing now that can wound my heart it is free to the 
 worst treatment of fate. It is like the deserted nest in the 
 tpll pine tree. The summer of it's life is over, now the wind 
 may howl around it and the cold snowflakes fill it up. The 
 birds it once cherished have deserted it, and left it to its fate 
 alone.' 
 
 '* Poor Nanny's eyes were overflowing, as with a faltering 
 
 voice she said, 
 
 • '! " ' O, my poor child, to think your mother's daughter 
 
 should ever come to this ! But, there now, like a good girl, 
 
 don't talk like that ; it'll all blow over some day, and ye'll 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 107 
 
 go back to the old house where I nursed you in my arms a 
 tiny thing, and your mother before you, Now the big, tall 
 man is gone far away, the troubles will cease, please God, 
 and all 'ill be right.' 
 
 ** I looked sharply up. * What big tall man, Nanny ?' 
 I asked, and my heart beat violently as I waited for an 
 answer. 
 
 '* ' Oh, sure,' said she, rising up, ' ye were too weak to 
 tell ye of it, but wait a bit, an' I'll show ye now,' 
 
 " She went over to the old mantle-piece and pulled from 
 behind a curious looking box, a small envelope. Then, 
 bringing the candle nearer my bed, she handed me the letter 
 and left the room. 
 
 " Its contents were only what helped me towards action. 
 I had not expected this, and yet it had not surprised me in 
 the least. It informed me that my hero had left for the con- 
 tinent ; that owing to a series of unfortunate events in his 
 early life he had vowed solemnly never to marry. The 
 worst troubles that had ever befallen him had been on 
 account of a woman he had loved, and he had voluntarily 
 cast the sex out of his life for evermore. In that letter he 
 bade me a strange and last farewell." 
 
 When Jean d'Alberg finished speaking her face wore 
 an expression of half indifference and half regret, as though 
 the very last flicker of an old smouldering flame had sud- 
 denly darted up, and then died out in the ashes and the 
 darkness. As the sound of the last ec. o of her voice 
 ceased vibrating in the silent room, she awoke from 
 the revival of memory's lethargy, and her face resumed all its 
 wonted coldness and calmness. She looked at Honor 
 almost suspiciously, and said in a low breath, 
 
 " I cannot explain how I have been coaxed into this 
 confiding mood with you, child as you are." 
 *^She seemed to be awakening from a stupid dream, 
 and she was tangled in a strange mystery. Honor recognized 
 the feeling as a very common one. It is the doubt that 
 often interrupts us in our confidences, lest the depository of 
 our secret be not a safe one. It is generally a proof of the 
 importance, greater or less, of what we confide. 
 
 Honor sat upright, and womanlike, took both Jean's 
 hands in hers, sayings— 
 
 " Do not be uneasy ; I know your heart. I have not 
 
108 Honor Ed^eicorth ; or^ 
 
 a great experience such as yours, but the experience of 
 thought and emotion are not unknown to me. You have 
 been miserable, and even to-day it is not too late to sym- 
 pathize with you." 
 
 Jean d'Alberg laughed — a low, incredulous, skeptical 
 laugh, that half-frightened Honor. 
 
 " Do not talk of sympathy any more," she said, " such 
 things are soap bubbles, beautiful to look at from a little 
 distance, but stretch your hand out to grasp them, and What 
 remains? No, no, Honor, give up that foolish game. You 
 see by my tale that I have gone through the fire. I need 
 scarcely tell you with what result. I rose from my bed of 
 sickness with a heart of flint and a will of iron. I worked 
 honorably and honestly to bring myself to this country, 
 where there is true encouragement for industry and per- 
 severance, to this Canada, which is the pride and glory of 
 England, and whose arms are extended in an admirable 
 hospitality to the homeless exiles and fugitives of the world. 
 Here there is labor for all honest hands, and gratification 
 for all honest heart;., and God cannot but bless and cause 
 to prosper, a country so just, so encouraging and so kind. 
 
 I was not long here when I first met Mr. d'Alberg, 
 He seemed taken with me, but my heart felt not the slight- 
 est passing emotion towards him. In the end he became 
 satisfied to accept me as I was, and though I never wore 
 out my sleeves caressing him, still I made him a tolerably 
 good wife, until death wooed and won him from me, leaving 
 me to live on the plenty he had accumulated in a lifetime. 
 I am now neither happy nor miserable, I neither despair 
 nor hope ; I am waiting for time to do its best or 
 worst, i am prepared for either. Life or death offer mc 
 equal fascinations, 1 seek nothing but what chance sends 
 me, I have comforts, and in my way I enjoy them ; that is 
 all I want Let me give you now one word of advice ; li^ei 
 act, and die, independently of every other person and circum- 
 stance but yourself and your own immediate concerns, for 
 the mask of life is very deceptive, and we are not always 
 strong enough to bear the stroke when it falls." 
 
 A heavy sigh followed these last words and then all was 
 over. The long, intricate story of a lifetime, had been 
 breathed out. The shadows of the wintry evening were 
 trooping noiselessly from the corners of the room, and 
 
Otidwas Present Tense. 10!l 
 
 to the quiet observer there was nothing extraordinary to be 
 read from the surroundings. Honor looked serious, but 
 this was nothing new with her. Jean d'Alberg looked sad- 
 der tlian usual, though not with such a bitter sadness as one 
 finds in the face of an ordinary heroine, who reviews the 
 mockeries of her past for another woman. Were the verdict 
 just, it should call them both sensible women. 
 
 It seemed such an unnatural and inconsistent sound 
 when the demure old woman-servant appeared in the door- 
 way and announced sui)per. 
 
 liUt these two women rose and went to the dining- 
 room as mechanically as though they had just been discuss- 
 ing the last " ))oke " bonnet or Mother Hubbard mantle, in 
 the most usual way imaginable. However, a new tie bound 
 them together now, and though no direct allusion, was after- 
 wards made by either i)arty to the strange narrative, yet 
 their sympathy so strong, though new-born, manifested 
 itself in the look and actions of each, and they became what 
 the world called " staunch friends." 
 
 si''* fT-j.f ^ff;' 'iVA .'y. ' -^'X 
 
110 Jlonor EJii:;nc'(>rt/i ; ot% 
 
 .!' '/i/U .'//(•■Ml.; ): 1'. . 'SWi' 
 .z.iu, : •; r CHAPTER XIV.' ' ' 
 
 '* Would you had thoujjht twice, 
 ^ i'' ' Ah ! if you had Init ft)llow'd my advice." 
 
 • I ,; , ji" '«»! — Byron. 
 
 |E left Guy in Mr. Rayne's study, in sore trouble 
 as to how he could evade the task set him, and 
 join his rioting friends in their proposed 
 amusement. He scratched his head and made 
 countless agonizing grimaces ; he walked the room in long 
 strides, until his patience had reached an almost impossible 
 limit. J'hen he thought better of it, and decided to hold a 
 calm, cool and collected council with himself. It was plain 
 to his one-sided judgment that he was called upon to act, 
 and to act immediately. But this was easier said than done. 
 It is simple enough for a fellow to strike splendid chords on 
 the piano, merely by ear ; or in a moment of impromptu 
 genius he may construct some wonderful little piece of 
 mechanism ; Guy felt that he could achieve countless feats 
 such as these, but he'd be blessed if he could master a doiible- 
 locked window, or door, through any innate talent, on a dark 
 night, when every one is just asleep sound enough to start 
 at the slightest noise. He had persuaded himself^ by means 
 of such fallacies, as come unbidden to the susceptible heart 
 in the hour of temptation, that he must go out to-night by 
 fair means or foul. Once decided, he did not hesitate to 
 act, every one had retired, and surely he might steal out un- 
 observed. The chances were he could get back the same way, 
 and there would be nothing more about his little escapade. 
 Noiselessly, stealthily, he collected the articles of his street 
 wear, and rolling them up in a bundle, laid them by the 
 window. Then nta^vously, and fearfully, he began the work 
 of undoing the fierce looking bolt over the window. Every 
 one of those queer little noises, the voices of the night, 
 seemed to Guy the words of his uncle reproaching him with 
 his disobedience. Once as he was just about to raise the 
 lower part of the window, a coal gave away in the grate, and 
 the rattle that followed its fall made him quake with fear. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. Ill 
 
 rinally all was silent as Guy held his breath in eager listen- 
 ing, and making a desperate attempt he lifted the ponderous 
 frame slowly and secured it above. Directly under it was 
 the roof of a small balcony that shaded the side of the house. 
 In the summer time it was covered with green vines, which 
 climbed to the very top, but now the stiff withered leaves 
 and dry branches, rustled and cracked in a horrible way, as 
 Guy threw down first his bundle, and then proceeded to 
 follow it himself: "the devils' children, have the devils' 
 luck,' it is said, and it certainly often look's as if that luck 
 was the luckiest of all. 
 
 I Without scratch, or hindrance of any kind, Elersley 
 reached the ground, and as he buttoned up his overcoat, 
 matters commenced to look beautifully smooth and easy. 
 He half-expected that the jolly dogs had started on their 
 tri]) without him, but he was sure of finding company in a 
 great many other places besides, if the first failed him. He 
 was emerging in all possible haste from the gate-way of his 
 uncle's house when he was accosted by the police-man on 
 beat in that vicinity. Here was a *' fix." Guy was almost 
 in despair, and it was only on producing cards, and letters, 
 and other substantial proofs of his identity that he was left 
 go. He made a quiet determination to have a good time 
 after such hardships as he had endured, and indeed his 
 determination did not fall too short of the mark. It would 
 scarcely interest the readers to follow Guy Elersley any 
 farther than the gloomy street corner to-night ; though 
 perhaps many of them may have often followed his 
 prototype in spirit to such haunts as midnight revellers 
 frequent. Did we accompany him we would have to 
 tear away that opaque barrier, that many young polished 
 gentlemen, have built up before the eyes of their day 
 acquaintances ; we would have to call forth tears of bitter 
 bitter anguish, from trusting sorrowing mothers, who are at 
 this same moment praying God on bended knees, to save 
 their wild wayward boys. We would pierce the hearts of 
 many pure confiding girls, who are buried in dreams of 
 future happiness, and who would not dare suspect the awful 
 truths that are born of the midnight hours. There are, there- 
 fore, too many innocent ones interested ; too many mothers 
 to wail ; too many sisters to bow their heads in shame ; too 
 many young loving hearts that would burst were one to spell 
 
112 Hotwr Ed^eworth ; or, 
 
 out the truth in legible characters. " They have eyes and 
 they see not," let us mercifully leave them in their blindness. 
 
 Think of all that Guy had encountered to gratify the 
 paltry ambition born of a moment's passionate desire ; a soul 
 so young, almost fresh from the hands of the Creator, and 
 yet to be so covered with iniquities ! How soon he had 
 learned to jest and laugh at good, and to make his religion 
 the worshij) of the senses. Saying with Byron, 
 
 " Man l)eing reasonalile, must get drunk, * 
 
 The 1)est of life is but intoxication," 
 
 and striving to find in the wine cup, the satisfaction that our 
 inner nature craves, trying to feed a soul, hungry for the 
 beauties and perfections of the invisible world, with the 
 poisonous food of sensuality. Let us say to it with 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 " O thou invisible spirit of wine. 
 
 If thou hast no name to be known l)y 
 Let us call thee ' devil. ' " 
 
 And leit these words betray any of the personal indignation 
 that suggests itself at the moment the reflections upon such 
 lives are indulged in, the voice of this same great poet 
 can be heard again telling in his emphatic terms, 
 
 " I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
 Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, 
 The knotted and combined locks to part, 
 And each particular hair to stand on end 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.'' 
 
 But we have only to look around us intelligently to find 
 the secret out ourselves Society is at the acme of sensuality ; 
 it has reached the stiangest antithetical condition. It is 
 degraded in its excessive refinement ; it is coarse and repul- 
 sive in its cultivation ; it is ignorant in its enlightenment. 
 Necessarily all this is the effect of a cause, but such a pitiful 
 cause ! The total wreck of man's best element. The once 
 individual corruption has spread its fearful contagion until 
 it has become universal ; falsehood is disguised in truth, 
 vice in virtue, and fraud and diplomacy in honesty. If 
 women are expected to live in blissful ignorance of this 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 113 
 
 movement, that expectation is a crowning audacity, for 
 woman's life is destined to be one of action, and she will not 
 sacrifice her noble missioii through purely human motives. 
 She means to save her brother, her l6ver, her husband, her 
 son, even if the effort includes the forfeiture of her title of 
 woman in the eyes of society. 
 
 Thus it is, we have been persuaded into an unpremedi- 
 tated leniency towards the sterner sex, blotting out the 
 pictures of their vicious lives, not indeed to spare them in 
 the very least, but only to save the blush, the sigh, the tear 
 of many a woman whose heart is nigh enough to breaking 
 without a stronger hand striking the last blow in the cruel 
 work of laying bare the awful, the contemptible reality 
 which fills their lives with bitterness and heart-burnings. 
 
 We will, then, caution and advise without explaining, 
 and call on our co-laborers to make a grand effort towards 
 reformation, telling them that from the heart of the great 
 cities there rises a wail of sorrow and desolation, that 
 must fall on their ears like a cry of distress from the 
 poor suffering stricken ones, ihat they must rise bravely, 
 spontaneously, and joining hands they must come nobly 
 to the rescue. It is their lawful, binding duty to reclaim. 
 We must save from the wreck at least those "little ones" 
 that are growing up around us, " for of such is the 
 Kingdom of Heaven." AVhy need they ever know the 
 experience that is drunk in the wine cup ? Why must 
 they, too, walk in the well-printed footsteps of vice that 
 their elders are treading before them ? They must not ; 
 they shall not ; they dare not ! if they have noble women to 
 direct them, to inspire them with great and holy and gene- 
 rous thoughts, to draw them round the family fireside, to 
 gratify their eager hearts with innocent amusements that 
 elevate the mind and bring the soul nearer to God. Where 
 are the mothers now, who, like Blanche of Castile, can say to 
 their sons,/' My child, I would rather see thee dead at my 
 feet than that thou shouldst offer\d God mortally." Alas ! if 
 in our city alone, mothers were to re-echo that wish a. d have 
 it granted, many a strong youth would be laid in his coffin 
 before night ! 
 
 Mothers and sisters will ask, " What can one woman do 
 by herself?" What good? If every mother sends a St. 
 Louis to eternity before her, is not th^t a magnificent in- 
 
114 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 fluence on society, and who denies it ? Be not discouraged 
 then — withdraw the misplaced sympathies that have been 
 enHsted by thrilling manuscripts or exciting anecdotes in the 
 cause of missions andieligious undertakings abroad. At 
 home, within your own most intimate circle you have a mighty 
 field for your labors. Hearts to which you are closely 
 attached are sadly in need of your attention, and while you are 
 so solicitous in providingfor corporal necessities and comforts, 
 forget not the poverty, the destitution of the moral nature. 
 Wrap the robe of innocence and repentance round the heart 
 that is naked and susceptible to all the influences of foul 
 weather. Go bravely forth in the bark of divine charity 
 and .save the soul that is tossing helplessly on an angry sea, 
 without food or support or safety, plunging into irremediable 
 debauchery, as Guy Elersley is to-night. 
 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 115 
 
 Uif 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Praising what is lost 
 Makes the remembrance dear. " 
 
 0*^HE cold, cloudy night was just at its period of 
 ^ transition when the misty grey of a foggy morning 
 was slowly extending over the quiet city. A 
 light fall of snow covered the rough fences 
 and the bare branches, and a chilly, freezing atmosphere 
 weighed heavily down upon the earth. There was scarcely 
 a sound to be heard. Now and then the still measured 
 tread of a solitary policeman, or the pitiful chirp of some 
 homeless sparrow under the eaves of a neighboring house 
 broke the monotonous silence of the early dawn. But sud- 
 denly another sound burst out upon the great stillness ; it was 
 the clock from the Parliament Tower striking the hour of 
 three. The last vibrations had scarcely died out when the 
 figures of two men, arm-in-arm, came round the corner. 
 There is a well-known little on dit which says " when two 
 men walk arm-in-arm it is more than probable that one is 
 sober," but it was the exception and not the rule that applied 
 this morning. Both were seemingly under the same in- 
 fluence and to the same degree. Though the sight had its 
 revolting side, still one was also inclined to laugh at the 
 ridiculous appearance they presented. One was short, but 
 had all the disadvantages of his failing compensated in his 
 breadth. The other was, as I have often described him 
 before — tall and slim, our brave Guy Elersley. His features 
 were barely visible, owing to the manner in which he wore 
 his hat, which would willingly repose on his- shoulders only 
 for an occasional jerk upwards from the owner. His affec- 
 tionate friend with the pronounced tendency to embonpoint, 
 tried to persuade himself that his head was really covered, 
 although Guy's hat, to do its most generous, could never 
 shield more than the extreme top of his hair. Snatches of 
 their conversation only reassure the looker-on of the 
 absurdity of the situation. The good-natured looking com- 
 
116 Honor Edgeivort/i ; or, 
 
 panion, whose name was Morrison Jones, said in the most 
 usual tone in the world — 
 
 "I tliink we're getting home kind of late, Guy," at which 
 Guy laughed unreasonably long, and then added, 
 
 " Ye-s, he'l-(l-ate) me up, by Jove !" and then Jones 
 clapped Guy, saying, 
 
 " Here now ! no more of this," and both went off into a 
 ridiculous duet of laughter, that sounded harshly on the 
 stilly air of the i)eaceful night. ■'■'■ 
 
 Arrived at the gate of Mr. Rayne's house both young 
 men stood, and Morrison Jones who seemed a little bit the 
 wiser of the two addressed Ciuy in fatherly terms : 
 
 " Here r.ow, Elersley, this is twice I've seen you home 
 to night and I won't do it any more. It's time for honest 
 people to be in bed, and I think I'll go to mine." 
 
 " Mine-(d) you do," said Guy slamming the gate after 
 him, forgetting his usual precautions in the unseemly mirth 
 caused by his vulgar attempt at wit. Thus unceremoniously 
 he left his friend to wander back alone through the dismal 
 street. 
 
 Guy was just in that delightful state when a fellow is at 
 peace with all the world ; when he feels ready to share his 
 last shilling with his brother, and thus in perfect good 
 humor, he was making a drunken attempt to render the 
 " Tar's Farewell." He wandered on blissfully until he 
 reached the balcony beneath the library window. Here he 
 paused and looked up, but to his dismay found that the 
 window had been closed since his departure. The muddled 
 state of his brain prevented him from suspecting that he 
 had been discovered. He only knew that he felt the cold 
 chills of the dawn all through his frame and he could not 
 help longing for the pillows and warm blankets above. He 
 walked around to the back of the house and there began to 
 deliberate. " First — second — yes third " was his window, 
 but he must do it noiselessly for there was danger in the 
 attempt. By degrees he mounted as far as the window sill 
 in tolerable good humor, singing " Pull away my boys," 
 and then making another firm clutch on to some other pro- 
 jection he would squeeze out in a constrained voice, " Pull 
 away." Finally the window was tried and yielded — happy 
 lot. He resumed his song mixing it up with " Nancy Lee," 
 *' And every day," here the window went up another little 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 117 
 
 bit, for it was very stiff, " when I'm away," and he rested it 
 on his shoulder, " she'll," here his uncertain balance gave 
 way, and as — " pray for me " escaped his lips in frightened 
 tones, he stumbled head foremost into the room. 
 
 He remained there motionless for a few minutes, 
 wondering what he was doing all in a heap on the floor, but 
 suddenly the whole appalling nature of his misfortune burst 
 uj^on him in its most dreadful aspett. There before him, 
 standing erect with a lamp in his hand, was Mr. Rayne, 
 viewing him with all the withering contempt of a cold stern 
 man. Dazzled at first by the light he started up from his 
 recumbent position, and as he did so, the reflection of his 
 frightful appearance greeted him from the mirror opposite. 
 
 It would not do to spoil by an attempt at description the 
 conflict of emotions that rent his breast at that moment ; it is 
 far better imagined. He, there on the floor, after failing miser- 
 ably in an attempt to steal in, when he had promised his 
 uncle not to go out, his uncle standing now, petrified, before 
 him, having caught him in the disgraceful act of stealing an 
 entry. Mr. Rayne looked down upon him with all the bitter 
 contempt an honorable man can show to dishonesty ; he 
 spoke but a few words in a harsh grating tone : — 
 
 " I see you have contrived to preserve yonr bones 
 unbroken in this attempt, although you have shattered 
 your word and my future trust in you beyond reparation." 
 
 Then he closed the door and went back to his own 
 room, his face still wearing that painfully serious expression 
 it had scarcely ever worn before. 
 
 Guy began the disagreeable act of gathering himself up 
 as soon as the unpleasant novelty of his uncle's apparition 
 had died away ; and as each succeeding moment forced on 
 him, with his returning consciousness, the awful reality of 
 his condition, he began to feel that unenviable sensation of 
 distraction, which is almost akin to despair. He tried to 
 shape tbii^gs so as they might form some excuse, but it was 
 miserably vain. Matters were decidedly against him. He 
 had told his uncle that he would not go out, and the next 
 thing, he is found stumbling in a back window at three 
 o'clock in the morning. As Guy reviewed the situation 
 over and over in his perplexed thought, he found how mis- 
 taken he had been indeed, thus to fool with the man on 
 whom he depended for his future welfare. A hearty, though 
 
118 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 half selfish regret, seized him, and the broad day broke into 
 the room before he closed his eyes in sleep. 
 
 At eight o'clock he woke with a start from very unpleas- 
 ant dreams, just to face more terrible and more unpleasant 
 things in reality. Guy showed more moral courage on this 
 occasion than he had ever before shown in his life. He 
 rose with a fixed determination as to his plan of action. 
 He dressed with his usual care, and was downstairs before 
 his uncle. Sitting by the fire in the dining-room, he took 
 up the morning Citizen and began to read. Suddenly the 
 door opened and the room seemed to fill with the chilly 
 presence of Mr. Rayne. Guy never moved, yet he felt that 
 the cold piercing glance of his angry relative was upon him. 
 At last, unable to bear it any longer, he flung the unread 
 paper from him and confronted his uncle. The latter looked 
 fully ten years older, so serious and stern an expression did 
 his face wear on this gloomy morning. Guy began to feel 
 sorrier than ever, but the old man merely raised his hand, 
 and pointing to the door, said : — 
 
 " Go, sir ; it was not worth your while to spurn me thus, 
 at this period of my years ; but you knew that my principle 
 is 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,' and so, sir, 
 I give you your reward. Go from my house, for I withdraw 
 all relationship between us ; and remember, I will never for- 
 give this insult to my authority, from one on whom I had 
 lavished all my heart's affections." 
 
 A flush rose to the young man's forehead, and he burned 
 to say something in self-justification, but his uncle's wrath 
 was great and so he merely answered in a quiet tone, 
 
 "As you say, uncle," then before he left the room he 
 turned again, adding, "you have been young yourself, uncle, 
 and you may regret this precipitation when the memory of your 
 own follies comes back to you. As I have been the wrong- 
 doer, I accept your sentence, which all the same cannot 
 cancel in me the remembrance of your many kindnesses." 
 And thus, without a word of farewell from either, th6se two 
 parted, that a little while before had been all the world to 
 one another. 
 
Ottixwa's Present Tense. llt> 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ' ** O absence ! what a torment wouldst thou prove, 
 
 Wer't not that thy sour leisure gives sweet leave 
 To entertain the time with thoughts of love." 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 t 
 
 §Nr) so you think of going back to Ottawa so soon ? 
 Well, I suppose the magnet is hidden somewhere, 
 that draws you towards it," and Jean d'Alberg 
 c) laughed playfully as she turned to address her 
 words to Honor, who was yet buried in the snowy linen of 
 her comfortable bed. 
 
 Honor clasped her hands over her head and smiled a 
 little sadly, saying : 
 
 " Yes, I like Ottawa — more than I thought I did ; and 
 if it is just the same to you I think we need make no longer 
 delay here." 
 
 " My dear child," Mrs. d'Alberg said as she brushed a 
 long switch of auburn hair very briskly, " I thought I 
 explained to you sufficiently that all things are perfectly 
 alike to me. I will certainly go as soon as you wish, so 
 don't wait for my decision." 
 
 " I suppose you will think me capricious and hard to 
 please dear Jean, but somehow I feel a little lonely for 
 Ottawa." 
 
 Jean smiled meaningly as she answered : " Well I sup- 
 pose it is a case of reciprocity at its best and what you miss 
 most must be what misses you most ; therefore it becomes 
 your duty as well as your pleasure to restore matters to their 
 former equilibrium without further delay." 
 
 This was most pleasant encouragement for Honor who 
 could scarcely reconcile herself to pass another single day 
 away, once she had secured the consent of her hostess. 
 And so for the remainder of the week these two good friends 
 made all necessary preparations for their proposed journey on 
 next Monday morning. 
 
 It was not with the slightest inclination to regret that 
 
120 Honor Edge7vorth ; or. 
 
 Honor watched the scenes, familiar since the last few weeks, 
 fade rapidly now from their view, and yet as each station 
 brought them closer still to Ottawa, she began to fear that 
 sharp eyes like Madame d'Alberg's would guess the real 
 reason of such a premature return. However, it w;iis better 
 thus than that she should be solicitous about Guy, for she 
 knew of what he was cajjable when the reins of safe guid- 
 ance were not drawn in by a sure and steady hand. She 
 understood so easily the nature of the temptations that 
 assailed him. She cannot be described better than in the 
 words of the poet Lowell, who says : 
 
 " She was a woman ; one in whom 
 The spring-time of her childish years 
 Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
 '^ Tho' knowing well that life hath room 
 P'or many blights and many tears. " 
 
 The two lady travellers spoke little during the journey. 
 Each was sunk in an interesting reverie, cogitating and 
 moralising according to their capacities, and the circumstances 
 so entirely different that caused their thoughts to take the 
 courses they did. 
 
 Is it not a gift from God that we are in ourselves a 
 multitude of beings, able to gather ourselves in from the 
 eyes of the world and mix with a whole host of ideal 
 characters of our imagination. Perhaps it sounds a selfish 
 thing when spoken, but the writer speaks from personal 
 experience, having spent many happy hours in self-com- 
 munion, tasting the full sweetness thereof. 
 
 It was a great relief to Honor when she recognized Fitts 
 at the depot awaiting their arrival with Mr. Ra^ne's own 
 comfortable sleigh. After all, even in the little events of a 
 life-time, we can learn how prone we are to cling to old 
 familiar things, that fill our memories with fondest associa- 
 tions and nestle the closest to our heart's core, and we say 
 with Walter Scott : " The eye may wish a change, but the 
 heart never." 
 
 Honor strove hard to conceal her emotion, almost as 
 much from her own self as from those around her. Here 
 was one of those little deceptions, which make up the 
 human life. How can we complain if we are led astray by 
 others when we are so ready to lead ourselves astray ? 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 12 1 
 
 The meeting between Honor and Mr. Rayne was such 
 as amused Jt^an d'Alberg considerably. It was '* no wonder," 
 she said, " that some people had to give up all their sentiment 
 when there was so much wasted by others." As for herself, 
 she was quite content to thrust three of her gloved fingers 
 into her male cousin's broad palm, greeting him with the 
 coolest " How d'ye do," after a separation of years. 
 
 Honor looked the perfect embodiment of happiness, 
 but though her face beamed with smiles and her voice 
 laughed out its gayest accents, she was not nearly so free 
 from pain as one might be led to think. She had expected 
 to find another form among those who had welcomed her 
 back ; her eyes hungered for a smile she could not see, and 
 her poor heart thirsted for a word from that voice she could 
 not hear. Only to nestle her hand lovingly within his ; only 
 to look up into his big dreamy eyes ; only to hear him say, 
 even in his old jesting way, " How we've missed you," and 
 the dull, sick feeling of disappointment that now filled her 
 heart would melt quickly away. Maybe he was hiding in 
 some convenient spot waiting to be missed. But why did 
 not some one speak of him ? She dared not trust herself to 
 l)ronounce his name, and so she went up to her room with- 
 out having solved the mystery of his non-appearance. 
 
 The reader who has not had the experience, can, without 
 being too imaginative, readily understand the sentiment that 
 so completely controlled Honor Edgeworth. All the bright, 
 happy illusions in which she had basked of late had rested 
 on the doubtful, yet hopeful hypothesis that Guy loved her. 
 How many times she argued against herself, striving to find 
 occasions on which he had shown any indifference towards 
 her ; but in the end, a sweet smile enveloped her face, and 
 the pleasantest conviction of a young life seemed to thrust 
 itself upon her. She was forced to tell herself that his eyes 
 never turned from her, until they had looked into hers with 
 that deep penetrative glance that makes us feel that a soul is 
 looking into another soul. His hand had never been drawn 
 away from hers until she had detected that slight, almost 
 unwilling pressure that has only one meaning. When the 
 tongue will not be the outlet of our thought, may we not 
 have recourse to those inarticulate words that await 
 utterance in the eye's fond depths, and in the hand's warm 
 pressure ? 
 
l22 Honor Edgeivortk ; or, 
 
 So Honor asked herself from day to day, and she read 
 her little story in the lines : 
 
 '• We spoke not of our love, 
 But in our mutual silence it was felt 
 In its intense, absorbing happiness. " 
 
 And after all those days when she had been building up her 
 fairy castle, there came the crisis of to-day, which shook the 
 faith on which her edifice was built, and laid it in shattered 
 ruins at her feet. Yet, with this new-born grief at her heart 
 she must go down among those who cared not. to laugh and 
 be merry, although her voice in her own ears sounded like 
 a long lonely sigh. 
 
 She left her room half-an-hour afterwards to repair to 
 the drawing-room, but even as she walked along the corridors, 
 now half shrouded in the shadows of evening, she expected 
 to be surprised at every turning by the sudden appearance 
 of Guy. She felt lonelier now though back among the scenes 
 for which she had longed with a mighty longing, when hun- 
 dreds of railroad miles had separated her from them. And 
 then she grew impatient with herself for giving in to appear- 
 ances. She who had prided herself so much on her courage 
 to give up so easily now. Stirred by this new refTection, she 
 ran lightly down the broad oaken stairway and entered the 
 drawing-room, her face suffused with smiles. 
 
 r 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense 123 
 
 ■' 5, • 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 <( 
 
 f 
 
 It is one thing to be tempted, 
 i > .'{• .1- Another thing to fall." 
 
 — cihakespeafe. 
 
 HE clock of the Parliament Tower was pealing out 
 the last stroke of four, and almost simultaneously 
 there emerged from all three Buildings, young men, 
 old men and middle-aged men, all looking as weary 
 and hard-worked as civil servants ought to look. 
 . They did not turn back once to gaze on the spot where 
 the long, dreary hours had been spent ; outside that office 
 door life assumed another and an entirely different phase for 
 the government clerk. Even the memory of the lawyer's 
 clerks and " duns " from various parts of the city were left 
 buried within these sacred precints until the next day, and 
 one and all with a light step wended their way down the 
 Square towards Sparks street. 
 
 Among the crowd might be noticed a group of young 
 men that are loitering down the broad steps of the Eastern 
 Block ; most of them carry light canes and all of them are 
 smoking good cigars. As I have said they are young men 
 every one of them, and they are fast young men every one 
 of them, and they are likewise inconveniently short of money 
 are these good-looking fast young men. In fact they are a 
 great many things that are too numerous and too uninterest- 
 ing to mention. 
 
 But to Miss Dash and her friend Miss McArgent, who 
 are walking up Wellington street at this moment, they are 
 the most important group of individuals in the whole human 
 menagerie. 
 
 Emily McArgent wants to pretend she does not see 
 them, but Miss Dash would not willingly sacrifice all those 
 bows for worlds, and so she gives her plush bonnet a graceful 
 toss upwards and brings it back to its place as her face 
 becomes wreathed with smiles. 
 
 " I had to bow, Emily," Bella Dash says, persuasively, 
 " for they saw us, but if I meet Walter Burnett alone I'll cut 
 
l24 Honor Ed^eiiwrth ; or^ 
 
 him sure. The idea of asking me for the fourth dance last 
 night, and then spooning it off with that made-up thing that's 
 stopping at the Hramwell's!" 
 
 " You mean Miss ElHott," says Emily a little spitefully, 
 "why I find her rather a pretty girl, and it certainly looks as 
 if Mr. Burnett meant to dejjosit all his wealth at her feet." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure," rejoined Miss Bella, in genuine in- 
 dignation, " she'll soon find out whether he's in earnest or 
 not. It isn't the first nor the fiftieth time that Walter Burnett 
 has made girls believe he was in love with them, but anyway 
 continued Bella, in supreme disgust, " it is just killing, the 
 way the fellows act in Ottawa ; they must always fall 
 in love with strange girls that visit here, and when tliey 
 scrape U]) enough pluck and money to venture on a proposal 
 they go right off to Montreal or 'I'oronto or somewhere, just 
 as if there were not good enough for them here." 
 
 " Well, my dear, you can't force a man's taste," Emily 
 says in a satisfied tone, and no wonder that it affects her so 
 little, because there are proposals on all sides of a girl who 
 has money, is good-looking, and the daughter of an Hon. 
 gentlemen besides. 
 
 Miss Dash is beginning to grow a little cynical. She 
 has walked Sparks Street for the last eight or ten years, not 
 missed a ball or party, or other entertainment during that 
 period, that could bring her under public notice. She has 
 played Lawn Tennis times and again, and has even won a 
 Governor-General's prize ; she has gone on expeditions of 
 pleasure with Canada's most distinguished aristocrats and 
 somehow, she is still in " maiden meditation, fancy free." 
 
 Occasionally her indignation rises to the surface, and at 
 such times she reveals her sentiments rather recklessly. She 
 is in this complaining mood to-day, but she half susijects 
 that Miss McArgent, is inwardly enjoying her discomfiture, 
 and so quickly changes the subject. ^j^^^ 
 
 " I wonder what has become of Guy Elersley; Emily, do 
 you know ? " she asks in a puzzled tone. " He was not at 
 any of the parties these three weeks. Perhaps he is ill or 
 out of town." 
 
 " Couldn't tell you," Emily answers, " but they sa / he 
 is particularly interested in that young girl that lives at \:^ 
 uncle's. I daresay she knows something about his non-appear- 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 125 
 
 ancc among other young ladies. They say she is exceedingly 
 pretty, Bella have you seen her ?" 
 
 " Ve.s, I saw her face in church under the ugliest bonnet 
 you ever saw, and I met her on the Richmond Road the 
 other day, driving Mr Rayne's ponies. She looked reserved, 
 but j)erhaps she is a nice girl. Hardly the kind that Guy 
 j'Jerslcy would like though ; he's such a flirt ; he flirted 
 with me once till mamma thought. ..." 
 
 " How d'ye do," here the talkative young lady inter- 
 rupted herself to smile on Bob Apley and jack Fairmay who 
 were sauntering past them, and for a while the subject of 
 her intere.sting flirtation fell through. 
 
 They had walked on as far as the Montreal Bank 
 (luring this conversation, and here they met Willie Airey 
 who was talking to a handsome young stranger in military 
 uniform. 
 
 r 
 
 The two ladies bowed and passed on 
 
 " Did you see the new arrival," asked Miss Dash, look- 
 ing questioningly at her friend, "who is he, I wonder?" 
 
 "He looks like some of the Military College fellows,' 
 said lunily McArgent, a little more composedly, "I wish 
 Willie Airey would bring him along." 
 
 " Let's pass them again," Bella suggested, " and perhaps 
 he will." 
 
 Both young ladies deliberately stood, looked for a minute 
 into the nearest shop window, and then retraced their stei)s 
 to pass the handsome stranger again. As soon as they were 
 within view, Bella cast such admiring eyes on the face that 
 had attracted her so, that the owner of it, drawing his well 
 scented cigar from his lips, asked his friend : 
 
 " I say, Airey, who are those young ladies just passed ? " 
 
 " Those two, right here," said Airey, following his friend's 
 glance, "are Miss McArgent and Miss Dash." 
 
 'Aw they pretty girls?" pursued Vivian Standish, re- 
 placing his Havana in his handsome mouth. 
 
 " Well," Airey answered, laughing, " etitre nous, you know, 
 Standish, when girls are well off and help to keep up the 
 whole sport of the season, it is no harm to swear they are 
 lovely, when you're sure they'll hear it again." 
 
 " Oh, of course not ! That's a serious duty sometimes. 
 And are those two of your hospitable entertainers ? " 
 
 *' Yes, by Jove they don't let the fun run down, They 
 
126 Ho)ior Edgeworth : or^ 
 
 are jolly to kill time with, but upon my word, I find the 
 greater number of girls in society here are very insipid. If 
 you can't talk nonsense to them, they can't talk anything 
 else to you. And though we fellows knock a good deal of 
 fun out of their parties, etc., still, we've earned it by the 
 time we've talked over all the little gossip of the day with 
 them, flirted a little, escorted them to some opera or other, 
 and minded ourselves to say nothing but what was most 
 flattering, when speaking of them." 
 
 " Well I should think you had," answered his friend, 
 with a low laugh, " you can get something more than that, 
 with less trouble, elsewhere." 
 
 " Yes, but half a loaf is better than none," rejoined 
 Airey, "and these young ladies are not so bad when one is 
 in the humor to be amused. ' 
 
 just as he finished speaking, he noticed a familiar form 
 walking steadily on in front He clapped his hand heavily 
 down on the shoulder of him he recognized, and shouted, 
 
 " Hallo, Elersley," in genuine surprise. 
 
 Guy started and looked around. Poor fellow ! Already 
 the traits of sadness were visible in his handsome face. He 
 only parted his lips slightly as he turned to greet his friend. 
 
 " What, in the name of all that's nice, have you been 
 doing with yourself, Guy? We've missed you awfully." 
 
 " I dare say, I have been a little quiet lately," Guy 
 answered. " I am busy at present, but I don'tthink I need 
 complain of it. I am feeling better than if I were living 
 more on the streets." 
 
 Vivian Standish laughed the laziest sort of drawl. 
 
 " Now Elersley, don't take to moralizing — you were 
 never made for it ; your face would get so deuced eloquent 
 looking, that the rest of us would lose all our present 
 chances." 
 
 But Guy neither smiled nor spoke, and this set his 
 friends wondering. 
 
 On reaching the corner, Will Airey took an arm of 
 each of his companions, and said : 
 
 " Come along boys to see the tumblers. Come Elersley." 
 
 " Thank you, no," said Guy, releasing his arm, " I am 
 
 very busy and must get back to my room. Au plaisirl 
 
 Good afternoon ! " and he was gone. 
 
Ottawa^ s Present Tense. 127 
 
 Willie Airey looked after him and then at Vivian Stan- 
 dish, and gave a long, low whistle. 
 
 " There's something up there, by Jove," he said, tossing 
 his head in the direction Guy had taken. " If Elersley has 
 started a reform, it is time for the retail dealers in " gratific- 
 ations " to close up, for it is a sure sign we must all follow 
 him." _ 
 
 Vivian Standish looked thoughtful for a moment, say- 
 ing, as he drew a long breath, " I wish to Heaven we could, 
 for upon my word I'm sick of my own life. Anything would 
 be better than the existence we fellows try to drag out. I 
 think we are all fools who do not do as Elersley has done 
 to-night, and I for another refuse the treat with thanks." 
 
 So instead of repairmg to the familiar marble counter 
 inside a familiar glass door, these two spoilt darlings of 
 sensuality joined Miss Bella Dash and her friend, and 
 escorted them home, much to the intense gratification of the 
 first-named young lady. 
 
 Without complimenting himself at all on the moral 
 victory he had achieved, Guy Elersley walked along, sunk 
 in deep reflection. His long strides brought him over many 
 crossings and round many corners, till at length he stopped 
 before a demure, respectable looking hall door. Thrust- 
 ing a key into the lock, he opened it and stepped into the 
 hall, from which place he admitted himself into a small and 
 silent apartment. Guy's room presented a strange spectacle. 
 Suits of clothes, shirt boxes, silk handkerchiefs, slippers, 
 boots, ties, books, cigars and a host of other male appendages, 
 were lying around on the bed, and chairs, and floor ; in fact, 
 every available resting place had been taken advantage of. 
 In the midst of this confusion stood a large Saratoga, wide 
 open. Guy was evidently " packing up " this time, not be- 
 cause he had been " dunned " for half-a-year's board, though 
 that would have been no new item in his well-patched-up 
 experience. He was going away, and I doubt if ever a man 
 felt half so sorry for being " naughty " as Guy Elersley 
 felt on this particular evening. 
 
 One by one he folded away all his possessions into the 
 depths of his trunk, and when at last the chaotic mass of be- 
 longings had crept into a tidy space, he looked around — 
 that last surveying glance one gives to see that nothing has 
 been left out, Nothing had been left out, so he took down 
 
128 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 his overcoat, " that was hanging on a peg behind the door, 
 and he began to turn out the pockets. 
 
 As he did so the most melancholy of smiles crept over 
 his sad face, and drawing out his hand, his eyes fell on a 
 small, narrow band of chestnut hair, fastened with a gold 
 clasp, on which were engraved in large characters the initials, 
 "H. E." 
 
 A struggle ensued. The memories he had buried for- 
 ever, as he thought, surged upon him now in all their force, 
 and almost overwhelmed him. He took the little bracelet 
 in both his hands and looked at it tenderly, longingly. He 
 had not thought it possible that any woman could ever have 
 filled his heart with so much bitterness — the bitterness of re- 
 morse and repentance. He who had flirted and fooled with 
 almost every girl he had met, now felt what it was to have 
 met with one who was the embodiment of goodness and 
 purity and truth. Her sweet face haunted him through all 
 his miser>'. He knew she would be wondering about him ; 
 they had been such good friends. After all, must he go 
 away ? Perhaps never to see her again, without knowing 
 whether she would miss him or not. Oh ! at least, pain and 
 sorrow and suffering are not so crushing when one is loved. 
 It is something when the head is weary with its thoughts of 
 anguish to pillow it on the sympathizing bosom of one who 
 loves us ; it is in the deep, imploring gaze of the eyes that 
 watch us with a tender solicitude, that one learns an easy 
 lesson of resignation ; it is in the warm pressure of the hand 
 whose power it is to make our pulses throb, that one gathers 
 the courage for action in the moment of distress, and they 
 who have never been loved are they who suffer indeed. 
 
 Guy felt that he loved Honor Edgeworth in a way which 
 involved his own future happiness, and ' et how could he 
 ascertain whether he might hope or not ? Reader, do you 
 know that it is a dreadful thing to love in silence and in 
 doubt ? The victim of such a cruel fate wonders at the 
 mysterious Providence which dooms him to s^Dend his most 
 violent emotions in a fruitless combat with himself, gaining 
 no returns for the lavishness of his soul's affection, for if God 
 is love, love is surely mystery. 
 
 Still holding the precious little bracelet in his trembling 
 hands. Ciuy stood thinking and wondering. We are too 
 prone, in our cool and passionless moments, to judge harshly 
 
Ottaiva's Present Tense. 129 
 
 of the deeds that are done under the influence of strong 
 emotion, and for this reason many would condemn Guy for 
 his weakness on this occasion, for as he stood, the large, 
 round, tears rose to his eyes, and he tasted for the 
 first time, the over-flowing bitterness of a heart that is tried. 
 At last he seemed to have learned from this little talisman 
 the proper thing to do, for going over to the table that 
 stood by the window, he sat down, and drawing a sheet of 
 paper to him, took his pen between his nervous fingers, 
 and began to write : ^ ,, „,, 
 
 " Honor darling, there are a few little words waiting to be said 
 that you must be good enough to hear. If I spoke them, they would 
 sound like choking sobs ; as I write them, know that they are written 
 with tears. Honor, you cannot but feel what it is that I am longing to 
 say. You who understand the human heart so well, will not exact that 
 I should break the iron bonds of a cruel discretion, to let you know that 
 which is often best understood unsaid, By my own folly, I have placed 
 the barrier of distance between us. I go from this place in a few hours 
 more— where ? God knows. And for what ? He likewise alone can 
 tell. But there is a determination in my heart that was never there 
 before— a stimulant causing it to beat in heavy robs, and each throb 
 echoes your name. Maybe you call mine a worthless love, I cannot 
 tell, 1 wish 1 could. There is one little word, my guardian angel, that 
 will fill me with courage if your lips will but pronounce it, It is "Hope. " 
 Remomlier in any case, that whatever I shall do of right or good will be 
 on account of your redeeming influence, and that the day on which I 
 first met you is in my memory, the day of my salvation. If you have 
 any little word of encouragement for me, my friend, the bearer of this 
 message, will kindly have it sent me. You have taught me to hope 
 once, Honor, do not crush the passion you have awakened, for though 
 it be vainly — wildly — madly, I do hope now. I hope and wait. 
 
 Anxiously and lovingly yours, 
 
 GUY." 
 
 It was done. Only a few scratches of his pen to 
 interpret the misery of his soul, but how stiff it sounded ! 
 He has scarcely been able to restrain the gusts of emotions 
 that lay in ready words on the threshold of his lips. But 
 first he must know whether it was all despair for him in the 
 doubtful future before pouring out all the fullness of his heart. 
 He had scarcely finished the last stroke of his letter when a 
 tap was heard at the door, followed by the appear- 
 ance of a familiar face, the owner of which entered the room 
 and approached Guy without waiting for an invitation. 
 
 " Hallo ! Elersley, what in the name of all that's 
 wonderful are you at now ?" 
 
 9 
 
130 Honor Edgauoiih ; or^ 
 
 Guy looked suddenly up, but he could not hide the 
 worn and pained expression that covered his face. His 
 voice assumed a cheerfulness, he was far from feeling as he 
 bade his friend be seated. 
 
 " The room is in a queer state," he said, " but you wont 
 mind that." 
 
 " Well I mind it a good deal, if it means what it looks 
 like — are you off? "H-^^'iVA- 
 
 " Yes," answered Guy in a steady tone, " I am leaving 
 Ottawa to-morrow ; its a cursed hole for a fellow to live in, 
 and I'm sorry I did not find it out before." 
 
 "Well, upon my word," said Standish, throwing one leg 
 over the end of Guy's trunk, " you are a queer fellow. 
 What's going wrong that you are so blue about matters? 
 I thought you were an enviable sort of fellow, with a snug 
 little prospect before you, and here you are, as down in the 
 mouth as if you hadn't a hope in the world. What's up old 
 boy ?" 
 
 Guy turned his back to the window, and leaned against 
 the writing table with both hands. 
 
 " Oh ! things have gone a little roughly that's all, and 
 I prefer new pastures when there are troubles in the old ones. 
 I have been a little foolish, I suppose, and now I am reaping 
 my reward." 
 
 His face grew pitiably serious as he turned to Vivian 
 saying : 
 
 " There's only one little matter I am leaving unsettled 
 Standish, and will you manage it for me ? I cannot do it 
 myself." 
 
 " By all means Elersley. Who is he ? The tailor 
 or " 
 
 " Oh nonsense !" interrupted Guy impatiently, " it is 
 nothing of that kind. I have a note here to be carefully 
 delivered, and I would ask you to see to it for me." 
 
 " A young lady eh ?" Standish replied gOod-humoredly, 
 as he took the offered letter. " I thought there was surely 
 a woman at the bottom of it. Egad !" he continued under 
 his moustache, " we owe them a long debt of revenge, as the 
 cause of all our. grievous and petty wrongs. However," 
 this more cheerfully, " you can trust this to me. But talking 
 business, Guy are you actually going away ?" 
 
 " And why need it surprise you so," asked Guy, peevish' 
 
Ottawa^s Present Tense. 131 
 
 ly, " what are the railroads for, if not to take us miles away 
 from the scenes we love or hate ? I certainly am going, and 
 I have never realized until this moment what I owe to the 
 kind friends I have met during my sojourn here. If I have 
 solved the bitter mysteries of hidden sinful life, I ow^e a word 
 of gratitude to some worthy companions." 
 
 Here the memory of all he had lost through his own 
 recklessness, rushed upon him and before his embtion sub- 
 sided, he had cursed in bitter terms the false deceitful 
 friends, who had lured him from his innocence into vice and 
 depravity. 
 
 '., - y ■ ■' :^,^ i 
 
 I. V, . 
 
 !; . ■ : '.:■''•' "; •'*, 'f '' 
 
 in'C 
 
 \ 
 
 ■-*r 
 
132 Honor Edgnvorth ; or. 
 
 il .;-^i* ■,'!.' 'ti 
 
 , .,, CHAPTER XVIII. , ...II. 1^ 
 
 r ..i 1 
 
 *' With goddess-like demeanour forth she went 
 
 Not unattended, for on her as queen, , t 
 
 A pomp of winning graces waited still. 
 And from about her shot darts of desire 
 
 Into all eyes to wish her still in sight." 
 
 RE the ladies at home?" 
 
 "Yes. Will you come inside?" said Fitts, 
 ^s,^^ with his politest bow, as he extended an exquisite 
 c) little card receiver towards his visitors. 
 
 Then came a few moments of great bustle and confusion, 
 and an accumulation of seal-skins and brocaded silks was 
 ushered into the drawing-room of Mr. Rayne's house. 
 
 It was reception day for Aunt Jean and Honor, and 
 both were looking remarkably well in their most becoming 
 costumes, amid their rich surroundings. 
 
 Aunt Jean advanced slightly to meet two ladies as they 
 entered the room, and " How d'ye do?" passed from one 
 to another, as they deposited their expensive habiliments and 
 precious humanity into comfortable ''fauteuils.'' Then, while 
 Mrs. d'Alberg tried to sustain a conversation with the elder 
 and more substantial of the two, the younger lady, though 
 not exceedingly childish, drew herself towards Honor, and 
 addressed her patronizingly. 
 
 Here were people who were actual exclamation points 
 in the social grammar. Their imposing appearance forced 
 one to hold one's breath, and yet Dame Rumor, who deals 
 in wholesale whispering at Ottawa, told one, with her hand 
 to her mouth, that not so many years ago, Mr. Atkinson 
 Reid was solving the mysteries of existence, inside a scarlet 
 shirt, antique trousers, high boots and a conical straw hat. 
 Only lately, comparatively speaking, had he discarded the 
 one-storey frame house, in a decidedly un-aristrocratic and 
 objectionable neighborhood, where, nevertheless, fortune 
 was first pleased to smile benignly on his efforts to keep the 
 old leathern purse well filled, and where his now precious, 
 airy, nervous, affected daughters first saw their porridge and 
 potatoes. Things went well in the unpretentious little abode, 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 133 
 
 and by and by Johnny Reid was able to indulge in sundry 
 luxuries of life, that naturally belonged to a more advanced 
 stage of civilization than is assumed in the hut of the ordinary 
 shanty-man or wood-cutter. Years were stealing on, and 
 Ottawa was growing up into a respectable size, and at last 
 one day Johnny Reid made up his mind to abandon his 
 rough work, since his accumulated wealth now allowed him 
 to employ substitutes. With these glittering coins, that 
 represented so many strokes of a heavy axe from a strong 
 arm, and so many drops of sweai: from an overheated brow, 
 he would go into the heart of the city and buy finery and 
 style and accomplishments for Maria, and Nellie, and Sarah, 
 and the old woman herself as well, and life would bear fruit 
 at last to him, after all his hard toil and bitter experience. 
 
 And this is the origin of one of Ottawa's stateliest 
 mansions of to-day ; of some of society's most dashing hero- 
 ines ; of John Peter's fine livery and cosy seat behind the 
 best team of gilt-harnessed horses that trot the streets of the 
 Capital ; of the best and most sumptuous entertainments 
 that are given in our hospitable City, and of the honest old 
 gentleman himself who from this period must he recognized 
 as John Atkinson Reid Esq., with a decade of distinguished 
 antecedents that every one knows without even hearing 
 their names. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Reid dreaded the new responsibilities with 
 which her sudden acquirement of means threatened her, 
 but her daughters fresh from the most fashionable of 
 Canadian educational establishments, unde'^took to supply 
 for maternal deficiencies by checking their untutcied mother, 
 the very many times they deem it necessary, thus making the 
 last epoch of this ill-fated lady's life, a grand piece of misery 
 and terror. 
 
 Just now Miss Sadie Reid is fidgeting nervously with 
 a gold and pearl card case held within her primrose kids, 
 that are peeping through the outlets of her brocaded Mother 
 Hubbard dolman. She feels a little ill at ease beside Miss 
 Edgeworth, who is so self-possessed and unapproachable to 
 the stylish Miss Reid. The conversation is the same 
 immortal collection of exclamations and enquiries that one 
 hears everywhere in fashionable circles in Ottawa. 
 
 Miss Reid remarks in an almost flattering tone : " Why 
 
134 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 you don't look at all tired, Miss Edgeworth, after the 
 Mac Argent's ball." 
 
 " I do not tire myself ever when I can help it," Honor 
 says, " and t'lis occasion came under my rule. I left early 
 and rested well." 
 
 " Did you really ? " is the reply. " Well, you see, I 
 couldn't have done that. I was engaged for every single 
 dance and it would have been ' dreadfully atrocious ' if I left 
 before the end. We dined at Government House last night 
 again and to-night there is an ' at Home ' at the Bellemare's, 
 but I suppose I will meet you there. Really it is ' dreadfully 
 distressing ' for one to be obliged to go out so much. I am 
 sure you are to be envied, Miss Edgeworth, to be able to 
 keep so quiet." 
 
 " I wonder that you realize how fortunate I am," said 
 Honor calmly, " I thought our spheres lay so widely apart 
 that you considered my lot as unfortunate as I do yours." 
 
 "Oh! dear no ! " said Miss Saidie, "It is 'positively 
 agonizing ' to live as we do in such constant demand ; I sup- 
 pose you will feel it soon though, now you've come out. 
 You have no idea of what is before you." 
 
 " Excuse me. Miss Reid," interrupted Honor, " but I 
 think I have a very fair one. I have learned already that 
 when a girl creeps into her first ball-dress she is like a cabinet 
 minister getting into power ; she has a great many troubles 
 worse than trains to drag after her." 
 
 Miss Reid found this remark exceedingly funny, and 
 laughed rather immoderately. Honor thought ; but just then 
 Nanette came in with the dainty cups of tea, and so created 
 a slight diversion in the conversation. 
 
 As Miss Reid has told the reader Honor Edgeworth 
 had really "come out," with Madame d'Alberg and Mr. 
 Rayne as chaperons, and had made a great sensation. She 
 was the same calm, beautiful, composed girl as ever, though 
 a remarkable unseen change had come over her. If any- 
 thing, it had only given more dignity and grace to her bear- 
 ing, more music and pathos to her voice, and a more 
 sympathetic and attractive expression to her face. Jean 
 d'Alberg had not failed to notice it, and with her usual keen 
 instinct had readily divined the cause, but she never spoke 
 of it. She grew kinder, if possible, to the silent girl, and 
 was satisfied for the present to hope for better things. 
 
OttaivcCs Present Tense, 135 
 
 This bright afternoon, Honor felt more cynical than 
 usual, and the conversation with her frivolous guests did not 
 at all tend to improve her humor. 
 
 The Reids had just left the door, tucked into their 
 comfortable conveyance, when two gentlemen were announ- 
 ced. Honor recognized them as some of those whom she 
 had met since her entrie into society, but she neither knew 
 of, nor cared for the admiration that was so freely bestowed 
 on her by them. 
 
 When they were seated. Honor found that Mr. Standish 
 was nearest her, and therefore she addressed herself to him » 
 He could be the most nonsensical soul in the world when 
 he felt like it or he could talk the dryest common sense 
 that ever found its way into the wisest of heads, and thus 
 he made his society pleasant to feather-brains, and savants 
 alike. -«-■ ---.-n' 
 
 He was well up in almost every accomplishment. 
 According to the girls, he could dance ! oh ! his dancing 
 was heavenly, his singing was equally good, and as for flirt- 
 ing, why he could kill a dozen female hearts with one of 
 those pleading, dreamy, distracted looks, that he sometimes 
 made use of among his lady friends. He knew all the genus 
 and species of small-talk, and when it came to compliments 
 and pretty little nothings, he was without a rival. He could 
 take his turn at tennis and come off favorably. He could 
 ride splendidly and skate admirably ; in fact, he had made 
 merciless havoc with the girls' hearts, with all his accomplish- 
 ments and attractions, and such a fever of envy and jealousy 
 and eager gossip as he created among his fair friends was some- 
 thing so " desperately horrid " (as they would put it) that 
 one could almost hate him for it ; and to tell the truth, many 
 of his rivals, who were cjuite in the shade beside him, did 
 hate him most cordially. 
 
 This manner and bearing of his, he looked upon as a 
 passe-partout, and there was certainly one item in his 
 character that outshadowed all the rest, namely his conceit, or 
 self-sufficiency which was constantly asserting itself in his 
 every look and action. 
 
 Vivian Standish was a thorough man of the world — I 
 use the word in its most literal acceptation. He was one of 
 those cool, keen, calculating, diplomatic men, who never 
 lose their presence of mind, who never hesitate, and yet arc 
 
136 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 never precipitate, who always say the right thing in the right 
 time, and to the right people. No one knew anything of 
 his antecedents, but somehow, he carried an acceptable sort 
 of reputation on his face. 
 
 Guy Elersley had done many foolish things, but foremost 
 among them all was, his having made a friend of a man who 
 was as obscure and incomprehensible to him as the most 
 profound ethical mystery. 
 
 They got on very well together, however. Guy found 
 Vivian all that one fellow expects another to be, consequently 
 they soon became fast "chums." Now this is no light 
 word at least in Ottawa. If you give a fellow to understand 
 that you are his friend, it means, *' thro' fire and water," if 
 anything ever meant it. Ottawa is one of the most un- 
 fortunate places in the world for some people to live in. It 
 is pregnant with snares and scrapes for budding manhood, 
 and there is redemption in nothing, if not in the steady arm 
 or well filled pocket of a friend. According to these notions, 
 Guy and Vivian had played saviour to one another on sundry 
 occasions. The last confidence reposed was the note that 
 Guy had given Standish to deliver in, " Honor Edge worth's 
 own hands," before his departure on that eventful night 
 when we left the two friends chatting over Guy's new troubles 
 and plans for the future. 
 
 Vivian Standish had drawn in the comfort of his cigar 
 in rather anxious breaths, as he walked back alone in the 
 starlight after leaving his friend. He detested things that 
 puzzled and crossed him, and nothing under the sun could 
 have puzzled him more than the sudden change that had 
 come over Guy Elersley. He had been such a happy, care- 
 less, daring sort of fellow all his life ; and now, all at once, 
 a gloom of skepticism seemed to settle down on him, ex- 
 tinguishing the light of hope and energy which had previously 
 marked his character. This, Standish concluded, was no 
 meaningless nor ordinary effect ; there must be a cause for 
 this newer, more thoughtful mood. Had he forfeited his 
 claim to the long-expected legacy of Henry Rayne's wealth ? 
 Had Honor Edgworth any thing to do with it ? Perhaps 
 he never answered these questions even to himself on this 
 silent night. He walked on quietly till he came to a street- 
 lamp, whose yellow radiance threw fitful gleams around the 
 lonely street. Here he stopped and deliberately unbutton- 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 13t 
 
 ing his overcoat, took out the note that Guy had confided 
 to his care, tore it open and coolly read, word for word, the 
 passionate declaration held therein. He laughed a low little 
 chuckle, with his cigar between his teeth, and muttered to 
 himself, " not so bad by Jove, not a bad game at all." Then 
 without a trace of shame or compunction on his face, he 
 calmly tore the precious paper into little pieces which he 
 carefully i)laced in his vest pocket. Then he buttoned up 
 his coat, and putting both hands in his pockets he walked 
 steadily on, still scenting the air with his expensive cigar, and 
 wearing all the while such a look of lazy amusement as be- 
 trayed nothing whatever of what might be going on inside of 
 those handsome features. 
 
 Vivian Standish was a man of impulse and inspiration ; 
 but, strange to say, his impulse or inspiration invariably moved 
 him the right way. I use right, as meaning personal advan- 
 tages or victory for himself His latest " inspiration " led 
 him to reflect on the possible and very gratifying advantages 
 he might secure for himself by marrying well. " But then," 
 thought he, " girls are such diabolical ninnies that every- 
 thing which does not come under the shadow of some big 
 church or fat parson is vicious in their eyes." In spite of 
 this conviction, he had weighed his chances and possessions 
 against every possible drawback, and, with his usual conceit, 
 he fancied the road was beautifully clear. 
 
 Here we have him then with the self-appointed mission 
 of choosing a wife. No man had ever held within his soul 
 such volumes of deep sentiment as he could call into his 
 eyes when the occasion required it, and no knight of the age 
 of chivalry ever wooed a fair lady with such winning words 
 and courteous deeds as Vivian Standish could bring to his 
 aid, when he so wished it. 
 
 This is an age replete with valuable opportunities for 
 cunning people, and they are the losers who cannot take ad- 
 vantage of the world's susceptibility and weakness, by turning 
 its folly to their own personal advantage and especial benefit. 
 
 Vivian Standish had not a genius for everything alike. 
 He never in the world could have created himself an apostle 
 of festheticism, though he found out later that there was 
 more money than exalted enthusiasm in the business. He 
 never could have bothered about a flying machine, or spent 
 his time discovering hair renewers or cures for rheumatism, 
 
 -■:f 
 
138 Honor Edgeuwrth ; or, 
 
 but he could speculate with the wealth that nature and a 
 little art had given him, in the gold mines of the comfortable 
 houses that were open to him. With a little tinge of com- 
 munism and a great deal of egotism in his nature he con- 
 cluded that he had as good a right to the gold and silver of 
 those gouty fathers and mothers as they had, and he was 
 going to prove it too. 
 
 With this insight into his character, which is rather a 
 long parenthesis than a direct deviation from my story, we 
 can see Vivian Standish in his true colors, and \ve can, 
 therefore, easily guess the object of his visit to Mr. Rayne's 
 house on this particular afternoon. No ordinary observer 
 could have detected any other than a purely conventional 
 motive in this call. 
 
 He had met Miss Edgeworth, and had solicited the 
 favor from her of allowing him to call at her residence. 
 Every other young fellow had done nearly the same thing, 
 and he himself had acted in the same manner towards 
 many other young ladies. But we, who are permitted to 
 look behind the screens while this little drama is going on, 
 can say more about his true motives. His clever way of 
 reasoning had led Vivian Standish to believe that Guy 
 Elersley had forfeited every right to his uncle's wealth, and 
 without knowing anything of Honor's own fortune, he con- 
 cluded that it was worth a fellow's while to secure her, as the 
 most indirect, but about the most truly lawful way of getting 
 the " old fellow's " money. 
 
 It was this determination that had caused him to cast 
 the fractions of Guy's love letter into the fire when he 
 reached his room on that eventful night. He excused him- 
 self very easily on the plea that there was no earthly use in 
 encouraging this love aifair, when there were neither hard 
 cash nor good prospects to wind it up with. Elersley had 
 had his chance and missed it. Now, why wouldn't some 
 less fortunate dog take his rejected luck and put it to better 
 account ? There is no verdict so prompt as the one a man 
 pronounces over a case of "my own good or another fellow's." 
 And Vivian Standish made up his mind, in plain English, to 
 do "square business." 
 
 " Square business " to him meant something very 
 delightful to the average society girl. Courteous manners, 
 marked attentions, openly expressed admiration, and slavery 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 139 
 
 almost if she proved exacting. But Standish had an idea, 
 and not a too comfortable one about the character of the 
 girl he had to deal with. And so this afternoon, he presented 
 himself before her with all the charm of a studied negligence 
 which attracts in spite of one's self He was very careful 
 about all that passed ; as yet he was only groping in the 
 dark. If he once knew whether she loved Guy or not, his 
 game would be an easy one, and this was the first problem 
 he set himself to solve. He spoke to her of a great many 
 things before he ventured on the subject that interested 
 him most When he did finally broach it, he merely asked 
 in a simple sort of way : 
 
 " Have you heard any news of — a — our mutual friend, 
 Mr. Elersley ? " 
 
 The die was cast. He had only this instrument with 
 which to apply his skill, and had he used it well or not ? 
 The sound of this name was the " Open Sesame" to Honor's 
 heartful of secrets, and Standish scanned her face with a 
 look of penetrating inquiry as he pronounced it. But men 
 are fools. Honor Edgeworth was a woman and a woman's 
 face is not an index to woman's soul. Truly her slender 
 fingers clutched each other nervously until the golden circlets 
 around them nigh entered the tender flesh. But who felt 
 that besides herself? It is a woman's own fault if she is not 
 appreciated to-day, for men will never know from her lips of 
 the hundred moral victories she achieves daily. Even those 
 ordinary common-place females who make the dresses and 
 trim the hats of the creatures our men adore, even these do 
 their inner selves ipore violence in one short day than a man 
 endures for a life time. Give me a man for courage, if you 
 will, for power of action, if you will, but give me a woman 
 with a heart for an unrivalled endurance and fortitude. 
 
 Vivian Standish cool, keen, deliberating, could read 
 nothing in his companion's face, and thus baffled, he began 
 inwardly to wonder what would be his next course. 
 
 Honor looked at him in the most provokingly com- 
 posed way and said dryly : 
 
 " You may give the word 'friend' a rather extensive 
 meaning for aught I know. Things have grown into such an 
 exaggerated state, now-a-days, that a commonly sensible 
 person is lost towards understanding them." 
 
 Standish winced. 
 
l40 lionor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 " Which may infer that I am not on intimate terms 
 with my commom sense," he thought, and aloud : 
 
 " I will retract the word if you please, and consider 
 you and Mr. Elersley as strangers." 
 
 Strangers ! that was true, deep down in her heart, but 
 with her lips she said : 
 
 " By no means, Guy Elersley and I have ceased to be 
 strangers from the first moment we met. "But this can not 
 interest you. Let us talk of something else. Do you enjoy 
 the last of the season here ? " 
 
 " Very much indeed," he replied, but without the 
 slightest warmth, as he was inwardly wondering at this girl's 
 conduct, so different from the others. At this stage of his 
 critical distraction, his friend rose and shook hands with 
 Madame d'Alberg, then advanced to make his adieux to 
 Honor. This necessitated Vivian's doing so likewise, and if 
 ever Vivian Standish's hand clasped another's emphatically, 
 it did on this occasion. He just gathered the soft white 
 fingers of this strange haughty girl within his own, and held 
 them for an instant in that trusting longing Way that had 
 done him good service many a time before, then he laid them 
 quietly away, with a look of eloquent pleading in his eyes 
 and a simple *' Good-bye " on his handsome lips. 
 
 It was six o'clock at last. The gas was lit, the curtains 
 drawn, and the familiar and just now welcome sound of 
 dishes was coming from the dining-room across the hall. 
 Mr. Rayne was expected every minute, and Mrs. d'Alberg 
 and Honor were loitering the moments of waiting around 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 "Well, aunt Jean," said Honor, lazily placing her hand 
 on the back of the arm-chair in which the lady addressed 
 was seated, (she had chosen to call her "aunt" since she 
 was to appear in society as her charge), " what do you pro- 
 pose doing to-night ? Do you care at all to go to the 
 Bellemare's ?" 
 
 •'Oh, I don't know," Mrs. d'Alberg replied, '*one place 
 is as attractive as another for me. You will see plenty of 
 people and nonsense, and you may as well be wearied all at 
 once with these things as to foster the spirit by degrees. 
 You will meet Miss Mountainhead or Miss Dash, or Miss 
 
Ottatva^s Present Tense. 141 
 
 Reid some of these days, and if you can't talk about this 
 one's ' kettledrum ' and that one's ' at home ' you will be 
 bored to death by hearing their version of it, so you might as 
 well do one thing as the other. You'll see that Mr. Standish 
 too, by-the-way ! Do you know, I like him, Honor ; it is a 
 stamp you seldom see." 
 
 " Really, aunt Jean," Honor was smiling, "this looks 
 suspicious. You should be blind to your favorite stamps by 
 now. But about this other thing, since we've accepted we 
 had better go, as you say, boring one's self to death, or being 
 bored by other people is much the same thing, so we may as 
 well resign ourselves and make the best of it." .. ; 
 
 n'^ 
 
 ¥: * ^ -^ ir 'k 
 
 Vivian Standish was puzzled more than ever when he 
 left Mr. Rayne's house. He had counted on meeting an 
 ordinary society girl, but had been greatly, though not at all 
 unpleasantly disappointed. 
 
 He did not dislike Honor Edgeworth in any way. He 
 felt rather attracted towards her than otherwise , but he felt 
 uneasy about the little plans he had cherished and encouraged 
 for so long. , .- . • , ,4 
 
 An hour or so after leaving her, he was in his own 
 room, comfortably installed in an easy chair drawn up to the 
 window, with his velvet slippers resting on the sill and the 
 graceful clouds of smoke curling upward? from his handsome 
 mouth and surrounding his languid form. There is not 
 very much to look at from the window of a Bank street 
 boarding house, and yet a passer-by at this moment would 
 have thought this elegant young man was deeply interested 
 either in the dilapidated representations of " Hazel Kirke " 
 that- adorned a straggling fence opposite, or in the music (?) 
 which a classic looking organ-grinder was trying to eke out 
 of his instrument to the tune of the *' Marseillaise," to 
 the great delight of the customary crowd of youngsters who 
 surrounded him. 
 
 But Vivian Standish rarely wasted his faculties on such 
 matter-of-fact things, while there were other projects of a 
 more personal advantage awaiting hi;i consideration. He 
 was wishing heartily at that moment that some girls had not 
 one-quarter of the bruins that nature had improvidently en- 
 
142 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 dovved them with, but this being a hopeless hope, he occu- 
 pied himself in trying to discover the best way in which to 
 deal with a person so gifted. 
 
 A fellow in a boarding-house is a most unfortunate 
 creature, being never quite free from the intrusion of a host of 
 friends. Vivian felt this unpleasant truth in all its intensity. 
 His interesting cogitation was cut short in a little while by 
 the entrance of a bevy of comrades, and he had to come 
 down and stand at the front door, to flirt and " carry on " 
 with the girls that passed, and otherwise contribute towards 
 the amusement of the crowd. •.] vtyii :..ri .ni;^ ^f ' 
 
 ■ r. '\ .■f^i'^:.^ ^''i■■'■>'■f^!f)'1'H^■'■(;.f'^- 
 
 ^ .li> '■-".'■?* I 
 
 I, '.MJ 
 
 ■■-I'.^- 
 
 :(A, V ,■.' •■■]., (I 
 
 ( ■ . i 
 
 y ■ 
 
 
Ottaivd's Present Tense. 143 
 
 ' 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 .Kir. '-'.^C ^ -'''• '^ 
 
 * ' Come now ; what masks, what dances shall we have 
 To wear away this long age of three hours 
 Between our after-supper and bed-time." ,. ^ 
 
 /^^ERHAPS it was owing to Honor's apparent indiffer- 
 '^ ence that Henry Rayne refrained from giving a full 
 account of Guy Rlersley's disappearance from among 
 them. He had insinuated something about the 
 misunderstanding that had arisen between his nephew and 
 himself, but the subject was a painful one, and unless 
 pressed for further information, he preferred to remain 
 silent altogether about it. 
 
 Honor had taken counsel with herself and had acted 
 very wisely in consequence. She assured herself that it was 
 presumption to suppose that Guy loved her. She had no 
 direct proof of such a sentiment existing. Their whole 
 period of acquaintance and companionship had been tinged 
 with romance, but it would have been the same, had she 
 been any one else. It was almost the certain fate of two 
 young people thrown together as they had been to " fall in 
 love." Yet he had given her no definable cause to count 
 on him as an admirer or lover. He had not even gone to 
 the depot on the morning of her departure, or shown him- 
 self in any marked way, concerned about her ; so she 
 resolved to quietly stow away the items of her past that 
 wound themselves around his name or memory, and to 
 begin another life strengthened by this new experience. 
 There is something of a Spartan endurance in a heroic 
 woman. She can carry inside the fairest face, the battered 
 wreck of the fondest heart, and even if we must call this 
 deception, surely it is a virtue. She adopts her sad misfor- 
 tune as a responsibility akin to duty, and it is a gratification 
 and a solace to herself to know that she suffers alone and in 
 silence. 
 
 Honor did not allow this strange turn of things to in- 
 fluence her life visibly. She had learned a new chapter of 
 that mysterious volume that destiny holds open to all men, 
 
144 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 but it did not seem new to her. She was one of those people 
 who, from acute observation on those who have gathered 
 the fruit of a long experience, or from a study of those 
 authors whom we know as direct interpreters of the human 
 heart, had acquired that inner knowledge and experience of 
 things which, in its moral effect on the system, is equivalent 
 to the actual tasting of the same phases of life. She had 
 prepared herself to meet trials and disappointments in the 
 very heart of her comforts. What other fruit can be born of 
 a selfish, scheming world ? But she thought she had discov- 
 ered a sympathetic bond between herown and this otheryoung 
 soul. Guy did not seem to her as the rest of his kind. At 
 times, when his better nature was aroused, he gave expression 
 to the noblest and most exalted feeling. He had the one fail- 
 ing, however, of being easily led — and there are so many per- 
 sons to lead astray in Ottawa city, and so many places to lead 
 to, that it takes a very strong arm or a very eloquent voice or 
 a very subtle influence to counteract the effect of evil com- 
 pany on one we love. Honor could not encourage thoughts 
 of distrust towards Guy. The memory of their happy 
 friendship always stood between her and her censure of him, 
 but still she could not cancel the thoughts of all he might 
 have done and did not do. No word, no sign, no message 
 to assure her that he had clung to her memory as a bright 
 spot in his misfortune ; and she would lay back in her bed 
 at night, thinking, wondering and puzzling herself about the 
 strange, mysterious things that could transpire while this big, 
 revolving machine of ours turned once around. ' : vif'' i 
 
 There was a kind of subdued excitement in the upper 
 front rooms of Henry Rayne's house to-night. It had been 
 decided to go to the Bellemare's, and all this extra confusion 
 was only about the toilets. Nanette was showering ejacula- 
 tions of the profoundest admiration on Honor, who, robed in 
 black satin, stood before a tall mirror adjusting her skirt. 
 
 It was almost provoking to see the cool, calm way in 
 which she went through the different stages of " dressing." 
 Her brocaded satin fitted exquisitely to her slender waist, 
 and ended c ver her shoulders in a square cut, whose 
 gatherings of 'ich Spanish lace lay in dazzling contrast to her 
 snowy neck and arms. 
 
 A pair of diamond screws were fastened in her ears, but 
 apart from these she wore no other jewel. Before leaving 
 
Ottaioa's Present Tense. 145 
 
 her room, however, she plucked the bursting bud of a white 
 rose that grew in a dainty pot on the window sill, and with 
 a spray of its leaves fastened it at her breast. She was ready 
 before aunt Jean or Mr. Rayne, so she stole down to the 
 dimly-lighted drawing-room to while away the waiting . 
 moments in playing dreamy chords and half-remembered . 
 snatches of [)ensive airs. 
 
 Aunt Jean was a most fastidious woman, and dressed ' 
 according to certain rules and regulations, any aberration 
 Irom which was a gross mistake not to be tolerated. Henry 
 Rayne, for an old man, was also uncommonly exacting. 
 He spoiled, on an average, a dozen white ties nightly when 
 he decided on going out, and it was a task to insert his shirt , 
 studs in a way that would satisfy him. When Honor had 
 time to arrange things in the afternoon, all went smoothly 
 enough ; but for him to dress on a short notice meant a , 
 good deal of trouble to his household. 
 
 The brilliant light of a dozen chandeliers is flooding 
 the ball-room at Elmhurst. The walls of the spacious 
 apartment are decked with festive decorations. The air is , 
 heavy with rich perfumes ; soft, sweet strains of dance 
 music float through the crowded rooms, and women, the 
 fairest, richest and noblest are gliding by on the arms of their 
 interested partners. Every face is smiling ; some are perfectly 
 iapj)y ; some are perfectly wretched ; some are perfectly indiffer- 
 ent — but all are smiling, all look pleased. Even Miss Dash and 
 a few other friends, who look suspiciously like wall-flowers, 
 smile broadly at the least amusing remark, just as though 
 they were not being consumed with jealousy and disappoint- 
 ment. They talk eagerly and gladly to deaf old members 
 of Parliament and stuffy bachelors, whom they hate more 
 intensely than ever after the evening is over. Fans are waving 
 in every direction, the great', broad, heavy "coolers "of 
 the fat mammas, who are just dying from heat and exhaustion ; 
 and the pretty, feathery, spangled things, behind which is 
 whispered many a coquettish word by the pretty lips of gay 
 young girls ; and the poor, ill-used one's of the wall-flowers, 
 that are either being bitten viciously at the safest end, or that 
 fly impatiently through the air, cooling the puckered brows of 
 disappointed belles. 
 
 Everyone is there who is "anything." The Bellemares 
 
 10 
 
146 Honor Edgcworth ; or, 
 
 are very well known in Ottawa. Strangers point to their 
 splendid mansion, situate a little way outside the city limits, 
 and ask, " Who can live there ?" And the resident of 
 Ottawa tells all he knows. Mr. Joseph Bellemare, one of 
 our great lumber merchants, is the proprietor of that grand 
 residence. He has plenty of money and comfort, a small 
 family — a marriageable daughter and two sons — who help to 
 diminish very considerably the family treasure. The house 
 is finely adapted for large entertainments, having immense 
 rooms for reception, and dancing and refreshments. Then 
 there was the handsome library, the conservatory and bil- 
 liard room, all with little tete-a-fcte nooks and corners in 
 which spoony lovers might take refuge for hours, without 
 being noticed. :'>■>. i. 
 
 There were lawns and groves, and boats and fishing 
 for the delightful summer-time. In fact, nature and art had 
 both contributed largely towards rendering this superb 
 dwelling-place one of the finest, and most attractive in the 
 whole country around. ■• -'" 
 
 Nature however, with characteristic inconsistency, had 
 never intended Miss Louise Bellemare, for a beauty. But 
 nature proposes, and art disposes. 
 
 There are those among that crowd of beauty and edat 
 to-night, who would not attempt to dispute the omnipotence 
 of Belladonna, or blanc-de perle, or any other item of the 
 homely girl's toilet repertoire, for it would have gladdened 
 the eyes of the inventors of these cosmetics, if they could 
 have beheld for an instant the charming efiect produced, by 
 the skilful use of their Helps to Beauty. 
 
 It is now quite on the late side of nine o'clock, and the 
 night's sport has fairly begun. Young men, pencils in hands 
 are standing before their favorite acquaintances, soliciting 
 the favor of "at least one ' dance,' for me, you know.'' 
 The first waltz is in full progress. The inviting strains of 
 the " Loved and Lost," are floating through the air, and the 
 room is alive with the "poetry of motion." Just at this 
 moment Honor Edgeworth passes from the Reception Room, 
 across the Hall, leaning on Mr. Rayne's arm, and into the 
 Ball-room. No one makes any pronounced interruption to 
 their occupation as she enters, but somehow the buzz seems 
 to abate considerably, and the voices seem to dwindle into 
 a whisper, 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 147 
 
 There are different reasons for this proceeding. The 
 girls' reason is a natural one. She is new in society, very 
 attractive, and her presence thrusts itself on them as a' warn- 
 ing. They don't see what she wants among Ottawa coteries, 
 horn and bred, no one knows where. But the men's reason 
 IS also a very natural one. They are a little tired of con- 
 tinually meeting the same fair faces wherever they go. A 
 woman is to them like a good thing that won't wear out. 
 They do not wish to give up either altogether, but they weary 
 at the sight of them, and so long as they can substitute them 
 for any other— whether inferior in merit, or not so provok- 
 ingly durable, they are happy; with the knowledge of 
 course, that the other is always on hand when they require 
 It. This flattering opinion that fashionable men entertain of 
 most fashionable women is what is richly deserved by them ; 
 for wonien who flatter and spoil men as they are flattered, 
 and spoiled in Ottawa, can expect nothing else. A suit of 
 clothes of respectable tweed, or broadcloth, is the object o'" 
 more spare enthusiasm than a whole collection of moral 
 qualities in a rival woman. 
 
 This explains why the male element of Ottawa society 
 IS extremely gratified to hail such an interesting acquisition 
 to their circle as Honor Edgeworth. The other girls are 
 "dreadfully disgusted" to note the sensation she creates, and 
 mstead of looking at her openly, they pretend to be a million 
 times better occupied while they are peeping at her behind 
 each others' backs, and over each others' heads. There is 
 something to look at after all. Honor is surrounded im- 
 mediately and those who have not met her before, flock 
 around the hostess, and Mr. Rayne, in the hope of obtaining 
 an introduction. But Honor displays no more sign of gratifi- 
 cation at this lavish display of admiration, than if it had been 
 an every day occurrence of her life. She gives each anxious 
 solicitor a dance without any of the condescending airs of 
 other ladies, and her programme is almost full when some 
 one brushes through the crowd and addresses her hastily. 
 
 "Miss Edgeworth, not too late, am I ?" 
 
 She looks up and sees Vivian Standish before her, as 
 handsome a picture as ever livetc 1 anyone's gaze. She 
 smiles a bewitching smile of assum* d despair. 
 
 " What am I^to do," she asks in perplexity, " I have 
 only one dance to divide between two of you," and she turns 
 
148 Honor Ed^eworth ; or, 
 
 to another importunate claimant, a diminutive man, very 
 well inclined to emkwpoint who wears red whiskers and 
 spectacles, " I think you were first Mr. Vernon" she says, 
 smiling graciously, as she confronts his homely face. 
 
 Vivian's face was clouding perceptibly when some one 
 laid his hand on \'ernon's arm, and drew him aside, apparently 
 not noticing that he was engaged ; Vivian had a friend around 
 that time. 
 
 " Mr. Vernon does not evidently appreciate my parti- 
 ality for him,'' Honor says laughingly, looking straight into 
 Vivian's eyes. 
 
 " And yet you would throw away on him, the favor, I 
 crave to obtain." 
 
 He said this half reproachfully, half eagerly. She plac- 
 ed her dainty little programme in his hand, and smiled when 
 he returned it, to find he had written, " Lucky A'ivian S.' 
 opposite the promised waltz. 
 
 I wonder if any realization in life thrusts itself so forcibly 
 upon us, as that of the flight of time. Our dearest and most 
 precious moments do not dare to linger with us an added 
 instant, but hasten on with ceaseless flow to lose themselves 
 in eternity's gulf Only the hours of sorrow seem to halt 
 in their flight. The clock never ticks so slow and measured 
 a stroke as during the night of waiting, or watching. Then 
 the rules of time become reversed, and in a lonely vigil 
 one counts by heart-throbs, sixty hours in every slow, slow 
 minute. The very moments, laden with gaiety and pleasure, 
 that are dropping so quickly into the lap of the forever 
 from out the Bellemare's lighted halls, are surely dragging 
 painfully and slowly, for the weary watcher of death-beds, for 
 the poor and shivering, for the deserted wife, for the orphan 
 child, for the chained prisoner. This is the mystery of life; 
 this is the many-sided picture of existence, and yet, this 
 strange world is a masterpiece of a just ''nd merciful 
 Creator. ■'•: 
 
Oiliuca's Present 7ensc. 140 
 
 
 ' CHAPTER XX. ^ . 
 
 If all the year were playing holidays. , ", ', 
 
 To sport wouUl be as leclious as to work ; 
 
 WvX when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come. 
 
 ,;., ,.,,.•■,,... ; . , ■ . - —Shakcspian. 
 
 ^TTKOM the moment the Canadian Pacific R'y train leaves 
 ^)lr Ottawa in the early morning, the interested traveller 
 Sty'^ can easily feast his eyes on the modest little villages 
 '^ cT^ and rival towns, a whole succession of which greet him 
 from the capital to Montreal and thence to Quebec city. 
 These juvenile country towns at once thrust the idea of repose 
 upon the city folks who may chance to visit them. The 
 best of these boast of, at most, a dozen wealthy, respectable 
 residents, a village street of antagonistic merchants, a post 
 office, an established inn, a mayor, a doctor, the minister, 
 and the priest, bad roads and spare sidewalks. One 
 would never suspect any of these villages to be guilty 
 of any romance whatever ; everybody seems to have attained 
 the summit of human ambition, and life flows on in an unin- 
 terrupted serenity that is fatal to the nervous system of our 
 enterprising city geniuses. Yet, there have been wonderful 
 things done among these rural scenes. There are volumes 
 whose title pages unfold nothing of the mysterious tales that 
 are hidden and bound up within them. 
 
 We must cross the broad green fields and enter the 
 old-fashioned houses ; we must repair to the white-washed 
 church on Sunday and kneel in the high-backed pews : we 
 must talk over our tumblers to the fat proprietor of the 
 solitary hotel, if we want to gather the interesting details 
 that characterize the village. They are the same " yesterday, 
 and to-day and forever." Nothing new happens, and the old 
 traditions never grow stale. 
 
 Between the cities of Montreal and Quebec, on the 
 south shore of the River St. I>awrence, among what are 
 familiarly known as the " townships," sleeps a litde PYench 
 village of the stamp I have just described. Rows of white- 
 washed houses of the same pattern are to be seen here and 
 
150 Hotwr Edge7oortli ; or^ 
 
 there in the only street it boasts of, and scattered through 
 the broad open fields are other residences of more or less 
 importance. All the long summer days the sun glares down 
 so hotly ui)on the dried straggling fences and the dusty 
 village road, that scarcely a living creature animates the 
 scene. The residents close their doors, and leave dov, n the 
 folds of green paper that deck each small window y:^^ their 
 houses, and abandon the world to sundry pedestrians, who 
 are forced by cruel necessity into the scorched street : an 
 occasional bare-footed urchin on his way to the grocery 
 shop with a deformed pitcher to be filled with molasses, or 
 a spare woman or two gabbling at the counters or doors of 
 the miserable shops that follow one another in dingy suc- 
 cession through the street. But one is not to judge the 
 place from this cheerless picture, by no means ; for, apart 
 from the neighborhood I have described, this is one of the 
 prettiest villages in the Townships. It loses its charms only 
 on the spot where man has interfered with Nature's plans, in 
 trying to provide accommodations for the settlers. The 
 trees have been cut down, and the fresh, green forest con- 
 verted into a dry, dusty street, cheered all through the 
 hot afternoon by the dreary chirp of a grasshopper, or the 
 buzz of countless millions of healthy flies that swarm around 
 the very doors and surroundings of provision dei)ots. Out- 
 side of this, in any direction one chooses to go, the scenery 
 is attractive and beautiful ; the trees are tall and thick and 
 abundant, meeting overhead, and enclosing cool, shady 
 avenues, which seem to wind in an endless stretch through 
 the forest shades. Birds twitter and carol sweetly as they 
 flit unseen trom twig to twig of the tall waving elms, and one 
 would be apt to forget the existence of human beings, were 
 it not for an occasional interruption of this peaceful 
 monotony, in the way of a cozy cottage, whose gables 
 peep through the foliage, the lowing of cattle, or the sweet, 
 clear song of some village maid, as she saunters through the 
 broad rich fields, with her pail held towards the impatient cows, 
 and her large plaited straw bonnet thrown recklessly on the 
 back o^ her head, or being twisted by its safe strings on 
 the fingers of the idle hand. Amidst such enchanting 
 scenery one forgets the dusty village, one loses the hum and 
 buzz in the comforting notes that Nature warbles to herself. 
 J£verything is so cool and refreshing and quiet. 1'he weariest 
 
Oitawa's Present Tense. 151 
 
 heart sighs from actual relief when transported to a paradise 
 like this — and no wonder. 
 
 Many, many miles from the village, by the " Elm Road," 
 is one of the prettiest and most delightful and loneliest spots 
 that nestle on the bosom of the earth. An almost oppressive 
 silence reigns in the woods, and nothing seems to stir visibly. 
 You can hear the wind playing its softest melody through 
 the tops of the great trees, but the leaves farther down only 
 sway noiselessly in a graceful silence. It might be too lonely, 
 only for the variety and perfection that Nature displays at 
 every step and turn : ferns and mosses, and little woodland 
 flowers which never bud outside the shady forest, greet one 
 at every instant, and a feeling so peaceful and comjjosed 
 steals over the soul that the place becomes hallowed to those 
 who have yielded to its powerful influence. All at once, 
 one can perceive traces of habitation ; a neat enclosure of 
 rustic boughs borders the avenue, and the grass on either 
 side is even and trim ; then comes a large rustic gate leading 
 into a gravel walk, having here and there, under some shady 
 oak, a garden chair or lounge, and a little table all of the 
 same picturesque rustic wood ; then comes a gorgeous/^'/'/^'r/'t? 
 of flowers, which load the air with their rich and heavy per- 
 fumes, and directly behind this is a low broad stone dwelling 
 that one might have expected to tur.i upon from the very 
 first. Great thick vines of Virginia creepers climb the sides 
 and front of the house. Green and yellow canaries in cages 
 hanging from the verandah, send the octaves of their 
 warblings far back into the woods. It is as fair a picture as 
 ever an artist longed to produce on canvas, one of those 
 dwelling-places which seem to us suggestive of and consistent 
 with nothing else but exquisite peace, comfort and happiness ; 
 and though we have no reason for imagining it to be a deposi- 
 tory of perfect contentment, we yet repel any idea that might 
 suggest itself to us of empty cupboards inside those walls, of 
 a scolding wife in those cozy rooms, or of washing days in 
 that picturesque little kitchen. 
 
 The mind naturally harbors only ideas of that lazy sort 
 of comfort that of necessity comes from such surroundings 
 as these. This is " Slee})y Cottage," of which all the vil- 
 lagers spoke in enthusiastic terms, and indeed, it must be 
 said, " Sleepy Cottage " would have done credit to towns 
 and cities of more popular fame than the humble little village 
 
152 Honor Ed^cuwrth ; or, 
 
 of the Eastern Townships. Were it anywhere else it could 
 open its beautiful gates to an appreciative public, while here 
 it slept Ljuietiy away almost without interruption. At present 
 its only occupants were an aged gentleman and a girl o{ 
 about nineteen summers, a maid servant and the old gar- 
 dener, '' Carlo," the Maltese cat, and the birds. 
 
 'I'he story, as well as it is known, was that Monsieur 
 and Madame de Maistre had come from old France fifteen 
 years ago and settled at "Sleepy Cottage" ; that Josephine, 
 their little four-year-old daughter, had been kept in 
 almost total seclusion all her life under the tuiticjn 
 of a French governess whom they got no one knew 
 where ; and that the first glance the villagers had of 
 her was at the funeral of Madame de Maistre, which took 
 place when Josephine was in her sixteenth year. Her extra- 
 ordinary beauty and dignity had so imjjressed the simple 
 villagers at that time that they never forgot it, and though 
 they had seen her but very seldom in the three subsequent 
 years, the memory of her sweet face never left them yet. 
 ' f.M One cool summer evening, a number of the old male 
 residents of the village had gathered around the broad 
 steps of the " Traveller's Inn," and were disposing of them- 
 selves on the inverted soap boxes and low wooden stools that 
 adorned the front of the public door, as best they could, one 
 or two paring, with studied attention, ends ot thick sticks, 
 with which they had provided themselves before sitting 
 down ; others resting their elbows on their knees, and holding 
 the capacious bowls of their black stumpy pipes in their big 
 brawny hands ; others again drawing figures in the light dust 
 that covered the space between the impromptu seats and the 
 sidewalk, and all chatting in a friendly sort of way, alike on the 
 latest and the oldest items of interest. Just now, they were 
 discussing the mystery of the young girl's seclusion at Sleepy 
 Cottage when they were suddenly interrupted by a crowd of 
 five young fellows who had crossed, unperceived, the fields 
 leading from the depot, and now sought admission to the 
 "Traveller's Inn." 
 
 The men near the door, as they rose in silence to make 
 the passage free, looked at each other in mute wonder, and 
 threw enquiring glances after the figures of the strangers as 
 they crossed the threshold of the inn. They were five tall 
 well built, good looking young men, with all the traits of city 
 
Ottinvds Present Tense. 153 
 
 lift" about thcni. Had a whole army of soldiers invaded the 
 " 'I'ravelier's Inn " at this moment it could scarcely surprise 
 the spectators more than did the appearance of these young 
 follows. 
 
 They encjuired of the thunderstruck proprietor whether 
 he had rooms to accommodate them for a few days, and he 
 had just nerve enough to tell them that if they could manage 
 with three rooms, that many were at their service. .. 
 
 Appearing (juite satisfied with this arrangement, they 
 had supper ordered. 
 
 It was not in immediate readiness, so while the life was 
 being hurried out of the maid in the kitchen, the new-comers 
 went outside and fell in with the crowd at the door step. 
 
 One of the new arrivals, the most striking looking of 
 all, and with whom we will have to deal more particularly 
 afterwards, addressed the reserved sages on behalf of all the 
 rest. 
 
 " 1 suppose we surprised you this evening," said he, 
 laughing, and throwing one leg over a vacant soap box, just 
 as any of the natives would have done, "but our being here 
 surprises ourselves as much as it does you. We come from 
 the McGill College in Montreal, and we are going far 
 into the depths of your forest here to look for a few week's 
 sport." 
 
 The group of listeners appeared a little more reconciled 
 to the intrusion by this explanation of it, and after a few 
 moments of awkward silence, old Joe Bentley, who was near 
 ihe speaker, said : 
 
 " Welcome, gentlemen ! Ye're welcome to the village, 
 and good sport ye can promise yerselves if ye'll go the right 
 way about it." 
 
 "Then we must hope," put in a second of the students, 
 " that some of you who know will not be above giving us a 
 word of advice." 
 
 • .. ■ " The Lord forbid," ejaculated old Bentley m a most 
 serious tone. " And the very best spot in the country is the 
 spot we were talkin' of as ye came along. It's out by the 
 " Sleepy Cottage." If ye can get ihat strange Frenchman to 
 leave you through his grounds, ye never had such shootin' 
 an' fishin as there is a couple of miles up on the other side 
 of them." 
 
 " Who is the strange Frenchman ?" asked the first 
 
154 Honor Rdgeworth ; or^ 
 
 speaker, as he felt in his vest pocket for a match to light his 
 cigar. 
 
 " He'm ! Give us an easier one than that to answer," 
 said Martin Doyle, a crude, suspecting farmer, wlio smoked 
 sullenly on the end of a bench. " How is dacent people, 
 who lived here all their lives, to know who them invaders is 
 that comes in on people with their quare notions and ways, 
 never showing the daylight to the child (iod gave 'em till 
 she's a fine young woman on their hands, and never s[)akiii' 
 a word to other folk, as if honest men wasn't their betters 
 any day." ..■-:." ;■ .r-u-^, ,i,v . .. . .j'. ,..-..,. ;\ 
 
 The new-comers smiled from one to another. It is so 
 consistent with the character of these country people to 
 guard against and suspect, rather than trust unknown people 
 who come among them wrapped in a mystery of any sort. 
 
 " This is strange,"' said another student in a tone calcu- 
 lated to elicit all the information about the " invader," that 
 the rustics were willing to give. 
 
 " Well," said Joe Bentley, in a more christian-like tone, 
 "people has no business talkin' only of what they know, but 
 we all know that some fourteen or fifteeen years ago, this 
 man that lives in Sleepy Cottage now, kem here with his wife 
 and baby, and took up living in the country. Off and on 
 since that day we've seen the old man himself around the 
 village, but Madame kept close enough from that day till 
 the day of her death which happened about three 
 years ago, when she was buried in the graveyard over, 
 and that was when we first i;aw the girl ever since the 
 day they brought her a tiny thing in their arms from off the 
 cars. Dan Sloan, and some more of the fellows that goes 
 shooting and fishin' through the grounds, says they saw her 
 a little girl growing up, with a pinched-nosed, starved looking 
 mamsellc for a governess, hawking her around them grounds 
 an' snatchin' her off if they came within a mile of her." 
 
 Here the farmer removed his pipe and gave a long 
 whiff of smoke, then replacing it in his mouth, he ( ontinued : 
 " We were all jest talkin' of him as ye came along, an' if ye 
 wan't sport ye'll have to ask the old fellow, to let ya through 
 his grounds, and then mebbe ye'll know more,ibouti'him than 
 we dc ourselves." 
 
 The young city fellows did not at all dislike the idea ut 
 
Ottiuua^s Present Tense. 155 
 
 the adventure that was in store for them. They were sum- 
 niond to supper shortly after old Joe Bentley had finished 
 his narrative, and resolving to enlist the good wishes of the 
 villagers at any cost they deposited a round sum of money 
 on the battered counter of the humble " bar," to " treat the 
 crowd," they said as they passed under the low doorway into 
 the dining-room. !•, ^ui.Ji .; ;,< ! ..■ 
 
 It was rather a noisy meal, and Sarah's best attempt at 
 ham and eggs, vanished in the most practical appreciation, 
 that five young college students can show when hungry. 
 They discussed the recent topic of Sleepy Cottage over their 
 cold apple pie and strawberries and cream, and they all 
 decided that it was the most romantic thing in the world, 
 that they should be just brought to the gates of the prison 
 wherein pined a maiden fair, through the cruelty of an un- 
 merciful father. They manufactured quite a novel out of 
 the details, and laid themselves out with a will to unravel 
 the plot, or die in the attempt. ■' ' " ^'"''" 
 
 " I'd bet my bottom dollar," said one student, as he 
 drained his glass of lager beer, " that ye Prince of Hearts," 
 will be the one to see this, " Lady fair," the first. 
 
 " We don't dispute it," joined in the rest, " he's the 
 devil for working his way into the father of women." 
 
 Here they all looked at him who had addressed the 
 villagers first, and accused him of outdoing their grandest 
 attemjjts in the siege of hearts. They called him " Bijou ^'' 
 and whether it was his name or not, he ai)peared quite satis- 
 fied with it. He seemed to be a little superior to the rest, 
 judging by the deference and courtesy they showed him above 
 what existed among themselves ; and he, amiable and 
 pleasant always, laughed good-naturedly at their words of 
 praise, and little insinuations of assumed jealousy. 'f'hey 
 had coma down to this quiet village on a "jamboree," and 
 we all know more or less what students mean by that. It 
 would be both unnecessary and uninteresting however to 
 give an account in detail of these young fellows' adventures 
 during their sojourn in the country ; that part alone which 
 affects the rest of our story, is the one we will dwell upon. 
 
 ■J j-iii. 
 
156 Honor Edgewortfi ; or^ 
 
 
 , .It. ■'■ 
 
 ■■:■■/ 1 f ■ 
 
 ■; <■ ••;)' 
 
 
 ' CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 'V' " Full many a flower is born to blush unseen 
 
 . And waste its sweetness on the desert air.' ■ • 
 
 — Gtav. 
 
 [T was a hot, .sultry afternoon, and even in the woods 
 of Sleepy Cottage the breezes that ruffled the thick 
 foliage were not so refreshing as usual. The door 
 of the house was open, and on two large easy chairs 
 on the vine-covered verandah were seated Alphonse dc; 
 Maistre and his pretty daughter. 
 
 The old man wore large green glasses over his eyes, 
 and his hands were folded as he sat c^uietly there, listening 
 to the birds and inhaling the fragrance of the rich flowers 
 which adorned the pretty garden. 
 
 Josephine lay with her head resting on the cushioned 
 back of her chair, her fingers inserted between the pages ot 
 a volume she had just been reading. Both were silent for a 
 considerable time. At length the old man spoke : 
 
 " JLs-tii Id Fifine, tii ne paries pas V 
 
 *' I am here in body," answered the girl in French, 
 " buf not in mind, not in heart." 
 
 " Always the same," the old man replied, with a tinge 
 of sadness in his tone. " I thought you would learn wisdom 
 before this, but you do not. What do you want that I have 
 not given you, except company ?" 
 
 " And what is all you have given me, beside that ? I 
 want what the beggars in my books have -liberty. V'ou arc 
 not young, you are no longer sanguine and hopeful, while 
 my poor heart is bursting with the fullness you will not Icl 
 me s})end. A living death like mine is a cruelty, a tyranny 
 that Cod and man must condemn." 
 
 " Must I tell you again," asked her father passionately, 
 " that you are differently situated from other girls ? Do you 
 not know that at your birth a woman who had been 
 your mother's enemy cursed you and wished you trouble, 
 and shame, and anxiety, and thai I in my boundless love 
 for you, will protect you in sjjite of fate, from such a destin) . 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 157 
 
 The fear of such a thing being realized has sent your mother 
 to a premature grave. You are now entering upon the age 
 that is capable of framing your whole life ; and why not 
 reconcile yourself to the belief, that the world, which is 
 tlaz/ling you with its gaudy show, is false and delusive. It is 
 a tinsel glitter, Josephine, the wreck of the innocent and 
 good, turn your back on :t for my sake if not for your pre- 
 cious own." 
 
 There was a pathos in the old man's voice that would 
 have moved any young heart but the rebellious one of the 
 girl he addressed. There was a feeling nigh to despair in 
 his words when he spoke to her of herself 
 
 The real case was, that she was betrothed already to a 
 man of whom she knew nothing whatever. It was a contract as 
 any other, and though every discretion was used before 
 forming it, yet Josephine would not become reconciled to 
 the idea. 
 
 This man, chosen by her father, was a distant relative of 
 her own, and had been reserved for her in order that certain 
 possessions might remain in the family. She had grown up 
 with this idea, but it was extremely repulsive to her. She 
 detested and despised in anticipation this man, whom .she 
 had been taught to think of as her future husband, and over 
 and over she bemoaned the tyranny and cruelty of those 
 who had kept her a prisoner all her young life. 
 
 There are in France, women who betray supernatural 
 power in foreseeing the future as well as in performmg 
 sundry inexplicable feats ; they are looked upon as magicians 
 and a..^ invariably associated with the influence of the evil 
 one. it had been the fate of Alphonse de Maistre's wife 
 to incur the inveterate displeasure of one of these persons, 
 and on the day on which her first and only child was born, 
 Dame Feu-Rouge, obtaining admission in disguise to the 
 bed-side of Madame de Maistre, pronounced a fearful 
 malediction on the sleeping form of the infant Josephine, to 
 be realized in later years, when, to use her own words, "she 
 would have grown up in beauty, like a fair, ripened fruit 
 that is rotten at the core." 
 
 This cast a heavy gloom over the household of the 
 de Maistres. and though not an over susceptible, nor super- 
 stitious family, they could not shake off the presentiment, 
 that hung like a pall over thqir lives. They decided to 
 
158 Honor Edgcworth : or, 
 
 leave France, and to seek out seclusion in the backwoods 
 of the new world, where the preservation of their child 
 would be to them, an easy matter. It was before they left 
 their native country, that the marriage contract was signed 
 between Josephine de Maistre and Horace Lefevre, the 
 children being then four and six years of age, respectively. 
 
 Up to this tiiiie, nothing had disturbed the peaceful 
 monotony of their new home, but, all day as Alphonse 
 de Maistre j)reniaturely aged and gray, sat nursing the 
 grief that had lately visited him in the death of his wife, 
 this girl, for whom he had sacrificed all, grumbled and 
 sighed for the dangers, from which, it had cost him so much 
 to rescue her. r :; m-,;. .;• ; > . 
 
 To add to the heavy burden of sorrow that afflicted 
 him, Alphonse de Maistre had to sacrifice, that which con- 
 tributed most towards making his present home, endurable, 
 his eye-sight. It had been failing rapidly for years, and 
 finally became totally extinguished after the death of his 
 faithful, broken-hearted wife. i? ' • 
 
 Even this aj)pealing condition of his, failed to reconcile 
 the wayward girl, to the life he had chosen her to lead : the 
 great pity was, that proper care had not been taken to 
 screen those pleasures altogether from the eyes that had 
 been forbidden to feast upon them. Through volumes of 
 romances, and love-songs, Fifine had gathered a knowledge 
 of what it is to live unfettered, in that world of privileges 
 which she could see only through iron bars. Her governess 
 too, had abused the confidence placed in her by the 
 parents of the girl, and had sung the praises of that world 
 outside, until Fifine yearned to cast aside her fetters, and 
 mix in with the lively throng. She had all the qualities of a 
 worldly girl latent within her and a strong feeling of vanity 
 about her personal attractions, and though she resigned her- 
 self to never being able to be seen by any one, she was just 
 as fastidious about the fit of a costume she would wear as 
 any Parisian lady of hnid ton. 
 
 It always irritated Josephine de Maistre, to hear her 
 father allude to the unfortunate cloud that darkened her 
 young life, she always raged and cried and said it was 
 " />etises," and on this occasion she listened no more patiently 
 than on any other ; she sprung nervously from the chair, 
 and clasping her hands behind her back, raised her shapely 
 
Ottawa's T resent Tense 159 
 
 head to address a large green parrot, that was whistling in 
 his great iron cage, on the verandah beside her, — " Poor 
 Poll, Pretty Poll " — came from the thin, pretty coral lips. 
 Poll, thrust his head on one side, and looked almost 
 calculatingly upon the svelte figure of his mistress, and said 
 in a meaning croak, " come to dinner— the guest is 
 hungry." 
 
 " Greedy Poll," said Fifine, stepping in through the 
 open French window, into the dining-room ; she emerged a 
 second later, holding a tempting cracker, between her dainty 
 fingers ; she opened the cage door and then lay back again 
 in her cosy chair, having placed the cracker between her 
 own lips. Poll, was quite used to being thus trusted, and 
 stepping majestically out, he perched himself on the shapely 
 shoulder of the young girl, and ])icked the cracker from its 
 dainty resting place. 
 
 A few quiet moments ensued, disturbed only by the 
 crunching noise of Poll's beak in the mu<^h relished biscuit, 
 when suddenly Fifine gave a great exclamation of surprise, 
 and darted off her seat. Poll, had abused the trust he 
 had so long respected, and had flown oflT to quite a little 
 distance from the house. 
 
 "What is the matter?" the old man asked, leaning 
 forward anxiously in his chair. 
 
 " The naughty Poll has flown away," Fifine answered, 
 " but he cannot go far, Preston clipped his lordship's wings 
 a very short time ago — I will get my hat and follow him." 
 
 In another instant, Josephine, in the daintiest of garden- 
 hats tied under her pretty chin, was chasing her truant bird 
 through the wood. She had soon reached the limit of the 
 house-grounds, for, though Poll was unable to fly far at the 
 time, he skipped ahead most provokingly, just as Fifine 
 neared him, and called out in his lustiest croaks, " poor Poll, 
 poor Fifine, Poll wants a cracker, Fifine wants a beau — beau, 
 oh dear, ha, ha, ha." The color had risen to the brunettes 
 l)retty cheeks, and her eyes had grown a little wild-looking, 
 from the chase, her hat had fallen back on her shoulders, 
 and the breeze played teazingly with the dark waves of her 
 hair that bordered her perfect brow, she was looking up at 
 a twig above her head, whereon was perched the provoking 
 bird, and as she ran heedlessly towards it, her foot became 
 entangled in a net-work of withered branches that lay in the 
 
1 60 Honor Edgeivorlh ; or, 
 
 long grass, and with a cry of pain she fell foremost, on the 
 ragged edge of' an old tree stump that stood between her 
 and the soft harmless ground. 
 
 Had it been the most imaginative chapter of a dime 
 novel, things could not have happened more opportunely 
 than they did. Just as the echo of the girls cry of distress 
 died in the distance, there was a crackling noise of the 
 branches near by, and a man, youn^ and handsome, with 
 sporting tackle wound around him, stood beside the prostrate 
 form of Fifine de Maistre. 
 
 " The d 1 ? this is a surprise," said the handsome 
 
 stranger kneeling down on one knee, and untying the 
 ribbons of the large-leafed hat, from the throat of the girl. 
 She was turned from him, but he could see a tiny stream 
 of crimson blood oozing from beneath the hidden face, and 
 slinging aside his sporting regalia he raised the unconscious 
 form in his arms, and looked enquiringly on the still features. 
 
 We can forgive the wasted moments of speechless ad- 
 miration that followed, before he tried to restore conscious- 
 ness to the inanimate girl, for her beauty had struck him 
 into silent wonder, and being a man, what could he do but 
 stare and admire. There is no appeal so eloquent to the 
 heart of a man as that of a female face of perfect beauty, 
 and when that f^ce is clouded by pain or sorrow, or distress 
 of any kind, a man can no longer control himself. 
 
 In this instance our hero had hit upon a nest of tempta- 
 tions — first, he moistened the corner of his silk handkerchief 
 from a flask of water he carried with him, to bathe the 
 throbbing temples, and to wipe away the blood that had 
 disfigured the pretty face. The wound was fortunately a 
 very slight one, and a little treatment sufficed. Having 
 done this, he hesitated a moment and gazed lovingly on the 
 still, motionless features and form of the strange girl, and 
 then, weak, susceptible, unworthy mortal that he was, he 
 bowed his handsome face over her, until two pairs of hand- 
 some, well curved lips had met in a — stolen kiss ! 
 
 After this, he balanced a flask of brandy tenderly and 
 carefully over the pale, set mouth, the even features puckered 
 into an ugly grimace as the spirits moistened the tongue, 
 then her bosom heaved with a great fretful sigh, and she 
 raised the closed lids, slowly and tremblingly displaying to 
 
Otttmufs Present Tense. IGl 
 
 the expectant gaze of lier attendant the loveliest pair of dark 
 eyes he had ever seen. 
 
 'J'here was a great, vacant stare of stupid wonder for 
 the first instant of returning consciousness, then Hfine, 
 starting up as if from a nightmare, looked bewilderingly 
 around her in a puzzled, dazed sort of way. 
 
 *' Are you better?" asked the deep, musical voice of the 
 stranger so eagerly that l-'ifine realized at once that some- 
 thing must have gone wrong. She raised herself up with a 
 great effort, and looked around in blank wonder. 
 
 It is not hard to understand how she felt, she, who had 
 never in all her life known what it is to receive the simplest 
 act of courtesy from anyone, now opening her eyes in a 
 lonely wood to find the strong arms of a handsome man 
 sapporting her carefully, and holding her head tenderly 
 against his breast for repose. Unschooled though she was 
 in the general items of conventionality, she yet had enough 
 womanly instinct in her to form a perfectly correct calculation 
 of her own, on the strange things that had just transpired. 
 
 She felt, while she viewed her handsome hero with 
 that first enquiring glance, that already they were something 
 more than mere strangers to one another. What is there in 
 a little stolen kiss to work such a wonderful change in one ? 
 How is it that, though perhaps unable to define everything 
 clearly, a woman can always feel, always know when a man 
 has tried his influence over her thus far ? —for influence it 
 (ertainly is, when a woman has given to the man she is 
 capable of loving, permission to touch his lips to hers, she 
 has at the same time bowed in voluntary slavery under his 
 yoke forever. It is an experience that is never a past, and 
 yet all that has happened before it becomes a blank in the 
 heart ; life dates anew from this circumstance, and " is never 
 the same again." This was the nature of the sudden change 
 that had come over our little heroine — the strange romanti- 
 cism and novelty of the whole scene impressed her visibly. 
 
 "Better.^" she (lueried, "Oh, yes. Polly!" and she 
 looked up towards the fated tree that had caused her fall, 
 then realizing her position, she turned to her deliverer, and 
 in a slightly embarrassed tone, said, " I suppose I owe my 
 thanks to Monsieur for aiding me to recover. I was hunting 
 iny parrot who escaped from his cage, and met this misfor- 
 tune while chasing him through this untidy wood" 
 
1<3^ Honor Ed^eicorth ; or, 
 
 As she spoke, she raised her tiny, jewelled hand to her 
 face, coniplainini,' of a pain in the vicinity of the wound 
 that had been so lovingly dressed, and in trying to advance 
 towards her hat, that hung on the projecting twig of a tree. 
 a faint little cry of suffering escaped her. She had injured 
 her ankle too, and was unable to stand on one foot in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 During all this timeour young hero was being consumed 
 by admiration for the lovely .'oung girl. Such eyes ! Such a 
 whole face! Such a figure! She was fit to clasp in his 
 strong arms and be borne home in a few strides — such a 
 precious little burden she looked. But this he scarcely 
 dared to do just now. Fifine realized her situation as 
 quickly as if she had planned it all beforehand. In spite of 
 the pain and injuries received, she could not help feeling in- 
 tensely gratified at the romantic turn things had taken. What 
 was the dearest parrot on earth beside a real live young man, 
 handsome and c/iic, and with eyes and bearing just like the 
 heroes in her French novels ? Whatever way she might 
 have reached home under ordinary circumstances, these 
 were too promising to have her rely on her own capacity, 
 and to make this understood, she made another attempt to 
 walk, but apparently with less success than at first. Her 
 silent admirer drew a step nearer, and held his arm towards 
 her. 
 
 :i " Do let me assist you," he pleaded, " those little feet 
 were never intended for the branches and boughs of a rough 
 wood hke this." 
 
 Fifine had never learned how to judge a man by his 
 smallest words and lightest actions. She knew nothing of 
 the thousand little deeds that are done by the counterfeit 
 gentleman, which the real one would spurn with contemi)t ; 
 hence it did not seem at all like taking an advantage of her 
 to hear this one address her with such an open compliment. 
 
 The effect was to his benefit. He saw immediately 
 that this was a young girl, hopelessly unschooled in the rules 
 and regulations of the modern art of coquetry, and so his 
 smile, half hi. Men, looked as though he meant to repay him- 
 self for this amusing trouble. 
 
 " Do you live far from here?" was his next question 
 to Fifine who had become quite resigned to her happy mis 
 fortune by now, 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 163 
 
 " Not far, if I was alone and well, but," she added 
 almost coquettishly, " having to trouble you to escort me 
 will make the distance seem twice as long." 
 
 Her companion looked ?mused ; he tucked her arm 
 still more firmly within his, and drew her (juite close to hmi. 
 She had put on her hat again and looked sweeter than ever 
 as they began the return home. He took up the conversation 
 at her last words and said in a sorry tone : 
 
 " It is a pity we show so soon that our tastes are so 
 entirely different. However, you will excuse me if I say it 
 is your fault. Now, I prize this walk back just for the reason 
 yor assign for disliking it. You find it long because I am 
 with you, and I will find it short just because you are with 
 
 me." 
 
 Such words as these went straight to Fifine's susceptible 
 heart ; her most exaggerated dreams had never led her this 
 far. She looked at him doubtfully, but it was no dream, 
 she was actually leaning on the strong arm of a live man, 
 listening to words, such as the most devoted Romeo might 
 address to his idolized Juliet. .. . ■ ■■■''■-. 
 
 " But if I must agree with you," she said, " I must 
 still disagree with myself, remembering that while I may 
 never see you again, I must live all my life with myself. 
 Besides I wonder if I could enjoy anything ; that word was 
 surely not made for me, I have never known it yet." 
 
 She was skilled as any adventuress in the art of capti- 
 vating. If confidence and a recital of petty woes, from the 
 tempting lips of a fatally beautiful girl, do not appeal most 
 strongly to a man's heart, nothing will. Besides, consider 
 the influence of circumstances. When that pretty girl and 
 you are wholly isolated from every other man and pretty 
 gid in creation ; and she is making you realize by her 
 dependence on you, how easily wrongs are righted, and how 
 much strength there is in that strong arm of yours, who is 
 to answer for the consequences ? Men are such one-sided 
 creatures ; they either lean all over on the heart side or 
 altogether on the other. If their extravagance is the former, 
 you can do anything you like with them, if you only go the 
 right way about it ; whilst if the other prevail, it is a hope- 
 less case of barrenness against all your best endeavors. 
 Fortunately most young men of our day lose balance on 
 the left side and give all up to their intense emotions. They 
 
164 Honor Ed^cworth ; or. 
 
 have never learned the a h c of self-denial, and they make 
 an act of resignation first and tin m plunge into trouble. 
 
 iMfine's enthusiastic admirer felt at this moment like 
 opening his heart, and closing her up in its safe fetters for- 
 evermore, and I fancy Fifine would as soon have had it as 
 any other nook at the present moment, but neither spoke of 
 it. They were making slow progress along their homeward 
 path, and the suggestive surroundings and interesting cir 
 cumstances were too much for the unsuspecting girl. She 
 burst into a lively strain of confidence extracted by the 
 answer her companion made to her last despairing remark 
 about enjoying herself : 
 
 " My dear young lad\', what has I'ortune, so very 
 partial to you in all things, left undone in your enviable life.'' 
 
 'i'here was so much of seeming [)athos in his voice, 
 that hifme could not doubt the implied sincerity of his tone, 
 so she unsealed the secrets of her life, telling him all, 
 except the unhappy cause which forced her father to bring 
 her into such entire seclusion. 
 
 Many of my readers must have guessed, by now, that 
 he whom the students at the Travellers' Inn called " Bijou,'' 
 and he who is now making desperate love to Fifine de 
 Maistre, are identical. 
 
 Just as the " boys " had said, " the Prince " was sure to 
 break the spell, that fettered the life of the beautiful recluse. 
 He had been on his way to her father, to seek his permission 
 for himself and his fellow students to pass through his 
 grounds, when all at once a new experience presented itself 
 and he found himself talking all sorts of nice nonsense, to 
 a " deuced pretty girl." 
 
 N It is needless to dwell on the details of the first meet- 
 ing between those two. h'ifine had thought it wiser to leave 
 her charming escort at the rustic gate, insinuating that he 
 might come at any other time to visit her father, and that 
 there was no necessity to speak of what had transpired in 
 the wood. 
 
 "But, Mademoiselle," said "Bijou" as he leaned 
 languidly over the gate that stood between them, " are you 
 going to dismiss me like this, as soon as I have discovered 
 the charm of your presence. If your father objects why 
 could you not visit this spot unknown to him ; I must see 
 you again, at any co.st." 
 
Ottaioas Pnsi'N/ Tense. in5 
 
 He grasi»e(l the tiny, white hand that drooped over the 
 i;ate, and looked her i)leadingly in the eyes. 
 
 I''irine was dreaming. All the wild fanciful illusions 
 with which she had brightened the dark days of her young 
 life, seemed to be realizing themselves in a bright procession 
 before her eyes. Here was that ideal lover with whom she 
 had so often rambled through those solitary grounds in 
 fancy here he was in reality telling his tale of love into 
 her ready ear. Here was the voice she had heard in her 
 dreams, and there were the deej) dark eyes that had haunted 
 her out of the page of Eugene Sue's novel, through the 
 long, long days of her loneliness. Compensation seemed 
 within easy grasp. She looked up, into the face of the man 
 before her, and the die was cast. She recognized there a 
 power from which she could never fly. She shivered slightly 
 as she realized that he was master of her will, in s])ite of 
 herself almost. He saw his advantage, he knew before this 
 how such an ascendancy profits the owner, and his eyes 
 sparkled anew with a light which to other eyes than l*'ihne's 
 would not have been wholly attractive. 
 
 'i'he world is full of such people and their victims. 
 We look upon a face under whose steady gaze we stagger ; 
 there are eyes we cannot encounter in a full unflinching look ; 
 there are hands whose touch thrills and weakens us ; there 
 are voices which sink into our souls, and mesmerize us at 
 their will. Let the circumstances be what they may, we 
 cannot forget the influence that thus haunts our lives. 
 
 Poor l''ifme had not learned life's lesson wisely. She 
 thought that after the first love came the " wedding ring," 
 and then days, and weeks, and years of highest joy. A\'hat 
 did this unsophisticated child know of clubs and bar-rooms 
 and gambling houses, of city lamp-posts, and midnight 
 serenades. What business has any woman knowing it for 
 that matter ? so long as she can render an account of every 
 dollar and hour she spends in the day, what is it to her 
 whether her "lawful wedded husband" chooses to watch 
 the stars all night or not. But after all it is time woman 
 learned better sense ; it is her privilege to accept or reject 
 this life of uncertainty, and yet, like I^fine, she looks lov- 
 ingly, admiringly on the i)ictures bright side only, and 
 fancies " Life's enchanted cup s])arkling" all the way down. 
 
 'J'he words of consent had passed the threshold of 
 
166 
 
 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 Josephine de Maistre's lips. She felt her hands pressed 
 warmly as she uttered them, and tiie next instant she was 
 limping alone up the garden walk, her sweet face beaming 
 with unsuppressed smiles, and her hat hanging carelessly 
 over her shapely shoulders. 
 
 There was no one in view when she reached the house, 
 but i)erched on the little iron swing in his pretty cage was 
 Poll, swaying himself complacently to and fro, and looking 
 at his mistress first with one eye and then the other. 
 Fifine spoke not a word, but gathering all the dainties out 
 of the well-supplied cage, passed into the house, leaving the 
 famished bird without a morsel wherewith to gratify himself. 
 
 ■I ■• . 
 
 ' ' ' ,' ' v. 
 
 iM:*; 
 
 
 '..<i >:. ' 
 
 1 .V •' 
 
 I '■ ■ •' '1 I '. Si ,l• 
 
 . :: ?- .I'M' (; . ■..'^■i■! .»,),/ '.; ;,/.■;■, •.,;. , .<■>.< 'i , \> ,.,, ■ 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 1G7 
 
 .; ..I ^ ■ \i^ . 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "Oh what a tangled wel) wc weave 
 When first we practise to deceive." 
 
 /JV RE you feeling well enough to entertain the old man 
 Lc^l to-night ? " said the plaintive voice of Alphonse de 
 ^^1^ Maistre, as father and daughter resumed their seats 
 
 0^"^ on the verandah, after the simple evening meal 
 was over. 
 
 " Oh yes," Fifine answered quickly, " my foot scarcely 
 pains at all now, it will be nothing serious, I think, after 
 all." Then in her sweet low voice she conuiienced to read 
 to her blind old parent who sat in a listening attitude with 
 his hands folded in his lap. 
 
 Suddenly the firm voice of the young girl wavered, she 
 stammered and grew distracted. There were footstei)S in 
 the distance that made her heart beat violently. It was 
 three days since her accident in the wood, and she was 
 anxiously looking forward to a second interview with 
 her lover. A moment after, her face was suffused with 
 blushes as she found herself confronted by the handsome 
 stranger. 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur," he said addressing the old man, 
 *' 1 have taken the liberty to call on you, to solicit permission 
 for myself and some friends to pass through your grounds 
 on our way to the upper woods." 
 
 'I'he voice startled the old man. 'I'he words were few 
 and to the point ; the speaker had evidently not sought a 
 pretext for familiar intercourse, but his voice had too much 
 of the city cultivation about it to please him entirely. His 
 first thought was of Fifine. 
 
 " Are you there, daughter ? " he asked stretching forth 
 his hand, to make assurance doubly sure. 
 
 Fifine caught it in her gentle grasp and drew nearer 
 to him. 
 
 " Tell this stranger in his native tongue," he said slowly, 
 "that your father is blind and cannot see him, but that he 
 
J 68 Honor Ed^jeworth ; or, 
 
 will trust him and grant the permission he asks, if he will 
 leave immediately, Preston can show them the road." 
 
 " I will spare mademoiselle the painful retital." intcr- 
 nipted the young man, now speaking in French, " for I have 
 understood Monsieur her father." 
 
 " Who is this man, iMfine ? De Maistre asked nervously. 
 " Is he frc>m the village ? " 
 
 " I know not, //ton pcre,'^ she answered, trying to be 
 calm, and then to the surprise of all, a loud laugh echoed in 
 the evening air, and the voice of the truant parrot called out 
 from the cage above their heads ; 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! he kissed her in the wood ; l'"ifme, give 
 Poll his cracker, polly wants a cracker." The girl's face was 
 dyed with scarlet — and the young man's eyes looked daggers 
 at the mischievous bird. 'I'here was an awkward silence for 
 a moment and then " Bijou " with characteristic diplomacy 
 exclaimed ; 
 
 " What an amusing bird ; he speaks uncommonly well, 
 though his words are not very appropriate, certainly." 
 
 A shadow passed over the face of the blind listener ; a 
 momentary pang shot through his breast ; he clasped his 
 hands convulsively, then turning to the stranger he said in a 
 stead voice : 
 
 ' "■ Never mind the bird, he says (]ueer things at times. 
 Sir, I grant you the permission you come to seek ; my 
 gardener, Preston, will await you at whatever time yow 
 api)oint, and conduct you through, (lood-evening, Sir." 
 
 'Taking this for dismissal, " Bijou " raised his hal. 
 slightly pressed the hand of the beautiful T'lfme, and the next 
 moment he was gone. 
 
 A strange and awkward silence followed his departure. 
 Much might have been said on such an unusual occurrence 
 as this, yet neither chose to speak. 
 
 At last the evening su^i as though weary of the quiet 
 scene, gathered all his truant rays out of the tree tops and 
 from the purple mountain summit, and sunk to rest behind 
 the sombn" clouds that twilight spread across the sky. 
 Then I'ifinj who longed to be alone, kissed her father good- 
 night and retired to her own little room, after telling the 
 servant to light a lamp and take her father to his chamber. 
 
Ottaiva's Present Tense. 16*0 
 
 The story of bifine de Maistre's life, from the time of 
 her adventure in the wood, until six months after, would he 
 lo the unsympathetic, the most monotonous series of details 
 imaginable. There is no bore like a man or woman who is 
 in love, to those whose ])re(ious privilege it never can be, to 
 be guilty of such a natural offenc:e. A man never tires of 
 any one so (juickly as he does of some fellow who is 
 " mashed," and girls who are not engaged never count her 
 who is, as strictly one of themselves. 
 
 This therefore may be constituted as a plea iox refraining 
 todwell upon the time so laden withextjuisite joy to Josephine 
 dc Maistre, the time that made up the days and nights of 
 this period of her life at Sleepy Cottage. She had worked 
 out such fallacious reasonings as justified her in the end, in 
 holding clandestine meetings with her romantic lover ; and 
 so, each night when she had finished reading to her father, 
 she stole (juietly away to the rustic gate, at the end of the 
 shrubbery, there to lend a willing ear to protestations of love 
 and devotion, from the lips upon whose threshhold she knew, 
 hung the words of her future destiny. 
 
 'I'hings had gone thus far, when one night, Fifine in 
 her old humor, was grumbling against the loneliness of her 
 existence, and giving expression to her discontent in most 
 touching terms. Her chivalrous adorer looked the picture 
 of intense sympathy, as he lay stretched in the long grass at 
 her feet. 
 
 " Kifine," said he, and something in his voice and eyes 
 thrilled her to the very heart, " my darling, your words are 
 loaded with \ya\\\ for me ; why do you grumble who should 
 he hapi>y amidst these surroundings. If your life were as 
 blank and jjrospectless as mine, )OU might have good reason 
 indeed to sigh and complain. \'ou see, a man has to rough 
 it with body and soul. It's not so hard to keep our bodies 
 up, but the task is for the heart. Men should have no 
 hearts, or else some one to love them always and well. I 
 could gather so much courage in a worthy love." 
 
 The girl, poor simple child, was touched. She drew 
 nearer to Uijou whose handsome head lay nestling against 
 the rustic bench where she was sitting. Me was watching the 
 'liiifk, nervous heaving of her breast, and he could see a 
 shght tremor in the \rell-curved lip. She fell upon her 
 
 I- ' 
 
170 Honor Edgenvorth : or, 
 
 knees before him, and as she sjjoke, two lar^e round tearij 
 flowed over her pretty cheeks. ■»-■■''■> j '- k <^^ 
 
 " But Bijou, do you not know that T. love you as worthily 
 as I know how ; that life with you is all the world to me, 
 and without you it is a miserable blank." 
 
 Then she laid her bowed head on his shoulder, and 
 sobbed convulsively. 
 
 There was a curious expression in the man's face, as he 
 raised the girl and made her sit beside him. Then taking 
 both her hands in his, he said, in a low tone — 
 
 " Fifine, I was only waiting those words from your 
 lips. They till my vacant life with sweet and pleasant 
 dreams, but in our case, as in all others, ' the course of 
 love can not run smoothly.' You see I gave up my 
 college course after I had met you, and since that time 
 I have been thrown on the world's mercy, almost a penni- 
 less waif. I have no wealth to offer you, no luxury of 
 any kind, no abundance, but love and devotion, and that 
 cannot satisfy you." 
 
 " O Bijou !" the girl cried out in a passionate tone, 
 " you wrong me, you do indeed, (iive me your full heart 
 and your empty hands. I am rich in the world's wealth, let 
 me share it with you : give me that abundance of love you 
 speak of, and I will be — Oh ! so satisfied !" 
 
 ^' A sinister smile passed over the averted face of the 
 stranger, but the next moment, his arm stole around the 
 slender^ waist, "and raising the tear-stained face to 1 's own, 
 he pressed a l6ng lingering kiss on the warm lips. 
 
 " If y{3u will have it so," he said, " my love makes me 
 .selfish enough to comply ; we can make each other hapi>y 
 by following such a course ; is th^t not enough ? If I had 
 sufficient means at my disposal, I could complete all arrange- 
 ments immediately, and there would be no further suspense 
 for either of us." 
 
 " But, Bijou, see how fortune has favored us. 1 -ast 
 Tuesday was my birthday, and papa, to reconcile me to my 
 fate, gave me a checjue for my wh ^le dowry, which I was 
 not to have had for two years more. You can see how 
 circumstances favor our attachment." 
 
 " It looks like it darling ; I hope we are doing the 
 right thing," and his voice implied a painful sense of con- 
 scientiousness. 
 
Otta7vd!s Present Tense. 'VtM 
 
 Before parting they agreed to meet once more. Fitine 
 persisted in offering her wealth, and Bijou did not decline. 
 She might bring him the cheque at their next meeting and 
 trust to his fond affection for the rest. He then bade her a 
 tender farewell, and as she watched his departing footsteps, 
 she was delighted when he turned a last time, saying gayly ; 
 '■'■An revoir^ ma petite^ d demainj^ Then he disappeared in 
 a bend of the road, and she walked slowly back to the house, 
 lost in the delicious labyrinths of loves young dream. > ^ 
 
 ■LH. 
 
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 ■V:'. ■ ■■• ■ ! '• ' ' ' :.,; I vi(* 
 
 .4'-< 
 
172 HonoK Edge7>.>ort/i ; or, 
 
 
 •'J - ; CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 P "Oh, Luve I Ijefore thy ylowiii^ shrine 
 
 My early vows were paid — 
 My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine, 
 , . But these are now decay 'd." 
 
 , — Byron, 
 
 e 
 
 r was a dark, heavy evening in midsummer. (Ircat 
 volumes of leaden gray clouds were piling one over the 
 other in the sulky sky; the air was laden with an un- 
 shed moisture, and a threatening breeze rustled through 
 the dry, dusty leaves of the crowded elms. 'There was an 
 unnatural stillness in Nature -everything looked drows) 
 and tired, the boughs swayed and nodded, and the flowers 
 hung their sleepy heads like worn-out midnight watchers. 
 
 Fifine had hoped madly for the storm to keep off, and 
 now as her fleet steps brought her nearer the rendezvous at 
 the end of the avenue, her heart misgave her, and an indes- 
 cribable feeling of awe, that had something of a dread pro- 
 sentiment in it, filled her very soul. She pressed the 
 cherished gift for her lover close agamst her heaving breast, 
 and when she reached the shady nook where they were 
 accustomed to meet, her breath was coming in wild gasps, 
 and her eyes were dilated far beyond their natural size. She 
 was a little too soon, but in her anxiet}-, watching the clouds, 
 the moments sped (juickly by, until <-he arrival of the man 
 she so madly adored. 
 
 He could not restrain a look of admiration as his eyes 
 rested on her dark l)cauty. She had put on her daintiest 
 bonnet, with cardinal ribbons tied under her chin, and a 
 bunch of crushed camellias of the same becoming hue 
 nestled against her shell-like ear. A light cashmere over- 
 dress surmounted a petticoat of crimson velvet, and tiny 
 jewels were fastenedat her ears and throat. The flush of excite- 
 ment that mantled her fair young face, lent an additional 
 charm to her countenance, as she looked into her lover's 
 lace with aU the eager joy and i onfidence that filled her 
 heart. r 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 1*73 
 
 Bijou looked a little more serious than usual, as he 
 knocked the ashes from the end of his cigar. 
 
 " Ma foi, you are enchanting to-night, Josephine," said 
 he by way of greeting, " but as it looks like a storm, we 
 must make business brisk. I have come to-night, Fifine," 
 he said, taking her hand, " to ask a i)roof of the words you 
 utttred last night. I want you to show me bravely that you 
 do think a little of me.'' 
 
 " Only siy the word, Kijou. Anything that is in my 
 power, I will do it anything that is - not '' her voire 
 faltered. 
 
 " is not what?" he asked very tenderly, bending over 
 her. and then she regretted having doubted him. How could 
 he ask her anything that was not right ? J'oor J"'ifme I 
 
 " Never mind," she stammered, *' I will do anything I 
 ran to prove the truth of last night's words." 
 
 " Darling!" was the muttered answer. "Come here, 
 Fifine, nearer to me, I have something to show to your eyes 
 alone^something that has no real worth at present, but 
 which will be a sacred thing in a little while." 
 
 Fifine, her eyes open wide, and a curious expression of 
 wonder in her face, bent over his broad shoulder. She saw 
 nestling in its bed of ruby velvet, a plain gold band, tiny as 
 her slender finger, but rich and heavy. 
 
 She was slow to understand this silent surprise, and 
 only said in a girlish wav, 
 
 " How lovely it is !" 
 
 Then Bijou looked earnestly at her, and his voire was 
 almost mournful as he said, 
 
 " If it is beautiful as it lies there in its folds of velvet, 
 meaningless and comparatively useless, what would it be, do 
 you think, were it a bond of union between two kindred 
 souls -if it laid the duties of love, honor and submission on 
 one, those of love, resjjert and kindness on the other ; if it 
 were the outward sign of a man's intense devotion and the 
 safeguard of a woman's honor, if it was a love that bound two 
 creatures to each other first, and then to their Oeator — 
 what then, P'ifine ?" 
 
 "Oh, Hijou !" she cried, "you excite me with such 
 .urave speeches. If it were all these things it would indeed 
 be sacred." '• ' v ' '" 
 
 " Come, Fifine, you have said you will do my wish ; let 
 
174 Honor Edgeioort/i ; or, 
 
 me place this golden band upon your finger, and insure you 
 to me for the days to come." ' ■ ". -. 
 
 What sensat'onal story she had ever read could equ:;! 
 this ? Was ever anything so purely romantic or exalted ? 
 In that moment all the dreary days of her lonely life seemed 
 blotted out by the exquisite realization of a new happiness 
 that was stealing over her. But still, there was an inward 
 struggle in her soul. Thoughts of her father's wrath thrust 
 themselves between her and her gratification. She lifted up 
 her hands in fear, and said in a hushed voice. 
 
 " Bijou, I do indeed love you, but this I dare not do : 
 this is too much. It is all so sudden, so soon." She re- 
 coiled a little as she spoke, and his face darkened ominously. 
 
 " Then your words were false !" he said in a cold, cruel 
 voice, " and since you have deceived me I will ask nothing 
 more. I did not deserve this from you, but we part in 
 time." 
 
 He stood proudly up and prepared to leave. There 
 was a struggle in the breast of his victim — ^that he could see. 
 In another moment she was close beside him. 
 
 " Do not go, Bijou," she said i)iteously, " after you have 
 taught me to love you as I do, oh ! do not leave Fifine. 
 Teil me what you wish, my Bijou. I am ready to do your 
 
 will." -. ii ■ .. -w^^ - ■■ '.' ■; ■ 
 
 There was an unpleasant smile of triumph stealing over 
 his handsome mouth. He stretched forth his hand, and 
 took her trembling one in his. 
 
 "You must wear this golden band," he said, "as a 
 token of my earnestness ; this will bind us one to another. 
 Let me see it v^.. your dainty hand." » i.i;*. • -..'. 
 
 But she shrank again from his grasp. She was fright- 
 fully agitated. The low angry rumble of distant thunder 
 was in her ears ; the trees were swaying to and fro, and the 
 leaves were turned upon their stems — the storm was drawing 
 nearer ! .1 ■' ■'■> . ■''■ •■' '^■^- ■ -■ ^'-''..^ . 
 
 At last she spoke again : .. j.r, ^i." . -. 
 
 " You cannot mean, that I must become your wife in 
 this strange way, Bijou," her voice was husky and trembling, 
 " you have not the power." 
 
 He smothered a curse, and his brow contracted. 
 " Power ? why have I not power as well as another ? are the 
 cold words of a ceremony more binding than the outpourings 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 175 
 
 of a burning heart ? Of what avail are cold formalities to 
 souls that are blended already in devotion and love ?" 
 
 " Hush Bijou," she interposed, frightened at his 
 vehemence, " such words are a profanation. A marriage 
 ceremony could not increase our love, but it is indispensable 
 all the same." 
 
 He saw she was firm and that the concession must come 
 from him. 
 
 " I see you are a slave to public opinion and church 
 authority," he said, " but this need not be an obstacle be- 
 tween us and our cherished plans. It is growing late now, 
 but if we make good speed, we could reach the village before 
 dark, and secure the indispensable" — he laid a peculiar stress 
 on the word, '• though unnecessary services of the curate." 
 
 " But my father — the hour," cried the distracted girl. 
 
 " They of course are of more consequence than your 
 love and your promise," he answered coldly ; " decide Fifine, 
 for I am impatient. Your home or your love, separation or 
 your promise." 
 
 There was a moment of irresolution, but only one, ere 
 the deluded girl yielded everything to the object of her 
 insane devotion A satisfied look stole over his face as he 
 drew her arm within his, and prepared to leave the place. 
 
 Fifine knew very little of the village roads. Bijou 
 though not residing in the place more than three months, 
 led through the thickest and most unfrequented paths. It 
 was growing dark. A yellowish sort of twilight, a forerunner 
 of the storm, was now giving place to a heavy pall of black, 
 that was stealing a descent, noiseless and quiet as a snowflake 
 over the earth. The stillness was doubly oppressive to the 
 unfortunate girl, who leaning on the arm of the handsome 
 Bijou, passed out through the (juiet rustic gate, leaving her 
 home and her father amid such rich surroundings, to brave 
 the world with a man of whom she knew nothing, save that 
 she loved him m.idly, and that his name was Bijou. 
 
 Outside the garden gate, at a little distance, stood a 
 small covered buggy, and a horse ; the latter tied to a tree 
 and pawing the ground with irritation. Fifine was a little 
 surprised. 
 
 " I provided for the best or worst," Bijou said untying 
 the restless animal, and helping Josephine to enter the 
 carriage. Then silence fell on them again. They drove 
 
170} Honor Ed^eworth ; or. 
 
 very fast, for the darkness was thickening and Bijou required 
 all his tact, to engineer his horse safely through the path, 
 l^'ifine at times would forget the rashness of the step she had 
 just taken, and would fiincy herself back under the old trees 
 that, each moment, were being left farther and farther behind ; 
 until some short words from Bijou, broke the spell of her 
 reverie and hurled her back into the strange reality. 
 
 They drove for a very long time, and at last Fifine 
 could discern little lights twinkling in the distance, through 
 the dark surroundings. 
 
 " How long it is ! " she said once, a little wearily. 
 
 " Patience," Bijou answered, " we are near enough 
 now," and then silence fell again, which was unbroken until 
 the horse; steaming and panting, stopped before the door (jf 
 a small house. The room into which he led her was low 
 and scantily furnished*, and only the dim light of a tallow 
 candle, helped to make things discernible through the awful 
 blackness that had settled down. Great leaping shadows 
 danced over the low-ceiling and dingy walls, looking like 
 mocking fiends to the despairing girl, whose heart was filled 
 with a nameless terror at the consequences of her own rash- 
 ness. But Bijou held her hand firmly within his own, and 
 spoke reassuring words all the while. 'J'he clergyman 
 advanced from a corner of the room — a tall spare man 
 whose features being entirely new to Josephine, were scarcely 
 discernible in the dim, unsteady light of the candle. He 
 seemed not surprised at their coming, which in itself surpris 
 ed Fifine very much. He t:oolly and systematically })roceeded 
 to ' tie the marriage knot' His voice was terribly monotonous, 
 and the words sounded more like a " Dies irae'' in a requiem 
 service, than those whose mission it was to crown the hap- 
 piness of two young hearts. 
 
 They had scarce begun the solemn service, when a 
 great flash of lightning filled the small close room, followed 
 by a roar of thunder that drowned for a time the sepulchral 
 voice of the clergyman, l^fine drew nearer to her lover and 
 looked pleadingly into his face. But something in his eyes 
 chilled and repelled her, she knew not why. 
 
 The storm increased ; great peals of boisterous thunder 
 rolled over their heads ; the rain so long pent up, came 
 pattering down in fury around them. The ceremony how- 
 ever was progressing, the binding words were sounding 
 
Otfaiva's Present Tense. 177 
 
 through the dingy little room, the ring was nestling now on 
 Fifine's trembling finger, the closing sentence was being 
 uttered, when a wild flash of greenish lightning crossed the 
 little window near them, filling the room with its lurid glare, 
 lending a most unearthly appearance to the pallid faces of 
 the two men before her. A horriI)le feeling came over her, 
 but it did not last long. As the flash disappeared, a gush 
 of wind entered a broken pane ; the candle went blank out 
 before her stui)id gaze, and she forgot everything in that one 
 instant, for a merciful Providence took away her conscious- 
 ness, and with a shriek she fell, a motionless heap on the 
 floor. 
 
 
 • 1 |^^^ 
 
 • 
 
 X2 
 
178 Honor Ed^auorth ; or, 
 
 ■ » 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. * 
 
 My curdling blood, my madilning brain, , . 
 In silent anguish I sustain : 
 And still thy heart, without partaking 
 One Jiang, exults -while mine is breaking. 
 & ' — Bvron. 
 
 ^HR turned on her side and woke, at least she opened 
 
 ^^ her eyes in a wide stare, hut eould see nothing. 
 
 S-i' All was hlark, opaque darkness around her. She 
 
 ^?/'^ raised herself on her elbow; her back ached, her 
 
 head ached, every joint was stiffened. \Vhat could it 
 
 mean ? Had she fallen out of bed, she wondered ? She 
 
 tried to move but could not. She called "Anna! Papal" 
 
 but her voice sent back a mocking echo from the black 
 
 stillness, no maid, no parent, hearkened to her cry. She 
 
 looked all around. A colorless emptiness surrounded her. 
 
 She stretched out her feeble hand, but nothing answered to 
 
 her eager search. Was she alone in a creation from which 
 
 the sun had been cancelled? Where was her memory? 
 
 What had she done last? She tried to think. She had 
 
 been painting — oh yes ! but it grew so dark she had to give 
 
 it up. She must have fallen asleep after it, she began to 
 
 think consolingly, but no ! she had gone into her own little 
 
 room and put on her daintiest apparel ; she remembered 
 
 pinning the bunch of camellias in her bonnet. But even 
 
 this was no clue ; she forgot after that. Was she in the 
 
 open air or indoors ? She could feel no breath or breeze. 
 
 nor was there anything within reach to reassure her. She was 
 
 too puzzled just now to feel much frightened. She only 
 
 wanted to think. Instinctively she raised her hand to her 
 
 head, and then— memory came back with one full swoop as 
 
 she felt the heavy golden band on her finger. A painful 
 
 rehearsal of all she had done passed before her eyes, and 
 
 when she remembered the fatal flash of lightning and the 
 
 darkness that followed, she fell shrieking back on the hard 
 
 lloor. She knew now that she was alone in the dark dingy 
 
 little house, that had terrified her so much at first. She 
 
 raised herself again, tremblingly, and supported her reclining 
 
Ottim'as Present Tense. J 79 
 
 form on her hand, her arm resting on the cold boards. 
 •• lUit I am not alone,'" she said reassuringly ; '' J>ijou is 
 here ; " then raising her voice a little, she called : " Bijou ! 
 Hijou 1 " hut the silent chamber only sent, back a dismal 
 echo of her own voice, 'i'hen louder still she cried "P)ijou ! 
 Bijou ! Bijou ! " her voice gathering courage as the mad- 
 dening truth forced itself on her bevvildered'brain. Still no 
 answer. She grew terrified at having broken the awful 
 stillness. She strained her eyes to peer through the cruel 
 darkness that enveloped her. No use - it was only looking 
 through one blackness into another. She covered her 
 \veei)ing face with her little trembling hands, moaning and 
 wailing as she rocked herself to and fro on the hard Boor. 
 I'oor girl ! She was only one of the million victims of that 
 tolly which rules universal girl-hood to-day. She had not 
 been taught the lesson of life as every girl should know it. 
 like others of her age, all over the wide world, here in our 
 own nourishing city as well, she had been given the elements 
 of a valuaijie knowledge to play with, and fool with, and 
 yawn over to her heart's content. This was all. . 
 
 According to popular ideas, there are so many other things 
 to be instilled into young girl's heads of i)rmiary importance, 
 that education takes its own course, and enthusiastic mothers 
 stay up half the night curling the flaxen hair, or paring the 
 promising eyelashes of their pretty babies ; but what becomes 
 of the little heart that is growing wild for want of a tender 
 solicitous hand to cultivate its helpless soil ? What is the 
 use ? A handful of caramels goes a far longer way towards 
 calming a fit of juvenile temper than a word of effective 
 remonstrance, that will only spoil the pretty face, on mama's 
 recei)tion day too, or just before some liliputian tea-party. 
 True it is that it is far more universal a practice than in 
 former years to send one's children to school. But where 
 does the advantage come in ? The embryo woman is 
 packed off to the most stylish boarding-school ; she must be 
 allowed a thousand deviations from the rules, on account of 
 weak nerves or some equally imaginary disorder. She picks 
 up in her hours of good humor a smattering of French and 
 (ierman, music or elocution, painting and fancy-work ; but 
 these painful superficialities only ruin the girl, who, had she 
 been left without those oppressive appendages, would be an 
 honest whole-hearted woman. Instead of this, our drawing- 
 
1 80 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 rooms are crowded with affected, insipid girls, who, being 
 girls, are fair enough to view, but whose minds and hearts 
 are prudently closed to inspection. These are the per- 
 fections of lollipop misses who left home for boarding-school, 
 five, six or eight years ago, and come back conceited 
 ninnies, who imagine every good-looking man must be 
 appropriated, wlx^ther he will or not, as their slavish adorer. 
 
 These arc no untrue assertions. Ask anyone of 
 sound, natural judgment, how many sensible, edifying, 
 worthv women are found at once in a ball-room or concert- 
 room, or any other rendezvous of fashionable society. The 
 answer, if not convincing, would at least be surprising, 
 And yet, every year, numbers of these golden-haired, blue 
 eyed girls leave the altar on the arm of some well-to-do 
 young fellow, his, until death, and no one in the admirinf; 
 throng of spectators doubts that the sequel of this brig..i 
 day's doings will be one of endless felicity. But they arc 
 deceived. It is the wife's lack of sympathy in the hour of 
 distress, her incapacity to solace the troubled mind and 
 heart of the man who has loved her, that drives the young 
 husband from his home, to seek distraction in the bottomless 
 wine-cup. It is a repulsive picture, but a true one, and 
 those who have not seen it yet for themselves will meet the 
 stern reality some day, perhaps, before very long. 
 
 These deviatory details may enable the readers to 
 understand more fully, and to condemn less readily the 
 actions of Josephine de Maistre She hitd placed unbounded 
 confidence in the man who had come to her with his wel 
 learned tales of love. She was young, suscej^tible and 
 inexperienced, and had not thought that night should close 
 in upon her bright, beautiful, cloudless day. But it was 
 different now. The impulsive, generous, confiding nature 
 was slowly being moulded by the hand of a bitter experience, 
 into a skei)ticai mistrust of humanity, dreadful to see in a 
 woman. All the careless years of her girlhood passed in 
 mockery before her eyes to-night, until her poor heart was 
 nigh bursting with pent-up sorrow and grief She drojiped 
 her cold clammy hands into her lap and sat upright in the 
 darkness. How long had she been here ? A\'as it an hour, 
 a day, or a week? How long must she remain here now? 
 She felt in her breast for her pocket-book, and a look of 
 undying scorn stole into her eyes when she found it was 
 
 [ 
 
Ottium's Present Tense. 181 
 
 gune. She was penniless, alone, helpless ; would this 
 darkness ever dissipate. If she could only die, or go mad, 
 or sleep again, she thought, as she threw herself passionately 
 on the floor moaning and sobbing most piteously. Suddenly 
 she sprang up again, maddened by pain, suspense and fear. 
 Holding out her trembling arms in the darkness, she screamed 
 desi)airingly, appealingly, " Bijou, my lover, my traitor, 
 where are you ? Come back and free me from this awful 
 terror, rescue me, or kill me, anything— oh anything but 
 this frightful solitude." 
 
 Still no sound answered her despairing accents as she 
 dashed herself recklessly back on the floor, weeping and 
 sobbing afresh. Then there was a moment or two of heavy 
 
 ' silence, for" it is in silence the heart breaks. After that the 
 girl sat up again, with her feet tucked under her skirts. She 
 brushed back her matted hair from her swollen 'ace and 
 clasping her hands over her knees, she filled the sm.ill dark 
 room with a sharp ringing laugh. It was something horrible 
 to hear — a voice once so soft and ])laintive, now grating out 
 shrill accents in a hard mocking tone. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha," she sneered, ''the brave monsieur Bijou, 
 how he played with la folk Fifine. Was he not too sure 
 perhaps ? Fifine can love, but oh ! more delicious, Fifine 
 can hate ! yes hate ! ! hate ! ! ! " she repeated with a'malicious 
 pleasure, emphasizing the word, "and she can curse le 
 beau Bijou.'^ 
 
 " Oh !" she cried joining her hands in an iron grip, " may 
 sickness and poverty and misfortune waylay him 1 may he 
 love one who will break his heart ! may this life be to him 
 a temporary hell, to prepare for the eternal one in the next ! 
 Ha, ha. that is good Fifine, pourtant^ le bean Bijou would 
 be vexed to hear that, he would be shocked. We'll tell a 
 secret to this brave young man. The world is big, Bijou, 
 and hiline is only a small weak child, but she loves to hate, 
 ai\d she loves revenge. She will walk till her feet are 
 blistered, and her body worn and tired, but she will find 
 Bijou, she owes him a little debt and she must pay it. She 
 gives the devil his due, ha, ha, ha," and the wild unearthly 
 laugh resounded once more through the dismal darkened 
 chamber. In this horrible strain she continued chattering 
 
 j to herself and menacing Bijou, until suddenly she Scopj^ed 
 ^hort and bent over in a listening attitude. .\ sound had 
 
1 82 Honor Edgewortli ; or, 
 
 caught her ear. Something had broken the frightful silence 
 besides her rambling maniacal chatter. Some other animate 
 thing was within her hearing. She was breathless for many 
 moments as she glared, eyes and mouth open, in the direction 
 from which the sound had proceeded. She listened 
 devouringly and could now distinctly hear a slow regular 
 breathing, somewhere near, but which way she could not 
 tell. Her flesh crept with a new fear. She dreaded being 
 alone, and yet she preferred solitude to the knowledge that 
 some one was coming to her in the darkness. She crawled 
 on her knees a few paces forward, but as the sound decreased 
 she c.ept silently back in the opposite direction. Still she 
 could not hear more distinctly. 
 
 She therefore made a great stride towards another point, 
 and now she could hear very plainly the regular breaths 
 coming and going as of one in deejj sleep. This suspense 
 was worse than any. She laid herself out on the floor, 
 rested her elbows on the boards and buried her chin in her 
 palms. Wild thoughts of hatred and revenge chased one- 
 another through her unsteady mind, but still she could 
 discern nothing but this tranquil respiration. She was 
 weakening now. It must have been three hours from the 
 time she awoke first, and yet there was no sign of light or 
 life, nothing but this strange breathing, wherever it was. 
 She was growing drowsy and threw herself back on the 
 floor, with one fair w^hite arm thrown over her head. She 
 had advanced considerably to the left of the room, though 
 the impenetrable darkness did not allow her to know it. 
 Her breast heaved in great irregular sighs, and her luni; 
 lashes drooped wearily over her tired eyes. Another moment 
 and sleej) would have come in its precious mercy to solace 
 the poor aflFlicted soul, the wild staring eyes had been sub- 
 dued into drowsiness, and the angel of balm was coaxing 
 the tired limbs into repose, when a loud sigh broke upon 
 the sleep-inducing s'lence, and disturbed the unfortunate 
 Fifne. She opened her eyes suddenly again and waited for 
 a repetition. This time she heard several cjueer sounds, 
 like scratching and eating. Overcome at last by susi^ense, 
 she started up, but in doing so, slvi; knocked her head 
 violently against some object that stood close by her. hi 
 lier madness she never heeded the ])ain, but stretched out 
 her hands for something to lean against, when fortunately 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 183 
 
 she laid one of them on a stumpy candlestick, in the saucer 
 of which she found a couple of greasy matches. A cry of 
 joy escaped her as she struck a light, as quickly as her 
 nervous fingers and glad excitement allowed her. At least 
 now the horrible spell of darkness and uncertainty was 
 broken. The candle hardly took at first, but as she watched 
 it eagerly, with both hands around the timid spark, it 
 spluttered and flared up into a tall lanky flame that made 
 her surroundings look visible, if not bright. 
 
 It was the same little room to which Bijou had brouglit 
 her for her wedding, she did not know how long ago. Now 
 that she looked at it in n calm, keen scrutiny, she noticed 
 that these stray pieces of homely furniture had been thrown 
 around, merely to give the pla'^e the appearance of being 
 inhabited. No one had lived there for a long time, anyone 
 could see. Oreat tangled cobwebs hung all over the wall 
 and ceiling, and one corner of the miserable apartment was 
 a i)erfect pool, from rain that had dropped through the 
 defective roof. When Fifine had taken in these surroundings 
 in her quick, searching glance, she tried to discern the source 
 of the noises she had heard. This was an easy matter. 
 Very near to where she stood, was a long dingy door that 
 closed with a latch, and from behind this Fifine heard the 
 sounds still issuing. Prepared for the worst, she got down 
 on her knees and holding the cai-'dle a little way above her 
 head, she raised the latch and i)ushed the door violently in. 
 The next instant a great shaggy dog was bounding around 
 her, lashing his paws on the tloor and attemj)ting to lick her 
 hands and face. She smiled a little first when she remem- 
 bered her fear, but her next feeling was one of joy, at the 
 new and strange companionship, which might yet prove of 
 service to her. Laying the cand'e down upon the floor, she 
 drew the animal towards her and began to examine him. 
 He was a large, well-built, glossy-haired fellow, with earnest 
 eyes and a long, loose tongue, that hung a great way out of 
 his mouth. Around his shaggy neck was a silver collar, on 
 which was engraved "Sailor," and the two large initials, 
 " N.l}.," and after further scrutiny, shedeciphered on the m.nr- 
 ginoftheband,"!. Kennedy, Engraver, St. PaulSt, Montreal." 
 She threw her arms wildly about the animal and hugged 
 him affectionately. At least she had a clue. In her new 
 joy she quite forgot every precaution she had ijlanned before, 
 
184 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 but now she was brought back from her ecstasy by remarking 
 that her candle was almost burnt out. She had no other, 
 and she must be content to sit there and await day break, 
 or escape while there was yet a spark of light. She seized 
 this last hope, for taking the dog by the collar, she dragged 
 him towards the door of exit, and as she tried to undo the 
 fastenings, she talked wildly to herself and to him. The 
 door was fastened on the outside, proof positive, that she 
 had been knowingly and heartlessly bound within those 
 wretched walls. This excited all her latent hatred again, 
 and with the mad strength of defiance and revenge, she 
 tried to tear the fastenings apart with her naked fingers. 
 She toiled bravely and fast. The light of the candle was 
 leaping up and down, threatening to expire. Only once or 
 twice did she pause to fling back the dishevelled hair that 
 blinded her eyes, but at last she was rewarded, for with one 
 supreme effort she succeeded in dragging in the door, and 
 opening for herself a passage into the outside world. 
 
 " Not, bad Fifine," she laughed, as the night air swept 
 in on her feverish head, " we'll get le beau Bijou yet. He'll 
 say Fifine is mad, but we'll see — Fifine is not mad — she 
 hates him though, and she will kill him, ha ! ha ! " 
 
 She walked about chattering wildly, holding Sailor by 
 his collar, and saying senseless things to him every now and 
 then. x\t last, when she had gone a long way without being 
 able to discern a path, she sank down to rest near a clump 
 of trees. Twining her arms round Sailor's shaggy neck, she 
 laid her head on his warm body and soon fell into a heavy 
 dreamless slumber. 
 
Ottaivah Present Tense. 1^5 
 
 
 M , 'J '• 
 
 I .■!■ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ^r 
 
 ,a\ 
 
 Yes ! there arc real mourners. — I have seen 
 A fair, sad girl, mild-suffering and serene. 
 
 — Ctabl'C. 
 
 HE gray of the morning was stealing out from behind 
 the tree-tops, filling the woodland with a dim un- 
 „\^^ certain light, '['he tall spectral forms and great 
 o^ crouching figures of the darkness, now proved to 
 be the limbs and broken trunks of gigantic trees. With the 
 misty light of the morning all the ghouls and goblins of the 
 night left the lonely forest and retreated to their secret 
 abodes until dusk would come again. 
 
 A cold cheerless change was coming over the earth and 
 two equestrians trotting silently through the wood, at this 
 early hour, shivered and shook in the raw air of the morn- 
 ing. They spoke very little. The elder one was smoking, 
 the other was looking moodily on before him. Presently 
 the former stretched himself far on one side of his horse and 
 thrust his head enquiringly forward. He took his pipe from 
 his mouth and looked again. 
 
 " Philip, my son, what do you see there ?" 
 
 " Where ? " the other asked indifferently. 
 
 " Inside those twisted trees." 
 
 Philip glanced in the direction indicated, and in an in- 
 stant was dismounted. He gave the reins to his companion 
 and walked briskly to the spot that had excited their atten- 
 tion. When he reached the place he halted suddenly and 
 looked aghast. An exclamation of horror escaped his li[)s. 
 He bent over the object and beheld the figure of a human 
 being, clad in female attire, sleeping on the crouched body 
 of a great Newfoundland dog. But the arms and fingers 
 that encircled and clutched the faithful animal were daubed 
 with blood, and here and there on the fretful face of the 
 sleeper were dried patches of crimson. The matted hair fell 
 loosely round the regular features, but the picture on the 
 whole was at once the strangest and'most touching one it was 
 possible to see. Philip turned silently and beckoned his 
 
186 Honor Edgeioortli ; or, 
 
 companion to approach. Then both of them bent ciirioujly 
 over the form of the girl to ascertain whether she slept a 
 temporary or an eternal sleep, and when her distinct breath- 
 ing convinced them that life was not extinct, they called hei 
 and tried to awaken her. For a long time their efforts were 
 vain. Nothing seemed capable of dispelling the stupor that 
 had settled over her. She only tossed her head wearily from 
 one side to the other when they spoke, and frowned peevishly, 
 as though their words annoyed her. Once she raised her 
 blood-stained hand and the two men saw with renewed sur- 
 prise that she wore a wedding ring on her slender finger. 
 This touched them anew, and they resolved to move her be- 
 tween them to the village, where a doctor could be consulted 
 and her wants be carefully attended to. 
 
 But when they laid their hands upon her the dog showed 
 his teeth threateningly, growling angrily in their faces. At 
 the sound of her defender's voice, the girl lifted her eyelids 
 and glared wildly at the two figures standing above her. She 
 tightened her greedy hold around the animal's neck and 
 screamed : 
 
 " Don't touch him, don't dare — he — and my revenge — 
 all that's left— revenge ! Ha, ha, ha. — " 
 
 Her voice died out and her eyes closed drowsily again. 
 The two men stared at one another in mute surprise. Then 
 the younger of the two, making a last effort, bent over her 
 and said coaxingly : 
 
 " Let me take you off the damp ground ; you'll have 
 your death of cold," 
 
 She started and looked strangely at him. 
 
 *' Not death,"' s'e said in a tone of defiance, " not death 
 until I have done my work." 
 
 "Tell us your name, good woman," the older man put 
 in, not heeding her last remark. 
 
 " Name ? I have no name now — outcast-yi/Z/t' — if you 
 like. But 1 will win my name back, I will - " 
 
 "Of course you will," said one consolingly, looking at 
 his companion and tapping his forehead knowingly. 
 
 *'Come, we will begin right away; let us go now," and 
 he raised himself up to start. 
 
 With a little coaxing and reassurance, they persuaded 
 her to lean on them and*rise up, but the poor little face be- 
 came distorted and the eyes closed languidly as if she suffered 
 
Ottiuva's Present Tense. 18Y 
 
 intensely. She stood bravely up however, but in a moment 
 she tottered and sank back again. Her companions saw 
 that their efforts were useless in her j)resent condition, so it 
 was decided that while the elder man remained to watch her, 
 the younger one should gallo[) to the village and secure the 
 assistance necessary to transport her from this loneh s|)ot. 
 
 Unfortunately the path chosen by Bijou on the night of 
 her elopement with him, led to a succession of roads which 
 wound almost interminably through woods and fields adjoin- 
 ing another village, situated souie miles distant from the one 
 they had left. This settlement was called " The Lower 
 Karms." It was to this place that Philip Cam|)bell and his 
 uncle Douglas were travelling on that morning when they 
 found rifme in the wood. Bijou had made a very round- 
 about trip, bringing the girl at least twenty miles from her 
 own neighborhood, and leaving her in a spot where, if found, 
 she would be looked upon as a resident of the Lower Farms. 
 
 With all possible speed, Philip Campbell rode into the 
 \xiiage, going straight to the doctor of the place, to whom 
 he confided their strange rencontre. Half an hour later, the 
 zealous man of medicine with his attendant and Phil, were 
 journeying back to the spot where Douglas Campbell kept 
 kindly watch over the unfortunate female. 
 
 ,-/♦,'' 
 
 o, 
 
188 Horwr Edgeivortli ; or, 
 
 ' : ' 1'.' /)■,(''>.■ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "JuUcs and carls, and diamonds and jDcarls 
 And prelly girls was spoorliny there. 
 
 And sonic beside (the rogues) I spied, 
 Behind the windies cooiting there." 
 
 -—'/'/lackvmy. 
 
 i. . 
 
 /A3, 
 
 HIS is our waltz, Miss Edgevvorth, are you prepared? 
 asked Vivian Standish, as he bowed before the 
 girl in black satin, who was conversing gayly with a 
 fine-looking elderly gentleman. x ^ 
 
 "vSosoon," Honor said, somewhat surprised, "why, I 
 thought—" 
 
 " Yes, I know you did," he interrupted gayly, " but do 
 listen to that music. " 
 
 Honor rose, thus appealed to, and smiling an adieu to 
 her first companion, she thrust her round white arm into 
 Vivian's, as he led her triumphantly into the ball-room, where 
 many couples were already on the floor. 
 
 " See, we have lost some of it already," he exclaimed, 
 putting his arm around her slender waist. 'I'hey had to wait 
 another minute thus, to allow more formidable couples to 
 move past them, recruits in 'the terpsichorean art' who were 
 plo ighing their ways agonizingly through the crowd, leading 
 thei.' warm fat partners on the laces and frills of other ladies' 
 dresses. As Honor and Vivian joined the moving mass, 
 they attracted many admiring glances. They were well 
 matched in si/e, both good-looking, and remarkably fine 
 dancers, and as they glided here and there many criticizing 
 whisjiers followed them. 
 
 Eittle Miss McCable, who has the reputation of being 
 one of Ottawa's best dancers, bites her lower lips sarcastically, 
 as an admirer of Miss Edgeworth's asks her, " does she not 
 find her dancing faultless," and declares she " kaunt see what 
 there is so striking about her." 
 
 But heedless of those who surround them, Vivian leads 
 his fair partner through the crowd, as the strains of waltzes 
 picked from " Olivette" and " Patience," flood the ball-room. 
 Any girl ma) boast of being free from susceptibilities of a 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense l^i^ 
 
 disastrous kind, but few girls a la mode to-day can overcome 
 the resistless fascination of a dreamy waltz, and Honor 
 Edgeworth who was the very poetry of motion in herself, 
 was lost to everything else but her wait/ at this moment — 
 how well \'ivian Standish guided, she thought— how well he 
 held himself I how distiui^ui he looked I 
 
 He had begun to puzzle her a little, and though she 
 certainly did not like him, there was a sort of strange attrac- 
 tion for her in his voice, appearance and manner. 1 wonder 
 if men can know what there is in a voice ? 
 
 It is a precious talisman that serves at all times, and 
 the one infallible means a man has to find his way to a 
 woman's heart, for a woman never forgets the pathos, and 
 sweetness of a voice that has called her ' his own.' 
 
 Vivian Standish had a voice to covet and to envy, he 
 said the most matter-of-fact thing in a way that captivated 
 the most careless listener, and the girls declared that when 
 he spoke to them they were " perfectly distracted." Ottawa 
 is the most interesting spot on eaith for a person of any ex- 
 traordinary ability to gain notoriety. If it is a girl the male 
 element is effervescing all at once, men fall in love with her 
 in turns, she is almost devoured with attention at evening 
 jxarties, and visits all the suggestive nooks, and sits on the 
 stairs with the handsomest and toniest of Ottawa's 'big boys;' 
 even married men get the craze, for Ottawa boasts of quite 
 a little circle of benedicts, who are not slaves to petty 
 prejudices inflicted as a rule on the married, and though not 
 open advocates of " Free Love," they take all the privileges 
 that hang around the border limit, for they do not doubt, 
 but that any one might know when they are seen escorting 
 pretty flirts, riding, driving, or walking through such delight- 
 ful walks as " Beechwood," or " Richmond Road," that the 
 topic of conversation is painfully appropriate to their 
 vocations, and as a proof if any one were to join them, at 
 the moment, they would be either admiring nature or art, 
 or anything in fact but each other. 
 
 It makes as much difference in Ottawa as well as else- 
 where, whether a young lady be only an instructress of 
 music, but exceedingly pretty, or the daughter of a cabinet 
 minister with a homely face and awkward gait. A man is a 
 man in spite of society's most binding laws ; but circum- 
 stances are so delightfully blended whe '• a girl is rich, good- 
 
100 Jjonor Edgeu'ortli ; or^ 
 
 looking, clever. — and disengaged, it is the chance of a life- 
 time, and were it not that such *' chances" as these, usurp the 
 opportunites of Ottawa's jiaticnt and less endowed girls, there 
 would be fewer of these old young ladies, who haunt the 
 drawing rooms and public balls of our city, year after year 
 with the same result. Two or three years ought to satisfy 
 any girl of ordinary ambition, and yet there are tireless 
 maidens who only remain in their ninth or tenth winter, 
 because of some petty constitutional ailing, that makes a 
 better excuse than saying, "there's no use trying any more, 
 I'm a year older this year and have less chance," and so they 
 begin to settle into a sound resignation, and snub the more 
 l)resentable daughters of social inferiors : they either turn 
 into first-class Sunday school teachers, and denounce the 
 ])omps of a world whose excess has brought them to solitary 
 womanhood, or the)- make unrivalled depositaries and dis- 
 seminators of the local news of their little sphere, but they 
 are as admirable an invention as any other, as they have many 
 hours of leisure to engage in charitable and other occupations. 
 There are i)lenty of these amiable "everlastings" at Mr. 
 Bellemare's to-night, some of them apparently much ap- 
 preciated, for while their homely, ungainly figures are whirled 
 around the room on the arm of some calculating youth, 
 fresh blooming girls must bite the ends of their feathery fans 
 in a passion of disappointment, as they stand against the 
 wall, or admire the pictures or statuary, or it does not 
 matter what, so long as they need not look straight into the 
 fun they cannot share. What a glorious epoch of womanly 
 dignity, independence and worthiness ! It is a picture one 
 likes to draw for the contemplative admirers of the age. 
 
 A girl who makes up her mind to ' go out' after leaving 
 school, is I think, the most foolish and wretched girl under 
 the sun, unless her parents or other relations have either a 
 political, social or money influence to strengthen her, for 
 many a daughter looks regretfully back upon the foolish 
 steps which led her by contact into a world of fashion 
 and flummery. 
 
 The e.\(iuisite ball-dress came home one night with the 
 little paper from " Cheapside," or the " Argyle House," 
 bearing its value represented in high numbers ; a big account 
 was opened in those dangerous books, a necessary affliction 
 nevertheless^ where the daughters will be " fashionable " and 
 
Ottirwa'i Present Teme. 191 
 
 persist in having the same indulgences as the daughters of 
 those who have less manners by far, but who (an sub- 
 stitute good breeding easily by an abundance of " filthy 
 lucre." In a ball-room, she is alone in a multitude, most 
 often wishing heartily she were rolled comfortably in the 
 blankets of her cosy bed ; she may be a nice girl, men admire 
 her as a rule, but men are too dependent in Ottawa to 
 declare their o[)inions openly, when they thereby tread upon 
 society's corns. 
 
 Although this is naturally a democratic country, social 
 ostracism is not unknown amongst us. The daughter of 
 any one who " keeps a window," or is at all engaged in trade, 
 is as effectually excluded from societ)- as if she were a moral 
 leper, and although her attainments, intellectually and other- 
 wise, be far superior to those of her more favored sister, (who 
 is very fre([uently both stupid and uninteresting), her chances 
 of an invitation are small indeed, until her father is in a 
 position to head a subscription list or an election fund, 
 and then, presto I all the insuperable difficulties that 
 previously existed, magically disappear. 
 
 The brainless families of representative men, must of 
 course monopolise attention, if all the rest went to eternal 
 perdition, and what does it matter how vexedly a fellow 
 tugs his moustache over the insipid drawl of some "powerful" 
 man's daughter, while he eyes most enviously the form of 
 
 her less safely established sister, and wishes to he was 
 
 some other fellow, and not himself. 
 
 Honor Edgeworth, strange to say, beautiful, and 
 courted though she was in Ottawa, failed to catch any 
 sweetness therein. While such a thing was new, it amused 
 her, but already the shallow novelty had worn off, and it had 
 become monotonous. Perhaps, if things were different, she 
 could have entered with more relish into her world of gay 
 distractions, but she knew, beforehand, that there are voids 
 and vacancies in the heart, that can never be filled by the 
 trivial pleasures of high life. When the eye has begun to 
 scan the world for a particular face and form that it loves to 
 look upon, it instinctively shuns both crowded rooms and 
 festive halls. 
 
 This was why Honor looked so indilTerent to the 
 sensation she created this evening at the Bellemare's, glid- 
 ing through the ball-room on the arm of the handsomest 
 
192 Hanor Edge7i<o>'fli ; or, 
 
 man present ;- but for all that her mind was not lazy, she was 
 thinking deeply enough the while, leaning on the stalwart 
 shoulder of \'ivian Standish, drinking in the suggestive 
 strains of the music to which they danced. Honor was also 
 yielding to the influence of memory that had been awakened 
 within her, that memory that pensively turi.ed backwards 
 the unforgotten pages of her past, filling her with a sad, 
 discontent, that soon betrayed itself in the wearied ex- 
 l^ression of impatience which stole into her eyes and over 
 her whole face, and while so many girls around her, could 
 have hated her for her luck, she sighed heavily under her 
 rich brocades, and whispered to herself, " others look so 
 completely happy, why need things be so different 
 with me ? " 
 
 Presently the arm that encircled her slender waist 
 released its pressure, and a sad earnest voice, said in a half 
 anxious tone, into the pretty pink ear : 
 
 "Why do you look so worried and fretful, are you 
 tired?" 
 
 " No — yes — a little," she answered wearily. 
 
 " Let me get you some refreshment," was the solicitous 
 rejoinder. "Come in here, Miss Edgeworth, see how cosy 
 and aj)pro|mate it looks." 
 
 Mechanically she yielded, and on the arm of her admirer 
 passed into a spot which was a veritable artificial summer. It 
 may not seem consistent with the rest of Honor Edgeworth's 
 character, to say that, though defiant and independent, with 
 regard to every other influence in life, she found herself 
 unable to battle against the strange and unpleasant feeling, 
 that invariably filled her in the company of this man. 
 
 She had read and heard of " will pov/er," and of the 
 strength of the moral character asserting itself, despite the 
 most gigantic efforts on the part of the victim, and though she 
 was not inclined to raise this petty instance to the dignity of 
 such wonderful manifestations, it yet savored of mystery to 
 her, and thrust a repulsive consciousness of her own moral 
 weakness upon her. 
 
 She was a " good girl," in the broadest sense ; there 
 was no nest of social vices inside that fair, honest face; the 
 diplomacy and duplicity of fashion were unknown to her 
 guileless heart, she was solid worth in every way, even while 
 she sat under the broad leaves of rare branches, toying with 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 193 
 
 her silver spoon, and listening to the earnest voice beside 
 her. The wavy, chestnut braids that bound her shapely 
 head, were natures own great gift to her, and had never been 
 stowed away in idleness during the hours of her deshabille : 
 the little tide of pink that ebbed and flowed over her fair 
 face had never lain condensed within box or bottle upon her 
 dressing-table, her face and form in all their loveliness were 
 genuine, the double row of white even teeth, that gave a 
 great charm to her ])retty mouth, had never dreamed their 
 early days away in dental show-cases, nor bathed all night 
 by a toothless maiden's bed-side in a glass of water ; 
 much less did she ever tempt herself to encourage the 
 authors of those wonderful advertisements that grace our 
 daily ])apers, and which introduce to the world, renowned 
 dimple makers, nose refiners, and other improvers of i)er- 
 sonal deficiencies. 
 
 It was perhaps the freshness of her beauty and the 
 originalty of her manner, that attracted her many satellites 
 around her. 
 
 T.ady Fullerton asks, "Is not beauty pow^r?" and 
 should I undertake to interpret the answer of the multitude 
 I could but say — " it is." 
 
 There was not one in creation who knew better how to 
 wield his weapons than did Vivian Standish. Many a time 
 he had smiled inwardly at seeing the fruitless struggles of 
 his victims to appear unmoved by his winning ways, but 
 now, for once, he was balancing his precious judgment on a 
 doubt. He was not too sure, but that this frank, clear, 
 virtuous girl could read him through. Sometimes he felt 
 uncomfortable. Just now, he felt as dogged as any am- 
 bitious school-boy ever did over an obstinate theorem in 
 Kuclid — here was a problem — there were all the rules for its 
 clear solution, yet the answer never would come right. 
 Perhaps he was preparing for another attempt, as he drew 
 his chair closer to her and looked into her face, while they 
 sat in the spot of all spots, the most flattering to his designs. 
 
 She greeted this new movement with a look of sudden 
 surprise, but, unheeding, he bent over her slightly and said 
 in his same provokingly sweet way : 
 
 " Why did you wear that cruel little rose-bud to-night, 
 Miss Edgeworth ? " 
 
 This is the sort of pleasant thing that Honor dis- 
 
194 Honor Ed^eworth ; or, 
 
 likes : whose memory or anticipation is always sweeter than 
 the actual experience. She did not look at him this time, 
 but still, toying with her spoon and glass, she answered 
 slowly : 
 
 " Because — I like it best of all the flowers " 
 
 " On account of its ^" interrupted Vivian, and then 
 
 paused, looked at her, and waited. 
 
 " Yes, exactly," Honor said, looking straight into his 
 deep eyes, this time. " It is on that very account." 
 
 " I was going to say — 'meaning' — " he almost whis- 
 j)ered back. 
 
 " Well — ?" Honor drawled indifferently. 
 
 " Take it off then — it is the only unbecoming thing 
 about you." 
 
 " I infer," returned Honor, slightly arching her brows, 
 " that you expect me to obey your word of command ? " 
 
 " Which I spbke without the meanest right to do so, I 
 suppose?" Vivian said humbly, " in that case, I cancel it 
 and apologize." 
 
 " That is still, almost another command," she retorted 
 provokingly. 
 
 " How so ?" asked her Hstener, becoming interested. 
 
 " For pardon," Honor said, " I never knew a man who 
 did not flatter himself that his apology satisfied for the 
 grossest indiscretion." 
 
 He stood aimlessly up, and l.no^ked a withered leaf of 
 oleander trom a tall branch that scented the spot where they 
 were sitting, but instead of returning to his seat, he leaned 
 his crossed arms on the back of her broad chair, and looking 
 down on her, answered : 
 
 " Why are you a little less generous to us, poor unfor- 
 tunates than you are to every one else ? " 
 
 He was so gentle to her, he could not reproach her 
 with a fault, and he had therefore called this a less degree of 
 generosity. 
 
 Honor began to feel the effects of playing with danger- 
 ous tools, but without knowing that such an experience, is 
 the greatest danger that can beset an untried life. 
 
 " How rashly you do presume, Mr. Standish," said 
 Honor, " as if you could tell, positively, what I thought of 
 ' you poor unfortunates.' " 
 
 " As if you could help showing us, your lack of appre- 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 195 
 
 elation in every possible way," he returned, still leaning on 
 the cushioned back of the chair, where she rested her head 
 languidly. 
 
 " Then, let it be so, for if you judge me by my action 
 only, without bringing any of your own calculations to bear, 
 I will be satisfied with the result." 
 
 " Miss Edgeworth," began he, changing his tone to one 
 of carious interest and earnestness, " have you a bosom 
 friend ? " 
 
 Honor looked suddenly up at him, and grew serious. 
 
 " I have acquaintances who presume to riuestion me, 
 as though they had the rights of one," she said, sinking 
 lazily back in her chair. 
 
 " Then, they usurp somebody's privileges, by so doing — 
 do they not ? " 
 
 The girl looked indignantly at him, and only withdrew 
 her powerful glance slowly, as she said : 
 
 " Mr. Standish, I find it strange, that you should 
 think me utterly different from other girls ; pray, undeceive 
 yourself I have my friends, and loves, and follies, and 
 caprices like the rest, and will have all my life. I expect to 
 to be just as foolish in my love affairs some day, as you i ,n 
 generally consider most girls to be." 
 
 " I hope so," he answered meaningly, and as she rose 
 to leave the conservatory, for another dance, she heard him 
 mutter : " for my sake." 
 
 .,<Tlfc 
 
106 Jlonor Edgeworth ; or. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ■ *' He whom thou fenrest will, to ease its pain, 
 
 Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart, • ■ 
 
 Soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain, 
 
 And Ind the shadows of earth's griefs depart." 
 
 — A. Proitor. 
 
 >0U had better watch him rlosely. Mrs. Pratt, his 
 condition is precarious, and as he has been thrown 
 
 on your hands, do not treat him shabbily -" 
 
 '-<o^iU'( "You ken bet I'll not," said the matronly 
 
 female, who stood half hidden in the humble doorway, from 
 which Dr. Belford had just made his exit. " Lawks, doctor 
 dear, I'll have an eye to him, jest as if he was my very own. 
 It'ud not be me 'at would neglec' any christian that fate had 
 thrown on me hands." 
 
 "I thought so," said the doctor, half apologetically. 
 " I'll call again shortly," and then, gathering in the fringe of 
 his carriage apron, Dr. Belford bade Mrs. Pratt a temporary 
 farewell, and was off. 
 
 The small shabby brown door closed gently enough, 
 and separated Mrs. Pratt fron the whole moving mass of 
 animate confusion that reigned in the streets outside. As 
 she stopped, on her way through the narrow passage within, 
 to straighten the rag mat at the door of the front room, she 
 sighed perplexedly and soliloquized resignedly : 
 
 " Fever ! above all things else— bless the sickness — 
 likely as not it could be the death o' me, and yet, how could 
 I send the lad away or go back on him now." 
 
 A hissing noise from the kitchen, transported the medi- 
 tative Mrs. Pratt in a wonderful hurry from her philanthropic 
 reasoning to a saucepan of potatoes that were bubbling 
 furiously in the water, over a good fire in her cracked 
 cooking stove ; but though she busied herself with her daily 
 duties for the next hour, her face was unusually serious, and 
 her mind agitated. She was reflecting earnestly on the new 
 charge that had been thrust upon her, and wondering 
 whether a tough old woman who had never had the measles 
 coqld escape the contagion of typhoid fever, 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 31)7 
 
 Mrs. Pratt had a small faded cotta^^e all to herself, the 
 substantial token of the late John Pratt's esteem, before he 
 left for his long journey to the better land ; and though the 
 locality was a poor one, and the neighbors noisy and rough, 
 this particular dwelling imi)ressed one strongly with 'rln idea of 
 the ''shabby genteel" in all its painful gentility, and also filled 
 the heart with a ready sympathy for the "old decency" that 
 yet survived within those paintless, sunburnt shutters, and 
 those faded, pitted walls. 
 
 But inside this uncomfortable appearance of washed-out 
 brickand well-ripened wood, there was comfort and cleanliness 
 and quiet. The front room, with its stiff cane rocker and 
 chairs, its round table and well-adorned mantelpiece, its 
 cretonne-covered lounge and tapestry carpet, was not a bad 
 .sample at all, of a drawing-room in a third-rate boarding 
 house. 
 
 Upstairs, on the first and highest story, were three 
 small, but scrupulously neat rooms, two of which looked out 
 into the street, and the other into the common yard of some 
 dozen neighbors. In the largest apartment of all, which 
 was the aristocratic bedroom, was a narrow, iron bedstead, 
 a little square, antique bureau, an open wash-stand, with a 
 prim white basin set into a hole in it to fit, and a clean 
 diaper towl, folded respectably across the pitcher that did 
 not match the bov/1. The boards, though bare, were yellow 
 as gold. The faded shutters were closed, and failing hooks, 
 were fastened to a nail in the shabby sill by a piece of aged 
 pink tape. On a small table by the bed-side, were bottles 
 and tumblers and remnants of rough delicacies, that bespoke 
 sickness. 
 
 The loud, heavy breathing of an invalid, was all that 
 disturbed the (juiet of Mrs. Pratt's best room, and tnis came 
 irregularly, but oppressed and labored, from the prostrate 
 form on the little iron bed behind the door. 
 
 Over the spotless linen of the warm bed, two hot, 
 wasted hands were lying, and buried in the small, soft pillows, 
 was the flushed, feverish face of a young man. His brow 
 was contracted and f^very feature bore the impress of the 
 foul disease that had made him its victim. The dry, parched 
 lips moved eagerly at intervals, and the thin fingers clutched 
 one another in feverish excitement ; the drowsy lids were 
 
198 Honor ^Ed^eivorth ; or, 
 
 only half closed, and great drops of perspiration were standing 
 out on the poor flushed face. 
 
 Care and intense anxiety were legibly traced on the 
 well carved features. The mouth was drawn in at its corners, 
 the brow was furrowed by deep lines, and the black hair was 
 well sprinkled with the grey dust of a hard and a bitter 
 experience accjuired on the road ot life's fatiguing duties. 
 
 Thib- sad, silent young man was well known in the 
 neighborhood as ' Mrs. Pratt's boarder,' and when, after 
 defying a serious indisposition for days, he came home one 
 night to his little room, a helpless victim to its ravages, 
 everyone said they were truly sorry, and counselled Mrs. 
 Pratt to treat him 'decent' Here he lay through long, 
 sleepy, sultry days, dozing and raving, and tossing in the 
 madness and delirium of fever, and suffering terribly, through 
 endless nights of suffocation and torment. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Pratt had done her best, nobly and well, she 
 had called in the doctor of best repute, and had advanced 
 the 'coppers' herself (such trust had she placed in the young 
 fellow) wherewith to provide him with the necessary remedies 
 and delicacies. When he was ' real ' bad she sat up herself 
 to watch, and invited the widow Brady or some other interest- 
 ing neighbor to keep her company. 
 
 1 )r. Belford was a man of unrivalled skill in his profes- 
 sion, and to say the best of him was a true friend to the 
 needy and the poor. No hour of the night was too late for 
 him to answer their pleading cry, and hence it was that he 
 became the very idol of the destitute of a great city. 
 
 He had come into Chapel Alley, at Mrs. Pratt's anxious 
 request, and had pronounced her lodger, to be in the height 
 of ' typhoid fever.' The case was even more dangerous than 
 he cared to pretend, and the circumstances that had driven 
 a respectable young fellow, such as his patient looked, to 
 seek lodgings in a dilapidated quarter like Chapel Alley were 
 such as engaged his sympathies at once. 
 
 The days were stretching into weeks, and still the poor 
 suffering victim, raved and tossed in mad fever on his narrow 
 bed. Dr. Belford was looking serious as he left the sick- 
 room one afternoon, after watching his patient attentively 
 for nearly an hour : he cautioned Mrs. Pratt, in an earnest 
 voice to attend carefully to the invalid, impressing on her 
 how serious a crisis was approaching. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 109 
 
 He left the house a little troubled, telling Mrs. Pratt, to 
 leave her door unlocked, for he intended to return as often 
 as poj sible through the night, to the bed-side of the patient. 
 
 Noiselessly, almost breathlessly, the good woman stole 
 around her little house in stocking feet, as she journeyed 
 with fresh or re-made delicacies and medicines from the 
 little kitcher; below to the close sick-room above. 
 
 She was faithful in moistening the parched lips, and in 
 administering the remedies, with an edifying punctuality, 
 and in fact, all the major and minor duties of a nurse were 
 admirably attended to, by the whole-souled creature, who 
 had taken this heavy responsibility upon herself. 
 
 It was close on ten o'clock of the night of this citical 
 day on which Dr. Belford had left Mrs. Pratt's house with 
 such a troubled look, and this charitable matron having 
 completed all her arrangements for the night, deposited a 
 small lamp with a heavy green shade of paper, on the 
 bureau in the sick-room, and drawing a tall straight wooden 
 rocker close to the window, settled herself, stocking and 
 needles in hand to " knit out " the hours of her lonesome 
 vigil. 
 
 On the heavily carved door of a square house on one 
 of the most stylish avenues of New York City, was a silver 
 plate, bearing the familiar name of " Dr. Belford." There 
 was magnificence on all sides of this, his splendid home, 
 and yet this good man spent all his days, and most of his 
 nights in the squalid and repulsive (juarters of the great 
 city. He was a man of untold wealth and cared but 
 little, whether his profession yielded him additional wealth 
 or not, he had understood the great misfortunes of life, and 
 bad toiled with an iron will, to benefit those to whom an 
 unfortunate fate had taught the bitter lessons of poverty and 
 destitution. 
 
 The mansion which bore his name on its elegant door, 
 was nolw a. blaze of gas-light ; the heavy curtains, shaded the 
 grandeur of the spacious drawing-room, but the apartment 
 opposite, had its tall windows thrown open to the evening 
 breeze. This was Dr. Belford's office, splendidly furnished, 
 and comfortably situated ; countless rows of ponderous 
 volumes lined the walls, and over the rest of the spacious 
 
200 Honor Edgewortli ; or^ 
 
 room were scattered heavy piece's of office furniture, th it 
 lay around in solemn im])Osing neatness. 
 
 Standing before a succession of bound volumes was a 
 young man, with his hands folded behind his back and his 
 head raised enciuiringly to the books above him ; he was 
 [)assing over their titles in a (juick review, and had just laid 
 his hand in evident gratification on one of them, when a 
 long shrill, silvery tinkle, made him start : " No use, 1 sup- 
 pose," he muttered to himself, " I must be on the 'go.'" 
 
 A tall, thin man, like an icicle in livery, appeared in the 
 doorway at this moment, and delivered a note into his 
 
 expectant hand. The young fellow tore it open and read : 
 
 *■• 
 Mv Dear Hoy, — 
 
 The case I have !)een summoned ti) attend here is a 
 matter of life or death, I cannot possil)ly leave the house l)efo;e morn- 
 ing. Will yon, therefore, attend to the 'typhoid fever ' case, I spoke to 
 you of, in Chapel Alley, for to-night, and oblige, 
 
 J. D. Belford. 
 
 " Humph ! " said he, as he finished the last words, " I 
 need to smarten up a little, it is now after ten : something 
 serious must be up," he solilocjuized, "or Doctor would 
 never neglect that 'fever' patient, he is so interested in." 
 
 Slipping his feet, clad in their red silk hose, from the 
 daintiest of velvet slippers, the young doctor drew on his 
 fine walking-shoes, turned down the gas a little, closed the 
 office window, and taking his hat from the rack behind the 
 door, hurried out. 
 
 In a moment, the carriage was around, and stepping in 
 he ordered Barnes to drive him quickly to Mrs. Pratt's 
 humble abode in Chapel Alley. 
 
 The dark, close by-ways and lanes impressed the young 
 doctor forcibly, after leaving the broad, paved thoroughfares 
 flooded with electric ligh:, and used, though he was, to those 
 sights, the repetition caused him invariably to shrink within 
 himself and close his eyes upon their repulsiveness. 
 
 At lenght they drew in towards the solitary house, from 
 whose small upper window came the faint glimmer, cast 
 through the slits in the shutter, by the dim light of the 
 lonely watcher. 
 
 As the young doctor stood at the door, he could hear 
 the loud talk and wild cries of the invalid above, he laid his 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 201 
 
 hand on the shabby handle, when yeilding to his touch, th<i 
 door opened with a Httle creaking noise— Mrs. Pratt, leaning 
 ovev the rickety balustrade above, whispered : 
 
 '' Come straight up, doctor, he's awful bad ! " 
 
 The lively young doctor took all of Mrs. I'ratt's stair- 
 way in two moderate leaps and was at her side instantly. 
 A moment of explanation consoled the troubled looking 
 woman for the appearance of a stranger in Dr. lielfbrd's 
 stead, and then on tip toe they turned into the sick room. 
 
 " He's been a fright altogether doctor," said Mrs. Pratt, 
 raising her withered hands in an attitude of wonder " sich 
 ravin' an' shoutin' and kerryings on I never see before — and 
 I thought you'd ha' never come." 
 
 When the door of the sick-room was opened an expres- 
 sion of extreme pity crossed the young man's face : that any- 
 one should burn with a merciless fever in the close confines 
 of this narrow little space, touched him deeply. He turned 
 and looked at the restless invalid, but the light of the small 
 hand lamp was dim and he could not see very distinctly. 
 
 " Hold the lamp nearer, my good woman," he said in 
 the most earnest professional manner, and as obedient Mrs. 
 Pratt raised it high above her frilled cap, the doctor turned 
 his eager glance on the prostrate figure before him. 
 
 The light now fell upon the flushed features of the sick 
 man. His agitation had all ceased, and there lingered but 
 a little expression of peevishness and anxiety, but his whole 
 condition bespoke sickness and suffering. 
 
 A change, sudden and wonderful, flashed over the stern 
 features of the doctor, he staggered just a step, and then 
 bent lower over the face of the invalid — there — within the 
 close narrow limits of a poor sick-room, in a scjualid locality, 
 one stricken down by a loathsome disease, the other there 
 to alleviate his pain, did two fellow students meet for the 
 first time since the long years ago when they had crossed 
 the threshold of their school-room as boyish ' chums ' each 
 to take his road in the great thoroughfare of life — yes — there 
 was no mistaking it — those were the well remembered 
 features of Nicholas Bencroft and no other. The doctor 
 was lost in reflections when Mrs. Pratt impatiently interrupted 
 him with — 
 
 " Well doctor — he aint much worse, 1 hope ? " 
 
 " He is no better," the doctor answered seriously, " he is 
 
202 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 at the crisis of his disease now. I will wait and watch with 
 you to-night," he added " go down like a good woman and 
 tell my driver he can leave, I will watch until morning," 
 
 Mrs. Pratt was a very scrupulous woman, for a widow, 
 and thought it (juite hazardous enough to watch a sick man 
 all alone, besides encumbering her mind with one that was 
 very alive and well — and so she took upon herself to insinu- 
 ate something of her alarm to the young doctor. But a 
 little persuasion went a long way with susceptible Mrs. 
 Pratt, and when the doctor had told her that he recognized 
 an old friend in her sick lodger, she begged a thousand par- 
 dons and became very submissive. 
 
 While they watched by the bed-side of the unfortunate 
 man, Mrs. Pratt grew communicative, and told the doc- 
 tor how this sad young man came to her one hot Saturday 
 evening and asked her for lodgings — how she had thought 
 him ' sort o' nice ' and ' took to him ' and had had him now 
 for near a twelve-month —that he had paid ' reglar ' and 
 gave no trouble until the night the fever ' struck him down' — 
 his name was Bencroft, she knev;-, and his linen \Vas well 
 marked with a N. an' a B. in ' real good writin' — and finally, 
 how she hoped he'd soon get better, for his own sake and 
 other peoples,' ' so she did." 
 
 When they looked at the sleeper again, he was peaceful 
 and unoppressed, his breathing was feebler and less labored, 
 and while they stood whispering at the foot of his bed, he 
 gave a great sigh and opened his heavy lids languidly. 
 
 The doctor hastened to his side : the wild delirium had 
 passed away, leaving the worried face of the sufferer calmer 
 and quieter, he opened up his large lustrou eyes and said 
 in a plaintive tone : — 
 
 "Thirsty— so thirsty!" 
 
 Mrs. Pratt raised the glass to his parched lips, and 
 clutching her hands in his own feverish grasp, he pressed the 
 goblet to his mouth and drank a devouring draught. 
 
 It was true that his wanderings and delirium had ceased. 
 Mrs. Pratt looked meaningly at the doctor and "whispered 
 hopefully : *' he is better ? " but, professional-like, the doc- 
 tor remained silent, and only looked very seriously on. The 
 invalid dropped back again among his pillows, and fell into a 
 deep sleep. 
 
 The night was now well nigh spent : outside in the 
 
Ottaica s Present Tense. 203 
 
 leaden dawn, an odd, faint, sleepy twitter disturbed the 
 silence, and an odd pedestrian's footsteps echoed through 
 the still street. 
 
 When this natural sleep stole over the weak and worn- 
 out invalid, the doctor bade Mrs. Pratt a 'good morning' 
 for a while, telling her she might expect him back in four or 
 five hour's time. 
 
 "If your patient should wake,"' he added, "([uestion 
 him a little to ascertain whether he is entirely free from the 
 illusions of his delirium or not — '' and then with a puzzled 
 wondering look upon his handsome face, the young doctor 
 passed out of Mrs. Pratt's close, shabby house into the de- 
 ^serted street. 
 
 Thoughts and memories of the past, he had stowed so 
 resignedly away, flooded his mind as he strode onward, he 
 had dreamed until last night that the ghost of his by-gone 
 (lays would haunt him no more, and when he had learned 
 to live without his memories on the associations of the fre- 
 quent past, he was brought forward again to meet, face to 
 face, a forcible reminder of his yesterdays. " Poor Nicho- 
 las ! " he soliloquized, " what can have befallen him, that 
 this should be his end ? 1 thought there was nothing left 
 in life that could surprise me, and yet here is something 
 that really does." 
 
 The days and scenes of his college life passed in a sor- 
 rowful panorama before the misty eyes of the young man as 
 he strode along the silent street in the gray of the early 
 morning, and as the beginning and the close of this happy 
 l>eriod were reviewed before him, they passed into another 
 jihase of his life and clouded the frank young face with a 
 shadow of regret and pain — " at least he muttered to him- 
 self -I might have spared myself this, after I had taught 
 myself that it was "madness to remember and wisdom to 
 forget." 
 
 A trio of midnight revelers, deserting their haunt of 
 debauchery on a dilapidated street corner, here interrupted 
 the strain of his meditation, and as he raised his eyes to 
 look upon the ragged figures, and bloated, forbidden 
 countenances of these men, there passed over his pensive 
 features, a look of conter*^'^' "'""t and resignation which said — 
 " At least, if my life has been a bitter and an unfortunate one, 
 I have been spared these rags and this degradation. And 
 
204 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 yet," he continued, as he walked rapidly along the by-ways 
 and thoroughfares of the great city, " it is a wonder that I 
 escaped it, for in my time we were just as degraded, only we 
 disguised our hideousness under the garb of respectability," 
 Then a look of bitter, almost hoj^eless disaj)pointment came 
 over his face, as he told himself secretly, " And I struggled 
 against all these proi)ensities, fought with and overcame all 
 these follies for the sake of //<;', who has cast me so easily, so 
 willingly out of her life." He was turning the broad paved 
 corner that led to Dr. Belford's house, and quickening his 
 step he reached the door just as the old doctor himself was 
 passing out into the hall. 
 
 " Hallo !" said the old gentleman in genuine surprise, 
 where have you been carousing until such an hour ?" 
 
 There was evidently a familiarity between these two 
 that spoke of strong regard on the part of the younger, and 
 of a fatherly fondness and interest in that of the elder doctor. 
 An explanation followed which gratified Dr. Belford im- 
 mensely. 
 
 " Since the danger looks less, my boy," he said, "and 
 that you wish to attend him, I see no reason why you 
 shouldn't. I've trusted you with as serious cases already." 
 
 With this they parted, each tired and weary with his 
 midnight vigils, repaired to rest until the full stir of the 
 morning that was just breaking. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 205 
 
 .r' 
 
 i^' 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ^»iif " I have a 1)itter thought- a snake 
 
 That used to string my life to pain ; » 
 
 '■ I stri)\-e to cast it far away, i' • 
 
 lUit every night and every day i»' • 
 
 It crawled liack to my heart again." " 
 
 r^( I7OU are unusually early this morning," said a pale, 
 ^-/r)J,'^ handsome woman crossing the threshold of the 
 ^/i^ elegant dining-room, where the silver and crystal 
 
 ^^' and tempting .viands stood in inviting array on 
 the massive table. 
 
 'I'he lady wore a loose dark wrapper, girdled at the 
 waist, and her thick hair, prematurely grey, was drawn back 
 from her large, intelligent brow, and secured in graceful 
 coils at the back of her shapely neck. 
 
 " I have a case of unusual interest, dear Mrs. Belford — 
 that explains it ; at least I have stolen one from I )r. Belford, 
 and with his ordinary kindness, he does not insist on re- 
 claiming it." 
 
 "Well, I don't object," Mrs. Belford replied gayly, 
 " only I hope you can manage to get through quickly, for I 
 have an engagement for you early this afternoon, and I 
 would not relish a disappointment in the least." 
 
 The young doctor looked proudly at the handsome 
 woman as she spoke ; then drawing himself up to his full 
 height, as he surveyed himself in the mirror, " You may rely 
 on me," he said with his most courteous bow, as he took his 
 hat and left the room, with a last " good morning " to Mrs. 
 iJelford. 
 
 * ¥1 -X- -;<- -X- -X- -X- * 
 
 " Deary me, but I'm glad you're well again," said good 
 Mrs. Pratt, as she leaned over the now restored patient. 
 " I thought ye were a goner sure, till comin' on mornin'. 
 An' how do ye feel now, there's a good boy ?" 
 
 The pained look on the sufferer's face passed into some- 
 thing of a smile, as he answered in a low, weak voice, 
 
 " Much better, I thank you," then the old, troublecj 
 
20G Hofwr Edgeiwrf/i ; or, 
 
 shade returned to his flushed features, as he asked 
 anxiously, " Will the doctor come soon again ? I want him 
 particularly this time." 
 
 The pleading words were scarcely uttered when the 
 rickety door creaked once more on its hinges. The stairs 
 were taken in a jump, and thf^ doctor stood at the door of his 
 patient's rpom. 
 
 Mrs Pratt thrust out her anxious head, and whispered, 
 
 " He's alright, an' wants ye very bad this very minnit." 
 
 Laying his hat and cane on the " ottoman," (an old 
 soap box costumed in faded (hint/), the doctor entered the 
 room and approached the bed of the sick man. 
 
 Taking advantage of the occasion, Mrs. Pratt now fairly 
 ' tired out,' escorted herself to the adjoining room and laid "* 
 her weary bones on the uninviting " settee," that was the 
 hallowed source of all the pleasant dreams, that haunted her 
 daily siestas for many a jear. 
 
 The bright vivid glare of the mid-summer sun, was 
 condensed into a subdued light, as it stole through the little 
 scorched shutters, that adorned Mrs. Pratt's front windows. 
 The doctor drew an old-fashioned chair, close to the bed 
 side and addressed his patient cheerily : 
 
 " Well, you are much better, this morning, I think ? " 
 
 The restless head turned with a quick movement 
 towards the speaker. The bright feverishly lustrous eyes 
 dwelt in dilated wonder on the face before them, there was 
 a nervous twitching about the dry lips. Then the tired eyes 
 closed languidly and the plaintive voice said : 
 
 " My mind is wandering ; I am not a school-boy now." 
 
 The doctor knew there was a recognition, and taking 
 the burning hand in his, he said tenderly : 
 
 " Yes, Nicholas Bencroft, we will be school-boys again 
 if you like. Those were happy days ; let us go over them 
 together once more." 
 
 A strange, sad expression flitted across the invalid's 
 face. He turned completely round and peered into the 
 face of his companion. Then stretching out both feverish 
 white hands, he cried out : 
 
 " Yes, thank God ! Elersley, it's you ; you have come 
 just in time." 
 
 " Open the window and let me have a breath of fresh 
 air," said the sick man after their greetings were over. " I 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 207 
 
 have something to tell you that is weighing me down with 
 grief, and promise me, dear old fellow, that you will leave 
 no stone unturned to do the right things, that I will point 
 out to you presently." 
 
 *' If it is in human power, Bencroft, how can you 
 doubt the eagerness of one old chum to serve another ? " 
 
 " But I have done an awful wrong and you may loathe 
 me and desert me when you see me self-condemned." 
 
 The despairing tones of the weak voice touched every 
 sympathetic chord in the heart of his listener. 
 
 " I don't care what you may have done," he cried, 
 enthusiastically, " let me help you all I can, you will not ask 
 an impossibility I know.'' 
 w** The invalid heaved a labored sigh, and began his story : 
 
 " If I knew I had yet a year of health and life before 
 me, I would not trouble any one to undo the black and 
 dishonorable knot, that these guilty hands have tied, but I 
 know too well that but little strength is left me. To begin 
 at the beginning, Guy," he said, looking eagerly into the 
 kind face of his listener, " boys make foolish attachments at 
 school, that they sometimes regret all their lives. This, as 
 you know, was my misfortune. Whatever diabolical attrac- 
 tion there was in that one man for me, I never could tell. 
 All you fellows ridiculed me for it, but some evil fascination, 
 though I did not so qualify it at that time, held me to him 
 in spite of myself The rest of you, wiser than I, learned 
 to look upon his handsome face and polished manners as a 
 clever mask, but I was Winded and could not see like the 
 rest. You know how many foolish acts I did during those 
 college years to serve him. Oh ! if I had only known then 
 that I was laying the foundation of my future misery with 
 my own willing hands," and the speaker's large eyes flashed 
 with a hatred and defiance that made his plain face look 
 grand and handsome. 
 
 " I left school a year before my father died, and I had 
 just become initiated in his business at the time of his de- 
 mise. I admit it was rather a heavy undertaking for one so 
 young as I was then, to continue the extensive business my 
 fatlier had so successfully carried on for years. 
 
 But I was encouraged by hopeful relatives and did not 
 myself dread any untoward consequences. Things went on 
 ijuite smoothly, and I was making money fast, when one day 
 
208 Honor Ed^ewoith ; or, 
 
 I was nearly stunned to death, on seeing my old college 
 chum walk in the office door. He looked handsomer than 
 ever and greeted me very cordially, with just a touch of the 
 old condescension in his manner. I was, of course, delighted 
 to see him. We talked over old days freely and familiarly. 
 Finally I saw the drift of his visit. He represented to me 
 that he had invested largely, at the advice of some friends, 
 in the lands of the great North-West, but had lost a great 
 deal by the speculation. In his despair, the first friend he 
 thought of was myself He got around me in his old way, 
 and before he left my office that morning I had loaned him, 
 madman that I was, the sum of five thousand dollars, with- 
 out any question whatever of security. He swore to me ^ 
 that I might rely on him to deal honestly with me, and, 
 blinded by the old infatuation, I gave him a checjue for the 
 amount and sent him away contented, (live me a drink, 
 (luy, and fix up my pillows, please." 'I'he young d^>ctor did 
 these thingb as gently as a woman, and without interrupting 
 the strain of confidence, sat down patiently again and re- 
 sumed his listening attitude. 
 
 " Months glided by," continued the invalid, and no one 
 was any the wiser of the rash act I had committed, but now that 
 I had leisure to repent, it worried rne greatly, and I could not 
 shake off the depression it caused. The time was approach- 
 ing when a heavy payment would fall due and I was in daily 
 agony, waiting for the remittance of my loan, but, needless 
 to say, it never came. I wrote to the address he had left 
 me, but no answer was forthcoming. 
 
 Within a few days of the date on which I had to meet 
 this heavy payment, the load of anxiety that pressed upon 
 me was suddenly lightened by the sudden re-appearance of 
 my friend (?) in my office. His smiles succeeded in re 
 assuring me once more, and in breathless suspense, I drank 
 in every word he uttered. He spoke of a great many un- 
 necessary things first, and then concluded by saying in the 
 coolest manner possible : 
 
 "I fear you will be a little disappointed about your 
 money, but I will not be able to pay you for some time yet." 
 
 " I stood petrified at his audacity. My first impulse 
 was to seize him by the throat and pay myself in blood, but 
 when I looked at his handsome face my determination van- 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 209 
 
 ished. He looked curiously at me in return, and asked in 
 a tone like one who is feeling his way : 
 
 ** Are you safe in your business ?" 
 
 " Good God !" I cried, exasperated, *'I was until I saw 
 your face. You will be my ruin." 
 
 He seemed to look sorry all at once, then brightening 
 a little he said : 
 
 " There is only one way in which I can help you, but 
 you must lend a hand yourself." 
 
 " What is it ?" I cried, eagerly, hopefully. 
 
 "I am going to be married," he answered gravely, " to 
 .^ wealthy heiress, and as soon as her money is in my posses- 
 sion, I will pay you back your own." 
 
 There was nothing repulsive to me in this prospect. I 
 was awake only to the vital interests of the welfare of my 
 mother and family, that depended on my faithful discharge 
 gf the duties of my responsible position. 
 
 Seizing him eagerly by the arm, I asked him, " When 
 will she marry you ?" 
 
 " There's the rub," he answered perplexedly. " When 
 do you want the money ?" 
 
 " I must choose between my money and absolute ruin 
 on Thursday, I said, and this is Tuesday j I leave the rest 
 to your honor and your heart." 
 
 " Well, the case is this," he said, looking at me fixedly, 
 " she will not marry me in her own town ; we will therefore 
 take a trip elsewhere, but the difficulty is, I don't know yet 
 where to go. If, however" — and he leaned on the railing of 
 my desk and looked at me with a searching glance, — " if you 
 want your money badly you can have it in this way : There 
 is a small vacant house, distant some miles from her resi- 
 dence, and thither we could drive at any time. Why could'nt 
 you, robed as a curate, perform the marriage ceremony, and 
 secure your money ? VVe could be properly married at any 
 other time, though you are as good a one to tie the knot as 
 any other." 
 
 The villain looked at me steadily. He was turning his 
 old power of fascination to account. What was the whole 
 blighted life of this unfortunate heiress to the ruin and dis- 
 grace that my failure would bring down on myself, my mother 
 
210 Honor Edgeioori/i ; or 
 
 and sisters. I did not hesitate, with this thought uppermost 
 in my mind. 
 
 " I will do this thing," I said determinedly, " whatever 
 it costs me." 
 
 He directed me accordingly to leave Montreal, the 
 seat of my business, in the morning and reach the little 
 village in the townships, where his other victim lived, before 
 noon. We would meet there ; he would drive me out to 
 the parsonage, pro tein.^ and give it a look of habitation 
 before bringing his bride there. We purchased a few 
 dilapidated pieces of furniture from neighboring farmers and 
 laid our little plot successfully, it surprised me to think of 
 him as capable of doing such a villainous thing, and v 
 looking so calm and collected all the time. He smoked 
 inveterately, and occasionally sang or whistled some careless 
 tune, as though his heart felt not a feather-weight of care or 
 sin. In the evening I was installed in the vacant house, 
 with no living creature near but the great black dog I had 
 brought with me from home, and who had always followed 
 me for years, everywhere I went. However, I stowed even 
 him into a dark recess, that was guarded by a little rickety 
 door that fastened with a rusty lock. It was a black awful 
 night, nature gave vent to her just indignation in every way. 
 I sat there, feeling already guilty and remorseful, until near 
 nine o'clock. Then hearing the roll of a distant carriage, I 
 tried to busy myself around, and look as domesticated as 
 possible under the circumstances. I thought I should give 
 up and lose all at the sight of the pretty, innocent, trustful 
 child for whom he had planned this hideous deception. But 
 I was as pitiable a victim myself as she, and the thought of 
 my impending ruin drove every feeling of humanity out of 
 my heart. We began the mock ceremony, slowly and 
 solemnly. We had just reached the most critical part when 
 a great flash of lightning leaped in at the broken window, 
 stunning both of us and prostrating the girl. The candle 
 went black out, leaving us in total darkness. When I 
 recovered from the shock, the noise and elemental din were 
 such that I could distinguish nothing. I waited a moment 
 or two and then spoke. I received no answer. Half 
 maddened, I got up and struck a fresh light, and looked 
 around me. The traitor, the doubly-dyed villain had gone, 
 he had taken the horse, and there was not a trace of him 
 
Off (ilea's Present Tense. 211 
 
 left. He had secured the unfortunate girl's money through 
 the instrumentality of one who had violated every principle 
 of honor and justice, to save the name and social standing 
 of those who were dependent on him. I suppose I did not 
 deserve to die then. I was given days and nights of endless 
 duration in which to live over and over again, the agony 
 and despair of that bitter experience. What was I to do ? 
 I had not secured my money, but I had this additional 
 misfortune on my conscience : I had wrecked the life of a 
 fair young girl, and had the hitherto spotless page of my 
 dealings with my fellow-creatures, stamped with a foul indeli- 
 ble stain, that cried shame and retribution on my whole 
 generation. I fled — of course — when the hasty realization 
 of my misdeeds forced itself into my mind. I was frantic 
 and desperate as I tried to make my w^y through the thicket, 
 and at last on arriving at the village, I took the midnight 
 train and travelled to a town in the State of Maine. From 
 this place I wrote to my creditors, confessing my financial 
 difficulties, and begging of them not to seek me out, nor 
 take any further interest in me, as I had resolved to begin 
 my blighted life over again, in a strange land among strange 
 l)eople. I tried O, Elersley ! God knows how hard, to earn 
 honest bread, but I did not deserve success, and so God 
 refused to bless my labor. I left Maine, and came here to New 
 York, two years ago. I turned my hand to everything, but 
 the bitter sting of misfortune was at the bottom of all. I 
 tried my pen, recently, for my limbs seemed incompetent 
 for any active service, but sitting here in this little narrow 
 room, through the long night, trying to invent some gay 
 little snatch of fiction out of the store of a mind so crushed 
 and oppressed, wa- too bitter a mockery to last very long. 
 My fair fashionable heroines looked at me in my dreams 
 with eyes blood-sliot and revengeful, saying, " This is what 
 you have brought me to." For I suppose, Elersley, that 
 girl never did a day's good since. Her fate has been con- 
 stantly preying on my mind. I have spent a life of wretched 
 expiation already in this world, God only knows what awaits 
 me in the next. I have studiously avoided the sex I have 
 outraged by this deed, feeling myself an outcast and a traitor 
 in their presence. I have turned my back on the few haunts 
 of pleasure t'lat were open Lo me, for the sound of my own 
 voice in gaiety, frightened and reproached me. As for /«'w, 
 
212 Honot Edgewurili ; 01 ^ 
 
 Elersley, though I have not seen him, nor heard of him, 
 since, yet I know he is revelling in the luxury of his ill- 
 gotten wealth." 
 
 The sick man stopped a moment, and let the tired lids 
 droop languidly over the dark eyes, then opening them 
 again, he looked full into Guy's pale face. When he resumed 
 his voice was nervous and weak. 
 
 " You have now the truthful story of my woe," he said, 
 brokenly, "are you still willing to help me ?" 
 
 The question brought Elersley back from his wanderings. 
 
 " Do you tell me truthfully that this is the villany of the 
 boy we pampered so at school ? " 
 
 " That is the story of Vivian Standish's cowardly con- 
 duct," said Bencroft, in a tone of deep resentment, 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " muttered Guy, " who can tell what 
 more he has been able to do? Give me your hand Bencroft. 
 As you have been the dupe of a blackguard who disguised 
 his villany under the mask of friendship, I will stand to you. 
 Will you allow me to write down this confession over your 
 own signature, lest a nuncupative testimony be not sufficient 
 to condemn him. We will call in Mrs. Pratt to witness the 
 signing of the paper." Guy's suggestion was immediately 
 followed out. The invalid grasped the pen with wonderful 
 strength, and signed his name in a firm legible hand to the 
 document. Mrs. Pratt, looking as dignified as the occasion 
 required, affixed her mark, and so did the widow Brady, who 
 just happened to 'drop in.' Guy rose and looked at his 
 watch. It was past eleven now, and he had still other duties 
 to attend to before keeping his word with Mrs. Belford. 
 
 " Are you going," the invalid asked impatiently, mak- 
 ing an effort to rise in his narrow bed. " Look here Elers- 
 ley," he cried, "I want to thank you, - to praise you, if I 
 could, but my poor voice is shattered and weak. If I could 
 only crawl on my knees before you in gratitude, how gladly 
 I would do it, but I will never leave this poor Uttle home 
 of mine alive; my heart is broken and my spirit is worn out. 
 Only tell me you will search the world for the pretty French 
 girl he called ' Fifine,' and tell her the story of my life, my 
 grief and remorse. Punish her deceiver as he deserves and 
 come to my lonely grave at the last and whisper to me that 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. 213 
 
 retribution has come. Until then I cannot rest. Oh Guy ! 
 there is no misery hke the misery of a life whose dark shadows 
 haunt it's victim perpetually. Look at her !— there she is 
 now — oh ! so angry and sullen ; ugh ! — she is cursing me — 
 threatening me— tell her, for God's sake, Guy, tell her to 
 spare the sick, wasted man— see — she is coming nearer to 
 me — save me — save me — " and in wild shrieks and tossings, 
 Nicholas Bencroft plunged back again into the mad delirium 
 of the fever. 
 
214 Honor Edge^cortli ; or^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 '* Love is a great transfonner." 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 OOHE reader must understand what it is to experience 
 4v^ sensations such as flitted through (iuy Elersley's 
 q^j^^ breast at this period of his life's dhwuemtnt. Any 
 o^ of us who have fallen in with the tide of the great 
 living world, know that the draughts of gall and the drops of 
 nectar reach our lips from the same chalice : our noblest 
 love has often been the parent of our most sinful hatred, and 
 we have cursed in despairing tones the very scenes, days, 
 persons and associations that once constituted the fondest 
 memories of our hearts. 
 
 We have a great antithetical existence before us, but 
 the beauty of experience can only be seen by the backward 
 glance, 'tis when we turn our sad and tear-dimmed eyes to 
 look over our bended shoulders at the thorny way that bears 
 the impress of our weary feet, that we can feel what a grand 
 and salutary prayer our lips might make by substituting the 
 murmur and the cry of pain by a holy accent which should 
 be a ' fiat.' 
 
 The strain of mournful confidence that had passed be- 
 tween these reunited friends brought its own bitterness to 
 Guy Elersley's heart. How unfortunate it was that on the 
 eve of his departure from his former home, Vivian Standish 
 should have been the one of all others he had trusted with 
 his little message of love ! 
 
 Guy passed over in silent, painful review, the details of 
 his recent career. How well he remembered the pain and 
 disappointment that had driven him away from Ottawa city. 
 
 He had thought once that such a conflict of emotions 
 would kill a stronger man than he, but 
 
 " Nothing in the world beside, 
 Is stronger than the heart when tried." 
 
 to begin a new life on the wreck of an old one is a very 
 hard and painful task, and one that Guy Elersley, above 
 every other living creature, would never have attempted un 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 215 
 
 less when influenced by so strong and pushing and stimu- 
 lating a power as the love of a good woman : this alone, it 
 was that worked reformation in Guy Elersley : from contem- 
 plating her pure and noble soul, he had been seized with an 
 ambition to grow like her ; her word and example sickened 
 him of his old pursuits until he wondered and wept over 
 the sacrifice he had so heedlessly made of his youth and 
 character. 
 
 He left the scene of his temptations, and in close, quiet 
 study in the great, stirring city of New York, he slowly, but 
 surely and steadily rebuilt the wreck and ruin of his younger 
 days. He had devoted himself once before to the study of 
 medicine, but had given it' up in a moment of foolish frivolity 
 for an occupation far less worthy, but now he returned to 
 his volumes of science with a vow of perseverance on his 
 lips and a dogged determination in his heart. 
 
 He had been fortunate enough to form the acquaintance 
 of Dr. Belford, who, taking a fancy to the studious boy, 
 offered to receive him under his special charge and instruct 
 him more fully in the profession he had adopted. 
 
 Guy attributed each new phase of luck that overtook 
 him now to the same unseen power which seemed to sway 
 his life of late. Under Dr. Belford he worked diligently and 
 well and finished the career in medicine he had so recklessly 
 interrupted before for other pursuits. 
 
 Through all the trials and difficulties of his new life. 
 Guy felt himself sustained by a lingering hope that seemed 
 to buoy him up against every depression, and thus for many 
 long months he toiled assiduously under the influence of 
 that shallow hope until each day seemed to prove to him 
 more clearly than another, that all the best endeavors of a 
 lifetime cannot restore a trust once broken, or a confidence 
 once shattered. 
 ^ Even this bitter realization he strove to gather into his 
 resignation ; he had grown prematurely wise and learned, 
 and had taught himself to accept in submission the apparently 
 unjust decree of destiny. 
 
 But sometimes when he came home tired and weary at 
 nightfall and laid his head, full of aching thoughts, on his 
 pillow to rest, capricious fate released him from his skeptic 
 views of life ; the hard lines faded from around his handsome 
 mouth, and a slow smile, as of old, crept back there from its 
 
216 Honor £dgeti>orth ; or^ 
 
 exile, for when he was tired or sud, a fair vision invariably 
 stood beside him and smoothed away the traces of care 
 from his face. He could feel the velvety touch of her dainty 
 hands, and see the beauty of her consoling smile whenever 
 he closed his eyes in a weary doze on the reality of 
 his present life, but when he raised his lids the spell broke 
 suddenly, and New York and Ottawa were a hopeless dis- 
 tance of cruel miles apart. 
 
 He had never once doubted that Vivian Standish would 
 deliver his parting message, and the only bitterness of his 
 better life had been her silence, cold and cruel, after that 
 appeal his heart had made, before leaving. But now the 
 thought struck him all at once : may be she had never re- 
 ceived this little messenger ot his devotion. Could any man 
 so base as Vivian Standish had proved himself to be, com- 
 mit, by the merest chance, an honest or a just action ? He 
 doubted it ; at least he gave himself the benefit of the new 
 uncertainty, and resolved to work out this intricate problem 
 to its bitter end or die in the attempt. 
 
 "Because I love you," said the low sweet voice of 
 Vivian Standish, as he paced very slowly, with Honor 
 Edgeworth, by his side, up and down through the crowd 
 that had assembled on Cartier's Square, to enjoy the excellent 
 music of the Governor-General's Foot Guards' Band which 
 was filling the evening air with its dreamy strains. 
 
 These two, were like every other couple present, in a 
 crowd and yet isolated : the ' band night' is one, so full of 
 generous encouragement, to the growing sentiment of our 
 young city, that one is forced into an appreciation of its 
 benefits, whether one is inclined or not 
 
 Long before the appointed hour for playing, animated 
 couples form a solemn procession, along the streets and 
 grounds which surround our dignified ' Drill Shed,' but it is 
 just as the twilight begins to draw itself into the corners of 
 the far-ofif sky, and over the half distinct gables, and chimney 
 tops of the imposing buildings that rear up their solemn 
 spires, against the sky, that the suggestive strain's of a " Blue 
 Alsatian," or " Loved and Lost" act, powerfully as a third 
 agent of affinity, in bringing the hitherto shy and reticent 
 couples nearer than ever, and in linking the obstinate little 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 217 
 
 hands of a moment before, firmly in that of the love-sick 
 adorer (!) 
 
 Every one goes to hear the band ; big and little, men 
 and women, young, and old, though, what old people, and 
 little brothers or sisters want there, is more than half the 
 *' grown up" sons and daughters can tell. 
 
 It is all well enough to coax your uninteresting little 
 brother of fifteen, with a double supply of sponge cake at 
 tea, if you have no one else in view to escort you to the 
 ' band,' but why in the name of all that is provoking, does 
 he not know, that his duty is done, when he is supi)lanted 
 by some one's bigger brother, who has a moustache and 
 smokes cigars. 
 
 Honor Edgeworth had no unsophisticated youthful kin, 
 to try their clinging propensities on her, her ' aunt Jean' 
 brought her everywhere, and everywhere they went, they 
 found Vivian Standish. It gratified the old lady immensely 
 to see how Honor ' took' among her friends, it gratified her, 
 in proportion, as it stung, a great many mature young ladies, 
 who rather disliked, in any emphatic way, to see a new 
 source of attraction deposited in their midst. 
 
 Ottawa has come to a deplorable state of depression, 
 with regard to ' matrimonial transactions ;' it is now of vital 
 importance to young ladies, who have an ambition to dis- 
 tinguish themselves at the altar of Hymen, that they take, 
 " masculine tastes," as the axis around which is to revolve, 
 in graceful motion, the actions of their daily lives ; but for 
 this no one need think of censuring Ottawa's noble women, 
 their conduct is not so servile or dependent as the unfair 
 critic would like to paint it. > We must not forget, the truth 
 of the little by-word, that ' circumstances alter cases,' what 
 is perfectly justifiable in Ottawa would be 'abominably 
 atrocious' in many other Canadian cities. 
 
 Every one knows, that in the capital of our splendid 
 Dominion, there is the finest collection of young men, that 
 creation can afford — they are numerous, handsome, wealthy, 
 sensible, specimens of what youth should be, (in their own 
 opinion), and with the knowledge of all their cjualities 
 combined, these precious creatures, are just conceited enough, 
 to make sure, that there will always be, at least one for each 
 in the whole city, who will ai)preciate such a display of 
 accomplishments and qualities, as they monopolize. 
 
218 Honor Edi(eii*orih ; or^ 
 
 One can easily understand therefore, how flattered a 
 girl must feel, even, though she is the daughter of" a wealtiiy 
 father, and enjoys a comfortable home, when one of these 
 distinguished beings comes to invade her heart, with his 
 abundance of personal charms and scarcity of personal 
 wealth ; some girls, never survive it ; they die of ecstatic 
 emotion in a week, and are consigned to a premature grave ; 
 others outlive it into the practical phases of wedded life, to 
 the intense mortification of their husbands. 
 
 We will now return to the groups of unfettered maidens, 
 from Upper Town, Centre Town, Sandy Hill and Lower 
 Town, that are enlivening the band scene to-night: many 
 have given Honor Edgeworth, a pardonable word of very 
 reserved criticism; of ccurse they know her numerous advan- 
 tages, men spoke of them right to their faces, but that never 
 made them feel badly ; who ever met a girl yet who felt the 
 least put out, if one rival of hers, had a dozen admirers or more 
 to her none ? 
 
 But Honor was most undeserving of all the attention she 
 received, for she neither appreciated the gallant endeavors 
 of her male admirers to make themselves agreeable to her, 
 nor cared an iota for the jealousies or slighting remarks that 
 passed the lips of her girl contemporaries. 
 
 It was Jean d'Alberg who saw it all, and feasted 
 maliciously on the " sour grapes " looks and words of 
 Honor's less fortunate acquaintances. Honor had hoped 
 that Vivian Standish would not join them that evening, 
 for she amused herself as well with a great many others, 
 and even found him uninteresting at times, but Aunt Jean 
 would not support lier at all here. She had assured 
 herself long ago that Vivian and Honor were well made and 
 mated, and that nothing could be more harmonious than 
 their union. With this idea uppermost, she did everything 
 in her power (which was a great deal) to throw them to- 
 gether, and she had not made any mistake, as far as her 
 calculations of the man's character went — she was perfectly 
 right in imagining that he was one who knew thoroughly 
 how to "improve an opportunity." 
 
 Honor had to acknowledge that in no way did Vivian 
 Standish offend or displease her, but still his manner 
 fatigued and worried her — everyone else admired and ap- 
 preciated him more than she did, and yet he faithfully 
 
Ottawa's Present Tetisc. 219 
 
 and persistently thrust himself ir,ioh her, always i)olished, 
 amiable and pleasant, hut still, pa'.nfuUy eccentric in some 
 way she could not fully define nor analyze. 
 
 To-night, as usual, just as an old friend had coaxed 
 Jean d'Alberg into a lively conversation, Vivian Standish 
 came quietly through the crowd, scenting the air with his 
 fine cigar, which he smoked with a sleej^y sort of relish, and 
 stpod beside Honor. 
 
 She knew perfectly well he was beside her, she felt him 
 before he advanced at all, but when she turned suddenly to 
 look at him, her face wore as blank an expression of astonish- 
 ment as if he had been a ghost. 
 
 " You ?" she exclaimed ; " how is it tliat we seem to be 
 travelling invariably towards the same point ?" she asked 
 then, in the strangest tone possible — but he was equal to her. 
 He removed his cigar from between his handsome lips, and 
 with a lazy sort of determination in his action and words, he 
 slid his arm into hers, and bending down close to her ear, 
 asked — 
 
 " Do you really ask me why I am constantly travelling 
 to the spot where you are ?" 
 
 " That is something like what I did ask, if I remember 
 well," the girl answered with provoking indifference. 
 
 " Then it is — because — I love you !" he whispered, 
 almost huskily. 
 
 The band continued to fill the balmy air with its sweet, 
 suggestive strains. Sounds of laughter and mirth reached 
 them from all sides ; Vivian was less of his well-controlled 
 self than ever to-night, but Honor was just as cold and in- 
 different as if the handsomest and most popular young man 
 in Ottawa had slighted her instead of avowing his unsought 
 love for her. 
 . "Do you hear?" he asked, on seeing her remain per- 
 
 sistently indifferent. 
 
 " I am not at all hard of hearing, Mr. Standish, I assure 
 you," was the cruel answer. 
 
 " And is that all the word you have to say in return ?" 
 he asked in a tone of wretched surprise. 
 
 " You are lo^ ng with very serious words," she answered 
 earnestly, " ai"'d this is neither time nor place for it. Let us 
 speak of something else. " 
 
 " May I continue smoking ?'' he then asked, as coolly 
 
220 ' Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 as if they had been his first words to her. " If you object, 
 Honor, don't mind saying so. May I at least call you 
 Honor ?" 
 
 " You overpower me and yourself with such a multitude 
 of questions," the girl answered languidly, " but since you 
 ask me permissions which I grant a great many others, I 
 will not refuse you. 
 
 " Thank you," he said almost sarcastically, '* when we 
 are hungry we take the crust that is flung to us, though the 
 dainty morsel served on a crystal plate satisfies us best. What 
 is the matter to-night. Honor, you seem worried and peevish ?" 
 
 The sudden change of tone, from the moralizing to that 
 of anxious enquiry, amused Honor. 
 
 " I generally seem in that way until I have been in 
 your company for a while," she answered with such a care- 
 less, meaningless tone, that he pronounced her a hopeless 
 little sans civur with a sigh, and dropped the subject. 
 
 Vivian Standish was plainly courting Mr. Rayne's/rt*- 
 tegk, and a great deal had to be said in consequence. With 
 his carefully learned manners, Standish had worked a suc- 
 cessful conspiracy against retribution. He had coolly stowed 
 away any disagreeable souvenirs of his past life, and troubled 
 no more about them. He veneered his whole character 
 with such an engaging mansuetude as served to deceive the 
 most penetrative of those he met, and not even the most 
 suspicious of his Ottawa acquaintances had ever insinuated 
 that a surface so calm and unruffled as his could ever cover 
 a phase of character which coi'ld be nocent or even objec- 
 tionable in the least degree. Some disliked him for reasons 
 they could not define, and had in consequence to refrain 
 from expressing their antipathy. Many were jealous of him, 
 and the majority admired him freely. 
 
 He was one of those "clever" men who had taken the 
 trouble to analyze and solve the intricate though simple 
 problem of existence, and to adapt this precious knowledge 
 wisely and carefully to his own especial selfish benefit. 
 
 It takes a rogue to understand a rogue, and the reason 
 of Vivian Standish's complete success in playing off his 
 counterfeit manners, was because he had chosen to display 
 them within a circle where shrewd or suspecting observation 
 never found its way. He saw cleaily what a field lay open 
 to him in the drawing-room, and the delightful company of 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 221 
 
 Ottawa's elite. All he had to do was to introduce himself to 
 this " tony " little city fashionably dressed, and with that self- 
 sufficient reserve that characterizes the '' high toned." He 
 registered at the "Russell," and walked Sparks street every 
 afternoon with a haughty step, looking as conceited and in- 
 teresting as possible. He drank in the local chat with eyes 
 and ears open, before making any uncertain move ; then he 
 sought the acquaintance of the fashionable young men of 
 the city — they are easily traced. One has but to run over 
 the list of their aristocratic names on the pages of the visitors' 
 register at Government House, or they are the noted 
 presidents, patrons or members of some "awfully nice " club, 
 "you know!" or they are very well represented in the business 
 books of certain well known tailoring establishments ; and if 
 none of these are sufficient, the Court register has a voice 
 now and then whose suasory accents could convince anyone. 
 But nothing in these discoveries would surprise Vivian 
 Standish, for there was little left savouring of " hard experi- 
 ence " that he had not passed through at one time or other 
 of his agitated career. He was no stranger to the secrets of 
 a little city like Ottawa. They are good enough to frighten 
 * small boys and women. He, who had plunged into the very 
 heart of the mysteries of life as they are found in the grand 
 metropolises of the whole world, rather interested the com- 
 paratively innocent and unsophisticated youth of the Canadian 
 capital, who recognized in him a graduate of that school of 
 experience whose dangerous knowledge was being tasted, as 
 a novelty, yet by them. Inwardly he smiled at the suscepti- 
 bilities of the youths he came across ; he saw mirrored in 
 them the youth of every other corner and nationality of the 
 globe. Worldling though he was, he was capable of very 
 wise rellections, and was given to moralizing in a sort of way. 
 He never made it a premeditated point to draw any un- 
 schooled youth into wrong ; he did not seek to make any 
 innocent one the victim of an evil influence, as many do who 
 seem to be very active agents of the Author of Evil himself, 
 — young ;)eople who cannot gloat over their own spiritual ruin 
 until they have dragged the foolish, weak souls of unsus- 
 pecting victims into the wreck they covet for themselves. 
 He was satisfied to be virtuously discreet among the 
 unsuspecting, and be highly companionable among those 
 who were wiser in folly. He was glad to recognize Elersley 
 
222 Honor Edgcworth : or, 
 
 in a strange city, and Guy, friendly and hospitable ever, took 
 him into his charge until he had him thoroughly initiated 
 into the ways of his adopted life. 
 
 Guy's room was the scene of many a jovial merry- 
 making for successive nights after Vivian's arrival, and if 
 cigar stumj^s and empty bottles were ever indicative of 
 rollicking bachelor hos])itality, they surely told the tale em- 
 l)hatically of (Juy, for a very respectable heap of such restanls 
 generally made one conspicuous feature of next morning's 
 " cleaning up." 
 
 Standish was a jolly fellow, and the others took to him 
 readily ; lie smoked, drank, jested, or indulged in any 
 other imaginable pastime that was proposed, thus showing 
 himself a complete sympathizer with his new-made friends. 
 
 When he stepjied into the ' feminine ' circle, he was 
 equally well received, he was so entirely different in his attrac- 
 tions from the stale beaux that had introduced him to their 
 lady friends. His first words invariably made impression, 
 and everything he said or did was stamped with the quietest, 
 most languid, and yet most thoroughly fascinating style, 
 that victims were ready to fall unsought before him. There 
 was a resistless power in the dee]), dreamy look his beautiful 
 eyes constantly affected, and in the unsteady strength of 
 his shapely hand, as it happened, no matter how inadvertently, 
 to touch the dainty fingers of some susceptible belle ; and 
 even if his personal advantages failed him completely, there 
 yet remained riis most powerful attraction- his voice. 
 Ottawa girls had never heard such original and such 
 pleasant little nothings as Vivian Standish told them at 
 every moment of his conversation, and the perfect cultivation 
 of the voice that thrilled their blessed little hearts with its 
 resistless accents, induced many a fair and blushing maiden 
 to hand him over her concfuered heart, as a pitiable trophy 
 that he had so fairly and yet so mercilessly won. 
 
 But Vivian Standish, in coming among the Ottawaites, 
 •had not been attracted for the purpose of making such 
 havoc among feminine hearts. Any man can do that, in 
 any place, and under any circumstances, if he has a 
 mind to. A woman to him, was a useless and trouble- 
 some appendage, after he had kissed the dainty hand 
 that had emptied its substantial treasure into his roomy 
 pockets. Courtesy, like every other quality he had takea 
 
Ottawa's Present Jense. 223 
 
 the trouble to acquire, had its matter-of-fact mission to 
 perform, towards accomplishing a great part of his mercenary 
 purposes, and hence the sacrifices he so often made cheer- 
 fully and admirably for the gratification of some idolized 
 daughter who was sole heiress to a comfortable dozen of 
 thousands. 
 
 His lucky genius had not driven him on to OUawa for 
 nothing ; of this he assured himself emphatically when he 
 found out that Honor Edgeworth was likely to substitute 
 Ouy Elersley in his uncle's favor, and find herself, some day, 
 rolling in wealth that had been scraped together by the 
 hands of those who had not owed her a single debt of 
 gratitude ; to his reason such unfair freaks of destiny called 
 loudly for resentment ; he claimed a right of monopoly as 
 well as this more fortunate girl, and he meant to exercise it 
 too, though as (quietly and noiselessly as possible, he flattered 
 himself, and encouraged his project with the universal male 
 belief, that a few little wild words of sentiment, and marked 
 attentions, suffice to level the trivial fortifications of any 
 woman's heart ; his study was to make the right impression 
 on the responsible guardians of his choice, that his appeal, 
 when made, should be encouraged by these all-important 
 voices. In this he attained a splendid success, but his plots 
 and plans were too clever for his own management, and 
 entrapped him in that very place, where he considered him- 
 self most strongly fortified. 
 
 Henry Rayne, now growing weaker and older, had been 
 as easily influenced by the assumed manners of this adven- 
 turer as was any indiscreet woman ; the glitter, to his eyes, 
 now dimmed and obscured by age, was that of the solid 
 metal, and the well-studied phrases and words that came so 
 blandly from the deceptive lips duped the old man pitifully. 
 
 Jean d'Alberg herself had caught the contagion, and 
 smiled pleasant greetings to him when he visited at Mr. 
 Rayne's house ; there was only Honor who evaded the 
 cunning trap, but even she was blinded a good deal. Although 
 the eternnl fitness of things made it impossible that such 
 antithetical natures should ever blend in a harmony of any 
 sort, he was still fortunate enough not to produce the discord 
 that would seem to arise very naturally from such an 
 unsympathetic contact. 
 
 Ho!icr, without liking Vivian Standish, endured him 
 
224 Honor EdgewoiHi ; o>\ 
 
 well enough-, and enjoyed his clever conversations very well; 
 she could not guess the fierceness of the moral struggle that 
 was taking place, as he calmly and calculatingly planned her 
 doom. She only felt a little of that repulsion that purity 
 and innocence naturally feel when brought into contact with 
 vice and guilt, for our moral natures have a special instinct 
 of their own, which attracts or repels characters whose 
 influence upon them may be beneficial or injurious, thus 
 often causing us to dislike or distrust persons without any 
 ap})arent cause. , 
 
 There was only one extra reason why Honor Edgeworth, 
 above so many others, failed to yield herself a ready victim 
 to the wiles of this fascinating man, and that was because 
 her heart, unlike the generality of those tiresome appendages, 
 was closed to petition. She had learned to love once, truly 
 and warmly, and the gay, young, reckless hero whom shQ had 
 silently but devotedly honored at the secret shrine of her 
 unsullied heart, had suddenly passed out of her life, without 
 a sign, or a token, or a word, leaving her to weep over the 
 wasted treasure ot sentiment she had so greedily hoarded up 
 for him alone ; not that this caused her to lose her faith in 
 man or vow to live a life of solitary sceptic amendment for 
 having indulged a foolish passion in her early days, but 
 because she firmly believed the object of her fond regard to 
 be at heart a worthy one, and because she felt that her happy 
 lively sentiment, becoming spent and weary, had only laid 
 itself obscurely away, to taste the hopeful sweetness of a 
 " love's young dream," — by iind bye, she promised herself, 
 when her *' fairy prince " came back, and woke up the 
 sleeping cupid from his bed of sighs, the world would be 
 happier and brighter, and full of pleasure unalloyed 
 forevermore. So in the lonely meanwhile, little words of 
 kind regard, and little deeds of gallant courtesy, seemed to 
 her as only forerunners or harbingers of what was coming to 
 her out of the ' to be ' from the lips and hands of her absent 
 lover. 
 
 Such a way of viewing things naturally influenced this 
 girl's :,haracter and brought her back to tliat distracted 
 existence, that contact with practical life had almost anni- 
 hilated. Her old meditative propensities stole upon her 
 again, it was nothing new now to see her with folded hands 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 225 
 
 and dreamy eyes that looked vacantly into the space before 
 them. 
 
 A wonderful change was also coming over Henry Rayne; 
 He who had spent a good fifty years of his life in active 
 'jprvice for society, now began to feel, like countless others 
 who had gone before him, that after all, the most he could 
 claim as the wages of honest fame and honor, were the 
 cushioned depths of an invalid chair, the first grade, to the 
 narrow bed where he would sleep his eternal sleep. 
 
 The old man was growing daily weaker and more 
 childish ; having never known any of those influences through 
 life, which become identical with the very existence of those 
 who have tasted them in wedded life, Henry Rayne found 
 himself in the sunset of his years with scarcely a tie to bind 
 him to the world for which he had done so much. There 
 was only Honor, who stood out in relief from the monotonous 
 experience of his life, and invited him to tarry a little longer 
 on the border-line of time ; every moment that passed into 
 eternity now seemed to bring this girl nearer and nearer to 
 his heart, for it was necessary, that at least in death, he should 
 learn the lesson of sacrifice, that had been so well-spared 
 him through life. 
 
 With the first warnings of his decline, Henry Rayne had 
 learned to realize how cold and bitter and cruel a world 
 this world would be to his little protegie when he had left 
 her, and for that reason he occupied himself altogether, in 
 the latter years of his life, in studying and promoting a 
 welfare for this precious charge, that would survive himself 
 for, may be long years of a lonesome life. 
 
 With this intimate knowledge of the old man's heart, 
 one can perhaps understand the partiality with which Vivian 
 Standish was received into the home of Henry Rayne, as a 
 constant visitor. 
 
 15 
 
226 Honor Ed^eioorth ; or, 
 
 chaptp:r XXX. 
 
 Oh, to be idle one spring day ! 
 To muse in wood or meadow : 
 Glide down the river 'twixt the play 
 Of Sim and treml)ling shadow. 
 I'd see all wonders "nealh the stream, 
 The pebbles and vex'cl grasses ; ^ 
 
 I'd lean across the boat and dream, 'k 
 
 As each scene slowly passes. ^ 
 
 —A. L. B. 
 
 'HE bright, golden summer days were growing scarcer 
 and scarcer ; band nights' experiences were fast 
 becoming items of the past — that past which had 
 realized itself so strangely to poor Honor. She had 
 hoped sanguinely, trustingly, and now it seemed that fate 
 would bring her defiant proofs of its iron will in spite of 
 herself. 
 
 She had not taken it as a sign of inconstancy, that Guy 
 had never sent the smallest message of encouragement to 
 her, but rather tried to weave it in as a sprig of the laurel 
 crown, she daily wove in silent sadness, for her truant lover, 
 when he would return, full of happy explanations, to claim 
 her all his own. 
 
 Vivian was as constant and devoted when the leaves 
 began to turn, as when the leaves began to bud. This was 
 perhaps the most intricate plot of his scheming life, but he 
 was proving himself equal to it : he was probing his way 
 slowly and quietly into the well guarded sanctum of Honor 
 Edgeworth's heart, trying to accumulate every energy of his 
 soul into one eloquent appeal to her obstinate nature. 
 
 The gorgeous colors of the western sky were'^fading 
 dimly one evening, behind the misty mountain tops. It 
 was towards the end of August, a lovely evening, such as 
 comes back to us before the autumn, as a reminder of the 
 closing season. 
 
 Viviai. Standish, pausing suddenly, rested his oars on 
 the placid water, and contemplated in silence, the figure of 
 Honor Edgeworth, reclining on the cushioned seat of his 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 227 
 
 handsome boat. They had rowed a long way up the canal, 
 and any sentimental readers who have been there, either 
 alone, with only the memory of some dearer one, or still better, 
 in the actual com})any of some strangely loved acquain- 
 tance, will not hesitate, in pronouncing this still, cool, 
 shady retreat, one of the most suggestive spots on earth. 
 If anyone's untiring devotion and wildest appeals have not, 
 up to this, made any imjiression upon the being one loves, 
 the very best remedy is to launch a cosy boat into this very 
 canal, and pull with a mighty strength for four or five miles 
 up from the 'deep cut.' Soon a sequestered paradise is 
 reached, where the bended boughs interlacing, whisper, 
 in caressing, rustling to each other, over the narrow 
 stream of rippling water below, here pause and wait. There 
 is a hush whose voice is more elo(iuent than any human 
 appeal. The low gurgling music of the little waves that 
 creep techily over and under the hanging boughs that teaze 
 and obstruct them in their onward passage, the crowded 
 leaves, rubbing their swaying heads affectionately together ; 
 the gentle wind resting in sighs of relief upon the graceful 
 tree tops, and sending its messages of love from bough to 
 bough, until it spends itself upon the quiet bosom of the 
 waters below ; the love-sick birds that woo our beauteous 
 nature in this, her bewitching costume, with their rich and 
 rarest warblings, vie with one another in chanting from 
 their ruffled throats their little tales of ecstasy and love, all 
 teach us clearly, that out in the busy world there is no 
 witchery like this. 
 
 In the open sunlight, nature dons her every day attire, 
 but in the shady retreat of these, her chosen spots, she 
 cocjuettishly arrays herself in most resistless costumes. 
 
 While one pauses, leaning on his oars amid such scenes 
 as this, one cannot but feel like flirting very earnestly with 
 nature ; the surrounding beauty cannot help reflecting some 
 of its fbveliness upon the admirers, and the stray, ' tangled ' 
 sunbeams that lose one another in the thick foliage cannot 
 but give a new love-light to the eyes that linger thoughtfully 
 upon them. So that the first impulse to admire nature 
 being gratified, each finds a consequent impulse towards 
 natural admiration, creeping into the heart. She looks 
 questioningly into his eyes, and if he knows anything he will 
 respond appropriately, and after that, each finds out that the 
 
228 Honor Edgeivort/i ; or, 
 
 other is one of the most enhancing elements of the beautiful 
 that they have been contemplating all the while. 
 
 To Honor Edgeworth, it was the most delightful treat 
 possible, to drink in the beauty and elegance of such sur- 
 roundings, to this at least, her heart was never closed — it 
 was easy enough to battle against the hoarse voice of tempt- 
 ation in the busy world, but here, all was different ; this was 
 a spot created, not for the art and acceptp.tions of conven- 
 tionality, but for the freedom ahd expansion of the heart 
 and soul. 
 
 To lie in a recumbent attitude and feel the gentle 
 breath of the breeze, playing among her yielding curls, or 
 listen to it, whispering its effective lullaby into her ears, to 
 drink such a long draught of nature's own narcotic, as would 
 steal her away from the world of reality, closing her drowsy 
 lids upon the actual, and -unfolding to her in tempting 
 dreams, the realizations of all her exaggerated, but cherished 
 ideals, this was the luxury of living, this made life worth 
 prizing, worth striving for in Honor Edgeworth's eyes. 
 
 There are many beside her, who are fond of being 
 nursed into this drowsy state by some such delightful 
 influence. People, there are, who without ever acknowledging 
 their weakness, for such a thing, are often seized with the 
 strangest moods and cravings, a longing for sweet words, or 
 tender caresses, or something correspondingly emotional in 
 the abstract fills them up, they would like to lie lazily by some 
 smouldering fire, on an easy couch, and have some gentle 
 hand to smoothe away the wrinkles from their brows, or 
 some loving voice to whisper suggestive little trifles, into 
 their wilUng ears : when they see a flood of moonlight filling 
 the earth with its soft stillness, they immediately long to 
 animate the scene by their own presence, but, with some * 
 treasured beauty, leaning on one arm, and looking bewitch- ^ 
 ingly into their love-lit eyes, every emotional sight, sound 
 or feeling, brings to them the possible intensity of a gratified 
 love, the fruits, they tnig/it gather from their own sentiment, 
 if they had power to indulge it : this is why we meet so 
 many dreamy, romantic girls, who are ever on the (/i4t vive, 
 expecting the hero, with deep eyes and heavy moustaches, 
 that never comes. Girls who see more beauty, and poetry, 
 and romance, in the distant ' red light of a cigar ' twinkling 
 through the darkness, on some quiet night, than in all the 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 220 
 
 stars of heaven combined ; girls who expect that every silent, 
 handsome man, who gives them a passing glance (of aimless 
 curiosity) is a wonderful character, just stepped over the 
 threshold of some of Ouida's or The Duchess' volumes, 
 ready to seize them in his steady arms, if they sprain an 
 ankle, or faint over some fright ; ready to rescue them from 
 some terrible accident, and then fall violently in love, marry 
 them ; but, unlike the book, in reality, * live in miserable 
 wretchedness for ever after.' 
 
 Such also are those yearning men, who are ever taking 
 flights into the delightful world of the ideal — men, who try, 
 with a pair of plentiful eyes, to conquer ' female heartdom,' 
 who think to find the 'open sesame ' to that valuable deposi- 
 tory, by knocking the practical element out of life, and by 
 grasping at chance, in the dim, soulful, dreamy, intense, 
 abstract world of thought. Men, who the punster would say 
 in the dewy twilight or still moonlight, are//t'ously all for soii\ 
 but who in the raw early afternoon are solA-^ all for pie. 
 
 But from a suspicion of an inclination to such influence, 
 I must surely except Vivian Standish, he could neither see, 
 hear or feel any fascination in those things, and yet, he was 
 not without knowing, that herein lay the weak point of souls 
 more susceptible than his own ; he was cunning enough to 
 know, that a young lady is at the limit of all her reason and 
 control, when ushered into such a spot, as that which he had 
 chosen as a resting-place during their row, on this eventful 
 evening. 
 
 But with all his precious knowledge, there were a few 
 very simple things, which \'ivian Standish had never learned ; 
 he understood other people perfectly, it is true, human 
 i^ nature, was as legible to him, as the plainest book ; as a 
 I rule, he read faces, as he would the morning-i)aper, and yet, 
 strange to say, he knew less of his own self than he did of 
 any one -he was clever enough to veneer his character well, 
 that others might not know him, but apart from that he was 
 a mystery to himself — he had certain instinctive ideas of his 
 own bias and inclinations ; he knew every positive quality or 
 defect he had, and in that same he had plenty to remember, 
 but he never asked himself, whether he was proof against 
 every passing circumstance or not ; he met them generally, 
 with an admirable collectedness and sang-froid., but, depend- 
 ing on the spur of the moment is not the safest thing in a 
 
230 Honor Edgen'orth ; or, 
 
 person of his pursuits. 'Phc cleverest diplomatists and 
 adventurers have been betrayed by themselves and so was he. 
 
 While he sat, watching the comtemplative features of 
 the girl in the boat before him, something, in the clear 
 depths of the admiring eyes, struck him ; there was an 
 expression of infinite longing over her face, her mou^ was 
 drawn into a sad smile, and her hands were folded listlessly 
 on her laj) : a few withering daisies and butter-cups, that she 
 had snatched an hour before as they skimmed along the 
 shore, lay carelessly between her fingers, and the loose ties 
 of her broad hat were fluttering on the bree/e, under her 
 pretty, upturned chin. If ever repentance could have 
 worked its influence over a guilty soul, it could not have 
 found a moment more propitious than this, wherein to 
 accomplish its task ; the very last susceptibility of a heart, 
 hardened and inured to sin was struggling to assert itself; a 
 long, unheeded impulse, was trying to shake away the fetters 
 of vice and crime, and free itself to noble action. 
 
 The fierce combat between his good and evil spirits 
 waged for an instant, he must either fall before this com- 
 manding angel, or crush with a mighty blow, and forever, 
 the already weak agent of good, whose " wee small voice " 
 tantalized him strangely at this moment. 
 
 But while he hesitated, his destiny decided itself : a nt »v 
 phase suddenly substituted his calculating indifference, he 
 felt a strong, jealous passion flooding his whole soul, he saw 
 the beauty of Honor Edgeworth's face by an entirely new 
 light, he scorned the suspicion — but the truth was terribly 
 bare, he had been caught in his own meshes — he loved this 
 girl. It did not steal upon him, nor come by slow degrees, 
 but rushed in a crushing torrent of realization, into his ^ 
 heart. All the words of devotedness and admiration, that^ 
 he had spoken to her of late, were only a mockery, to what 
 his passion suggested now. ^^ 
 
 Love, to so many others, an enviable blessing threat- 
 ened to be a miserable portion for him, for naturally 
 enough, coming to him as it did through the channels of the 
 soul, it had to partake of the unholy nature of these un- 
 healthy and corrupt by-ways ; and hence instead of the pure, 
 buoyant emotion that fills the honest breast, in the redeem- 
 ing passion of its first exalted love, there rushed into the 
 heart of Vivian Standish, a poisonous torrent of insuperable 
 
Ottiuvas Present Tense. 231 
 
 desire, that held him like an iron-hound victim, foaming 
 and struggling in his own chains. A look of devouring 
 admiration flashed from his fiery eyes over the face of the 
 girl. She was thinking ; thinking something pleasant, some- 
 thing fascinating, thinking of someone agreeable to her 
 thought — who was not lu\ this he knew, and a crushing feel- 
 ing of envy, worse than the worst hatred, filled him. Whose 
 memory did he, by his own voluntary action, awake within 
 her by bringing her to this spot ? who was it, conjured by 
 her, sat between them, or perhaps substituted him altogether? 
 " Egad," he stifled, between his teeth, " I must know the 
 ^'Worst of this." With a voice that bespoke a terrible power 
 of self-command, Vivian, blandly broke this heavy silence — 
 
 " I need not ask if you enjoy yourself. Honor, I can 
 see that? 
 
 Thegirl turned herhead slowly towards him, as if loth to 
 raise her eyes from the visionary world, that fascinated her, 
 and smiling, as if in sad remembrance, answered abstractedly, 
 
 " Ves, I am easily influenced by such surroundings as 
 these," and as she spoke she waved her hand with a grace- 
 ful gesture that took in her picturesque environs. 
 
 " That movement^ included me, I wonder if the words 
 did as well," he said quickly, and so huskily, that Honor 
 looked up a little startled. 
 
 " Well — yes, you too," she said laughingly, though a 
 little stiffly, "you must suppose that you have your share of 
 influence over me as well as every other thing and person 
 associated with my life." 
 
 " Only as well, as every other thing, eh ? " he inter- 
 rupted sneeringly, "only as well, as a terrier dog — or a 
 dutiful servant — or a well-cooked dinner, I suppose, is that 
 ' it ? " and leaning over on his oars, he looked savagely into 
 ^ the trembling girl's face. 
 
 Honor straightened herself into a stiff, sitting posture, 
 and looking indignantly into his eyes, answered haughtily — 
 
 " ^r. Standish, you have rather a strange way of jest- 
 ing to-day, might I trouble you to resume your old self, at 
 least while I am obliged to be with you ?" but his eyes only 
 rivetted themselves still more greedily upon her, and his 
 hands trembled still more nervously, as he clutched the 
 oars. 
 
 "Jesting?" he said in a mocking tone, "jesting, did 
 
232 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 you say ? N"o Honor, I have jested all my life, but 1 swear 
 to you, that now I am in terrible earnest ; do not ])rovoke 
 me at this moment, for I can scarcely hold myself responsi- 
 ble, hereafter, for what I may do — it is your work that I am 
 in such a state, not mine — come now- tell me, of whom 
 were you thinking when I spoke to you a moment ago ? I 
 must know it or you regret it — tell me ? " 
 
 A slow withering smile of sublime contempt, crept into 
 the handsome face of the threatened girl — 
 
 " Spare your hrutcni fithncn, Mr. Standish, I pray 
 you," she said in pitiful sarcasm, " you will not terrify me — 
 I must say, that I did not require this emi)hatic proof to 
 convince me of hov/ thorough a gentleman you are, I could 
 have believed without it, but I think if your intention was 
 to take advantage of respectable circumstances and gain a 
 noble ( ? ) victory for yourself, you might possibly fmd 
 easier terms yet than those which oppose you now ; get 
 some one who defies you infinitely less than I do ; you 
 need not then trouble to bray so loud." And as she finished 
 speaking, she turned her head, in languid disgust away from 
 the peering face of her comi)anion, and carelessly })addled 
 the tips of three dainty fingers in "he quiet water, at the 
 same time humming a gay little selection to herself. Her 
 perfect ease and composure disconcerted him, not a little ; 
 it certainly was the most efificacious way of bringing hun 
 back to his polished senses again. 
 
 But though the first madness of his attack, was 
 gradually subsiding, he still sat silently gazing into her face, 
 until becoming somewhat concerned. Honor looked coldly 
 back into his searching face and said with the most provok- 
 ing supineness in her tone : , 
 
 " When you have gratified your eyes sufficiently with % 
 their insolent occupation, will you be kind enough to either ' 
 row me yourself, or allow me to row myself back to the 
 boat-house, or anywhere convenient to the shore ? " „ ' 
 
 This awoke him to the actual state of things ; he 
 straightened his oars, and made sundry other prepara- 
 tions to start, but as he leaned forward to take the first 
 backward stroke, he looked steadily into her face and said in 
 a husky, almost defiant tone, 
 
 " Dust, like this, can never blind my eyes, but resign 
 Yourself, for Guy Elersley and you will never meet again." 
 
Otta7i>a's Present lense, 233 
 
 In spite of herself, Honor was startled a little ; a 
 greyish shadow llitted across her face, her lips trembled for 
 an instant, and a wincing expression shot from her eyes ; 
 the words sounded so much like a projjhecy of evil ; how 
 could he say them so emphatically unless he knew some- 
 thing, could it be jKjssible that (luy was dead? Oh no, she 
 would not yield to such a gloomy idea of the i)Ossil)le, this 
 man was only trying to frighten her — but frightened she 
 would not be, she suddenly recollected herself, and in a 
 splendid manner answered him, — 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Standish ! Although you introduce a 
 strangely inappropriate subject, I must say your intelligence 
 grieves me, for I like (luy Elersley exceedingly well, and 
 should be heartily sorry were I given to credit your statements 
 with the slightest suspicion of truth." 
 
 He had begun to congratulate himself that, at last, he 
 had secured her unawares, but the last remark confounded 
 him altogether — baffled in every attempt he gave up trying 
 to threaten her, and resolved to come back now, if he could, 
 at least to her former favor. 
 
 Carefully smothering all his latent passion of jealousy 
 and rage, he addressed his next words in tones of such 
 humiliation and regret as took Honor by the greatest surpnse. 
 
 " Honor, what have I done ?" he said seriously and 
 sorrowfully, " have I forgotten your dignity in the intensity 
 of my emotion ?" 
 
 " It was your own you forgot," she interrupted, " or 
 
 you could never hav^ forgotten mine, but then one can't be 
 
 too hard on a person for forgetting such mere trifles, I don't 
 
 blame you, yours is so insignificant, that I often forget it 
 
 . myself" 
 
 "1 deserve it all, Honor, go on — I have been a brute 
 ^I see — but it was not I, it was the demon of jealousy within 
 me, will you not say that you absolve me Honor, for believe 
 me I knew not what 1 did ?" 
 
 Something of actual despair rung from his voice, he 
 bowed his face with its pained expression, and Honor 
 believed him sincere, perhaps, after all the man was beside 
 himself, she thought, he who had never before made the 
 most pardonable breach of etiquette or courtesy. 
 
 The jealousy that was the evident cause of his strongest 
 utterance, was j^erhaps, what any woman can forgive her 
 
234 ffonor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 lover's rival most easily, for it gives a spice to love, so with 
 a little appeal to her womanly sympathies. Honor thawed 
 out, and answered his miserable self-condemnations in 
 forgiving but reserved terms. 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself so," she said half consolingly 
 " I assure you, your words have had no effect in the world 
 on me ; if I thought differently of you, they wocild have meant 
 more, but as it is, console yourself that you have injured no 
 one half so much, as you have yourself." 
 
 The ambiguous words deceived him— he looked gladly 
 up and exclaimed — 
 
 " You are an angel. Honor 1" but he had not understood 
 the deep meaning of her thought, he did not know, that, 
 when we love, truly and devotedly, or even cherish and 
 esteem some one, an unkind word or a cruel retort, from 
 those lips to us, makes a breach, which no forgiving phrases 
 can ever right again. When the heart that loves has been 
 wounded by the hand it adores, no remedy can every fully 
 heal the rankled spot, where the poisoned arrow has lodged : 
 we can forgive the injury of one, whom we have never 
 cherished nor loved, we can treat with indifference the slights 
 of those we care little about, but it takes an angel's mercy, 
 an infinite fortitude, a supernatural test of our moral strength 
 to raise up again the golden idol that one word of cruel 
 unkindness, has shattered within our hearts. 
 
 It was nearly dusk when Honor and Vivian Standish 
 landed at Mr. Rayne's boat-house, near the bridge. The 
 night air was growing cooler, and the stars were breaking 
 through the cloudless sky in quiet succession. 
 
 With the tenderest of solicitude, Vivian carefully placed 
 Honor's wrap around her shoulders, and gently assisting her 
 up the steej) ascent of the boat-house stairs, he stole his" 
 hand under the knotted fringe of the warm shawl, and thrusf 
 it within her arm. 
 
 Honor, for a great many reasons, chose to sign a treaty 
 of peace with Vivian Standish. She suspected that he knew, 
 perhaps more than he cared to show, of her attachment for 
 Guy, and if a word of unmeaning forgiveness, could serve to 
 buy him over, she did not hesitate in jnirchasing discretion 
 with such counterfeit coins, for she cared little, if she were 
 exalted or not in such opinions as his. 
 
 Thus, they proceeded, (juite amicably on their home- 
 
Ottaivah Present Tense. 235 
 
 ward way, both in an unusually good humor. There is a 
 suspicious feature about such suddenly assumed gaiety, that 
 cannot but amuse the disinterested participator ; when 
 either in such a case as that of Vivian Standish we wish 
 thereby to drown the memory of a recent mistake or blunder, 
 b) indulging in loud mirth, that distracts the mind from the 
 unpleasantness just experienced, or when we are under the 
 painful influence of some personal trouble, be it a substantial 
 loss of any sort, or the more unfortunate burden, jast upon 
 us by any social stigma, then, when the whole world, learn- 
 ing of our misfortune extends its hand in stingin.,^ sympathy, 
 and looks with painful enquiry of curious compassion, to see 
 • how we take it,' what a piercing spur we thrust into 
 our pride, to drive into it that forced merri'iient and hap])y 
 resignation, which we blindly hope will stand for indifference 
 in the eyes of a criticising society ; at all times, it is necces- 
 sarily a short-lived effort, and so it was in the case of those 
 two young people. When they reached Mr. Rayne's house, 
 and separated at the gate, the masks fell immediately, and 
 each went his way laughing at the absurd mockeries of life, 
 by which, we cheat one another face to face, at those 
 ridiculous attempts at veneering, through which it is as easy 
 to see, as through a pane of polished glass, and yet, to which 
 we have constant recourse, as though the human heart were 
 more presentable in its mean disguises of truth and honesty, 
 than when laid bare, in the actual existing state, of diplomacy, 
 selfishness, and deceit. 
 
 
 'I 
 
236 Honor Edgeworth ; or. 
 
 rJX 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. \ 
 
 " Bui all was false and hullciw, though his tongue 
 Dropt manna ; and could make the worse appear 
 The better reason." 
 
 —Milton. 
 
 WILT, surely be recognized by some one, if I stay here 
 this evening," Guy said, as he brushed his hair and 
 readjusted his cravat, before a neat mirror in one of 
 the prim bed-rooms of a Sparks street boarding-house. 
 " I had better seek some way of keeping inyself ahide for 
 awhile, until I find out, how love-matters are progressing in 
 a certain ([uarter," and as he solilocjuized, he turned to the 
 open window that faced the busy street, just in time to 
 catch a glimpse of the 'street car,' as it hurried by. There 
 was a placard in conspicuous letters on either side announc- 
 ing to the public that a " moonlight excursion would take 
 place, that night per steamer ' Peerless' " 
 
 This suggested itself to Guy as one way of spending his 
 dull evening in tolerable comfort. He looked at his watch, 
 and found it wanted yet a quarter to half-past seven. He 
 looked out at the dull gray sky, " I don't think fair Luna 
 under whose patronage they give their excursion, will favor 
 them with her presence to-night," he muttered in a satisfied 
 voice, "and for that I thank her profusely." 
 
 He opened his large valise, that lay beside the bed and 
 took from its respectable inside, a handful of good cigars, 
 these he dei)Osited in his coat-pocket ; he then thrust his ^ 
 head into a large rimmed felt hat, that partially covered '^ 
 his features, and otherwise gave him an appearance of dis^ 
 guise, and having carefully closed both window and 4por of 
 his tidy room, went (quietly out. r' 
 
 Down through the familiar streets, where he had so often 
 strolled a few little years ago, he s<-rolled again to-night, but 
 how different a man ! The usual processions of the working- 
 class were thickening as the ' after tea,' leisure hours advanc- 
 ed : the ' loafers' of the old type with soft slouched hats bent 
 over their eyes, and with mouths full of very strong tobacco, 
 and language were [)Osed artistically here and there in classic- 
 
Oftmcas Present 7\'iise. 21JT 
 
 looking groups, at the corners of Sparks and its intersecting 
 streets. Cabmen lounged around the vicinity of Dufferin 
 Bridge, as it were in the very postures he had seen them 
 take, when last he strolled along that path, a dissipated, 
 reckless, love-sick youth. But it gratified him to-night 
 beyond anything, as he looked in critical survey from corner 
 to corner of the ' Russell,' to recognize among that never 
 failing gathering which haunts the thresholds of this flourish- 
 ing hotel, the 'friends of his youth' without /li/fi. He had not 
 realized the step he had taken, until these scenes brought 
 back the past so forcibly, to lay it beside the prosperous 
 present. How many times had he stood idly before those 
 tloors, reckoning it worthy sport indeed, to pass unscrupulous 
 remarks on passers-by behind his half-smoked cheroot : he 
 cast a sympathetic look, as he thought, at a couple of unsus- 
 pec^ting girls, who just then were making their way along that 
 thoroughfare, and his face said very plainly. " Well, you 
 hardly know poor creatures, what noble jests your tiny feet, 
 and tiny waists, and faces and figures, your gait and your 
 dress, are causing for that high-minded audience across the 
 way." 
 
 Sussex street had its same quaint, deserted, look, ex- 
 cept that the different stocks in the melancholy business 
 establishments looked a little more fly-stained, and time-worn, 
 the sausages and meat-pies in the restaurant windows were a 
 trifle staler looking, and more suggestive of sea-sickness ; 
 the thriving hotels, and boarding-houses were a degree 
 dingier, time having laid his dusty finger unmolested, on 
 their muslin-screened windows, telling a woeful tale of laziness 
 and neglect. 
 
 At last the bright broad " Ottawa," came in view, 
 1 sparkling and rippling in the red sunset, like a mass of liquid 
 "^ems. 
 
 The majestic " Peerless," was at her old post near the 
 wharf looking as comfortable and as inviting as ever : the 
 same Notice stood out in all • its faulty spelling, where 
 pleasure-boats were for hire, and all the bright yellow saw- 
 dust which of late years has so deeply wounded the delicate 
 cnthusiaism of the aisthete, traced in golden letters its story 
 of industry and honest labor, on one of nature's unwritten 
 pages. The decks of the favorite "Peerless" were already 
 well-filled with excursionists, who looked over the firm 
 
238 Honor Ed^eworth ; or. 
 
 balustrades at the numbers of eager pleasure-seekers who 
 still poured down the steps leading to the boat. Pulling 
 his broad brimmed hat more definitely over his face, Guy 
 fell in behind a group of descending people, and reached 
 the boat barely in time, for as he stepped on board, the 
 captain followed, the men hauled in the gang-way, the last 
 shrill whistle deafened the ears of the passengers, those 
 on the shore who watched the pleasant proceedings, now 
 waved their handkerchiefs and hats, there was a great pad- 
 dling and splashing until the steamer turned out into the 
 broad river, then (juietly, gracefully and lightly, she skipped 
 along the clear cahii water, just as the evening shadows 
 were veiling the turrets and si)ires of surrounding edifices 
 in their heavy mist. • • 
 
 Soon the wharf and its anxious sjjectators faded from 
 view, then by degrees the towers and gables of the Parlia- 
 ment Buildings dropped into the shadowy distance, the tall 
 pine trees along the shore receded within clouds of dark, 
 smoky, blue, Httle twinkling lights sprung from the gathering 
 darkness along the water's edge ; the twilight was growing 
 into black night, and the tame pleasures on board were de- 
 veloping into wild merriment. 
 
 There was no moon, but this is not necessarily a great 
 disappointment, provided her absence does not foretell rain. 
 A very dark night on deck, with strains of dreamy music 
 echoing from the lighted apartment within, does not seem 
 to the young couples seated by the railing outside, looking 
 into the blue-black waves, as the most tiresome and unsug- 
 gestive circumstance in life. 
 
 Fully protected by this impenetrable darkness, Ciuy 
 made his way to a secluded corner of the deck, where, be- 
 sides being isolated and free from observation, he could both ^ 
 hear and see the meniment that was now at its h Jght with-' 
 in. A soft, sleepy sort of breeze was blowing from the water, 
 and now and then heated participators of the dance drew 
 near the little windows to catch the cool breath of heaven 
 as it stole in. 
 
 (iuy sat silently and pensively smoking his expensive 
 cigars, planning and plotting all sorts of things to the accom- 
 paniment of bewitching strains of twittering waltz music and 
 peals of merry laughter from within. He became distracted 
 now and then in spite of himself, wandering away from his im- 
 
Ottawa's rrescfit Tense. 239 
 
 portant mental problems to yield to the influence of associ- 
 ation and remembrance which stole over him in a sad sort 
 of pleasant way. Here was just the kind of evening he had 
 once enjoyed immensely, and might possibly enjoy again ; 
 there were all the same faces he had seen countless times 
 upon countless occasions before laughing and chatting 
 merrily. One or two couples out of the crowd who had 
 been in the first grade of love-sickness when he last saw 
 them, now seemed to belong more emphatically to one- 
 another than before, and the sadder but wiser looking 
 fellows who followed some of these developed ladies about 
 gallantly, were loaded with satchels and shawls and other femi- 
 nine tackle which strangely became them in Ouy's eyes : 
 they danced less, flirted less than they used in Ciuy's days, 
 but then matrimony has its martyrs and its sacrifices, like 
 every other institution, and the thorns and roses grow on 
 the one branch. Some are unfortunate enough indeed in 
 culling the matrimonial nosegay, for very soon the over- 
 mature rose falls in withered beauty to the ground, leaf by 
 leaf, and the disconsolate admirer stands open-mouthed and 
 sorry, with a bare stalk of healthy thorns between his finger 
 and thumb, but it is mostly his own doing, for even if his 
 fair endiantress has spared him the disagreeable necessity of 
 " popping the question," she had left him the power to 
 decline. 
 
 Guy learned more of practical life from his nook in the 
 dark on this festive night, than a year's ordinary observation 
 rould ever have taught him. He shook his head in amused 
 pity once or twice as he recogni/ed some of his ''old friends" 
 among the gay crowd ; how well he knew of old that some 
 of those civil servants had likely made the tour of whole 
 'departments that afternoon to borrow the half-dollar admis- 
 ?iion fee that granted them all this [)leasure to-night, fellows 
 who had been rollicking all their lives, who had not hesitated 
 over anything, who would as soon fall in love with a troupe 
 ot bouncing actresses, and follow them around from city to 
 city, as they would eat their dinner, and yet he could see 
 the gratification of unsuspecting girls as these destitute en- 
 thusiasts sought and enjoyed their company. It amused 
 (ruy to see some of them actually looking serious, as they 
 led some fair creature on their arm through the moving 
 circle of the dance, or bent suspiciously over the chair of 
 
240 Honor FAiin^cworih ; or, 
 
 some golden-haired beauty on the deck. Guy tried to im- 
 provise a consistent secjuel to these little love-signs, but it 
 grew ridiculous : naturally enough, he gathered all these 
 interesting little circumstances within the limits oi " a plain 
 gold ring," but these are 'deuced' narrow limits for two 
 healthy ])eople and one small income to thrive in. 
 
 He tried to imagine the j)lacid pretty faces of the 
 patient i)ami)ered blondes and brunettes, if these same de- 
 voted ones, now so interesting as lovers, were to come home 
 some luckless evening as prosy husbands and say ' Eva,' or 
 ' IJee,' or ' Ada,' it's all up with us now, the bailiff will be 
 here in the morning, I knew this sort of high life couldn't 
 last — " and then to fling himself down in democratic con- 
 tempt on the parlor sofa, with its dainty tidies and cushions 
 of "applicjue" or pale-bkie satin, and use its rosewood or 
 mahogany framework as tlie commonest bootjack. Of 
 course a fellow is always sure that these ornamental little 
 wives have no other consolation for themselves or any one 
 else, but in the copious tears that swell up into their pretty 
 eyes, they must sit down and sob to break their dear little 
 hearts with every now and then a hysterical sentence from 
 behind the dainty lawn handkerchief, saying "what will 
 everyone think ? What will Lady Fcatherly say ? We wont 
 be asked to any more * at homes ' now, and the ball at 
 ' Rideau ' is next week, oh dear — boo — hoo — hoo !" Of 
 course the merciless husband gets mad because his i)oor 
 little hel|)less wife sees fit to weep over a fate that must dis- 
 grace her in the eyes of the social world. She wouldn't 
 mind being refused everywhere for ' credit ' as long as they 
 had enough to eat and " kept up appearances," and she 
 knows very well that no one will believe her when she says 
 she and " Percy '' gave up house-keeping as a ' nuisance.'f 
 Then there are those who will be delighted over her reverse^ 
 the ones she never would invite to her five o'clock teas or 
 evening parties, will chuckle now over her misfortune, 
 she tells herself bitterly. How can she do without servants, 
 she who has never brushed her own hair all her single life. 
 She can only cry and be sorry she ever married. She is so 
 unequal to such awful responsibilities. Asking herself what 
 she could do to assist " Percy " in this catastrophe, only gives 
 her another fresh grief to realize. She sees that lawn-tennis 
 is a useless accomplishment before the bailiff's threat, danc- 
 
Ottmva's Present Tense, 241 
 
 ing or singing, or good looks are equally worthless in such ^ 
 dilemma, high-toned friends are of no avail ; they drop the 
 accjuaintance generally, under such circumstances. 
 
 The helpless little beauties must then break their 
 hearts in grief, they cannot do what less accomplished or 
 less fashionable girls would be able to do in such a moment, 
 how could anyone expect them to say, "Let us dismiss the 
 servant, I know my household duties as well as she, hence- 
 forth /will make your shirts and knit your stockings, leave 
 off these expensive })laces of amusement, I have not been 
 accustomed to them and can live without them." How can 
 they do this who have lived a single life so inconsistent with 
 the ac(juirement of such rude accom[)lishments as charac- 
 terize the daughters of respectable but far less fashionable 
 citizens than their fathers. A sudden stop in the dreamy 
 waltz hurled (iuy back from the mysteries of the future he 
 had undertaken to unravel, he laughed inwardly as he 
 re-settled himself comfortably on his chair, at the vagaries 
 his fancy had indulged in at the sad expense of these 
 unconscious couples, who were as happy in their present state 
 of mutual appreciation as though no cloud however dark 
 and heavy in the coming future could dim the brightness of 
 this hour. 
 
 'Twere hard to tell what other extravagant freaks Guy 
 may not have indulged in after this, for the orchestra had 
 ceased grating its instruments into accord, and was inviting 
 the dancers to join in a gay ' Rush Polka,' but the sound of 
 voices near him caught his ear suddenly and he started up 
 in a listening attitude. There was no mistaking — he leaned 
 farther away from the little window from whence streamed 
 a flood of lamplight, and holding his breath, he listened 
 eagerly for the next words. 
 
 " I was inclined to call for Honor," said one, " but I 
 felt so certain of meeting her here that I deemed it 
 unnecessary." 
 
 The words came plainly, not loudly, but distinctly to 
 Ciuy's hearing as they crossed Vivian Standish's lips ; he 
 recognized the bland deceptive voice and set his teeth in 
 contempt ; he had come to Ottawa, for the sole purpose of 
 hunting up this gallant hero and a kind fortune had jolaced 
 him within his very hands. Another voice broke the 
 ensuing silence, one that had a great effect on Guy, for he 
 
 j6 
 
242 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 could only remember the familiar strains of his uncle's voice 
 by its ruins, it was weak and tremulous and uncertain, its 
 saddened tones touched (iuy considerably. 
 
 " You see," the old man was saying " you never can 
 rely much on girls, Honor was taken with such a bad head- 
 ache to-night that she preferred we would leave her behind, 
 Madame d'Alberg insisted on my coming, since I was well 
 enough for the first time in a long while." 
 
 " Certainly, you should not have missed the trip," 
 Vivian answered, " but I am sorry that Honor should be 
 indisposed, I wanted her particularly to-night." 
 
 So — thought Ciuy, it has come to this — '• Honor " — 
 how pat it came from his vicious lips. He made up his 
 mind at this juncture to listen to every word, feeling sure to 
 find some valuable clue before this night was over. The 
 voice of assumed anxiety broke from Vivian's lips and 
 interrupted Guy's thought. 
 
 " I hope you are on the way to complete recovery at 
 last Mr. Rayne," he said, " really I begin to feel anxious 
 about you." 
 
 Guy fancied the old man shaking his head in the usual 
 contemplative way as the words came — 
 
 " Oh no, my dear boy, my system has completely 
 broken up now, my decline is a matter of months only, 
 now." 
 
 Vivian was about to protest, when Mr. Rayne continued : 
 
 " And I don't mind much, time was when I felt life 
 full of responsibilities that cheered me on, but now — my 
 old age is almost a blank — " 
 
 Guy understood this illusion and winced, the unsteady 
 voice still continued : 
 
 " Since Honor's welfare in the dim future, when I shall 
 be dead and gone, promises to be safe, I have had no 
 reluctance to die. I lived for her." 
 
 At these words Guy strained every nerve in his body 
 and listened devouringly. Vivian spoke next, 
 
 " What surprises me," he said " is that Honor has not 
 been snatched away long before this." 
 
 " She's a strange girl," Mr. Rayne answered pensively, 
 " she does not take fancies easily, she has treated open 
 admirers with such provoking coldness since she has * come 
 out ' that I wonder at her having a friend left," 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 243 
 
 " That is what weakens my hope," said Vivian Standish, 
 in a splendid mockery of despair. " I fear that she might 
 meet my proposal with the same indifference, and thus make 
 my life a miserable blank." 
 
 The color rushed to Guy's face, and then faded as 
 suddenly away. " Infernal villain I " he muttered, and it 
 was only by an extraordinary effort he conquered the impulse 
 to spring upon the person of this vile adventurer, and strangle 
 him then and there. What providential influence had 
 brought him back to Ottawa at such a crisis, he asked himself. 
 
 ." Well," he heard his uncle say distractedly, " 1 have 
 not broached the subject to her yet : she is a strange dispo- 
 sition and cannot be treated like others of her age and sex. 
 I think the better plan would be, for you to deserve her love 
 first, and from what we have all seen of you, I reckon that 
 will not be the hardest of tasks. This is September — if you 
 wish, after three months longer, I will speak to her, and tell 
 her my opinion of you." 
 
 " How can I ever thank you or repay you sufficiently, 
 dear Mr. Rayne," was the answer Guy heard to this painful 
 speech of his uncle's. " I have no fear," continued the 
 hypocrite, anxiously, " except," and he hesitated — " that she 
 may have loved already — that is the only obstacle I dread." 
 
 " I don't think it," said Henry Rayne. " I'm sure she 
 has not — who could she have loved ? " 
 
 " You ought to know," continued Standish " whether 
 at any time of her life she has met with some-one she 
 preferred to any other. Do you think for instance," and 
 his voice lowered so that Guy could scarcely catch its 
 
 accents " that there was anything between her and your 
 
 nephew, Guy Elersley ? " 
 
 \ Guy's face wore the strangest expression of contempt 
 
 and pain, as he leaned nearer still to the side from whence 
 
 jf* the voices came. He could see them now — dark shadows 
 
 only on the misty outline of the night. They were leaning 
 
 • with their backs against the small green railing, each smoking 
 
 a cigar. Guy crouched nearer the protecting wall, and 
 
 waited patiently for the issue of this strange rencontre. His 
 
 uncle was silent for a second, and the uncertain voice with 
 
 which he answered Vivian's last remark, pained him severely. 
 
 " Why do you think that ? " he asked, almost huskily, 
 " That never struck my mind, and if it had, I assure you, 
 
244 Honor Edgeworih ; or, 
 
 Standish, miich as I esteem you, I would have kept that 
 boy by me. If I suspected that Honor would ever love 
 him, my life's happiness would have been complete." 
 
 Guy's eyes were growing moist. 
 
 " It is only natural," said the smooth, bland voice of 
 Vivian Standish "that you should like to encourage the 
 welfare of your own, but I must say, that Guy l^^lersley did 
 not make a proper use of the advantages fortune threw in 
 his way." Guy agreed sadly here. " I think he was a little 
 ungrateful besides, in return for your kindness, for I had 
 always understood from him, that in his eyes, you were 
 worth only the wealth you would leave him at your death. 
 I don't want to run down the absent ones, but all the same, 
 I must say, that Elersley had his faults." 
 
 Guy ground his teeth in smothered hatred. 
 
 " Spare me this, Standish," said the old man pleadingly, 
 ** for in spite of all that has happened, I cannot teach myself 
 to forget how I loved this boy all his life, fondly and foolishly, 
 and if he were within my arm's grasp at this moment, I 
 doubt whether I would not take him back to me again as 
 warmly as ever, for I never cease to reproach myself for 
 having treated him so severely for so small an offence." 
 
 " It is your excessive mercy and goodness that cause 
 you this regret," Vivian said, " for you surely were lenient 
 to him in your justice after all." 
 
 " Let us drop his name," interrupted the old man, " it 
 has not crossed my lii)s for years, but now that your sugges- 
 tion brings back the past to me, I am puzzled and surprised 
 a little. I remember now, how Honor carefully collected 
 every little trifling belonging of Guy's that had been left at 
 our house, and carried them to her own room, where they 
 have laid since. I thought at the time, it was to spare me 
 the pain of coming across them, as she had heard something 
 of our dispute ; but now, I recognize the possibility of there 
 having been a more pitiful motive. She never utters his 
 name either. I wonder have I done them both the awful 
 wrong of thrusting myself between their young hearts, and 
 spoiling the happy ambition of their lives — may God help 
 me to repair it if I have ! " 
 
 Guy's head fell wearily on his folded arms that rested 
 on the back of a vacant chair in front of him. This was 
 such a painful scene to witness in silence that he felt himself 
 
Ottmvd!s Present Tense. 246. 
 
 almost overcome. He never cherished Honor so wildly or 
 devotedly as he did at this moment. The details that fell 
 from the lips of his uncle were items of a sad, sweet tale for 
 him — he no longer doubted of her faithful love for him now. 
 
 Lest Mr. Rayne should become too remorseful for the 
 injustice he had done these young people, Vivian hastened 
 to speak in a reassuring voice. 
 
 *' But it is plain, Mr. Rayne, if your nephew thought 
 anything of this girl, he would have sent her some word or 
 token of regard at parting, in spite of you or anyone else, 
 that might encourage or sustain her love during their separa- 
 tion. This he did not think it worth his while to do, which 
 is almost proof positive that he cared very lictle for her." 
 
 " Heaven help me to bear this !" was Guy's ini?rticulate 
 prayer as those last words reached his ears. " Of all the in- 
 famous blackguards and disreputable scoundrels I ever met " 
 — here he stopped, and listened again. They had resumed 
 the topic of Vivian's proposal. 
 
 " I tell you," said Mr. Rayne wearily, " to visit and 
 court her for three months longer, anyway. At the end of 
 that time you can propose if you will, and I will give my 
 consent readily. I am glad to hear you say you have means 
 enough to hold you independent of my little girl's fortune. 
 I would not like to see her wedded for her dowry." 
 
 " The wealth of character and beauty is her real dowry, 
 Mr. Rayne," the hypocrite replied, " Any other is worthless 
 before that." 
 
 " Aye, aye ! you are right there, my boy," added Mr. 
 Rayne, shaking his head pensively. Then changing his tone 
 suddenly said, " I feel a little chilly here, Vivian, my boy ; 
 let us go inside." 
 
 " Take my arm, Mr. Rayne, and let me feel that in 
 even so little a thing I can make myself useful to you." 
 
 They passed in silently where the lamj) light and music 
 and merry sounds flooded the gay rooms. Guy bent forward 
 as they closed the little glass door behind them, and caught 
 a glimpse of the changed, wasted, melancholy old man he 
 loved so well, leaning on the traitorous arm ofa tall, straight, 
 handsome one, who was associated with the bitterest feelings 
 of hatred and revenge within his breast. 
 
 How he longed to be away from thismerry-makingcrowd, 
 where he could lay his wearied head to rest, and where the 
 
246 Honor JLd^eivorth ; or, 
 
 mockery of life might cease to taunt him for a little while. 
 Only one thought saved him and encouraged him through all 
 — the thought that she had not forgotten him, in spite of the 
 base treachery practised by the man he had trusted. Through 
 all his painful realizations, this angelic face of his beloved, 
 soothed and comforted and cheered him until he felt a new 
 strength in his arm and a new fire in his heart, urging him 
 on to retributive action. 
 
 Out of all that crowd of merry-makers that landed back 
 on the Queen's Wharf, close on to midnight of that night, 
 not one had noticed the solitary figure under the broad felt 
 hat, though his very friends jostled and elbowed past him in 
 the throng. 
 
 Stepping ashore, he hired a carriage and drove rapidly 
 away. He had spent an e>'ening with all the old faces after 
 an absence of years, and not one of his many friends and 
 acquaintances suspected Ouy Elersley any nearer than the 
 possible distance of the unknown. 
 
Otlmca's Present Tense. 247 
 
 f ' ■ . ■,»- .1 
 
 .' f t,. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. ; — ' 
 
 m " ' . .<- --^ 'y\- , 
 
 *' Was I deceived, or did a sahic cloud 
 Turn forth her silver lining on the night ?" 
 
 —Miltoh. 
 
 ^^— HREE months ! three months !" Guy said in a low, 
 ^ puzzled voice, as he lay wide awake on his bed, 
 turning and twisting all the circumstances of his 
 recent discoveries over and over in his head. " I 
 can never stay here all that time. Besides, I have a good 
 deal to do." He thought over it a little while longer, and 
 then looking quite satisfied, he turned himself comfortably on 
 the other side and went deliberately off into a peaceful sleep. 
 
 Three months never appear to us to contain half of their 
 real length when we have much to consider and much to do 
 in a given time of that duration. One month had already 
 elapsed, during whose flight Guy had made some important 
 discoveries. 
 
 He had traced up the bogus parsonage, and had even 
 found, by some lucky accident, the residence of Philip 
 Campbell, the rescuer of Fifine de Maistre. The " Lower 
 Farms" is, of all secluded spots, about the most secluded, and 
 people went there just as Guy did — through curiosity. It 
 tempted Guy in his search as being the most direct route 
 from the house where the extraordinary wedding had taken 
 place. He had been sitting in the small public room of the 
 village inn a few hours after his arrival, hiding his anxious' 
 face behind the folds of the country weekly newspaper, when 
 the conversation of a group of men at the counter in the 
 corner interested him. 
 
 " Take somethin', doctor," said one burly, good-natured 
 fellow to an aged person of apparent dignity and respectability, 
 " you must feel all out o' sorts after this day's work." 
 
 *' Not a bit," said the man addressed, *' we doctors 
 grow quite accustomed to such sights when we have reached 
 my age in the profession." 
 
 " I dare say, indeed, doctor," said a credulous looking 
 youth, who was rubbing his unshaved chin and lips with the 
 
24-8 Honor Edgeioorth ; or^ 
 
 broad back of a sunburnt hand, " ye must have interestin' 
 sights now and then doctor, though wan 'ud think there 
 wudd'nt be much fuss in a place Uke this, barrin' it comes 
 from folks' own contrariness, like Michael Doyle's daughter 
 to day — the world knows if they'd stuck to the old style, 
 like their dacenter neighbors, and burnt their safe tallow 
 candles, Maggie Doyle wuddn't be shrivelled up to a crisp 
 to-night from coal ile 'splosions. We all told 'em so !" — 
 wound up this matter-of fact youth, after reviewing in a few 
 words the sad fate of one of the village girls, who had, the 
 night previous; met her death through a lam}) explosion that 
 had set fire to her clothes. 
 
 " 'Tis sad to see a young woman the victim of death," 
 the doctor said reflectively. " I get quite overcome myself 
 when I see them suffer. I have never forgotten the pitiful 
 sight of the young woman we picked up in the bush leading 
 from the ' Grey House ' one morning about three years ago." 
 
 This familiar allusion of the old doctor's tohis experience 
 of that eventful day was as well understood by every one 
 there as it was by himself, but somehow such persons of 
 eminence as doctors or curates of small villages always find 
 the rustic inhabitants ready to ap[)reciate their tales, 
 were it their hundredth repetition. Fortunately for Guy, 
 some rough sycophant expressed himself interested in the 
 allusion, and asked a ([uestion or two, which succeeded in 
 brmging out for about the sixtieth time from the doctor's lips 
 the whole story of Josephine de Maistre's rescue. Guy 
 strained his ears as he leaned sideways to hear the interesting 
 details. He could scarcely conceal his agitation as each 
 precious item dropped from the aged doctor's lij3S. Finally, 
 Guy laid down his ])aper and approached the listening group. 
 
 '' I have overheard your strange story," he said, 
 addressing the venerable man of medicine, "and being of 
 your profession myself, I naturally interest myself in your 
 experience. Did your unfortunate patient die ?" he tried to 
 ask in the most careless curiosity. 
 
 The village doctor looked condescendingly on the 
 intruder, and the others in dumb courtesy moved aside to let 
 the new^ comer through. 
 
 " No, she did not die," the doctor answered, rubbing 
 his hands, " but though she recovered her bodily health, her 
 mind was terribly deranged. None of us could glean any- 
 
Ottaiua's Present Tense. 249 
 
 thing of importance from her wild answers ; she was fooHshly 
 inconsistent in everything,but when she spoke of her 'revenge' 
 and of ' Bijou,' whoever that was." 
 
 Guy felt as if his heart had bounded into his mouth, 
 and had to muster all the moral courage he could to prevent 
 his betraying himself; his tone was a masterpiece of affected 
 indifference when he asked, — 
 
 " Do you know what became of this poor victim after 
 she left here ? " 
 
 "Oh, we did not lose sight of her," said the doctor, in 
 a tone which insinuated that a suspicion of such neglect 
 insulted the dignity of his profession, "by no means. When 
 she had recovered her physical health under our treatment, 
 we had her transferred to ' Beauport,' where she was sure to 
 be w^ell treated.- — It was as sad a case on the whole, I think, 
 as was ever recorded," mused the would-be wise and 
 experienced physician, and as Guy agreed with him, he 
 strolled lazily towards the door, and in another moment had 
 (juitted the inn. r ;'- '.if., .. < ,•? 
 
 Guy felt himself now to be the direct depository of a 
 great mission, which his conscience bade him fulfil light 
 away. Just as hurriedly and as anxiously as if he were 
 hastening to the death-bed of his nearest relative, (iuy took 
 the very next train down to Quebec, resolving silently to 
 spend every exertion he was capable of in this precious duty, 
 or die. 
 
 In the fiercest battles of our daily lives, there are only 
 two incitants which can never fail to give our heart a hope, 
 our hope a courage, our courage a strength, and our strength 
 whatever possible success can be wrung from fate under 
 such circumstances ; these are, the two great influences of 
 hatred — and of love. There is no strength so fierce, so 
 terrible as the hater's, just as there is no strength so steady, 
 so hoi)eful, so ambitious, as that which guides the lover's 
 hand. We would do a great many hard and trying things 
 for our love's sake, but those things which the righteous 
 could never do — even for their love — are the better sweets 
 of an active hatred. Love has its limits, but hatred — its 
 only sweetness is its infinity, its boundless freedom, and its 
 endless resources. 
 
 There was something of both these stimulants pressing 
 Guy Elersley onward to determined action. All the mighty 
 
250 Honor Edgeworlh ; or, 
 
 strength of years of subdued love and sincerest devotion 
 spurred him hopefully on, and all the crushing power of a 
 few days' hatred goaded him on to merciless action. He 
 stowed away that other every-day life of his, and assumed 
 this new phase of his existence dutifully and well. The 
 reward stood in the distance, smiling and beckoning, though 
 'tis true that his eyes could only discover the familiar outlines 
 of his heart's idol through the doubtful mists of the "possible"; 
 but it were as well to spend his pent-up emotions in this way as 
 have them crushed from his heart by a merciless blow of 
 fate, in bitter disappointment. 
 
 It would scarcely interest the reader to follow (iuy 
 Elersley in his rambles, from the time he passed out of the 
 dingy doorway of the village public-house until he drew up, 
 after a long drive, before the imposing entrance ot " Beau port 
 Asylum." The bracing air of the country road that leads to 
 this establishment had had a most beneficial effect on Guy's 
 temperament, and therefore as he alighted from his calechc, 
 his step had resumed something of its old lightness, and 
 his face had lost some of its serious expression, 
 
 Guy cogitated sadly as he sauntered quietly up the 
 gravel walks that lead to the main entrance of the edifice. 
 With its air of quiet and peaceful dignity, its beautiful paths, 
 and parterres of blooming Howers, its fountains and grottoes, 
 none could suspect that its melancholy mission was to shelter 
 the noblest work of an Infinite hand in a wrecked and 
 shattered state. There are collected the precious, priceless 
 ruins of the masterpieces of the Artist of Life ; an assemblage 
 of ruins over which the most hardened cannot refrain from 
 weeping, were it their very last tear. 
 
 Before making any inquiries, Guy })assed silently as 
 any ordinary visitor through the different ajiartments of the 
 " women's ward," carefully studying and scrutinizing any 
 young or beautiful faces that might answer the purpose, he 
 was there to serve : but a pained expression of growing 
 disappointment like despair was settling on his face, as he 
 scanned the last gVoup of c]uiet, staring countenances that 
 remained to be seen. There was nothing in all that mass of 
 wrecked humanity which satisfied him. 
 
 Quiet, reserved women, looked up into his face with 
 a meaningless gaze as he passed from one to another in his 
 eager search, turning their heads stupidly in his direction, 
 
Ottawa^ s Present Tense. 251 
 
 as they knitted their well-shaped stockings diligently ; other 
 dishevelled, drivelling imbeciles, gathered up in the corners 
 of benches or on the floors, raised their empty eyes to look 
 carelessly out through masses of tumbled hair at him, and 
 then with some half articulate chuckle to clasp their hands 
 tightly around their knees again, and droj) their heads into 
 their laps. 
 
 From these harmless, foolish victims, (luy passed 
 eagerly on to the more thrilling presence of the maniacs, 
 but even here, though wild shrieks and dark threatning 
 looks greeted him on all sides, he could not find a clue to 
 assist in unravelling his secret plot. There were loud toned 
 viragos who screached and roared in fearful imprecations 
 and appealed to unkown people, victims of the demon alcohol 
 — there were the dark, sullen, silent ones, brooding over 
 their imaginary or real wrongs, and weeping and moaning 
 pitcously — there were the dangerous, careless and happy 
 victims, who filled the dismal cells with their heart-rending 
 peals of wild laughter, that fall upon the heart like the 
 loneliest knell— there were the apparently quiet, religious 
 ones who addressed their Creator in ceaseless, meaningless 
 prayer, crying for forgiveness and mercy, but there was no 
 bright, pretty I'Yench child, who called for " J3ijou " or her 
 " revenge," and this discouraged Guy very much. Presently 
 addressing the guide, who escorted him through these 
 apartments of living death, Guy said : 
 
 " Have you no cases o " love mania, one younger than 
 these ? " waving his hand, as he spoke, in the direction of 
 the rooms he had just visited. 
 
 The middle-aged guide shook her head sadly and said : 
 
 " Not at present, Sir, the last one of that sort, died a 
 few months after admission. 
 
 (juy's heart sank as heavily as a lumj) of lead within 
 his breast. 
 
 " Died ? " he reiterated in a tone which bespoke a faint 
 hope that the other had made some mistake. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, poor thing," said the pensive-looking woman 
 addressed, *' she was a beautiful sight to look upon too, such 
 a pretty face, and such slender little hands, she was very 
 melancholy for three or four months, and then died." 
 
 *' Do you know the circumstances that brought about 
 
252 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 her derangement ? " asked Guy, almost in despair of ever 
 solving the tangled problem now. 
 
 " I think, it I don't mistake," quietly answered his infor- 
 mant, twirling her thumbs, " that her husband had deserted 
 her, and then committed suicide, although they had been 
 married but a year." 
 
 Guy grasped this as the straw to which he might yet 
 cling, and looking hurriedly up at the demure woman who 
 stood watching him silently, he interrupted : . . . .;- ... 
 
 " Pardon my inquisitiveness, madam, but I am in search 
 of a friend, who, I was told, was sent here nearly three 
 years ago, being at that time the unfortunate victim of a 
 love ei)isode." 
 
 Guy fancied the reserved matron was casting covert 
 glances at himself, and he fairly staggered as she said in a 
 long breath — 
 
 " The pity is, you young gentleman don't repent in 
 time. Where's the use o' looking for the girl, now, she's 
 mad ; why didn't ye leave her her senses when she had 
 
 " My dear woman," Guy gasped, with dilated eyes, 
 "/am not the party to blame, / am only a friend of the 
 young lady's, I am sorry you should consider me guilty of 
 such a serious crime ! " 
 
 " Oh, beg your pardon, sir," the woman interrupted 
 colly, "but its not such a great mistake of mine, I'll be 
 bound the young gentleman as has had his finger m the pie, 
 is just as sleek and fine to look at outside as yourself," then 
 meditatively " there's no trusting young men by their looks 
 now-a-days." 
 
 " Guy could not shirk the truth of this, for Vivian 
 Standish's " outside " was far more polished than his own, 
 and he therefore accepted the v/oman's tame apology and 
 calmed down. 
 
 " I would give anything 1 own, that would assist me 
 in recovering her," he said so, earnestly, that his matter-of 
 fact guide rested her lean chin in her hollow palm, and 
 agreed to " think " for his benefit. 
 
 After a second or two fraught with extreme anxietv for 
 Guy, the woman asked : 
 
 " Do you know of anything particular to trace her by?" 
 
 Guy recalled the village doctor's account and quickly 
 
Ottawa s Prescjit Tense. 253 
 
 told her, that, the circumstances connected with her mania 
 had so impressed her, that she continually talked of revenge, 
 frc(|uently using the name " Bijou," " she had also," he con- 
 tinued, a little less hopefully, and more reluctantly, '' a large 
 !Newfoundland dog with her, when she left the doctor's 
 house on the ' J-ower Farms.'" 
 
 "Ah, now I know 1 " the quiet matron exclaimed in 
 subdued surprise, " the young lady with the dog, sure 
 enough — sure enough, but we don't count her somehow," 
 sakl the womrn, interrujjting her exclamation of surprise. 
 
 " I am so g'ad that you remember at last," said (luy, 
 whose heart was throbbing with anxiety while she spoke, 
 "do tell me all you remember of her, like a good vToman." 
 ^'" Well, you see," the provokingly slow woman began, 
 " I was just serving my first year, and I was full of pity and 
 sympathy for the poor souls I saw in trouble — though I 
 become quite used to 'em now — and this young creature in 
 particular went straight to my heart. I was good to her, 
 and she took to me, and we became fast friends ; she never 
 would give up the great big dog, and he clung to her in 
 return for all he was worth, but one day this sweet creature 
 ca'led me, and says she, ' don't be uneasy about me Mrs. 
 Hammond, there is nothing very wrong with my brain, says 
 she, 'I've had a very bad attack of brain fever,' says she, 'and 
 I fee! its effects sometimes yet, but that will soon pass away,' 
 sayH she, 'and Til be as right as ever again,' ' I did not mind 
 this,' continued the narrator addressing (iuy confidentially, 
 ' for the worst of them sometimes talk as sensible as you or 
 me, but, for all lliat, I hoped in my heart 'twas the truth, 
 and I kept on coming to see her, and talking common 
 sense to her, like I would to you or any other sensible folk, 
 and by and bye, I found out that her own predictions was 
 true, and that she had ([uite recovered her senses. We 
 reported this, and the attending physician agreed with us, 
 and we were all mighty glad, sir,' the woman said kindly ' for 
 the sweet girl's own sake.' " t 
 
 *' And what became of her then ? " asked Guy, im- 
 patiently, unable to await the woman's pleasure to hear the 
 happy serin el. 
 
 "\\'ell sir," continued she, "the young lady said she 
 had li.nther money nor friends, and expressed a wish to 
 retire to some place, where she could practice acts of 
 
254 Honor Edgeworth ; o?% 
 
 gratitude to the Almighty, for having saved her from the 
 threatened fate of madness. She did not tell us quite as 
 plain as that what her intentions were, but we soon found 
 out ; so unless anything unusual happened, you will find 
 her yet, cloistered voluntarily in the home of some pious 
 ladies who dwell on the outskirts of the city. Anyone will 
 drive you there ; you are on the road now ; it is far enough 
 on the outskirts of the town, but a pleasant drive for all 
 that, and sure, sir, I, for one, wish you the best of success 
 in your undertaking," 
 
 "Thank you, my good woman, a thousand times I 
 thank you. You have lightened a great burden from my 
 heart, and I will not forget it either," and as he showered 
 his protestations of gratitude on the head of the gratified 
 matron, he bowed himself out, and beat a hasty retreat back 
 to his carriage. ,,.,,. ,„, „ :.;_^..., , , ,. . ., ,., ^.^.m,, 
 
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 )' .-i.'; ., i ii 
 
Ottawd!s Present Tense. 255 
 
 ■ I, '■>.'('":'' ', A ''V I 
 
 •'^^ ii/ ..., .: CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 '' ■<]■[ ''f.'i' * • . 
 
 . /.* :,i-. " Then gently scan your brother man, 
 
 , 'jii.-fi-.' 1 Still gentler sister woman. , 
 
 (.,>■ '/'■ Tho' they may gang a kennin' wrang, 
 -^ ' " To step aside is human," 
 
 ■•.'.••It ■)• j'vu. , . „.. ,-. — Bitrjis. • '' 
 
 
 Vfv.' 
 
 'J i' 
 
 |S it the little home on the hill?" said the half-indig- 
 nant caleche driver, " well, to be sure I know it as 
 well as I do the nose on my face ; step in sur, and 
 you'll soon see if I do or not." 
 
 Jumping hastily up, Guy settled himself for, as he 
 ho})ed, the last drive to the first part of the success he strove 
 so hard to win. 
 
 Quebec, as every tourist has acknowledged, is a 'fine 
 old place,' and now that his heart was somewhat lighter, Guy 
 allowed himself to realize, like the others, that he had indeed 
 come to a ' fine old place,' and one whose memory threat- 
 ened to cling around his heart for the remaining years of his 
 life. Many thoughts filled his busy brain as he rattled along 
 in his two-wheeled conveyance over the country roads, drink- 
 ing in the freshness and beauty of his rural surroundings, and 
 yielding gladly to the bracing currents of country air that 
 swept past his troubled face, cooling and refreshing him con- 
 siderably. 
 
 By and by, growing a little curious about the nature of 
 the place to which he had ordered this man to drive him, 
 he leaned forward a little and asked the broad-faced Irish- 
 man, who was lilting a merry tune to himself as they jaunted 
 along. 
 
 " What sort of a place is this we are driving to, Pat." 
 
 "Och, faith yer honor, mebbe 'tis dhrivin' to the divil we 
 are, for all Pat knows. G'long there, Sally." 
 
 " But I mean the convent, Pat, surely his devilship 
 does not intrude there ? '' 
 
 "Oh thin, the Lord forbid," Pat answered as he 
 turned the contents of his battered felt hat towards Guy ; 
 this characteristic piece of head-wear was just completing 
 that interesting transformation that is the inevitable fate 
 
256 Tlono}- iLdgcworth ; <?;*, 
 
 of all long-lived hlac k felts, viz : to develop themselves into 
 a promising green, which is ([uite in its place on the head 
 of an Irish hackman. 
 
 (illy thought it worth his while to interest himself in 
 the fellow, and asked rather curiously — 
 
 " You are a Catholic Pat, are you not ?" 
 
 " Faith I niver was anything else since I was anything 
 at all," was the contented reply. " I got my honest name 
 in a Catholic chapel in th' ould sod, an' I'll take it as honest 
 as I got it, to a Catholic churchyard when I die." 
 
 " That's right," said Guy, half seriously, though slightly 
 amused at the strange way the fellow spoke his determination. 
 ; . " Have you ever been to this place, we are going to, 
 Pat?" 
 
 " Troth there is n't an inch nor a fut o' ground in all 
 Quaybec that this ould nag and meself did n't explore some 
 time or other." 
 
 " Who runs the institution ?" Ciuy queried next. • 
 
 " The divil a run it iver got as long as I know it," said 
 Pat, as he gathered up his shabby whip, to the accompani- 
 ment of some snack of his oily tongue, which succeeded 
 miserably in inducing his languid old mare to stretch her 
 angular supports over more space at a time, "tis allays bin 
 standin in the wan spot since me father was a lad, and that's 
 longer ago nor I can remember, seein' that they put off 
 rearing me up 'till the rest was all grown up an' out o' the 
 way." 
 
 Guy could not refrain from smiling at the droll way in 
 which his companion handled a subject ; he had learned 
 before, and therefore to-day's experience was nothing new to 
 him, that direct questions will never get direct answers from 
 an illiterate Irishman, and so he resigned himself beforehand 
 to the ordeal he was passing through at present. 
 
 By and by however, Pat drew forth from a depository 
 of doubtful cleanliness and respectability, a short, black pipe, 
 that fitted becomingly between his plentiful lips : then after 
 a moment's hesitation, he said doubtfully, over the sea-green 
 shoulder of his ancient broad-cloth. 
 
 " I suppose, sir, you're something of a smoker ?" 
 
 Taking this as one way of asking a permission to in- 
 dulge, Guy answered readily. 
 
ditawa's Present Tense. 257 
 
 " Indeed I am^ Mr. Crowley, that precious weed and 
 myself arc not strangers, at all." 
 
 " So then, ye carry it about with you, as well as 
 meself ? " he said, with a timid chuckle. Guy agreed that 
 he did, just to satisfy him : the next moment the forefinger 
 and thumb of the amusing Pat Crowley, in all their inno- 
 cence of toilet attentions, were thrust into the depths of his 
 waistcoat pocket, from whence they unearthed a solitary 
 match ; instinctively he flourished this on the leg of his 
 baggy trousers, and applied the flame to the empty biiar-root, 
 that protruded on its short stem from his substantial mouth ; 
 but after a vain puff or two, he flung it impatiently away 
 and replaced the time worn pipe within the flavored pre- 
 cincts of his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 Guy, who watched these interesting proceedings in 
 silent amusement, could not subdue the curiosity which 
 jiromjjted him to say. 
 
 " 1 thought you were going to have a smoke for your- 
 self, Mr. Crowley ?" 
 
 " H'm, so did I, meself," returned Pat, 
 
 "And why don't you ? I don't object." 
 
 " Och divil a thing but smoke was in the insthrunient, 
 bad luck to it, — however sir, as ye say ye carry the tabakky 
 about wid ye, take a loan o' the pipe an' welcome, for 'twould 
 never be Pat Crowley, 'ud sit down with that in his pocket, 
 that could make another man happy, and him not wantin' it 
 nayther." 
 
 The hint had the desired affect. Guy's face broke into 
 a broad smile, as the true meaning of the words showed 
 itself. 
 
 " I have the tobacco he said, and no pipe as you sus- 
 l)ect, and your moral is mine, too Crowley, so here's the 
 tobacco and use your pipe to the best of its advantages old 
 fellow." 
 
 As Crowley's gratified smile wrinkled over his face and 
 rested in emphatic creases around his eyes, he readjusted 
 the dwarfed pipe between his sallow teeth, and Guy heard 
 him mutter, as he leaned forward to rest the lines, while he 
 rubbed the little shavings between his brawny hands. " Ye're 
 a dacent mother's son, ivery inch o'you, so ye are." 
 
 When the curling clouds of smoke, piled upwards over 
 Crowley's head from Guy's good tobacco, the ' nag ' was 
 
 »7 
 
258 Honor Ed^cioortli ; or^ 
 
 touched up, with a multiplied emphasis on the technical 
 snack, and was kept trotting to the utmost limit of her lazy 
 agility during the remainder of the drive. Crowley must 
 have repented his own surliness in the stingy informa- 
 tion he gave, respecting the j)lace they were driving to, for. 
 settling himself in a safe heaj) on the leather cushion of his 
 semi-respectable conveyance, he began : 
 
 " This house, yer honor, that we're dhrivin to, mebbe, 
 you'd like to know, now that I do remember that I know 
 somethin' of it, 'tis the natest little hole in Quaybec, though 
 I don't think many knows much about it, ye see, it does'nt 
 belong to any reg'lar nuns, them allays does good, and so 
 does these, although they remind me more of the ' old 
 maid,' they live in what they call Solunthry sayclusion,' an" 
 faith '* don't matther a hang to the world what they live 
 in, I belave there's no love lost between 'em an' the world, 
 leastways no one knows where they came from, an' there's 
 not manny as tries to find out, they do be singin' an' prayin' 
 an' carryin' on wid all sorts o' religis capers, and in troth, 1 
 think meself, that Pat Crowley's battered ould sowl 'ud look 
 as fine in Heaven any day, that is, if it ever gets there." 
 
 " I daresay, Pat," Guy answered, " you are a very good 
 man no doubt." 
 
 " I'm not good, bad luck to me," the old fellow returned 
 half gruffly, " but faith if 1 do the ' ould boy ' a turn now 
 and thin, it's sore agin me grain, an' I'm not without tellin' 
 him so, but shure he's the very divil for plaguing the best 
 natured man in creation, unto doin' mischief." 
 
 Guy laughed outright at this original declaration and 
 said teazingly : — 
 
 " You should run away from the devil, Crowley, like 
 the ladies in this little retreat, and wisely shun temjjtation 
 in such seclusion." 
 
 " Troth, the deuce a temptation 'ud iver bother thim, 
 while there was anyone else to be had, divil a one o' them 
 'ud be there at all, if they iver got the temptation to marry, 
 och I know all about ' volunthry sayclusion,' I'd do it meself 
 rather than be an ould maid." 
 
 " I think," Guy said, laughing, " that you are in as 
 much danger of one of these, as the other, but you should 
 be a little more partial to these virtuous ladies than you are, 
 
Ottawas Present Tense. 250 
 
 I'll not speak any more of them, lest you should condemn 
 them altogether." 
 
 " Well, sir," said the old cabman, rising from his seat, 
 " ye may go in now and judge for yerself, here's the blessed 
 saintly s|)ot itself and a dale more snug and genteel it looks 
 than my little house. Now, I'd bet me Sunday brogues, 'tis 
 yerself '11 be sorry such fine young women 'ud believe in 
 volunthary sayclusion. When you get inside them walls 
 ye'U see that 'tis jokin' I was, an' that there's fine specimins 
 of beauty and gentility there that "ud make (juare havic 
 among your own kind, if they remained outside," he said 
 laughing broadly, and poking the end of his whij) into Ciuy. 
 
 " I dare say, Crowley, but my mission here is strictly a 
 charitable one, and I don't intend to let anything else dis- 
 tract me from it," said (iuy, good humoredly, and as Crowley 
 knotted the cracked leather lines around a trimly painted 
 post that stood by the entrance, ( iuy closed the modest little 
 ^ate and walked steadily uj) the gravel path, to the long low 
 square building that stood before him. There were even 
 rows of small windows, tastily but simply decked in muslin 
 screens and showing dainty bows of spotless ribbons ; a few 
 pots of blooming plants standing outside on the broad flat sills 
 lent a charm to the quiet beauty of the shining panes 
 and the muslin screens. Neat beds in the front of the house 
 were covered with the richest flowers, and well trimmed 
 lawns sloping away at either side of the spacious building, 
 thrust the idea of primness on the intruder. As a limit to 
 the grounds were groves of tall thick trees encircling all the 
 well-kept parterre within. 
 
 There was a low, broad verandah in front of the house 
 whose steps Guy had just mounted, and when about to drop 
 the shining knocker he held in his hand, the saddest, 
 sweetest strains of a human voice he had ever heard, arrested 
 the movement. He laid the heavy "dog's head" quietly back 
 and walked a couple of steps towards the end of the 
 platform, which commanded a view of the rear lav;n, with 
 its summer-houses, and vines, and rockeries, and all such 
 lovely elements, which contributed towards making the 
 rustic nook a veritable paradise. 
 
 Glancing stealthily through the green lattice-work that 
 separated him from the grounds, (iuy saw, with intense 
 admiration and wonder, the figure of a young and lovely 
 
2G0 Honor Kdgewortli ; of. 
 
 girl, seated on a low rustic bench, with a great, shaggy dog 
 crouched at her feet. She held within her dainty hands, a 
 small book covered in black cloth, and swinging from the 
 end of which was a long silk tape and a medal, with which 
 her delicate fingers were toying carelessly. Presently she 
 closed the little volume, bound the long tape around it, 
 securing it with the tiny medal, then folding her hands, she 
 raised her eyes, and in the saddest, sweetest and clearest 
 tones, her musical voice warbled the words, — 
 
 • " Mother pure and mother mild 
 
 Hear the wailirif; of thy child. 
 Listen to my ploHdinji cry, 
 Hearken to my heart s deep sigh — 
 
 • I .'_ ■ i ■ Ora pro /;/(?." 
 
 The dreamy, dark eyes rested for a moment in their up- 
 turned attitude, the slender hands remained clasped tightly 
 together, but only while the echo lingered of the sweet, sad 
 voice, which had stolen from her lips as a breathing anthem 
 from on high. Guy was mesmerized — lost to everything but 
 the one vision which fascinated his gaze ; he had ever been 
 susceptible to beauty's influence — with some people, the 
 silent contemplation of breathing beauty becomes a wild 
 passion, and in Guy Elersley, appreciation of such eloquent 
 loveliness was bordering on this superlative limit — and yet 
 there was so little art about the being he was devouring with 
 such greedy eyes. She wore a plain, neat costume of drab 
 serge, a deep linen collar fastened high at her throat, and 
 dee[) bands of the same at her wrists ; her rich, dark hair was 
 short and crept in large negligent waves over her shapely 
 head, her face was very i)ale, which contrasted favorably 
 with the dark hair and eyes, and the deep rich color of her 
 well-curved lips. The close-fitting spencer jacket was 
 gathered in with a very broad belt at her small waist, and 
 the neat, heavy skirt fell in uninterrupted, plain folds to 
 her ankles. Suddenly, while Guy watched her, she started 
 as if waking from a lethargy, and turning to the animal 
 that crouched lovingly beside her, she said, — 
 
 " Come Sailor dear, we are late for study hour." 
 
 Instinctively the brute roused and shook his shaggy fur 
 
 at the sound of her voice, looking up trustfully into the kind 
 
 face of his mistress. With a light and fleet step, Fifine 
 
 turned towards the side entrance of the building, wherein she 
 
Ott (nod's Present Tense. 26 1 
 
 and her faithful companion vanished in a moment, leaving 
 Guy petrified with silent wonder and admiration on the 
 other side of the lattice work. 
 
 It would be imi)ossible to describe the conflict of 
 emotions that passed through (iuy Elersley's breast at this 
 moment ; the bitter indignation he had felt up to this for 
 ^Mvian Standish was nothing when compared with the 
 inveterate contempt and hatred that substituted it at sight of 
 this lovely wrecked flower, which he saw pining and wither- 
 ing in beautiful decline, far away from the world she 
 could so easily have dazzled. It was with a dangerous light 
 in his eyes, and a threatening vow in his heart, that Guy 
 knocked this time at the broad hall door. His call was 
 answered by an elderly woman of quiet, reserved appearance, 
 who neither seemed surprised nor concerned by his visit. 
 In as respectful and business-like a manner as possible, Guy 
 asked for the lady directress of the institution, and was 
 immediately shown by thi^ silent noiseless woman into an 
 apartment at the right, where she left him to wait alone in 
 his wonder for a few moments. 
 
 The room was scrupulously neat, and tolerably 
 well-furnished, but there was a painful simplicity and 
 provo^ting fitness and quaintness about the things he saw, 
 that upset his nerves uncomfortably. Every element of 
 furniture was so intensely appropriate, and consistent with 
 all the surroundings ; the silence was so settled and sacred, 
 and the noiseless tread of the inmates, as they glided here 
 and there through the passages, almost irritated him. He 
 was soon distracted from these trying observations, however, 
 by the entrance of a dignified haughty-looking woman of 
 about forty years ; she was attired in the same simple costume 
 which he had just admired on the young girl in the garden, 
 except that her hair, sprinkled here and there with silver 
 threads, was tucked neatly under an old-fashioned head-dress 
 of muslin that strangely became her handsome face. Still 
 standing a little inside the door-way, this cold, reserved 
 woman looked enquiringly, and waited for Guy to speak his 
 errand, whatever it might be. 
 
 " I have intruded here," Guy began with not too much 
 confidence in his collo(|uial powers, " to enquire for a young 
 girl named Josephine de Maistre, who, I am told was 
 admitted here some time ago. I do not know the youn^ 
 
202 Honor Edgeivortli ; or^ 
 
 lady personally," Guy frankly avowed, " nor have I ever 
 spoken to her ; but I have been entrusted with a very serious 
 duty to discharge relative to her, and if it be not encroaching 
 on your rules, I would be glad to interview the young lady." 
 
 An answer came in cold words, from an unmoved face. 
 
 " It is not our custom," the stately woman began, " to 
 admit young male visitors to our home without urgent cause 
 for so doing. Show me that you are justified in seeking a 
 deviation from our custom, and 1 will grant it." 
 
 (iuy fidgeted with his watch chain, and with a little 
 hesitation which shewed how much he dreaded any indis- 
 cretion on his part, he asked, 
 
 " Are you acquainted with any details of Miss de 
 Maistre's life before her coming here?" > ,. :.-.,w ./,,,,(*. 
 
 With the same placid face, his companion answered, 
 
 " I know everything— she has had no secret from me." 
 
 " Then I am safe in broaching the subject to you," 
 Guy answered more freely, and accordingly, in as brief terms 
 as possible, he confided his mission to this haughty woman, 
 leaving her then to judge for herself whether the responsi- 
 bility bequeathed him by ying lips justified or not his 
 intrusion within this quiet home. When he had finished, 
 the set brow of his listener relaxed a little, into an almost 
 involuntary expression of interest. 
 
 " You may see her presently," said the stern lady, " I 
 am glad you have come so soon. It was very hard to per- 
 suade her at first that God's retribution would come time 
 enough ; she was so eager to avenge her wrongs with her own 
 hand, but now that she has fully con([uered her sinful desire 
 for vengeance, God thinks fit to act. I will send her to you 
 directly," and with these words she swept noiselessly out 
 through the shadowy doorway, leaving Guy tangled up in 
 the strangest sensations. 
 
 There was a moment of suspense before the dignified 
 woman re-appeared, leading the beautiful heroine of his vision 
 in thegrounds into Guy's presence. There was a melancholy 
 beauty in that face, whose memory never after ceased to 
 haunt his heart. Something so appealingly sorrowful, and 
 yet so coldly sad, that one i)itied and admired and loved in 
 the one glance. The long, dark lashes that fringed the 
 white lids, and rested languidly on the pallid cheeks, every 
 now and then shaded the deepest, dreamiest and most 
 
Ottaiva's Present Tense. 263 
 
 mournful eyes Guy had ever seen, and the subdued passion 
 and smothered emotion that the keen glance might detect 
 trembling on her full, red lips, was grander to Guy than 
 anything else human he could conceive. Then the large, 
 creeping waves of the dry, dari< hair that encircled her intelli- 
 gent brow, and nestled around her well formed ears to her 
 shapely neck behind, capped the climax of Guy's rapturous 
 admiration, . .< 
 
 The childish simplicity with which she stood before 
 him coupled so strangely with a mien of reserve and inde- 
 pendence, put Guy greatly at a loss to know how he was to 
 take this strange creature. There was no conceit, no vanity, 
 no empty pride accompany ing all that dazzling beauty. Guy 
 allowed that at one time this face must have worn becom- 
 ingly the expression of coquetry— may be there was once a 
 pleasure in showing this face to its best advantage, with the 
 assistance of studied apparel, but now ! all that was a buried 
 past. There was now a look of wild, natural beauty that 
 had not been fettered by rules of fashion or style ; no 
 attempt at effect in the plain, simple costume that clung so 
 becomingly to her svelte figure. No artful use was made of 
 those perfect features ; she looked like a child-woman — so 
 sweet, so innocent, so simple, and yet so grand, so sad, 
 so serious. 
 
 Guy stretched forth his hand in a friendly way, as she 
 entered, saying, 
 
 "We are strangers in one way. Mademoiselle de Maistre, 
 but in a thousand ways we are very good friends, at least, 
 such is my disposition towards you." 
 
 She placed her small, tender hand in his, and scanned 
 his face a little doubtingly. 
 
 The majestic lad) " directress," encircling the girl in 
 her arms, said earnestly, 
 
 '* I will leave you w-th this gentleman ; trust him, my 
 dear, he is your friend," and then she very considerately left 
 the room. • • ■ '-> -" ' ■' ''< "' 
 
 Guy, on finding himself alone with the object of his 
 search, entered into business immediately. 
 
 His voice was touchingly resjieclful and synijiathetii 
 as he addressed Fifine. 
 
264 Honor Edgcwortli ; or^ 
 
 " I hope," he began, " that you will not object to my 
 recalling certain events of your past life, mademoiselle. T 
 have been commissioned to bear you a message, relative to" 
 a detail of your unusually sad '.-xperience ; but I would first 
 like to know that it does not })ain you too much to hear 
 your past repeated." 
 
 " Oh, sir !" she said, clasping her hands and 
 looking devoutly up, " don't spare me on that account. 
 When we have been able to do wrong, we should be able to 
 bear the consequences, whatever they be. Besides, my 
 past has never been a past to me — all is as vivid to-day as it 
 was in the first hours of my experience. I have only memory 
 left me from that frightful past." 
 
 "Then we may as well proceed to the [)oint imme- 
 diately,' added Guy, who was feeling slightly uncomfortable 
 over the task. .-.-,.■ 
 
 " 1 am a doctor by profession, mademoiselle, and have, 
 for the last few years, been practising in the city of New York. 
 Some months ago 1 was summoned to the bed-side of a man 
 in typhoid fever, in whom I recognized an old school friend. 
 He was evidently delighted at the freak of good fortune 
 that brought us together, for, as he told me, there was a 
 secret gnawing at his heavt, that he longed to disclose. I 
 sat down beside him and heard, mademoiselle, from his 
 fevered lips, the shameful account of a wedding ceremony, 
 of which you were such an unfortunate victim." 
 
 Fifine was clutching her fingers convulsively, and there 
 was a look of suppression in her sad face that touched Guy ; 
 he was, however, anxious to get through with his disagreeable 
 tale, and huriied on. 
 
 " He bade me seek you out, mademoistlic, only to tell 
 you that since that eventful night, he lias wandered through 
 life, dogged and shadowed by a cruel remorse, which ulti- 
 mately laid him on the bed where I found hiin. One thir j 
 he craved with his dying lips, mademoiselle, that the message 
 be borne you from him, of your freedom ; that you be told 
 how that v:eremony was a mockery, null and void ; and after 
 this disclosure, if pardon were possible, that you might try 
 to forgive him his blind share in the disgraceful deed. The 
 person I allude to, mademoiselle, was the pretended clergy- 
 man who married you that night." He looked now into the 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 265 
 
 struggling face beside him ; he knew the conflict that was 
 raging in that soul. 'I'he trembling lips parted while lie 
 watched, and he heard the low murmur of a sanctified soul, 
 as it breathed. "As we forgive them that trespass against us," 
 she answered back the look of anxious enquiry he ca.st ujion 
 her face for a moment, and then cried : 
 
 " Do you say I am free ? Not" bound to anyone ? 
 Untrammelled all this time that I have lived in imaginary 
 
 slavery, oh, how much I have suf " but she checked the 
 
 impulse that bade her murmur, and said instead, " because 
 I have done wrong myself, I can forgive : / know how the 
 guilty heart craves for pardon, how the loaded conscience 
 aches for relief, and therefore, )'ou can take my entire for 
 giveness back to the penitent who asks it. After all," she 
 continued, in a sort of soliloquy, " forgiveness is easier than 
 revenge." • ' ' 
 
 " \'ou are a noble little soul," said Guy, touched by 
 the piety and fervor of this blighted little heart. 
 
 "Ah, sir! it is not that," Fifine said regretfully, "1 
 might have been that, if I had lived contentedly among the 
 comforts, where (iod had so generously placed me, and not 
 sighed to adopt a world of sin and shame, rather than 
 sacrifice it. 1 can never be that now. I have killed my 
 poo: ' >ving father : I have blighted my life — there is only 
 penance and atonement now to bid me hope," then passing 
 her hand vvearily over her eyes, she exclaimed in a long 
 sigh, " So strange, all this ! I thought that ugly chapter was 
 over and done with, for everyone but me. And this man 
 that sent you, who is he?" cjueried she. • •;; « " 
 
 In words as brief and clear as possible, (kiy told her 
 the story of hi> night by Nicholas Bt*' croft's bed-side, 
 dwelling emphatically ui)on the pitiful effects that remorse 
 and reverses had left, where innocence and [)ros])erity had 
 once been 'inc girl's face clouded at intervals, as she 
 listenfd to the strange, touching recital, and she felt a 
 sympathy in the end, for this other poor victim, who, like 
 herself, had been led into evil, blindfolded. 
 
 After a long, long interval, Ciuy rose to depart, not 
 however, without having made every arrangement with Fifine 
 ihat was necessary to render her justice, and give Vivian 
 Standish hi'^ due. Even towards this latter, she would not 
 
266 Honor Edgeivorth ; or 
 
 now indulge feelings of her old hatred. She asked that he 
 be dealt with as leniently as possible, " for, sir,'' she argued, 
 " the wicked are wicked only because of their weakness. 
 They are so much weaker than the good ; and just as the 
 man of physical strength is merciful with one who is physically 
 weak, so should the rule apply to moral strength^ and let 
 him who can brave temptation deal gently with the poor, 
 weak sinner." And then they parted to the time. Fifine 
 having agreed to seek permission to enable her to take any 
 active steps that should be deemed necessary for the render- 
 ing of calm, quiet justice to Vivian Standish's victims. 
 
 .r^. 
 
 ■ ■ .' <•. > .it' 
 
 
 
 \ s 
 
 '■''•'.:■ '.'.■:,• ' .•'. 'I'^' ■ ■"■' '..:.t ■; ;''?fr'y! ■' *'•;>> .i.;;j'i 
 
 \r-. • .■■■!! 
 
 
 
 iv-;^-:/ ■,!;' 
 
 > I 
 
 :!;;{■ '•>';• ;.,rK'/ ,.n! 
 
 
 "r»' 
 
 f 1 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 267 
 
 ,i'ji'.;^'+i- <■■--' '.'!■ • '•'■ ' ■-'•■>'- ■■ -• •■ ■ :■;, \'. •; '^. -.'j. 
 
 ;, a. J, :, ,;.; CHAPTER XXXIV. •;.; . . .::^-r 
 
 I ,j r.^ When Peace and Mercy, banish VI from Ihe plahi, : , ii-rv 
 
 ^ Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again _ ^ . ,., ^■ 
 
 "■' ' All, all forsook the friendless, guilty mind, ' '"*'*' ^ 
 
 •:'-•; lit 1}^^ Hope the charmc linger 'd still behind. 
 
 'r. < 
 
 HE gold and amber leaves, turned their withered 
 
 _ edges inward, and fell, in sear, cris[) decay, from 
 
 ^^^ the half-naked trees. The flowers were all dead. 
 
 (5^ The songs of the summer birds were entirely 
 
 hushed, and thus stripped of allits rustic beauty, Ottawa stood, 
 
 in mid-autumn, awaiting the pleasure of winter. 
 
 It was the season, which of all others, appealed most 
 elo(|uently to Honor Edgeworth's heart ; to her, the season 
 of 'falling leaves' and 'moaning winds,' was nature's most 
 sympathetic response, gratifying, as it did, the melancholy 
 tendency in her nature. 
 
 The dear, dead summer, had fled into that vast eternity. 
 Little, trifling experiences, that at one time meant almost 
 nothing, looked precious and clocjuent, now that her eyes 
 viewed them, with that backward glance, which one casts so 
 sorrowfully on the things that are receding from them for- 
 ever. Little words she had heard, little kindnesses she had 
 felt, little songs she had sung, aye, and even little tears she 
 had shed! all were wafted back for one d'^lightful moment 
 ut sweet regret. She stood by the window again, as she did 
 a year ago, two and three years ago, as she would, likely, in 
 years to come, sunk in a reverie, watching the leaves fall, as 
 they fella twelve-month since; the leaves were just the same, 
 the sky seemed still unchanged, the wind chanted the same 
 weird, lonely lamentation, only she was different, something 
 had come into her life in that interval of years, and had 
 gone out of it again, leaving it so desolate, so aimless, so 
 blank ! She had had a good draught from the cup of 
 life, since that other autumn evening, when she stood at this 
 very window, moralising on the transient nature of all mortal 
 things. She had drunk deeply enough td know, that for 
 Souls like hers, happiness, is scattered among briars and 
 
268 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 thorns : she was a wiser, a sadder, ],erhap3 even a better 
 girl, this autumn day, but she was not happier, oh no ! 
 
 In a slow, solemn procession, the items of her years' 
 experience, passed before her eyes ; between the dead leaves 
 and the closed window pane, she saw a panorama of memory. 
 She was looking back with a sorrowful gratification upon 
 the work of a couple of twelve-months, sighing now and 
 then, smiling now and then, but never very happy over the 
 suggestive souvenirs. 
 
 Altogether, Honor Edgeworth, had nothing of the 
 superficialities, which characterize the majority of Ottawa 
 young ladies, who have the ' splendid advantages,' and 
 ' glorious times ' that she enjoyed. One was easily con- 
 vinced, on knowing her, that riches and light pleasures, such 
 as delight the average society girl, cou'd not constitute her 
 happiness ; she shared these things out of a sense of duty, 
 because it was customary for girls in her position to do so, 
 but principally because Mr. Rayne had expressed a wish to 
 that effect. She had been, and not unknowingly, the 
 subject of sublime envy for a whole season in Ottawa, and 
 had created no \\i\X^ furore in a succession of stylish watering- 
 places during the summer spell, and yet, here she was, 
 after all that, in the face of another winter of gaiety and 
 excitement, with the same cold indifference in her heart, 
 and the same reserve and dignity in her manner. 
 
 Henry Rayne, was fast declining in health. The 
 exertions of an active life weie beginning to tell seriously on 
 him, his heart troubled him, and his head troubled him, and 
 Honor's future troubled him more than either. He con- 
 tinually worried and thought over the time, when he would 
 not be nigh to protect her, or guide her : her welfare was 
 about the onl)- mental problem he tried to solve, as he sat 
 through the long hours of the day Wiapped up in a cushioned 
 fauteiiil. ^'f^ ■/• ■',:■. i:-,,, I v. •:: '. .•;/•■.»"•. ■: ■ 
 
 Hj • Vivian Standish, still flickered around the fiame awaiting 
 his doom ; there was hojje for him, while Henry Rayne 
 regarded him, in the favorable light he did. His past career, 
 seemed to have become a blank to him now, he c:ould not 
 understand how retribution had not caught up to him in the 
 race, and so dro[)ped trying to : he did not fear Bencroft. 
 for his share of the guilt was about ef^pial. but the magna 
 
Ottinoa's Freseul Taisc, 261) 
 
 nimity, or idiocy, of the " little one " if she had survived, he' 
 thought to be very convenient ; of course, if through his 
 instrumentality, she had passed into a fairer and a better 
 land, why so much the better for all parties concerned. He 
 had held himself on the "look out" for months after his 
 vile commission, ready, for the first insinuation of his guilt, 
 that went abroad, but now that the period had lengthened 
 into years, and he had pretty nearly exhausted the wages of 
 his deed, he felt a sort of protection, and blotted out all 
 uncomfortable reminiscenses from his memory. He had 
 laid himself out, now, to j)lay another little game, but this 
 game, in its dbioiicincnt had surprised him more than he 
 expected. 
 
 I'eing a conceited fellow, he did not relish indifference, 
 much less, marked coldness, nearly so well, as the pronounced 
 admiration, with which he was wont to be received, but wiih 
 all his attractions and efforts, he could only extract the most 
 rigid politeness from Honor Edgeworth. " Bad beginning," 
 he thought, as he tugged his long moustaches, and smi'ed 
 superciliously vdth his handsome lips and dreamy eyes. 
 Vivian Standish, for so many years, by profession a deceiver^ 
 had at length, made a false step which compromised himself 
 seriously ; as quietly and neatly, and securely as he had ever 
 entrapped any victim, he was now entrapping himself in his 
 own very meshes. Very coldly and mechanically indeed, he 
 had planned his courtship with Honor Edgeworth, a thing, in 
 his intentions to be a pure calculating process, a speculation, 
 and now unknown to himself, almost unfelt by himself, his 
 low ambition had led him into a snare ; he began to grow 
 uncomfortable under the calm, steady gaze of this dignified 
 girl, he measured his words, and restricted himself generally, 
 which in itself, was the strangest possible thing for him to 
 do. He began to feel, that to lose .ler now, would make 
 something more than a pecuniary difference to him, he had 
 transferred the object of his craving from her dowry to her- 
 self, and to feel that he really wanted something which in 
 any way could add to his material comfort, was, in itself the 
 most powerful stimulus, that Vivian Standish had ever 
 known. The fact that he worked out his own gratification 
 sustained him through many a discouragement ) may be it 
 will cause no one to wonder either, for when one has gone 
 through fire and water for someone else, one's heart clings 
 
270 JJofior JCdgai'orih ; ut^ 
 
 almost involuntarily to him ever after, one's interest never 
 dies out where his welfare is at stake. 
 
 It had been thus, with Vivian Standish, but the object 
 of his daring deeds had been his own other self; that never 
 satisfied nature of humanity, v/hich, continually cries for 
 more ; that unreasonable element of our existence, that is not 
 content, when we have dipped our trembling hands in the 
 sluggish, sullied waters of sin and shame, to gather the little 
 bright dece[)tive flower they craved to hold, something that 
 looks so tempting and precious on the dangerous water's 
 edge, but which when gathered becomes offensive, and is 
 cast so recklessly aside. How many of us there are, that sit 
 in moody silence, grieving and wondering over our own 
 ingratitude to ourselves ; peevishly grumbling at our moral 
 poverty, scanning with pitying disgust the persistent weakness 
 of our natures, sighing with a hopeless resignation over a 
 miserable destiny of broken resolutions and vain attem])ts, 
 and wondering when it will all end, and relieve our burdened 
 souls ! 
 
 Vivian Standish, had become a moral wreck, more by 
 accident than by nature. Phrenologists would scarcely 
 have defined his handsome features as indicative of wicked- 
 ness in the soul, but the victim of a mistaken vocation, has 
 always been known to carry his propensities to the very worst 
 limit ; ending generally when all hope is vain, and amend- 
 ment an impossibility. Sometimes one does hear of the evil- 
 doer being overtaken in his dark course by the voice of 
 conscience ; a warning whisper, from some spirit-like voice, 
 has occasionally stayed the hand of the nmrderer, the self- 
 destroyer, the robl:)er, or the drunkard ; but I fear, it is a 
 more familiar thing, to every one of us, to know, that when 
 a man has once determinedly begun his downward course, 
 it is rarely, he stops at the precipice \ if he has risked great 
 things on one occasion, he will hazard greater dangers on 
 many occasions, never waiting, never halting, to think or to 
 regr*=>t until he teach the final hazard which is life itself, 
 consequently death itself, and then the awful sequel which 
 is hushed, or whispered in a trembling breath, like a horrible 
 ghost story, the consequences of eternal darkness, and 
 agony, and despair. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 271 
 
 The winter set in at Ottawa, the cold north-east winds 
 l)lew over the bare streets and through the naked trees for 
 days and weeks, and then, the soft, white, noiseless snow- 
 flakes, stole over the desolate city, making it suddenly as 
 bright and lively and cheerful, as it had been dreary and 
 melancholy before. 
 
 December, with snow and cold, and icicles and sleigh- 
 bells, substituted the lovely 'fall,' and turned the wearisome 
 scenes of summer renmants, into the gay, sparkling picture 
 of lively winter. 
 
 It was December, and Honor Edgeworth's lover had 
 not proposed yet. Henry Rayne, had still, serious mis- 
 givings relative to Honor's real sentiments, which prevented 
 him from encouraging Standish, to take the final step. All 
 through the summer and autumn months. Honor and he, 
 had been thrown a great deal together, he had given up his 
 occupations elsewhere, and was now permanently established 
 at Ottawa ; in the mornings, when Honor drove or walked 
 up town, to do her shopping, she often met him, either 
 lunching at the confectioners, or coming out of the Post 
 Office, or standing aimlessly at the Russell House entrance : 
 invariably, he joined her, carrying all her small parcels, if she 
 walked, or helping her in and out of her tiny phaeton if she drove. 
 Every eye, any way trained in matrimonial calculations had 
 given its knowing wink, at these two, which translated from 
 eye-language means, " they're' going it," or " thats' a match :" 
 other girls who did their shopping all by themselves, sighed 
 wearily at " some people's luck," and turned their heads [jur- 
 l)osely aside, to admire some grand display of millinery, or 
 jewellery, or whatever distraction was at hand. 
 
 In the evenings, Love's "at home "hour, these two were 
 always together, and if it was not to escort her to some place 
 of entertainment, Vivian whiled the delicious hours away 
 strolling leisurely around the grounds of Mr. Rayne's house 
 by Honors side — thrown sleepily on some rustic bench 
 beside her, with his well-flavored cigar between his hand- 
 some lips, and the dreamiest sort of love looks floating 
 between his half-closed, deeply-fringed lids, muttering half 
 audibly those thrilling little nothings that seem so con- 
 sistent with pretty ears, and a half-averted, blushing face 
 in the autumn twiaght. When the evenings grew too 
 chilly, even with a provokingly becoming wrap and tiny 
 
^'^ -^ Honor Edgewortli ; or^ 
 
 iiii' 
 
 skull cap, perched on the back of her head, Honor and 
 her devoted admirer spent their time within doors, playing, 
 singing, or chatting susjjiciously with their feet on the 
 fender. Honor had never thought it necessary to ques- 
 tion the propriety of encouraging this intimacy with a man 
 whom she would never love ; it seemed (juite pleasant to her 
 to have some one who could talk intelligently and make 
 himself generally interesting, always by her — satisfying her- 
 self that she might safely measure his sentiments of regard 
 by her own, and, therefore, never dreaming of any serious 
 result from their amusing |)astimes. 
 
 There are so many girls in Ottawa that like very mu(^h 
 having an admirer, an ardent lover even, if he suits their 
 fancy enough to make other girls jealous ; or even worthier- 
 minded girls can comfortably endure an intelligent, accom- 
 plished young fellow to pay them these snug little attentions 
 for a whole season. There is something in a certain species 
 of the genus girl which cjuite overcomes her at times, when 
 she feels so lonely and so blue that nothing in all sublime 
 creation can restore her but the soothing odor of a cigar, 
 the deep, earnest accents of a certain smoker of that cigar, 
 and the clasp of the strong, firm hand that has placed that 
 delightful weed between those suggestive lips ;— when on 
 a winter evening she steals alone into the drawing room 
 and lowers the vulgar glare of the gas until everything is 
 misty and undefined as her own heart, and then throwing 
 herself on the spacious /<-/?//<?//// before the grate fire, soars 
 into the world of her imagination, and is happy with her heart's 
 idol for a few dreamy hours, or depositing herself carelessly 
 on a cosy sofa, she throws her arms over her shapely 
 head, and spins away at the cobwebs of her thoughts and 
 wishes, and regrets, but always on the qui vive^ listening 
 for a step, a voice, and wondering now and then, with a 
 start, whether it was the very material door-gong that 
 she heard, or on'.y the dim, intangible echo of a wild wish 
 in her agitated heart. Oh ! you little group of 'teens,' 
 there is a day coming ! Inrush away those filmy cobwebs 
 of your pleasant dreams : they are hiding your reality. 
 Shut out that mass of " tangled sunbeams " that interrupts 
 your future ; there is a pall over the heart, now bounding 
 in its untold delight. There are tears in the dreamy, wistful 
 eyes ; there is suffering portrayed on the pretty face ; the 
 
Ottiuva's J're^ciit Tense. 273 
 
 spirit of anguish keeps its steady guard at the threshold of 
 those smihng Hps — but- what have I done? Oh! forgive 
 me, youth now tangled in those golden meshes. I unsay the 
 words, mine must not be the tyrant hand to tear away the 
 screen a merciful Father has i)laced between you and what is 
 to come. No ! no 1 smile and dream and ho])e and wait on. 
 
 One evening, as Henry Rayne lay reclining among his 
 cushions before the glowing coals. Honor and Jean d'Alberg 
 burst in upon him in his solitude, full of fresh, blooming 
 spirits, laughing and feeling numb with cold. 
 
 "Here? you selfish old pet," Honor said, running 
 towards him, " toasting your limbs by the fire, so cosily, 
 when your little girl is freezing on the streets, starved and 
 numb I" 
 
 The old man leaned back his white head on the velvet 
 upholstering, and looked lovingly into the bright, happy, 
 blushing face of the girl standing behind him, then taking 
 both her little " frozen " hands in his dry, warm ones, he 
 squeezed them tenderly, saying — 
 
 " To be sure, you are numb, you lovely little witch. 
 Have you been firing snow-balls, or shovelling snow orwhat?" 
 
 " Most likely," Honor answered with mock dignity, " a 
 young lady aspiring to the wisdom of her twenties is sure to 
 spend her time firing snow-balls against the fence." 
 
 " Oh, no oi-fence to you, frozen queen," Henry Rayne 
 interrupted, looking shyly up to see how his pun was 
 appreciated. 
 
 " Not a bad attemi)t for a dull mind at all," the girl 
 said laughingly, " don't forget it, and I'll give you a chance 
 to use it again, when there's more appreciation in the room 
 than there is just now," 
 
 " Come, come, you little humbug, take off that gigantic 
 sacque, and sit down here ; upu?i my word I won't make 
 any more of those nasty y^« de mots.'" 
 
 " Oh, I see you are a hopeless case," Honor said, 
 sighing heavily, at the same time undoing lazily the great 
 seal fastenings of her seal coat, as he bade her. She then 
 drew out the long pins from her velvet " poke " and removed 
 that becoming article from her head. 
 
 " Give them to Jean," Mr. Rayne said, motioning back- 
 ward, "she will be going up directly." 
 
 "It is well she has transferred herself to that place 
 
 i8 
 
274 Honor Edgtnuort/i ; or, 
 
 already," Honor replied, " or she would not be too flattered 
 to think thqt her presence had mad^ such a little impression 
 all the while." 
 
 As she delivered this lictle speech, she touched her 
 dainty fingers to the bell beside her, and when Nanette 
 appeared in the doorway, she gave her her costly bundle of 
 street wear to carry away upstairs, and as the faithful 
 attendant piled them respectfully on her arm. Honor pre- 
 pared to seat herself beside her guardian, for a " little chat." 
 
 '' \\'ell, I hope you're ready at last ; dear knows it does 
 take a time for you females to get out of your finery," Henry 
 Raync said in assumed impatience. 
 
 " There now, don't grumble out in ' sour grapes' style," 
 Honor replied, playfully, " you cant blame anyone if you 
 did not happen to be a nice young girl, to wear poke bonnets 
 and jerseys, and becoming little nothings — we know you 
 poor unfortunate males are half dead with envy, when you 
 contrast your clumsy suits, every one's the same to look at, 
 with the endless variety of our costumes, but all the same 
 you can't say it's anyone's particular fault that you have all 
 been great grizzly men." 
 
 " Well, upon my word," Henry Rayne la\ighed in 
 astonishment, " I hope you have an idea of your sex — come, 
 stop that silly babble about men pining for a transformation, 
 and sit you down here near me ; I want to talk of something 
 more reasonable than that. Surely you're ready now ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite — oh ! but wait one minute — Nanette ! she 
 called, balancing herself on her dainty toes, towards the door, 
 " I'll take my handkerchief from my muff, please, — there," 
 as she shook out the dainty scented folds of a lawn handker- 
 chief, " I am quite, quite, quite ready— begin when 7^?// like, 
 and end when I like." 
 
 She drew over a tiny footstool and sat upon it, and 
 nestled her head on the arm of Henry Rayne's chair. 
 Lovingly he stole his trembling hand over it, and as 
 he toyed with her graceful curls, he began to tell her his 
 little secrets — 
 
 *' Honor, you've been going out a great deal of late," he 
 began, 
 
 " Oh, don't lecture me for always being out late," she 
 interrupted, provokingly. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 275 
 
 " Now don't you say another word, little puss, until 
 your elders consent." 
 
 " Very well then, cross elder, go on," sai'l she, taking 
 his hand in hers and rubbing it gently up and down her 
 velvet cheek. 
 
 " Hut perhaps you feel like prattling a little, after coming 
 in," he interrupted, half regretfully, "so, let you begin, tell 
 me where you've been this afternoon, and what you saw, and 
 all about it, and when I've shown you by example what a 
 patient listener is, I shall expect a return of courtesy when 
 my turn comes." 
 
 " Well, if it isn't just dreadful to have to yield to the 
 caprices of some people," murmured Honor, with pretended 
 resignation, and then glancing reassuringly up at the kind 
 old face above her, she began — 
 
 " This afternoon, didn't you know, we went to the 
 matinee — Miss Reid, Mr, Apley, Aunt Jean, Vivian and the 
 charming Miss Edgeworth, all together. 
 
 " To the matinee, eh little one ? And did you like it ? " 
 
 *' Well, I love the theatre, any way," argued Honor, 
 " and so I liked the performance to-day ; it was rather — 
 exalted." 
 
 " Exalted, was it ? " Henry Rayne said in a listening 
 sort of repetition, " how exalted ?" 
 
 " Oh, first a love match —vows of fidelity — a wedding 
 — a neglected wife — a husband that flirts — then quarrels, 
 and tears, and rage, and despair, and the other party that is 
 always a handsome man, to sympathize with the afflicted wife, 
 then jealousy, threats and a duel, and the love match all 
 over again." 
 
 " Well, well," laughed Mr. Rayne, " that is as well as if 
 I saw it all. I think you take to ' exalted ' phases of the 
 drama — don't you, little one ? " 
 
 "Well, you see," she said, shaking her head wisely, 
 " other people's miseries and misfortunes, seem so romantic 
 and exalted to us -there's the secret ; I'm sure there's 
 nothing we girls relish more than the story of some newly- 
 wedded pair that disagree, of a wife who pines in sentimental 
 solitude, or revenges herself in tragic retribution that is 
 great excitement for us — but amiable as any of us are, I 
 don't think we'd consent to make romance for our girl friends 
 at such a cost as that, do you ? " 
 
216 Honor Ed^eworth ; or 
 
 "Well, I rather hope you would not," Mr. Rayne 
 answered, with a smile. 
 
 " How true it is though," Honor continued, "that we 
 are all so much better adapted to bear one another's burdens 
 of life than we are our own ; we are always ready to say ' If 
 we were they, we should never have done such and such 
 things in such and such circumstances,' and after all, I do 
 not think that ')w our own emergencies, we do one whit 
 better, do you ? " 
 
 " You are right there, child," her guardian answered, 
 reflectively, " under our trying circumstances we always want 
 to do our best, and yet our neighbors cannot help fancying 
 that in our places they could have exercised so mucn more 
 discretion than we — that is the way we make mistakes in life, 
 attributing force and virtue to ourselves, which could only 
 make themselves manifest were we in other people's shoes." 
 
 " Now, you think just like I do, I am so glad, because 
 Vivian didn't, he said he thought other people, at least some 
 other people, always did things infinitely better than he could 
 do them." 
 
 " Did he ? " queried Mr. Rayne, with a mischievous 
 chuckle, " well, I suppose that those ' sotne other people ' 
 actually can, in his eyes. I wonder who he meant ? " 
 
 " I am sure T don't know," said Honor, tapping her foot 
 nervously on the shining fender, " but we both agreed that 
 if such a thing happened in real life as was represented on 
 the stage to-day, the man who thus slighted and neglected 
 any woman he had promised to cherish and love, should be 
 punished just as far as justice and humanity could go in 
 punishing him." 
 
 "That is certainly true," said Mr, Rayne, "the punish- 
 ment, in my eyes, should equal the crime, and the crime, 
 I think, is unpardonable — but come now, we've talked enough 
 about these awful things ; I want my turn — you see — Honor, 
 this is the fifth of December." \k 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And Christmas will be in three weeks more." 
 
 " I guess I know that," Honor said meaningly. 
 
 " Well, I want you to do me a big favor this Christmas." 
 
 " Really ? " said Honor, in surprise, " What big favor 
 can I do for you ? " 
 
 " I want you and Jean to organize-—" 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. 211 
 
 "What?" - ' ■■ ■ ' ■ .•;;^-:t-->/* .:•.''■'■ '. ■ 
 
 "A splendid, big, grand — " ■ .> - •, : '^ 
 
 " Christmas pudding ? " 
 
 " Not quite — but a ' stunning ' ball, a real stylish ball ; 
 ask everyone you know ; throw the doors wide open and 
 give an entertainment with great ic/at. You must empty 
 the drawing-room quite out, have the orchestra engaged, and 
 a menu that will outrival everything. I want a jolly, rattling 
 Christmas merriment that everyone will remembe»".." 
 
 Honor looked (|uickly up, and said in a tone of astonish- 
 ment : 
 
 " Well, dear old baby, I hope you have a queer notion 
 at last — why, that would be no end of fuss and worry and 
 trouble." ff i- ; - •/■ •■ 
 
 " No matter," he answered, '*get help everywhere for 
 everything. I told you first, because you can coax aunt Jean 
 better than I can ; don't ' go back on me ' now, after I've 
 confided my little plan to you. I expect a great deal of 
 help from you." 
 
 "All right then," said Honor, striking one tightly 
 clenched little hand down on the open palm of the other 
 " if it costs so much that we will all have to sell out and beg 
 for New Year's, you need not blame me ; I'll give you all 
 the help you want, don't fear, but when the fun is over, I 
 hope you won't have too much trouble to help yourself" 
 
 " Never mind the consequences," her guardian answered 
 good-humoredly. 
 
 And so it was settled that there would be a grand ball 
 at Mr. Rayne's house during Christmas week ; the invita- 
 tions were issued and busy preparations begun by all hands. 
 'I'he long drawing room and library were opened into one, 
 and all their furniture conveyed into other apartments. The 
 dining room and comfortable morning room, or family Ifou- 
 doir, were also opened into one large refreshment room. The 
 little study under the balcony (down which Guy had climbed 
 on the eventful night of his esca lade) was fitted up for a 
 tete-a-tete corner, with comfortable arm-chairs, bird cages and 
 sweet smellihg plants. Then there were decorations made 
 of palm and flags, and millions of sundry other things to 
 crowd into a little space of time. 
 
 Vivian saw little of Honor during these days of endless 
 fuss and bustle, but he appeared satisfied to sit and chat quietly 
 
278 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 with Henry Rayne, who was unable to share in the general 
 riot and confusion. There seemed to have sprung a strange 
 intimacy between these two men, and this link was no other 
 than Honor Edgeworth ; in fact, she was so dear to the heart 
 of her kind guardian that it warmed to anyone who showed 
 an interest in her. One evening as Vivian and Mr. Rayne 
 chatted together in the latter's study, Honor broke in upon 
 them, holding between her dainty hands a steaming bowl of 
 broth, which she commanded Mr. Rayne to "devour there 
 and then." Obediently as a child, he supped the whole- 
 some draught, and when he had drained the last sjjoonful, 
 she kissed him hurriedly on the brow and bustled out again, 
 smiling pleasantly, and telling her guardian he was " a real 
 good boy. " 
 
 When the door had closed upon her, Henry Rayne, 
 turning to Vivian, said half saclly : 
 
 " She is the sweetest girl under the sun ; I think my 
 heart would break without her." 
 
 " Then I think you might sympathise more ardently 
 
 . with me," the young man answered, half doggedly, " I am 
 
 nearly tired of waiting for that opportunity that never comes." 
 
 " Don't blame me, boy, before you know," was the 
 serious retort, " I am trying my skill in your cause all this 
 while. It is solely in your interest that I have planned this 
 Christmas festivity. I can imagine no moment more pro- 
 pitious for the pleading of your cause, than one snatched 
 from the confusion and excitement of such an hour, when 
 the heart is made suggestive by strains of music and peals 
 of laughter and sounds of gaiety and gladness everywhere. 
 
 " You are right," Vivian said, smiling. " I did not 
 give you credit though, for so much sentimentality." 
 
 " It is not that," the old man answered sadly. '* No, 
 my dear boy. but, no matter how capricious and fickle time 
 is, it cannot alter the heart. What is love to-day, was love 
 in my day, and for ages before, and will be to the end of 
 time. It is a very universal i)assion, and is easily aroused. 
 A note of music, a breath, a sigh or a little pressure of the 
 hand may be enough to call \i out from its hidden nook 
 within the heart. You can't tell me what it is to love, my 
 boy, nor can I tell you, though we've both passed through 
 the experience, the explicable part is a prominent part, I 
 admit, if vvc analyse the little creei)ing sensations of gladness, 
 
Ottaiva's Present Tense. 279 
 
 that a touch of her hand, no matter how inadvertent, or the 
 steady gaze of her deep eyes, c:ould cause us to feel. Why, 
 my dear boy, I am an old man now, but my memory is 
 young yet, and I dwell on this dear page of my past, with 
 the same feelings of gratification that animate you on your 
 first experience. I don't know now, any more than I did 
 then, though I'm an older and a wiser man, what there is in 
 a woman's clear eye, a woman's voice or a woman's hand, to 
 make us shiver and creep, and unman us the way they do ; 
 but perhaps 'tis the mystery makes the charm, if so, may it 
 never be unravelled, for a fellow's love days are about the 
 only things which can compensate him for the misery of the 
 rest of his life." 
 
 This, contrary to appearances, fell as gall on the heart 
 of Vivian Standish, he who had never loved with a pure, 
 unsullied devotion, grieved to hear of the joys of one who 
 had. It is bad enough, that certain luxuries of life have 
 been denied us, either through our own folly or the still less 
 bitter interference of others. How much worse it becomes 
 when we are forced to listen to the story of their worth, from 
 those who have gained what we have so recklessly lost ! 
 Such words as those addressed by Henry Rayne, were perhaps 
 the only ones that could impress the hardened heart of 
 Vivian Standish ^ith a hatred for the crimes and follies 
 of his life. 
 
280 Honor Edgeworth ; or. 
 
 I ' • »;i -' ■'■\ 
 : ■ ••• ) : ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. , . ,., ,.,..♦ 
 
 ■ If. ;, . ■• > ( ) ■.. 
 
 My latest found — • 
 Heaven's last, best gift. 
 My ever new delight. 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 fC^k HRISTMAS Eve of 188-, with all its soft, fleecy snow, 
 5 its merry sleigh bells, its decorations, its plenty and 
 its poverty, its rejoicings and its wailings, its hopes 
 and its fears — the day of huge, warm fires and 
 smouldering faggots, of sumptuous dinners and scanty crusts, 
 the night of all others, that the satisfied thanksgiving of the 
 rich, and the heart-rending craving of the pauper, meet at 
 the throne of God. 
 
 At noon of this bright, merry Christmas Eve, among 
 the many passengers on board the mid-day train that rushed 
 into the Union Depot, was one who interests us more than 
 all the business fathers, school girls, or college students, or 
 other absent members of Ottawa families,^ returning to spend 
 Christmas with their friends. He is a young, good-looking 
 man, in a long sealskin coat and cap. As the bell ceases 
 its clanging on reaching the platform, he seems to pull his 
 cap down purposely, and otherwise to gather himself into 
 the plushy depths of his warm furs ; he hires the first cabman 
 that accosts him, shoves in his heavy valise, which is all the 
 baggage he has, and in a gruff sort of voice, orders to be 
 driven to the 'Albion Hotel.' There is nothing surprlsmg 
 in it at all, the gentleman certainly looks like a ' Russell 
 House ' patronizer, but then the * Albion ' is quiet and 
 secluded, and perhaps this gentleman prefers it to the end- 
 less noises of greater hotels. The gratified cabman, happy 
 over his hasty bargain, which delivered him from a half 
 hour's stamping of feet and clapping of his fur covered hands, 
 never cares to wonder whether the occupant of his sleigh is 
 a disguised swindler or an Earl in-cog, but jingles his sleigh 
 bells hurriedly in the direction of Nicholas street. 
 
 Christmas Eve, with a pale, clear moon, shining placidly 
 down on the still, white features of nature ; the tall, bare 
 
Ottmtxis Present Tense. 281 
 
 boughs, sprinkled with the afternoon's flakes, are showing 
 out brightly in the silver light of the Christmas moon ; great 
 soft feathery masses of white clouds chase fair Luna through 
 the deep ethereal blue of the heaven's vault. 
 
 From every respectable direction in the cit) , sleighs are 
 speeding merrily along with their dainty bundles of woollen 
 wraps and tucked-up skirts. Prim young gentlemen, in 
 their shiny swallow-tails, with their creaseless white cravats 
 and little scarlet buds in their buttonholes, work their way 
 into top coats and fur jackets, and dropping their latch-keys 
 into their breast pockets, start off ; all going in the same di •ec- 
 tion, towards the grand dwelling on Sandy Hill, .hat 
 everyone knows to be Henry Rayne's. •**'^ 
 
 Apart from Rideau Hall, which is the grand centre of 
 all festivities and pleasures, for those who sojourn in Ottawa 
 during the winter months, there are a few other places whose 
 very names are pleasant to the ear, on account of the warm 
 hosi)itality they suggest ; but were Ottawa in general, far 
 more sociable and hospitable a city than it is, we would 
 scarcely consider that it merited any special euloj, y on that 
 account, for, if it were willing to profit by the great advan- 
 tages it enjoys over other cities, of learning how to render 
 itself agreeable, generous and worthy, in its social relationship 
 with its people, it could not follow a more admirable ex- 
 ample than is set by its much esteeiiied, much beloved ruler. 
 
 The pity is, that the old enthusiasts, and tlie early pro- 
 moters of By town's prosperity, could not have lived to see 
 the day, on which their little town became an important 
 city, the capital of a grand Dominion, and the home of 
 Royalty. That His Excellency the Marquis of Lome, and 
 his Royal Consort, the Princess Louise, should come 
 amongst us to take up their abode, is in itself a proud 
 boast, not alone for Ottawa, but for Canada at large, but 
 that in their aimiable condescension, they should throw 
 open the portals of their home, and receive with such 
 gracious and unaffected courtesy, their humble inferiors, 
 overflow.* the heart of Canadian society with intense grati- 
 fication. 
 
 What a suasory example it is for (hose, who through 
 some freak of fortune, being enabled to shake off the dust of 
 honest toil and industry, arc very ready to look downward 
 with contempt u[)on the rank they have just left. What 
 
282 Honor Ed^eioorth ; of, 
 
 must they think of our noble, hospitable (Governor, and 
 Her Royal Highness Princess Louise, who so amiably and 
 courteously receive social inferiors within their home ? How- 
 can i/iey feed themselves with a shallow i)ride, and affect a 
 ridiculous superiority, when the daughter of Her Most 
 (iracious Majesty, Queen X'ictoria, will condescend to 
 assemble under her own roof, jjersons of a social grade so 
 far removed from her own. 
 
 But in profiting by this lavish display of hospitality, 
 Canada contracts a debt, and incurs an obligation, which she 
 will not hesitate to pay generously and willingly, with pro- 
 foundest love, admiration and loyalty. Such names as 
 those of our (lovernor-General and of his Royal Consort, 
 become engraven upon the heart of the country, for future 
 generations to revere, honor and admire. 
 
 We will now return to the remote cause of these just 
 reflections, to the residence of Henry Rayne, who is indeed 
 one of Ottawa's distinguished entertainers. 
 
 Floods oi brilliant gas-light stream out through the 
 windows, illuminating the shaded avenue and blending with 
 the modest light of the full moon outside. Inside the air 
 is heavy with the perfumes of decorations and blooming 
 flowers. Exquisitely made adornings greet one at every 
 turning. In a room opposite to the drawing room, are 
 Jean d'Alberg and Honor Edgeworth, ready to receive their 
 guests : the former looks very imposing in a dress of myrtle 
 green plush and pale blue, brocaded satin, which is most 
 becomingly made, and which, with a pair of diamond ear- 
 rings and a matronly little head dress, compr.ses her whole 
 toilette. 
 
 Honor is a mar\ el of feminine loveliness, her brow as 
 white as marble, and her hair creeping over it in its chestnut 
 waves, has a beautiful effect ; there is an enhancing flush of 
 excitement on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle with unusual 
 brilliancy. Attired in a long flowing dress of white water- 
 plush and satin, from which hang on all sides, little trembling 
 fringes of delicate white pearls, Honor is more like a vision 
 of the supernatural than anything real. Where her costly 
 robe falls in graceful folds to her dainty shoes and sweeps 
 over the floor for yards behind, it is literally covered with 
 natural rosebuds and sprigs of heliotrope that rival with the 
 loveliness of her whom they adorn. Her bare white neck 
 
Ottiuoii's Present Tense. ;i83 
 
 is encircled by strings of tiny pearls ; coils of pearls arc also 
 twisted in her dark brown hair, uiakiiig her a breathing 
 goddess of lovelinesr and wonder, as she stands awaiting her 
 guests' arrivals. . < ,. n 
 
 " I will have time to run and say a word to dear Mr. 
 Kayne," Honor says, gathering uj; her handsome skirt and 
 skipping out of the room : she races up the stairs with the 
 recklessness of a child in its morning wrapper and knocks 
 timidly at the door of the tem[)orary sitting-room above. 
 At the faint sound of " come in ' she pushes open the door 
 and stands in all her splendid array before Mr. Rayne. 
 
 " Do you know, 1 wish so much you could come down 
 stairs,'' she said techily, '' I am lonesome every second for 
 you," and kneeling on one knee beside him, the lovely girl 
 encircled the old man's neck with her bare white arms, ca- 
 ressing him childishly. 
 
 '* Oh, ho I — come now, don't begin to play your little 
 frauds on me ; hov? lonely you are to be sure, looking like 
 a queen in a vision, and ready to break a hundred hearts, 
 be off, you are a dear little humbug, ha ha ha.'' 
 
 'i'here was something of the old huiuor of long ago in 
 the laugh that Mr. Rayne directed into Honor's pretty i)ink 
 and white ear. 
 
 "What a voice!" Honor exclaimed in mock horror, 
 "truly, you've quite deafened me with that terrible shout," 
 and she frowned pettishly, putting her little gloved hands 
 sympathisingly to her ears. 
 
 " Well, that will hold for a while.' he answered mis- 
 chievously, "you need not trouble yourself coming up to 
 hear me again for a while '' 
 
 " You mean old darling,'" the girl returned playfully, 
 " I'll go down stairs and not think of you once more all 
 night," and in another instant she was re-established below 
 in all her dignity, while the pressure of her lips yet lingered 
 in a sweet impression on Henry Rayne's cheek. 
 
 In an hour from that time the quiet, vacant apartments 
 of Mr. Rr'yne's house were crowded with a fashionable and 
 merry throng. Young faces beamed with gladness as they 
 glided under the 'mistletoe ' with their partners, to the strains 
 of dreamy waltzes. The programmes were all tilled by now, 
 and the evening's pleasures fully started. Everyone raved 
 about Honor, and with reason ; it was c[uite anuising to see 
 
284 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 how demonstrative the majority of the young ladies present 
 tried to b.e with her, intending that this lavish disj^lay should 
 be interpreted by the rest as a mark of the familii.rity which 
 existed between them and Henry Rayne's handsome protigcc. 
 Miss Sadie Reid, Miss l)ash and Miss Mountain- 
 head, and all last season's heroines were there ; it is the best 
 and worst feature of Ottawa society, that, like a circus, if 
 you attend one fashionable entertainment, you have attended 
 them all ; the belles of one ball are the belles of another, and 
 the wall-flowers of one are the wall-flowers of another. • 
 
 "Honor, whose waltz is this?" said Vivian Standish, 
 pausing before her and looking admiringly into her eyes. 
 
 " Oh dear, I don't know," said Honor in assumed 
 despair, " I've lost my programme and am thrown quite on 
 the mercy and veracity of my gentlemen friends. I regret 
 to say — if yea say this is yours — I can't refuse it, for I've 
 neither programme nor memory to prove the contrary." 
 
 " I hope you may regain neither to-night, for I think, 
 I must make you remember, you've promised me, all the 
 other waltzes, to-night." 
 
 " Indeed, I doubt, if even this is yours," retorted she, 
 " I've given you one already." 
 
 " It is a wonder you remember," he said, a little sadly. 
 " Surely you do not regret it— any way this one is mine, and 
 we are losing golden moments, all this while — come — " 
 encircling her waist, and as the music made an a])propriate 
 crescendo^ she heard him add in muffled enthusiasm, ** My 
 darling." 
 
 After waltzing a delightful, ten minutes or so, Vivian 
 very arttuUy stopped, at the exit which led to the suggestive 
 little boudoir outside, and stole away, with Honor on his 
 arm, into a quiet recess, near the tall French window, from 
 whence the moon-lit, snow-covered gardens were plainly 
 visible ; the gas-light inside was burning ever so low ; a sweet 
 sleei^y sort of perfume filled the room ; strains of a German 
 waltz were creeping in twittering echoes into the little 
 corner where this handsome couple had seated themselves ; 
 the critical moment had come. It was now, or never. 
 
Oaawas Present Tense. 2S5 
 
 ■1 
 
 '■1 ■ ■• 
 
 '■■' .' ! . 
 
 ^,.. CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ,\ 
 
 "I 
 
 , j But happy they I the happiest of their kind _ t 
 
 Whom ycnlle stars unite, and in one fate ,, 
 
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
 'J'-"'' •' '• ■' —Thomson. 
 
 j( 1'. <i ■ ■ ■' 
 
 UY Elersley, had long ago abandoned the noctivagent 
 , tendencies, that had only saddened and distracted 
 y- his life, but to-night, as the clock struck nine, he 
 ' *■' deliberately closed the hook he had been reading, 
 with a heavy sigh, lit a cigar, and getting himself into his 
 furs, he strolled noiselessly out, the great doorway of the 
 (juict hotel, and commenced an onward journey at a brisk 
 pace. He heeded neither the flood of subdued light, that 
 hung like a veil of hallowed glory over the earth, on this 
 bright Christmas Eve, nor the busy pedestrians, who hurried 
 to and fro, with well-filled baskets for to-morrow's celebrations. 
 He did heed an odd beggar-child who stopped, to hold to- 
 wards him a Christmas number of the " Free Press" for a 
 penny, or who ^till more appealingly extended a little bare 
 frozen hand for charity. He had not far to go on this nights' 
 ramble, but he walked thoughtfully along, like one, on a 
 serious errand, the old familiar sights of other days distract- 
 ed him somewhat, his eyes wandered mechanically over the 
 walls of the little church of St. Alban, the martyr, whose 
 angular spire, stood prominently out in the clear moonlight. 
 A corner away from this, and the glittering roof of St. Joseph's 
 Church attracted his gaze, he was passing close by it now, 
 and a strange instinct directed his steps towards it; he pushed 
 open the yielding door, and stood in the streaming moon- 
 light, among vacant pews, and holy stillness. The Christmas 
 decorations were just discernible by the flickering light of 
 the sanctuary lamp, and from the windows and altars of 
 the quiet little church, the faces of hallowed saints looked 
 down in their venerable simplicity, making the moonlight 
 that made v'sible their holy smiles, sanctified and imposing. 
 Guy Elersley had many qualities, both good and evil, but 
 he was as innocent of church-going, as he was of 
 murder ; of that, at least no one had ever yet accused him, 
 
280 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 nevertheless there was a dormant religious enthusiasm in 
 that young breast, which needed but the touch of the right 
 hand on the yielding chords of a full heart, to call forth the 
 melodious strains of an impromptu chant of praise from the 
 creature to his Creator, 'i'he soul of our youth of to-day, 
 resembles in many cases a musical instrument, which stands 
 in Its grandeur and magnificence, unopened and untouched ; 
 the cobwebs of neglect grow over the elegant framework; the 
 dust of ages cloud its wonderful beauty, be^.iuse there are 
 no hands to touch its magic strings, and call forth the 
 hidden melody it contains; some day, the silence is broken 
 by hazard, a note has been touched, which repeats and 
 echoes its sweet melancholy, with such an eager [)athos, that 
 one regrets the many years of wasted ecstacies which time 
 has consumed, and which might have brightened a lonely 
 life, if the secret had but been known. To-night, for the 
 first time in his life, the chords of Elersley's heart, almost 
 rusted, from their wearisome rest gave out such a soul- 
 stirring melody, that he wondered himself at his susceptibility; 
 he crept into one of the pews near him, and bowing down 
 his head upon his trembling hands, he burst forth in a series 
 of mental prayer ; when he raised his eyes again, it seemed 
 to him that an angel had come, and stolen away every burden 
 of his life : a calm, peaceful feeling had crept into his soul, 
 banishing all the fears and anxieties of a moment before, he 
 felt as if in the darkness, a bright star had broken forth, 
 showing him the way to a better and a happier life, and as he 
 pondered, he suddenly remembered that this was Christmas 
 Eve, that in truth to-night a glorious star had risen, which 
 would shed its hallowed light over all Christendom, and 
 bring " Peace on earth to men of good-will." 
 
 He walked out of the holy edifice, feeling as he had 
 never felt before in all his life— telling himself how much of 
 life's sweetness he had thrown away in miserable exchange 
 for it's bitterness and gall ; but though no word of determina- 
 tion or promise formed itself upon his lips, he felt a resolution 
 filling him ot future amendment, a desire to seek after the 
 strange sweetness he had experienced to-night, and in this 
 mood he pursued his way. 
 
 He too was attracted to-night towards the light and the 
 music and the merry-making of Mr. Rayne's house. 
 
 A host of overwhelming recollections swam before his 
 
Ottiui'as Present Tense. 287 
 
 eyes as he neared the place ; there, from the gate, he could 
 see the fated balcony which had tempted and facilitated 
 his stealthy exit on that wretched night when he had broken 
 his uncle's stern command. 
 
 *' It looks festive," he murmurs sadly, opening the gate 
 noiselessly and striding up the frozen pathway, " but why 
 need it pain me so ?" he said, as if finishing a soliloquy, 
 which would reproach his relations for so easily renouncing 
 his memory. 
 
 Slovvly and noiselessly he stole uj) the crusty walk until 
 he found himself outside the tall I'Vench window in the 
 recess under the moonlit balcony. He could hear the 
 strains of music and the peals of merry laughter — bitter 
 mockery at such a moment ! He knew that while he 
 suffered in suspense outside, s/ie was the object of much 
 admiration within ; that the words of false flatterers charmed 
 her ear, and the smile of pretended devotion gratified her 
 heart. A man can bear much, but as it is in his love that he 
 shows himself strongest, it is also — alas !— in his love that he 
 is weakest. A true woman, then, must never encourage a 
 passion in the heart of a man which she will not share 
 with him to the very end. There are some things in life 
 we can jest about and make trifles of, but we must spare 
 the human heart. There is no jest, no levity appropriate 
 where that is concerned. Not but that hundreds of heart- 
 less beauties have toyed laughingly with such playthings 
 all their lives- they have always done it, they do it still, 
 and will likely continue to do it so long as the world 
 remains what it is ; but, all the same, we can never 
 cease to regret that a woman should ever make such a 
 vile mistake ; she, whose mission in this life is one of heart, 
 should never stoop to nusapply the advantages that a wise 
 Creator has confided to her, and whereby she finds her way 
 directly to i)eople's susceptibilities, to conquer them for a 
 good cause for their sakes, her own sake, and God's. 
 
 Guy was sadder than ever to-night, for besides the cus- 
 tomary melancholy of his life, he was under the painful 
 influence, and in the very presence of pregnant associations, 
 gone-by days were doubly visible and clear to him under the 
 shadow of this dear old home that he had so recklessly 
 sacrificed. 
 
 The snow was carefully swept away from the low, broad 
 
288 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 steps, and tlie thick covering of matting was comfortably 
 visible in the moonlight, (iuy stood to scan the brilliantly 
 illuminated windows : There were figures gliding here and 
 there through the rooms and corridors; shadows flitted to and 
 fro ; little strains of far-off music crept into his ears — nothing 
 definable, certainly, sometimes just one deep note of the bass 
 violin, or a little shrill twittering of a noisy part, but it made 
 his poor heart ache, and it filled him with those unshed tears 
 of smothered emotion that are spilled like gall upon the heart 
 that no one sees. He had been watching for only a few 
 moments, when a grating noise startled him. He slid into 
 the shadow of a broad pillar, which supported the portico, 
 and there stood still and expectant. A little silvery laugh 
 right inside the window went straight to his heart ; then fol- 
 lowed a word or two in a musical masculine voice, then a 
 strong effort, and yielding to it, the long French window 
 opened with a creak. 
 
 Up to this Guy had had some chance of escaping, but 
 now as he narrowed himself into the limits of the shadow 
 cast by the huge pillar, he saw two figures advance and lean 
 against the opposite casements of the open doors. At the 
 same moment the moon sailed out from behind a pile of 
 snowy clouds, and Guy Elersley saw with his greedy eyes — 
 in all her loveliness, in all her dignity, in all her feminine 
 grace — Honor Edgeworth, his heart's long-cherished idol ; 
 but she was not alone. Beside her was the tall, stalwart 
 figure of a man in evening dress, whose head was inclined 
 towards her, whose eyes were seeking hers with a tender 
 expression of sentiment in their depths. In a moment 
 Guy had caught the outlines of that face, and instinctively 
 he clutched his hand and bit his lip, for he had recognized 
 Vivian Standish flirting with the girl he loved. Her hand 
 was now in his, and he was drawing her closer to him. The 
 impulse filled Guy to dart forward and level those guilty 
 arms that dared to encircle the sacred form of one so good 
 and pure as she, in their sinful embrace, but he quelled it, 
 determining, at any cost, to hear the issue of this strange 
 rencontre- '\\. would be the verdict upon which hung the life 
 or death of his dearest hopes. 
 
 " Honor," he heard Vivian say, " you will surely take 
 cold here in this open window." 
 
 '* Nonsense," Honor said indignantly, " a fine night like 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 289 
 
 this ? I am not so susceptible as you think, nor as fragile a 
 piece as I look." 
 
 Still toying distractedly with her little jeweled hand, 
 Vivian continued : 
 
 *' You may not be susceptible to cold, but you should 
 be to warmth, such as my hear t offers you, the heat of love's 
 immortal flame — Honor — can you give me no hope that will 
 make the future worth living for ? " 
 
 " Surely," she answered seriously, " you have not lived 
 such a worthless life, all these years, as leaves iht future a 
 perfect blank for you. 
 
 (iuy fancied how Standish must have winced uncom- 
 fortably at her words, he wondered at the ]irovokingly 
 composed way, in which he answered her. 
 
 " It is not that exactly," he said, "though I am not at 
 all surprised that you should think it of me ; but, somehow, 
 all the ambitions that have hitherto stimulated me, seem 
 now to have dwindled into a secondary importance ; of 
 course, it is nothing to you, that my life has become one 
 long miserable suspense, since destiny has thrown us 
 together, because our little happinesses are no sacrifice in 
 your great eyes, you cannot feel the smallest sympathy for a 
 victim such as I ; if it were a little terrier, you had uncons- 
 ciously wounded, you would take it caressingly in your arms, 
 and make a gentle atonement for your fault, but there is a 
 difference between little terrier pups and human hearts, like 
 mine " 
 
 " Is there ?" Honor said with a cutting sarcasm, which 
 delighted Guy's heart, " you really are giving me a piece of 
 information which I should never have gained from my own 
 personal conclusions. But, have we not had enough of this 
 romantic nonsense, Mr. Standish ? I think they have begun 
 another dance." 
 
 " I don't care if they have," the handsome lover cried 
 huskily, clasping Honor's hands passionately, and looking 
 into her face with a sort of hopeless defiance, '* I have a 
 word to say, that has been long enough hanging unsaid upon 
 lYiy lips — hear me now— you must — Honor — I love you — 
 and I want you to become my wife." 
 
 There was a breathless pause of a second — Ciuy feared 
 the beatings of his heart would betray him — hungrily he 
 waited to catch tht word that would fall from Honor Edge- 
 
290 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 worth's lips — his rage, his contempt, his indignation, had all 
 subsided during this interval of terrible suspense — he had 
 forgotten for that little moment the depravity of the man 
 before him, he only knew, that in Honor's eyes, this was a 
 dashing, handsome, fascinating young fellow, and that the 
 great crisis of his own life was upon him —one other minute 
 and over the vista of coming years, would have settled a 
 pall of hopeless darkness or a flood of gorgeous sunshine — 
 he listened in smothered breaths ; the moon hid herself 
 behind a dark, curling cloud, he could not see now, but he 
 heard the voice, that had filled his heart for years, speak out 
 in firm and clear, though gentle accents. 
 
 " Mr. Standish," Honor said, " will you kindly release 
 my hands from your uncomfortable grasp," his hands imme- 
 diately fell by his sides, " I will not say your precipitation 
 surjmses me," she continued coldly, " somehow, nothing, 
 that you could do, would actually surprise me, but I must 
 say it displeases me. One instant, suffices for me, to review 
 my conduct towards you, since the hour of our first meet- 
 ing, and I can find absoluteh' nothing therein, which could 
 have encouraged or even sanctioned, you, in such a wild 
 plan as this — you cannot be quite yourself to-night — let us 
 forget this unpleasant episode, and return to the ball-room. 
 I regret having come here at all." 
 
 "And you think I suppose, that I will pocket my 
 emotions with such a dismissal as this ? Are you a tyrant 
 altogether ? " he asked in terrible anxiety — then suddenly 
 changing his tone, he appealed, " Honor, you know it is not 
 we who control our destinies, it is not we who create or 
 guide our propensities ; is it my fault that I have fallen in 
 love with you ? Is it your fault that you are beautiful and 
 loveable and grand ? I have striven with a mighty strujgle 
 to overcome my passion, but fate had another will. You are 
 a woman— kind, good and true, you profess to understand 
 the human heart ; now mine is before you in all its blank 
 misery — be merciful Hcnor — I will love you and cherish you 
 all my life long — I will be your most devoted friend — I will 
 sacrifice every evil for your sake, and learn from you how to 
 do what is right and good — say you will consent to take me 
 and let me not face the future with despair in my soul — do 
 not raise my hand in temptation, for remember if the heaiv 
 cannot grant life it can grant death." Honor gasped — Guy 
 
Oftmoas Present Tense. 291 
 
 opened his eyes, and tried to read the face of this mysterious 
 man. Even (juy, schooled as he was in the catalogue of 
 this unfortunate's crimes, almost pitied him now, and had 
 she been an unsuspecting girl, would most certainly have 
 yielded to his passionate request — he could scarcely expect 
 that Honor would act otherwise, until her voice broke the 
 awful silence and said,— 
 
 '* No more of this, Mr Standish ! Vou are speaking 
 the language of the wicked, and it is offensive to me ; 'f you 
 value my regard at all, do not strive to lessen it —you have 
 been plain and abrupt with me, let me be the same with 
 you — I can never be more to you than I am at this moment 
 — -all the devotion and love you offer me is no temptation ; 
 I may tell you though, it most likely will yet flatter a worthier 
 girl than I, your name may yet be gladly shared b)- a better 
 deserving woman, this I earnestly wish you — but as I can 
 never, positively never, be a degree nearer to you than I am 
 to-night, let us drop this painful subject, and bury it with the 
 other follies of our j^ast." 
 
 Vivian Standish stood up straight and grand-looking 
 before Honor, as she spoke the foregoing words. He was, 
 evid::ntly, not prepared for this, he hesitated for one instant, 
 deliberating with himself, and as Guy saw his mortification 
 and disappointment, he could not help feeling that in one of 
 their r iccesses depended the other's misfortune — he began 
 to ho^ J again ; he could see the struggle in the face of the 
 rejected suitor, he might have pitied him in the end but for 
 the words of sneering retort that burst from the white lips at 
 this same instant, — 
 
 " Well, it was not my luck to be the first — poor me ! 
 How could I have the audacity to seek a hand that is waiting 
 for another's grasp ? But though you scarcely deserve it, 
 Miss Honor, I will tell you to give up cherishing the for- 
 bidden image that fills your heart — a man whom your kind 
 guardian has turned " 
 
 Guy winced, and Honor, raising her bare white arm in 
 the moonlight, in an imposing gesture, cried, 
 
 "Stop, sir ! How dare you address me thus? I have 
 answered your questions, be kind enough to leave me now, 
 your presence is growing distasteful." 
 
 " I knew that would hurt," was the jeering retort, " but 
 bless your little heart, give him up, it is an empty ambition 
 
292 Honor Ed^e^oorth ; or, 
 
 to pine over, he cares no more for you than that pillar there,' 
 pointing to- the one which concealed Guy, " but then there is 
 more romance about forbidden " 
 
 " Leave me, I command you, before I am provoked to 
 speak my mind as plainly as you deserve to hear it," then, 
 pointing inward, she repeated emphatically, " Go ! " and with 
 a broad smile of mock courtesy, he bowed before hex, kissed 
 his hand insolently to her, and saying, 
 
 " You dear little thing, I really half like you,'' he skipped 
 towards the ball-room, leaving her alone in her excitement. 
 
 The noise and merriment had not ceased all this while 
 though this little room was quiet and deserted ; whether the 
 guests had suspected who the occupants were, and in conse- 
 quence kept at a respectable distance ; or whether it was 
 just as pleasant to deposit themselves around on the stairways 
 and in the corridors, during the intervals of the chance, I can 
 scarcely tell, but in any case the cosy boudoir \idiS left entirely 
 to the young hostess and her admirer. 
 
 When Vivian had passed into the ball-room again, 
 Honor turned in, and sank into a low chair by the window ; 
 she touched one opened half, peevishly with her tiny slipper, 
 to shut out the night air that had begun to chill her ; a loose 
 white downy wrap that she had thrown over her shoulders 
 hung negligently to one side, leaving one round white arm 
 bare ; her head rested languidly back on the crimson 
 cushions of her chair, the little fringes of pearls that nestled 
 at her bosom on her low bodice, shivered and trembled as 
 she breathed. The gas burned very low within, and with 
 its subdued light only helped to make Honor still more like 
 a spectre than she was. Guy, standing quite close to the 
 panes, could see the gray pallor that had come over her 
 agitated face, her eyes wore that far-off look that is not of 
 earth, as if she were peering through the impenetrable, into 
 mysteries beyond ; he leaned forward breathlessly, noiselessly, 
 and looked into the room, she was alone — quite alone, 
 looking pale, and ill, and tired — Oh, how he longed to 
 comfort and protect her ! how his heart ached for the right 
 to do so ! 
 
 What are men made of, and what puzzling secret 
 tendency is common to every human heart, that such 
 situations as this totally overcome it ? What is there in the 
 smile of a woman, in the glance of her eye, in the sound of 
 
dttawds Present Tense. 293 
 
 her voice, to sj^eak so eloquently to man's susceptibilities ; 
 why does one woman never see this power in another, nor 
 one man in his fellow-man ? Is it a portion of ourselves 
 that we recognize in those we love, that their loss is our 
 wreck and their gain, our fortune ? Oh mysterious mysteries 
 of the human soul, ye taunt us and teaze us, but ye are our 
 life, our happiness, and our hope, may we never solve your 
 fascinating secrets, 'tis their obscurity is their charm ! 
 
 Cluy was a strong-minded unromantic fellow, truly 
 enough, but as he looked in upon the graceful reclining 
 figure of the girl he loved, lying still and thoughtful among 
 the cushions of her chair, his heart was just as inflamed as 
 any victim's of sentiment, his passion filled him, welled up 
 to his very lips so violent, so strong, that it burst its feeble 
 limits and broke out in one resistless word, '* Honor ! " the 
 very sound of his own voice startled Guy, he could have 
 rushed from the spot into oblivion forever, had not the still 
 reclining figure grown suddenly animate, like a spark of 
 electric fluid the word vibrated through her whole frame, 
 she started suddenly up with an expression of blank dismay 
 on her face. 
 
 " ' j" Honor," he repeated, more calmly this time, '' do not 
 be frightened, it is only I." i 
 
 " You ! Guy Elersley," she almost gasped, looking full 
 into his eyes, with a half wistful gaze. 
 
 " Yes, Guy Elersley," he answered, a little sadly, " am 
 I intruding ? " 
 
 " It is not that," she said hesitatingly, " but your pre- 
 sence surprises me so, I thought you were — - — 
 
 *' Miles away, no doubt," he interrupted, " but now 
 that I am really here, am I ever so little welcome ? " 
 
 " You do not need to ask that," Honor said a little 
 formally, " I think the name of the house is too well-known 
 to necessitate such a question." 
 
 '* Oh, Honor, you know I do not mean that, why don't 
 you spare me a little ? " "I'hen looking anxiously around 
 the room, he asked, "am I safe here, to speak to you with- 
 out fear of being seen or interrupted ? ' 
 
 *• May be not," she faltered, " we had better go out- 
 side." 
 
 She drew the thick heavy folds of her white wrap 
 over her head and shoulders, and stepped out under the 
 
294 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 shelter of the portico. When they reached the farthest end 
 she stood, and said in amused surprise 
 
 " What business of terrible importance could have 
 brought you here in this way ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you that immediately," he answered 
 seriously, "but you will know it by and bye, Honor,' taking 
 her hands in his, and looking meaningly into the deep gray 
 eyes, " will you be vexed if I tell you that I have just over- 
 heard your conversation with \'ivian Standish ? " 
 
 " Not half so much as he would be," she answered 
 good-humoredly, "have you been playing eaves-dropping?" 
 
 " In a sort of a way, yes, I was startled by you both, 
 while stealing an entrance, and I slid behind that pillar 
 there for protection, and of course had to stop there then. 
 
 " If I remember now, Vivian's words compromised you 
 sadly so, for he spoke rather deprecatingly of the regard 
 that pillar had for me, he must have known you were 
 there ? " 
 
 (juy wondered if Honor was playing coquette with 
 him now, he could not take his eyes off her, she looked so 
 bewitching and lovely, wound up in her soft white wrappings. 
 
 " You are jesting now," he said with a sad earnestness, 
 •' Honor, if I had come to tell you, that after many months 
 of suspense and sacrifice, I had sought my way back to you, 
 to tell you that, all my hopes and aspirations were in- 
 , capable of realization without you, that life would never be 
 more than an empty dream, unless I had won you ; would 
 you pity me, and believe me, and relieve me ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he pressed her slender little hands 
 tightly, and looked hungrily, pleadingly into her large 
 dreamy eyes. She looked suddenly up, and their glances 
 met, may be for four or five seconds, their eyes remained in 
 this fixed gaze, then, there were no words required, Guy 
 Elersley had read his answer clearly, unmistakeably ; gently, 
 tenderly, lovingly he placed his arms around her, and 
 gathered her into his close embrace ; he felt her shiver in 
 his .strong arms, then suddenly remembering himself, he 
 asked — 
 
 " Are you cold. Honor ? " 
 
 *' Cold ! so near your heart as this, is it cold enough to 
 freeze me ? " 
 
 ** Try it," he whispered, " Oh Honor, could it be 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 295 
 
 possible that life holds so much enchantment for nie yet, are 
 you going to let yourself be von by such an unworthy 
 admirer as I am, but at least, I can swear to you, that I 
 have never yet loved any creature as I have you," then 
 interrupting himself as it were, he asked tea/ingly — " By the 
 way, who is this other fellow that Standish accused you of 
 loving ? — first, is it true that you did love him ? " 
 
 Honor fidgeted for a second or so, and then looking 
 shyly up into Guy's face, said ~ 
 
 " I hope you won't be vexed, but I am afraid it is a 
 little true I assure you, 1 could not help loving him," 
 
 " Well, this interests me somewhat," Guy muttered in 
 assumed jealousy. " Who is he, what is he like, what is his 
 name ?" 
 
 "Oh, he is not very nice," Honor retorted coquettishly, 
 " quite plain, almost homely, I should say, but I can't give 
 his name, he did not give it to mc — yet ! 
 
 " Oh, he did'nt eh ?" Guy said in a voice of gay enthu- 
 siasm, " well have you contemplated what you will do when 
 he offers it to you ?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose, it would be rude to refuse him, and 
 it is one of those particular cases, where I would not like to 
 make the slightest breach of etiquette." 
 
 " How considerate you are. Well, come now, tell me 
 his name — you must ?" 
 
 " If I must, I must, I suppose, but I am sure he would 
 be vexed, if he knew that I told another man his name, on 
 a moonlight night, in that other man's arms ; his name 
 
 is ," and while she hesitated, she looked mischievously 
 
 up into his radiant face, and then hung her pretty head half 
 shyly, saying, '"'' 0\ you know ! — his name is - Jones ! She 
 turned away her blushing face after this, and (iuy, who 
 never felt so happy in all his life before, laughed merrily 
 over her little joke, then stooping to the pretty lips, yet 
 sweet with their delicious confession, he stole the first long 
 kiss of love ! A very strong mark of his affection, if we 
 believe, like Byron, that "a kisses' strength, we think, 
 should be reckoned by its length." Then the merriment 
 died out of each passionate face ; Honor's society ^raxity 
 passed like a quick shadow over her radiant features ; 
 placing both her hands on Guy's strong heaving breast, she 
 raised her wistful face to his, and said so seriously, , 
 
296 Honor J^dge7i'orth ; or, 
 
 " Guy — what has passed between us to-night, has 
 formed tho crisis of our lives. We have told one another 
 of our loves, and now we must remember, that whatever 
 comes or goes, we belong by a sacred right, exclusively one 
 to another. We have laid bare our lives' secrets, our confi- 
 dence has been mutual, let us never forget the responsibili- 
 ties that these avowals entail ; I believe we are both happy 
 to-night, and I hope it is only the beginning of a secjuel of 
 many such nights and days." 
 
 Guy held her beautiful face in his hands and said in 
 loving earnest — 
 
 " You have spoken the very words of my own heart, 
 Honor, not until my soul gives up the capacity to love on 
 earth, will I for one instant prove faithless to the pledge I 
 have spoken to-night." As they walked slowly back to the 
 open window, Guy took occasion to ask Honor, whether she 
 had cared in the least degree for Vivian Standish ; Honor 
 only looked up smilingly, and said — 
 
 " Don't be jealous of the regard I have bestowed upon 
 him, poor fellow, he deserved it all ; but after this, I fear, 
 he may not get exactly his due, however, I have done with 
 him for the rest of my life," 
 
 " I have a little dealing to do with him," Guy said 
 meaningly, and the only condition upon which I could have 
 shown him any leniency, would be that you had ever cared 
 for him ; I am glad to know you have not." 
 
 " I would not say it, to bring him rigid justice at your 
 hands," Honor interrupted, "but still I would rather de- 
 clare, that I am entirely innocent of ever having had the 
 slightest /tv/ir/z^m/ in that direction." 
 
 " I will not prevent you from making that a boast " 
 Guy answered, " but I might have known, that there could 
 never exist any affinity between you two." 
 
 They had reached the doorway now, and Guy took the 
 little hand Honor extended within his own — 
 
 '* Good night," he said, and then rubbing her fingers 
 caressingly between his warm palms, he said reproachfully : 
 
 " I have kept you too long, have I not, your hands arc 
 so cold ? 
 
 " Never mind that," she answered sadly, " that is not 
 
Ottinva's Present Tense. 297 
 
 the coldness which makes us suffer most ; if you never make 
 me feel any other coldness than this, we will be good friends 
 all our lives." ■ ' 
 
 "Trust me," he answered earnestly, "that time will 
 never <:ome, Honor, when my coldness will chill you, the 
 coldness of death Wll come upon me first." 
 
 Then their lips met again, and with a fond good-night, 
 they parted. 
 
 Honor stole back to the little room within. She had 
 not been an hour away altogether, and yet it seemed to her 
 she was a dozen whole years (jlder in experience. 'I'he 
 night air had brought a ruddy glow into her pale face, and 
 the happy tale of love just gathered from (luy's lips^ had 
 kindled a light of dazzling beauty in her eyes. 
 
 When she returned to the ball room, leaning on the 
 a^m of a fussy old bachelor whom she had intercepted on 
 the way, everyone noticed how bright and happy she looked, 
 and the would-be sages shook their heads and envied Vivian 
 Standish in their hearts for having captured such a prize of 
 rare beauty and goodness. 
 
 It seemed quite apropos also that Vivian and Honor 
 should evade one another for the rest of the night, this 
 they did, though not in a remarkable way, for Honor was 
 too worldly-wise to betray herself before a ball-room full of 
 people. Their mutual separation gave other young enthusiasts 
 ample chance to amuse themselves with each other. 
 
 Vivian Standish moved through the crowd with the 
 same placid, self sufficient smile that he always wore; he 
 was just as interesting and as gay as ever, and to the delight 
 of all the young " fancy free " ladies, sought their society 
 more generously during the rest of this evening at Mr. 
 Rayne's than he had ever done since rumor linked him with 
 Honor Edgeworth. 
 
 Miss Mountainhead, who had always had a wild enthusi- 
 asm for Vivian Standish without ever being able to form his 
 acquaintance, followed his graceful figure greedily with her 
 calculating eyes through the crowded room to-night. She 
 felt that before this entertainment ended she would have 
 met and spoken to him, and she was beginning to exult 
 therein already. As she sat cogitating thus, a group of 
 young men formed themselves a little in front of her : look- 
 ing up, she saw Vivian Standish, who was amusing the rest, 
 
298 Honor Edgeivorth ; or^ 
 
 with some droll (juotation. Little did she realize what she 
 was conterjiplating in this deceptive face ; what a perfect 
 practitioner he was in the art of seeming and ai)pearing, com- 
 manding his outside as he did, with an ease that did him 
 credit ! No one excei)t Honor in all that gay coterie, had 
 ever seen him disconcerted or in a dilemma ; even at this 
 very moment, who could tell ? not even Miss Mountainhead, 
 who studied him so closely, that he was racked by painful 
 emotions while he was causing merriment to this little group 
 of friends. 
 
 It was a si)lendid opportunity for Miss (lerty's introduc- 
 tion. Bob Apley, her cousin, stood very near her listening 
 to the fun. He knew perfectly well how she longed for this 
 gratification, and yet he would not give it to her now when 
 he had such a golden opportunity. She had waited long 
 enough for him to seek her out, but all in vain ; she resolved 
 not to let this night pass without satisfying herself. 
 
 While she seemingly listened with all cold serenity of 
 countenance to Madame d'Alberg's commonplace remarks, 
 she quietly stretched out her blue satin slipper and proceeded 
 to impress her negligent cousin with the fact that she wanted 
 him to fulfil an old promise of his ; not heeding her first 
 gentle reminder, she turned her face with its eager listening 
 expression, very pronouncedly to Madame d'Alberg and re- 
 peated the movement with an increased emphasis, resolved 
 to make him notice her before she gave up. 
 
 With a curious, puzzled expression on his face, Vivian 
 Standish turned to see who could be paying such marked 
 attentions to his shining ' pomps,' but his surprise only aug- 
 mented a hundred-fold on seeing the guilty slipper of a 
 young lady with whom he was not acquainted. She was 
 fanning herself violently as he turned, and without looking 
 back she muttered behind her fan in his direction " can't you 
 introduce me?" 
 
 The whole situation burst upon him in a moment, he 
 knew her to be acquainted with every other one in the 
 crowd but himself, and her satin slipper had mistaken him, 
 in its errand, for her '* cousin Bob," leaving the impression 
 on his foot It was too good a situation to forfeit, so taking 
 Bob Apley by the shoulder, he turned him around and 
 said — Miss Mountainhead, allow me to introduce my friertd 
 
Ottaiua's Present Tense. 209 
 
 Mr. Apley, The poor girl looked aghast ; her confusion 
 left her speechless. 
 
 " Is this not the one?" V^ivian queried provokitigly, 
 " you see I didn't understand from your dainty slipper, vhich 
 friend you could mean." 
 
 He had managed that no one heard the joke b(!sides 
 Apley and themselves, but she looked more to be ])itied 
 over it than any sea-sick maiden : she blushed and stam- 
 mered, and got confused by turns, until Vivian artfully 
 shifted the topic and asked her for the pleasure of the next 
 dance. 
 
 The night sped on, and the Christmas festivities at Mr. 
 Rayne's came to a close. No one was any the wiser of the 
 difference that it had caused between Honor and Vivian ; 
 each had succeeded well in deceiving curious eyes, and in 
 puz/ling the suspicious, jealous ones who surrounded them. 
 
 Amid many glad greetings of " merry Christmas," 
 Honor's guests departed after having enjoyed a most 
 glorious evening in the house of her hosjjitable guardian. 
 
 .'7;' ^y- '' ''~''-)i\ ^rM.Ay\'^ 
 
300 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 "The true 
 And steadfast love of years, 
 The kindly, that from childhood grew, 
 The faithful to our tears. "' 
 
 — Mrs, Hemans. 
 
 OOHE day after the ball, to the great grief of his devoted 
 4(10 household, Henry Rayne was much weaker than 
 ^^^^ usual. His tasty, tempting breakfast went back 
 untouched to the kitchen. Although he had not 
 gone down last night to the scene of gaiety below, his inti- 
 mate and privileged friends had visited him in his own 
 apartments above, and the reaction of this excitement had 
 assumed alarming features 'to-day. ''. 
 
 Honor hastened to his side the moment she had finished 
 a hurried toilet. She got herself impatiently into a wrapper of 
 dark red cashmere, which fastened at the waist with cords 
 and heavy tassels. A little ruffle of lace bound \ tx throat, 
 and her feet were thrust into dainty slii)pers ; her beautiful 
 hair hung in two long braids down her back, making a per- 
 fect picture of her en dishabille. She walked stealthily to 
 the door of the sick room, and seeing the dim eyes of her 
 loved invalid looking at her, wide open, she ventured in. 
 She advanced slowly to the large chair on which he sat, and 
 half-seating herself on the cushioned arm, she threw her arms 
 around his necc and asked in a melancholy voice, " how he 
 felt this morning ?" 
 
 " They tell me you are not so well, to-day, is that true, 
 dear old pet, when I have come to wish you the brightest, 
 happiest Christmas day that will be spent on earth ?" 
 
 The dim eyes of the old man turned lovingly on her for 
 a moment, his lips trembled and his voice was suspiciously 
 shaky as he answered^ 
 
 " Oh, 'tis nothing to dread, my darling ; I am only a 
 little weaker, that's all." 
 
 Yes ; but that's a great deal,"' Honor retorted, " and 
 
 (( 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 301 
 
 we must try all we can to restore you before to-morrow. 
 You were getting on so nicely. I wonder what can have 
 made the difference." 
 
 " Why, you'll quite spoil me," the gentle voice tried to 
 say jestingly, but the eyes closed languidly and the head 
 drooped helplessly back among the cushions. Two great, 
 round tears stood in Honor's eyes ; she bowed her head 
 over the suffering form, and kissed the clammy brow of the 
 invalid — she tried to say something of encouragment, but 
 great sobs of stifled anguish choked the passage in her 
 throat. ♦ 
 
 A moment after, the sick man raised his lids wearily 
 and looked on the girl's clouded face. 
 
 " My dear little one," he faltered, as he saw the wet 
 lashes and the trembling lips, " I think, after all, you love 
 your old friend a little bit." 
 
 Honor tried to smile through her tears — it was like a 
 little rainbow bursting through the clouds. She knelt down 
 beside him, and looking uj) earnestly into his face, said, 
 
 " You m7tst get better, if 'twere only for my sake. I 
 did not realize before as I do now how essential you are to 
 my very existence. I shudder to imagine life without you, 
 and yet if you do not eat and nourish yourself during these 
 
 days, you cannot " but she would not say the fearful 
 
 word — her head fell on his shoulder, and she burst into tears. 
 
 " My darling !" muttered the unsteady voice of the in- 
 valid, " life was never so seductive to me as it is now ; there 
 was a time when I did not much mind whether I lived or 
 died, but that was before I had you, since you have begun 
 to share my solitary life, turning it's dark, dreary nights into 
 days of happy brightness, I have seen it with other eyes. I 
 have resigned my days as they passed, one by one, with a 
 greedy, unwilling resignation, because I had learned to prize 
 them and to love them, after I had prized and loved you ; 
 but, now !— if I must give them up all at once and forever, 
 I am not gomg to grumble." A low sob of suppressed pain 
 escaped the girl's lips. " I have had more comfort in this 
 world than I ever counted upon," he continued, " I have not 
 known poverty or destitution, and since a merciful Creator 
 has spared me from so many briars and thorns of life, I must 
 be doubly resigned to leave the comforts I have so unde- 
 servedly enjoyed, and obey His call," 
 
302 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 " Oh ! dear Mr. Rayne !" sobbed the girl, "do not, pray 
 do not speak like that ; you are so low-spirited lo-day. You 
 will be quite well yet ; you are strong enough to battle with a 
 little illness. Don't say you are going to leave me so willingly 
 — such a thing would break my heart," and bowing her head 
 on her folded arms, she wept silently and bitterly. . 
 
 After a moment of painful pause, Henry Rayne raised 
 the drooped head and said in a tender, loving accent, 
 
 " We are distressing one another, my darling ; run away 
 now, and distract yourself elsewhere. I have much to think 
 about." Honor turned to do as she was bid, but she had 
 barely reached the door when she heard the feeble voice of 
 her guardian calling her back. When she stood before him 
 again, his eyes wore a pensive, distracted look, and his voice 
 was wonderfully serious, as he asked, 
 
 " Honor, do you love me now, think you, just as you 
 would have loved your own father, had he lived ?" 
 
 Clasping her hands in an attitude of thoughtful atten- 
 tion, she answered, 
 
 " Have you had any reason to doubt it, my more than 
 father ? — have I, in word or deed, ever caused the slightest 
 shade of disappointment to darken your brow, that you deem 
 this question necessary ?" 
 
 " 'Tis none of these, my little one," he answered 
 tenderly, " but your words reassure me, and I like to hear 
 you say them " — then changing his tone suddenly, to one of 
 pleading enquiry, he asked : " If I were to wish you to do 
 me a great favor. Honor, which involved the sacrifice of 
 your own feelings, and the risk of your future happiness, 
 but that, I did so, merely on account of my great love for 
 you, do you think, you could be so unselfish, so grand, as 
 to slight every other consideration for mine, and grant me 
 my wild wish?" 
 
 With a little wistful, puzzled look o?i her face, she 
 answered : '' There is no word of binding promise, that it is 
 possible for my lips to utter, nor no deed bespoken before 
 its committal, by your request or command, that you may 
 not consider, as wholly yours beforehand, for the confidence 
 that you have deserved I should place in you, assures me, 
 that you will ask nothing of me, which is not thoroughly 
 consistent with my welfare and happiness," 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 303 
 
 " What a noble creature you are ! " the old man 
 exclaimed faintly, then turning, and looking her tenderly in 
 the face, he said : " I understand, then, that very soon, 
 when I make a request of you, you will not deny me the 
 extreme gratification of giving my request due considera- 
 tion?" 
 
 Impulsively, frankly, innocently. Honor thrust her 
 little hands into those of her guardian, and smiling half 
 sadly, said : "A promise is a promise —there is mine." 
 
304 Honor Edgeiuorth ; ofy 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 " Hark ! the word by Christmas spoken, 
 Let the sword of wrath be broken, 
 Let the wrath of battle cease, 
 Christmas hath no word but — Peace ! " 
 
 (C^ HRISTMAS day was unusually gloomy at Mr. Rayne's 
 this year, but it was quite a voluntary stillness, that 
 
 j^ reigned there : no one felt gay, or happy, while the 
 c) loved master of the house was so low. Jean 
 d'Alberg stole around in velvet slippers, and the others 
 scarcely moved at all ; as for Honor, she lived in the boudoir 
 below stairs : lying awake on the cosy lounge, dreaming all 
 sorts of day dreams, while she awaited the end of this pain- 
 ful interruption in their domestic happiness. 
 
 The sky was slightly overcast with soft, gray clouds, 
 but the day was fine, and Honor watched the happier 
 passers-by, through the large window opposite, with a lazy, 
 aimless interets. 
 
 Vivian did not come at all, as might have been expected, 
 in fact the day was one of the most unusual, that had ever 
 been passed within the walls of this cheerful home. 
 
 Circumstances mould our lives so strangely and capri- 
 ciously, that we are ever doing things, which in after moments 
 surprise ourselves : those unplanned, unplotted, spontaneous 
 deeds of ours that spring from the natural source of action, 
 directly as it is influenced by some passing circumstance of 
 moment ! These are where the true character is betrayed, 
 and the mind and heart laid bare, in their most genuine 
 state. Afterwards, when everything is past and done, we 
 can judge of ourselves at will, we can regret the golden 
 opportunities, we so foolishly squandered, or we can wonder 
 at the strength and magnanimity, that we had unconsciously 
 displayed in the hour of trial. Only, we know, that such 
 little moments of an existence have but one passage through 
 time, and their foot-prints are indelible, on that well-trodden 
 shore ; be they, then pleasant or bitter, to think upon, they 
 must hold their place in our memory, but once, and forever, 
 there is no going back over the mistaken path ; the weak 
 
Ottawa's Present Te;:se. 305 
 
 steps that have faltered and staggered where they should 
 have been firm and strong, may act as melancholy guides, for 
 the future, but their own deformity is as immortal as the spirit. 
 
 This period of Honor Edgeworth's life, fully exemplified 
 these strange theories, as she lay, during the long, dreary 
 hours of these anxious days, peering, with the eyes of her 
 soul, into the dark and mystic realms of the unrealized. 
 There are moments when we seem to coax stern destiny, 
 into a lively confidence, and in one passing glimpse, she 
 shows us many closely-written pages of the "to be." 
 
 Experience comes to us in a reverie, or in a dream, 
 and we raise ourselves up from that couch, in a stupid 
 wonder ; but our hair has turned white, hard lines mark the 
 once smooth features ; we are sadder, wiser, more cautious 
 men, but I doubt if it has made us any better. The halo 
 of golden sunlight that hope sheds over the future, has a 
 holier influence over our present life, than the shadows of 
 suspicion and distrust, with which anticipations of evil and 
 darkness, cloud the vista of coming years. 
 
 For a young girl, the possible phases that life may 
 assume is one long mystery and dread. She knows that 
 while she sits in patience and quietude, her destiny is being 
 surely and irrevocably woven by other hands. She will 
 have no bread to earn, no battle to brave, no struggle to 
 conquer ; the thorns and briars on the path far ahead are 
 trampled by other feet, and plucked by other hands ; and 
 when the miles have been cleared and trodden, the un- 
 known laborer comes forth from his obscurity, and humbly 
 asks her to arise from her quiet nook, to shake off the 
 inactivity of her maidenhood, and to tread the beaten path 
 with him. 
 
 After this, if a stray obstacle comes in the way, there 
 are two pairs of hands to gather, two pair of feet to trample 
 whatever obstructs the smoothness of their onward path, 
 each growing stronger and more willing for the others sake, 
 'till they reach the tedious journey's end, content and happy. 
 
 All this Honor tried to see clearly and impartially. It 
 had pleased destiny to send back him whom she loved more 
 than all the world besides, and to send him back unaltered, 
 except that he was handsomer, truer, and more devoted 
 than ever. 
 
 The precious secret, that she had guarded for so long, 
 
 20 
 
S06 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 and with such a jealous care, had been coaxed from its 
 hiding-place over the threshold of her lips, and henceforth 
 life meant" something vastly different from what it had 
 hitherto been. She had died, as it were, to her old self, she 
 would be re-created to that life of holy mysteries ; hence- 
 forth a double mission awaited her, double hopes, double 
 fears ; those little untried hands -and she raised them before 
 her — must work two shares in the task of life ; but there was 
 no discouragement in the thought. Those who have loved 
 as earnestly as she did, will understand why, for there is a 
 secret courage, and a secret strength, for those who have 
 learned to cherish the image of another, and to work out 
 another's welfare. 
 
 There is a fortitude born on the altar-step, whereon 
 the wedded pair has knelt, to speak the marriage vows, that 
 none but the wedded can know, that none but souls bound 
 together in a holy wedlock can understand ; the fortitude 
 that endures in the breast of a woman, through all the fierce 
 struggles of her married life ; that dies only with the last 
 long sigh of relief at the hour of physical death ; that is un- 
 quenched by the ashes of misery and woe that fall on its 
 flickering flame, from time to time ; the fortitude that thrives 
 on sacrifice and endurance, and which if governed by chris- 
 tian motives, becomes a pass-port for the tried soul, before 
 Heaven's far-off" gate. 
 
 Honor felt beforehand, that the active life which lay 
 untouched in the future for her, was to be sweeter, 
 and happier far, than the passive existence of her girlhood. 
 Matrimony, in her eyes, was a state of such sublime respon- 
 sibilities, that she could spare her thoughts to no other 
 consideration during these dreary hours of anxious solitude. 
 
 She spent her whole days in sketching the hereafter, 
 just as she would have it. Already she was planning her 
 wifely duties, and asking herself how she should learn to be 
 always as interesting and as dear to her husband as she was 
 to her lover. She invented modes of amusement and dis- 
 traction, that would make home cheerful and fascinating for 
 him, resolving within herself, that, if it lay in woman's power, 
 to attract and bind a man's heart to his fireside, in preference 
 to the old haunts of his pleasures, she would do it. 
 
 Two days of close, concentrateci, uninterrupted thought, 
 did not leave Honor unchanged. Her face grew serious in 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 30Y 
 
 its beauty, her step was slower, her conversation less gay, 
 and the distraction of visiting a sick-room, caused no happy 
 re-action to her pensiveness. 
 
 It was now the twenty-seventh of December, a wet, 
 rainy, raw day ; fine, straight lines of persistent rain fell with 
 a dreary drip on the snow's hard crust ; pedestrians with 
 their frozen umbrellas, slipped and slid along in ill-humor ; 
 shop-girls and others, who were out from sheer necessity, 
 sped along with smileless faces, and frozen ulster-tails, sulk- 
 ing as they jerked from one icy elevation to another in 
 the flooded slippery walk, and raising their upper lips in un- 
 graceful curves, as their straightened curls stood out in 
 painful stiffness, or fell in wet, clinging bits over their eyes. 
 
 Honor shuddered, and shrugged her shoulders as she 
 turned away from the window, and threw herself into a large 
 chair beside the lounge whereon was the sleeping form of 
 her invalid guardian. The girls' face wore a look of dread 
 and anxiety ; something of painful impatience hovered 
 around her mouth, and her eyes looked tired and sad, as 
 she laid her head languidly back among the cushions. 
 
 " How long he sleeps ! " she murmured anxiously, "I 
 don't like this listlessness that has come over him lately ; he 
 dozes now all the time." Then springing quietly up, she 
 stole over to the low couch, and stooped down beside the 
 sleeping figure ; she rested her chin thoughtfully in her 
 hand and looked earnestly and lovingly into his face. The 
 eyes were only half closed, the breathing was loud and 
 labored ; now and then the lips moved convulsively, as if 
 in an effort to speak. Something so unnatural and so 
 forboding dwelt on his kind, dear features, that a racking 
 pain seized the girl's heart as she looked, her throat filled 
 up, and hot, blinding tears welled into her eyes. 
 
 What is there sadder or more painful, than the quiet, 
 tearful vigils that some dear one keeps by the sick bed of 
 the unconscious invalid. With scalding tears in her eyes, 
 and a burning misery in her heart, the sorrowful rtiother 
 stoops over the doomed form of her sleeping child ; gently 
 chafing the fevered hands ; tenderly cooling the flushed and 
 fevered brow ; softly pressing the trembling lips on the 
 clammy cheek of her darling ; driving back her agony with 
 a heroic cruelty, lest a sob or a sigh, or a falling tear disturb 
 the quiet slumber of the little one she loves. A mother an4 
 
308 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 . i— , 
 
 her child, a wife and her husband are never drawn so closely 
 together, one never seems so truly a part of the other, as 
 during a moment like this. It seems her baby has never 
 looked so fair, so faultless in its mother's eyes, as when 'tis 
 viewed through the blinding tears, that its sufferings and 
 illness have brought into those searching eyes. A husband's 
 follies and trifling neglects are never so generously forgiven 
 and forgotten, as when, on bended knee, the wife he has 
 loved peers greedily, devouringly into the shadowy face, when 
 clouded by suffering and pain : and so it is through all the 
 grades of binding love : we never know how dear our parent, 
 brother, sister, friend or lover is, until we have watched the 
 weakened forms struggling with some dread disease ; the 
 filmy eyes are then so full of mute appeal, the faint accents 
 of the poor weak voice thrill our hearts with sympathy and 
 love ; the pressure of the feeble hand is most powerful in 
 drawing us back, soul to soul, and heart to heart, as though 
 neither of us had ever done such a very human thing, as to 
 wrong one another. Honor tried to think, while she watched 
 through her tears, what it would be to live, without this 
 precious friend forever nigh, to guide and comfort her. In 
 all the days of their happiness together, they had never 
 spoken of the time when a separation must come : the 
 farthest flight her fancy ever took, into the distant future, 
 still found her existence blended with Henry Rayne's. To 
 her, he was now no older, no weaker than he was that day, 
 long ago, when first she laid her eyes upon him ; and now 
 the horrible possibility of a cruel separation, thrust itself 
 between her tears and the quiet unconscious face before her. 
 
 While she watched, sunk in a melancholy reverie, the 
 bell of the hall door gave a great ring, which startled her 
 suddenly; it also awoke the sleeper who looked vacantly 
 into the tear-stained face, and smiled sadly. Honor got 
 on her knees, and looked anxiously at the worn features. 
 " How do you feel, my dearest ? " she said with an effort to 
 be calm, "Any better?" 
 
 *'I shall soon be better than I ever was before," he 
 answered quietly, but so seriously that Honor suspected the 
 terrible meaning of his words. 
 
 " Don't you feel at all livelier or stronger ? " she asked 
 in a despairing tone. " You know you were so down-hearted 
 yesterday. Do say you feel a little relieved?" But be 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 309 
 
 fore he could answer, Fitts appeared in the doorway, with 
 the letters and packages of the morning delivery. Two were 
 for Honor, and all the rest were Henry Rayne's. She had 
 only given a careless glance at hers, but that sufficed to 
 make her heart beat a great deal faster, and her eyes to 
 sparkle suspiciously. Stooping over the figure of the invalid, 
 she kissed the heated brow gently, and went out, leaving 
 him with his important correspondence. She stole down to 
 the library and gathered herself into a great easy chair, and 
 then, drawing her letters deliberately from her pocket, she 
 broke their seals and straightened out their crease i : one 
 was a delicate little note from a girl-friend, which, at any 
 other time, would have been a pleasant distraction, but 
 which was now refolded and replaced in its dainty envelope, 
 unappreciated and uncared for. The other — oh, the other I 
 with its dear familiar outlines, looking almost lovingly into 
 her eyes — " My darling Honor," just as his voice pronounced 
 It. Her hands trembled slightly while they held the quiver- 
 ing sheet, from" which she read in silent rapture. When 
 she had finished, and looked at it, and examined it over and 
 over again, she dropped her hands carelessly in her lap and 
 said half aloud : 
 
 " What is the mystery in all this ? I must write and 
 tell him when we expect Vivian again. This is queer ! but 
 then Guy knows best — oh yes ! Guy surely knows best." 
 
 Towards five o'clock of this same afternoon Vivian 
 Standish was announced by Fitts. To every one's surprise, 
 Mr. Rayne admitted him to his presence, though he was 
 feeling more debilitated and ill than usual ; and what was 
 more astonishing still, they remained for upwards of two 
 hours closeted in close conversation. They never raised 
 their voices nor made themselves heard during the whole 
 interview, but talked steadily and quietly all the while. 
 Finally Madame d'Alberg, thinking the exertion too much 
 for her patient, bustled into the room and intimated as much 
 to Vivian in the mildest possible terms. 
 
 As she expected, Henry Rayne was much weakened by 
 the effort and refused to speak or take any nourishment for 
 the rest of the afternoon. He dozed lazily and languidly 
 until nine o'clock, and then waking somewhat refreshed, he 
 turned towards Jean d'Alberg, who sat knitting by his side, 
 and smiled pleasantly. 
 
310 Honor Edgauorth ; or^ 
 
 " I hope I see you in a better humor than before, you 
 dear old bear," she said quizzingly. '* I thought you 
 would eat me up a while ago for bringing you a bowl of rich 
 broth." 
 
 " I suppose I do bore you at times, Jean," he said peni- 
 tently. 
 
 " Well, I should say you did," she sighed in mock hero- 
 ism, "why, you are the crossest, and crankiest and sulkiest 
 patient it was ever a woman's misfortune to nurse. Come 
 now — I am going to dose you with this beef tea, just for re- 
 fusing me awhile ago." Her (juick blustering way always 
 amused and aroused him, and he yielded more easily to 
 her than to the others, but her hand was somewhat nervous 
 to-day as she administered the nourishing liquid. She, too, 
 saw the ominous shadows of a serious change in the pale, 
 wasted face. 
 
 "Why, you are as feeble almost as myself! " he tried to 
 exclaim, " see how your hand shakes." 
 
 " It is that knitting," she answered distractedly, " but 
 1 must finish those silk stockings for Honor's New Year's 
 gift, so I hurry them up while I can sit in here alone." 
 
 " For Honor, eh ! " he said so pathetically, that the 
 words moved her. " I believe you love her too, Jean ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, Henry, she is half my life to me now." 
 
 "Thank God," he said, falling back on the pillows, 
 
 " she will not be so utterly alone when I " but he turned 
 
 his face to the wall and stifled the terrible word. 
 
 Jean shuddered. Suddenly he turned back again, and 
 looking very earnestly at the motherly woman beside him, 
 he began : 
 
 " You will be good and generous to her all her life, 
 will you not, Jean ? Spare her all the pain and care and 
 trouble you can, poor little one, she cannot bear much ; 
 cherish h.r always as you do to-day and she will not be un- 
 grateful. Remember that she was all I had in life : property, 
 riches and fame were as naught to me, except inasmuch as 
 they were conducive to her welfare. And now that I must 
 give them all up " 
 
 " Whatever can yc: mean, Henry Rayne, talking such 
 nonsense ; it is a shame, you are the very one will bury us 
 all yet." 
 
 He shook his head feebly. " No Jean, I will never see 
 
Ottawa^ Present Tense. 311 
 
 the spring-time," he said sadly. " Life is dear to me ; " he 
 continued, " I would not now renounce it if I need not, but 
 there is an Almighty will to whose power the mightiest 
 mortal must yield without complaint. I have tasted life's 
 bitter and sweet for three-score years and more, and I must 
 not grumble now when I am called to leave down my 
 weapons and tools. Other hands must tackle the unfinished 
 task, my share is completed." 
 
 *' You are depressed in sj)irits to-day," said Jean 
 d'Alberg consolingly, '* the sun has gone down, and the 
 darkness alw^ays makes you feel blue, but to-morrow you will 
 have abandoned these gloomy reflections." 
 
 " I will never abandon them now, until they be realized 
 facts to me," he interrupted wearily — then in a low soliloquy 
 he rambled on, "oh. Honor, Honor! it is only you who 
 beckon me back from the road to eternity, and poor weak 
 mortal that I am, I sigh for you, in preference to the bright 
 promises of a land, where I can benefit you more than I 
 ever could here ;" then addressing Jean again, he said, " will 
 you tell Honor that I will speak a few serious words with 
 her in the morning — you can tell her too, for fear she would 
 be surprised, that Vivian will be present at the time." 
 
 " I will Henry," Jean d'Alberg answered quietly, rising 
 to prepare the invalid's drinks. As the darkness crept down 
 over the cold, dark streets, Mr. Rayne swallowed his evening 
 remedies and retired for the night. 
 
 As soon as her charge was snugly gathered into bed, 
 Jean d'Alberg, leaving P'itts in his dressing-room, went 
 quietly in search of Honor. She found her sitting on a low 
 stool, before the grate in the sitting-room, with her elbows 
 resting on her knees and her head buried in both hands ; 
 stealing behind her she drew back the bowed head, and 
 looked into the girl's eyes. 
 
 " Tears ! " she said in amazement, " why are you in 
 tears, my darling ? " 
 
 " Don't think me weak and foolish, dear aunt Jean," 
 Honor said, trying to laugh it off, " but I was thinking of 
 Mr. Rayne, as I sat here alone, and with the thoughts, the 
 tears came." 
 
 Jean looked more serious, than Honor had hoped to 
 see her as she said : 
 
 " Well, my dear, trouble comes to the best of us, some 
 
8 1 2 Honor Ed^eivorth ; or^ 
 
 time in life. If you hadn't it now, you would have it later, 
 and it makvs a less i)ainful and durable impression on the 
 heart while it is young." 
 
 " But, dear aunt Jean," faltered the girl, looking im- 
 ploringly into the elder woman's face, " do you really think 
 that Mr. Rayne is seriously ill ; 1 mean — — " and as the 
 tears flooded her eyes, Jean d'Alberg kissed her fondly and 
 answered : 
 
 "My dear little girl, he is in Ciod's hands; could he be in 
 better ? Whatever is best for him, that kind Father will give 
 to him, let us hope and pray — I have just come to you with 
 a message from him " 
 
 *' Oh ! what is it ? " Honor interrupted eagerly. 
 
 " He merely said, that he wanted to speak a few words 
 to you in the morning," she said unpretendingly, then going 
 towards the door, she looked over her shoulder, and added, 
 in such an artful, careless tone, " and Vivian Standish will 
 be there too, I understand." 
 
 The light in the room was dim and subdued, or Jean 
 d'Alberg would have noticed a strange expression flit across 
 Honor's face at the mention of this news, but the turned 
 down light protected her. 
 
 Jean d'Alberg had undergone a wonderful transforma- 
 tion since the day on which she took up her residence in 
 Henry Rayne's house. A little susceptibility was yet flicker- 
 ing, at that time, in the heart that had grown so hardened 
 and selfish, and she had brought it to a spot, where such 
 lingering propensities were easily fannta by every passing cir- 
 cumstance, fanned and fed, until the broad flame was forced 
 to burst out afresh, and consume the harshness and bitterness 
 that had once dwelt with them. Her former virtues budded 
 now anew into a second childhood, adorning her advancing 
 years with gentle, loveable, womanly attributes, that endeared 
 her to every one she knew, and rendered her indispensable 
 to Honor who had learned to find in her all the qualities of 
 a kind, good mother. 
 
 Thinking this message that she had just brought Honor 
 needed consideration, Aunt Jean very properly made a 
 trifling excuse to leave the room, much to the distracted 
 girl's relief and satisfaction. 
 
 " So — the hour has come," she thought bitterly, when 
 she was left alone, " he has appealed to the only one for 
 
Ottawa! s Present Tense. 313 
 
 whose sake he knows I would lay clown my very life !" and 
 out of this hitter reflection, the memory of the strange inter- 
 view she had held with her guardian so shortly before rushed 
 upon her in an entirely new light. A'ow she knew what 
 Mr. Rayne meant by the "favor," which involved the sacrifice 
 of [)ersonal feeling and inclination. Ves, ;/^7(.'she recognized 
 herself the dupe of the man she had so proudly rejected — 
 still, in all the bitterness of her reflection she had not felt one 
 reproach against Henry Rayne suggest itself within her. She 
 knew him too well now, to suspect anything else than that 
 in some way he too was tangled in deceptive webs. 
 If a promise from her lips was spoken at his request, she 
 knew that the motive within his heart was nothing, if not her 
 personal happiness, her future welfare, or her gratification 
 for the moment. Still, all that could not cancel the obstinate 
 fact now so bare before her, that in giving her word to her 
 guardian at the time it was sought, she had given the lie 
 to her own heart, and had signed the death warrant of her 
 own most sanguine hopes. Now she must leave her destiny 
 to chance. She would keep her promise — aye, to the very 
 letter — if nothing happened before this terrible to-morrow, 
 she would lay her life at the feet of her benefactor, to disi)ose 
 of it as he deemed best. Guy Elersley vvas the man she 
 loved, the only being in the whole wide world that influenced 
 her life ; but if it were her fate to be the victim of deception, 
 then with the mightiest strength of a woman's will she would 
 cast his image out of her heart forever. She would live for 
 the man she loathed, a life of voluntary martyrdom. The 
 struggle would benefit her in any case. If it were too violent 
 an exertion for her moral nature, it would, in its pitiless 
 mercy relieve her of her burden of life, and fold her weak 
 hands over her broken heart forever. If, on the contrary, 
 her moral and physical strength held bravely out to 
 the painful end, the struggle would cease after the crisis, 
 and leave her unburdened, unfettered, hardened, cynical, 
 cold, selfish, but unsusceptible, and incapable of ever being 
 influenced again by any sentiment or i)assion, and this terrible 
 experience promised, in any case to visit her but once in 
 her whole lifetime. 
 
 While she thought, she remembered the little note Gu^ 
 had written her that morning, telling her to let him kr>ow 
 when her next meeting with Vivian Standish should take 
 
314 Itonor Rdgeivorth ; or 
 
 place. Instinctively she rose up, as if to leave the room. 
 What coulci it matter now to either her or Guy whether they 
 had ever loved each other or not ? Was it not the only 
 misery of her life that her love had come between her and 
 the will of her kind guardian ? Duty is such a sober piece of 
 heroism when one's affections, one's very heart-core arc not 
 its sacrifice. The conscientious can go bravelv forth to the 
 stern call of duty, the obedient follow out unhesitatingly its 
 command, the virtuous seek it out to accomplish it, but 
 when apart from these moral qualities the heart stands out, 
 a weak victim of passion, that passion that clings to the 
 things it loves, that lives because they live ; when a heart 
 thus circumstanced is assailed on both sides, when love and 
 duty put forth their respective claims, who sneers because 
 the noblest, grandest heart gives itself up with a groan of 
 wretched resignation to the fascination of its love ? Men 
 may talk, pens may write, bards may sing of magnanimous 
 deeds in the abstract. In theory we are most of us saints ; if 
 we had been our neighbors, we would never have had a 
 fault, but being each one our own miserable, unfortunate 
 self, we must fling ourselves into the open arms of temptation, 
 at the same moment that contrition fills our heart for the 
 rash deed. 
 
 Of Honor Edgewoith the reader might expect wonder-' 
 ful moral courage. May be, he too has faith in the fallacious 
 doctrine of worldlings — that he believes good souls have not 
 their struggles. The world generally shrugs its shoulders in 
 the face of the virtuous, and declares that in the hearts of 
 the good there is no moral struggle equal to that which 
 quakes the breast of the evil-doer, but to assure itself of its 
 terrible error, it must play the part of the publican and learn 
 to subdue its passions under a mask. 
 
 Honor had determined upon doing the right thing, but 
 she was not perfect enough to stifle the burning sensations 
 that were caused by such a determination. She turned 
 from where she stood and walked mechanically towards the 
 window. The ceaseless drip, drip of the rain on the frozen 
 ground had nothing in it to comfort her ; it was pitch dark, 
 and with a shrug and a shiver, she turned wearily away with 
 a long, sobbing sigh and left the room. She crossed the 
 hall into the library, which was quite deserted, though the 
 gas burned, and a bright fire cast shadows on the ceiling and 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 3l5 
 
 walls around Throwing herself into an arm-chair before 
 Henry Rayne's handsome icritoire, she drew from a tiny 
 drawer a delicate sheet of note paper, upon which her 
 trembling hand, traced' nervously— 
 
 "My Dear Guy—" 
 
 Then without waiting or thinking a moment, she hastily 
 wrote on — 
 
 " I have just rereived the intelligence that I am to he interviewed 
 lo-niorrow morning by Mr. Rayne and ^^ivian Standish. It may be 
 rather' late to tell you now. but I did not hear of it until a few moments 
 ago. Mr. Rayne never leaves his room before eleven, when he some- 
 times comes down for lunch — that will probably be the hour of the in- 
 terview. I see no earthly use in sending you this information, except 
 that you have asked me to do so, and you know best. 
 
 Ever your devoted 
 
 HONOR." 
 
 She folded it, and sealed it in a dainty little envelope, 
 then thrusting it into her pocket she went quietly into the 
 kitchen and closed the door. 
 
 Mrs. Potts, sitting artistically on the edge of a yellow- 
 scoured kitchen table, opened her small eyes in blank 
 astonishment at the unexpected visitor. She was surrounded 
 by clippings and sheets of paper, which she rcolloped (juite 
 tastily to fit the broad shelves of her tidy dresser. As soon, 
 however, as Honor crossed the threshold of her sanctum, 
 she skipped down with an agility that would have done 
 credit to a woman twenty years her junior, and wiping the 
 palms of her accommodating hands emphatically in her blue- 
 check apron, she advanced to receive Honor's orders. 
 
 " Go ui)stairs like a good soul. Potts," said Honor, in a 
 hushed voice, " and walk very quietly, and tell Fitts I want 
 him in the library." 
 
 " I will. Miss," the old woman said respectfully, and as 
 she stole up the back stairway on her errand. Honor re- 
 turned as softly to the library, where she stood by the 
 window awaiting Fitts. 
 
 In another moment, the door opened, and with his 
 most respectful bow, the man-servant entered the room. 
 Honor's face was serious, and her gaze searching as she 
 asked : 
 
 " Fitts, will you do a little favor for mo, without telling 
 any one of it ? " 
 
316 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 " I'm sorry, ye'd think it needful to ask me, Miss 
 Honor, I'd rather, ye'd know right well, that I'm only too 
 proud when you ordher me, let alone, axin' me, as if I was 
 your equals," and the poor fellow, looking half sorry as he 
 spoke, touched the girl's heart. 
 
 " Well, Fitts, I must first tell you a great secret, which 
 I am sure you will be glad to hear," Honor said a little 
 gaily. Fitts scratched his ear and looked embarassed, " Mr. 
 Elersley is back again in Ottawa ! " 
 
 '' Och donl I hope, 'tis yerself is in airnist. Miss 
 Honor ; " the old man answered between smiles and tears, 
 " is this really the truth ? " 
 
 " Without a doubt, Fitts, and to prove it for yourself, I 
 am going to send you to him with this little note, he is 
 staying at the 'Albion,' it is not far, see him yourself, it will 
 please you both ; I do not like to ask you to go out on such 
 a dreadful night, but the message is important." 
 
 " It will be the powerful queer night, Miss Honor, 
 when I'll not like to go out on your little errands, and more 
 particular when it's to see Mr. Guy that I have loved since 
 he was a lad." 
 
 " You are a good, devoted servant, Fitts," she answered, 
 "go now, and don't be long, for you may be wanted." 
 
 The man looked proudly at himself as he thrust her 
 dainty note carefully into his inside pocket, and without 
 further ado left the room. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 " But bitter hours come to all, 
 When even truths like these will pall, 
 Sick hearts for humbler comfort call, 
 The cry wrung from thy spirits' pain, 
 May echo on some far off plain, 
 And guide a wanderer home again. 
 
 — Proctor. 
 
 ^ EXT morning, it was a bright and cheerful sun 
 that streamed in at Honor's window, the rain had 
 all passed away, and the air was mild and refresh- 
 ing. Hastily dressing herself, Honor hurried to 
 Mr. Rayne's door to ascertain how he had passed the night, 
 but as she reached it, she met Aunt Jean coming out, with 
 her forefinger on her lip, and whispering " Sh — sh — " in 
 such premature warning, that Honor looked bewildered as 
 she enquired the cause. 
 
 " He is sleeping nicely now, run off, we must not 
 disturb him, it is such a natural little sleep," Madame 
 d'Alberg said in a low voice. 
 
 " Oh, is that it?" Honor exclaimed in great relief, as 
 she turned willingly away and followed Aunt Jean down the 
 broad stairway. 
 
 They took their silent little breakfast together, and then 
 as Jean rose, to busy herself about the morning occupations. 
 Honor bundled up a mass of pale blue wool, which she was 
 resolving into a cloud, and went off to the library. 
 
 How long she sat there she could hardly say — every 
 now and then she discovered herself, with her hands resting 
 idly on her work, and her eyes gazing v xantly into the space 
 before her ; faces, figures, scenes, were passing backward and 
 forward, as she watched ; sensations of every kind racked 
 her whole being — but it is not surprising at all, when one 
 considers her in her true light. 
 
 People, like her, who have a tendency to intensity in 
 all things have it most of all, in their loves, and hatreds, 
 and no one can understand the nature of her emotions, but 
 those who are themselves intense lovers or intense haters. 
 He who has all his life, loved in a calm, cool, collected sort 
 of way, has never known the acme of moral endurance, 
 
318 Hotwr Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 Maybe, the love that I allude to, is not felt more than once 
 in a score of years, by any individual of a community ; 
 now-a-days love has been transformed as much as it was in 
 oth( '• days, a transformer ; men have invaded that dark 
 solemn forest of the soul, where certain passions roamed in 
 hungry fury, wild, and unfettered ; these have been secured, 
 in our day, and have been tamed and domesticated ; our 
 children play with, and fondle, these monsters, that were so 
 dreaded in earlier centuries by gray-haired mortals ; let them 
 beware, there is a hypocrisy in this, since hypocrisy is co- 
 existent with life in any of its phases, and some day, the 
 petted tiger or lion will not feel like play, his old nature will 
 seek to assert itself, and then woe to the victim of this 
 terrible caprice ! 
 
 A sudden stamping in the hall outside, brought Honor 
 quickly back to stern reality : the footsteps vanished up the 
 stairway, and she winced uncomfortably as she told herself it was 
 Vivian Standish. Resolving to remain where she was until 
 sent for, she re-applied herself vigorously to her work and 
 avoided further distraction, but what was her amazement 
 when, a few moments later, the door behind her opened, 
 and Henry Rayne, leaning on the arm of Vivian Standish, 
 entered the room. A cry of genuine surprise burst from 
 her lips, as, scattering her mass of wool-work on the floor, 
 she rushed to her guardian's side with joyful greetings. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad!" she cried, " to see you down- 
 stairs this morning ; how much better you must feel ?" 
 
 The feeble old man tried to smile cheerfully back as he 
 said : 
 
 " I have made this effort for your sake, my dear, 
 whether I go back up those stairs again with a light or a 
 heavy heart, depends on you." 
 
 A shadow flitted over her face, then looking in supreme 
 disgust on the man beside them, she answered : 
 
 " On jue? Then you know very well that your heart 
 will be as light as a feather, going back." 
 
 " Get me a chair, Vivian, boy," said the feeble voice of 
 the invalid, turning toward Standish. He moved a step to 
 do so, and had his hand on a low cushioned fauteiiil, when 
 Honor rushed before him and laid her hand on the other 
 arm of the chair. 
 
 " How can you ask a stranger to serve you, when I ani 
 
Ottawa^ s Present Tense. 319 
 
 by," she asked, half choked with sobs, of Henry Rayne, 
 " What have I done to merit this ? " 
 
 As she clutched the opposite side of the chair, her eyes 
 and Vivian's met, there was a flash of contempt and a look 
 of defiant love, and then, with all her woman's strength, she 
 wrestled the chair from his strong hold, and placed it behind 
 her guardian. She refused to sit htrself ; the folding-doors 
 leading to the drawing-room were partially closed and 
 she stood against them, toying nervously with the massive 
 handle near her. When quiet was restored, Henry Rayne 
 began to speak ; he seemed to pass, unnoticed, the confusion 
 of a moment before, and said in the gentlest accents, address- 
 ing the girl : 
 
 " Honor, we have come here this morning for the pur- 
 ])ose of deciding a question which, of late, has received very 
 serious consideration from your friend here, and myself I 
 am now growing old and feeble, and have all the indications 
 of an early decay in my constitution. Since the first moment 
 that you were given me as a responsibility and a grave charge, 
 my mind has been in a constant worry, lest, in the smallest 
 degree, I would not render you your due as your own father 
 would have done. In all matters, I have tried, as well as I 
 knew how, to place myself in that very relationship to you, 
 and if I have not succeeded I could never know from you, 
 for you have* always been a kind, grateful, considerate 
 daughter. What I am about to discuss now, is the very 
 last thing, relative to you, that will abide by my decision. 
 I have, since my recent illness, considered everything that 
 could assist me in securing your welfare, before I go, and as 
 well as my eager, though maybe, not overwise judgment can 
 direct me, I think I have adopted the best plan of all ; it 
 needs only your sanction to complete it and set my mind 
 at rest. I will not remind you of your promise to me, 
 because, on second thought, I have learned that to ask you 
 to sacrifice your own heart for my sake, would be enough to 
 tpunt me in the other world, so I will merely appeal, show- 
 ing you that with what discretion some sixty odd years of 
 tough experience have given me, I presume I can direct you 
 now." 
 
 The girl, standing motionless by the doorway, looked 
 her guardian fully in the face ; she struggled for a moment, 
 a secret, bidden struggle, and then answered calmly : 
 
320 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 " My dear Mr. Rayne, do you not know, that such an 
 appeal as this, is unnecessary ? If you have something to 
 command of me, state it plainly, clearly, I will understand 
 it better. You have, it is true, guided me with fault- 
 less judgment and discretion ; you have been kind, and 
 solicitous and careful from the first moment we lived 
 together. What is it you now ask in return ? What do I 
 owe you for such devotion ?" 
 
 There was a faint ring of reproach in the words, as she 
 uttered them — something which sounded as if she had said : 
 " yes, 'tis true you have done all this for me, but was your 
 motive no worthier than to trust to these influences, for 
 a power over me in the future? " 
 
 A trifle sadder in his accent, Henry Rayne answered, 
 " Do not put it like that Honor : you pain me. It is not 
 a debt — no, no ! you have generously paid me, and overpaid 
 the attention I lavished on you ; but now, what I want to 
 complete my earthly happiness is this." He beckoned to 
 Vivian, and taking a hand of each, was about to join them, 
 when Honor drew hers suddenly away, and turned pale with 
 agitation. 
 
 " I understand," she said huskily, " you wish me to 
 marry ///«/," pointing in Vivian's face. " VVell, as there is 
 nothing which I could refuse you, I must not refuse you 
 this. It is well you have not asked me to love him, or to 
 respect him, for that is beyond me ; but if he wishes to 
 secfire me, after what he has learned from my own lips, he 
 deserves that I should wed him, and the consequences of 
 such a harmonious (?) union." 
 
 Vivian never moved a muscle ', he sat silently, quietly 
 listening to it all. Henry Rayne interrupted gently : 
 
 " You are excited, Honor, and hence it is you speak 
 thus ; you will think better of it later. Do yoti promise me, 
 then, to accept Vivian Standish as your husband, showing 
 your faith in my discretion, and proving yourself dutiful to 
 the end?" 
 
 There was a pause of a second ; the word was on the 
 girl's lips ; one other moment and her destiny was sealed : 
 but suddenly a cry of " Villain ! " broke through the door- 
 way, and simultaneously, Guy Elersley appeared on the 
 scene. 
 
 " Villain ! " he cried, collaring Vivian Standish, " how 
 
Ottawa's Present Te.ise. 321 
 
 can you stand there and hear this girl give up her name and 
 her honor, into such vile keeping. You are a coward and a 
 blackguard, and I will prove it." 
 
 Vivian Standish grasping the back of a chair, stared in 
 furious amazement : Honor, with delighted surprise on her 
 face, now stood defiantly up and looked proudly on, and 
 Henry Rayne rubbed his misty eyes wonderingly, and i)eered 
 into the face of the new-comer. An exclamation of great 
 joy burst from Honor's lips, 
 
 •' Guy ! " she cried, " you are just in time." 
 
 *' CJuy I " repeated the old man, " did someone say 
 (iuy? Quick, tell me where is Ouy ? (luyl Guy! I" and 
 with the words the feeble head drooped upon his throbbing 
 bosom, the eyelids closed wearily, he raised his wasted hands 
 to his aching temples, and with a long, heavy sigh, fell 
 backwards. 
 % Everything else was forgotten, for the ten minutes it 
 
 took to revive Mr. Rayne. Honor, trembling with fright, 
 supported his head on her bosom, and spoke appealingly to 
 him. After a little his eyelids quivered and opened, he 
 breathed again and sat up. 
 
 "Are you better ? " Honor asked, bending over him in 
 great eagerness. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he answered kindly, " I am all right 
 • rlow ; but where is Guy ?" 
 
 " Here I am," Guy said, advancing a step, " I hope 
 you will pardon the manner in which I have entered your 
 house, after years of absence ; but I have come, and^only 
 just in time to vindicate the wrongs of poor, duped victims, 
 and to rescue innocence from the foul grasp of corruption !" 
 
 " What do you mean, Guy ?'' his uncle asked in curious 
 consternation. 
 
 " I mean to tell my pain and my regret at knowing 
 that while you have forbidden the shelter and comforts of 
 your home to those of your own blood, who have committed 
 deeds of harmless rashness, you have been welcoming and 
 fostering with lavish generosity under your roof a vile man — 
 a wolf in sheep's clothing !" 
 
 " May I, as seeming somewhat concerned, ask who this 
 is ?" Vivian interrupted in the blandest tones, laying his arm 
 on Guy's shoulder. 
 
 21 
 
322 Honor Edgcworth ; or, 
 
 " 'Tis yourself !" Guy cried, shaking him violently off, 
 " you coward ! villain ! rogue !" 
 
 " Guy, you mystify me," Henry Rayne said in strange 
 wonder, " pray explain. Whatever can you mean by such 
 (jueer conduct ?" 
 
 " 'Tis a painful task, uncle, but I must do it. This 
 man, in whom you have placed your trust, has foully wronged 
 you. He thrust himself uj)on you with his deceiving man- 
 ners, and you were content to take him thus. You never 
 questioned him about the past, nor did he care to inform you 
 of his swindling career." 
 
 Honor trembled and turned pale. Vivian's eyes flashed 
 fire, and he ground his teeth, while Henry Rayne only gazed 
 in a stupid sort of wonder, while Guy enumerated these 
 dreadful things. 
 
 " He was not content," Guy continued, " to shake off 
 that past, reeking with loathsome and dishonorable crimes, 
 but he brought his knavery within these respectable walls — 
 he dared to pay his attentions to your ward, and speak words 
 of forbidden love into her ears, while the crime of having 
 enticed as young and respectable a girl from her comfortable 
 home, to swindle her out of thousands of dollars, which she 
 owned, yet lay unexpiated on the black chapter of his heart." 
 
 Guy scarcely pronounced the words when Vivian 
 Standish sprang in mad fury towards him, crying — 
 
 " Liar ! slanderer ! — your words are false !" 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," Guy said, in mock courtesy, *' for 
 contradicting you, but " (going towards the door) " if you 
 will allow me, I will prove my false statements." 
 
 All eyes followed him, and to their blank amazement, 
 there stepped into the library from the room outside, a beau- 
 tiful and sad looking young girl, plainly but neatly clad, and 
 who was followed by two professional looking men, who 
 stood on either side of her. 
 
 Vivian Standish gave one quick, searching glance at the 
 features of the young girl, and Honor saw in a moment how 
 every tinge of color died out of his face, a grey, unearthly 
 shadow crept over it, and his features assumed a set ex- 
 pression of misery which almost excited her to pity. 
 
 " Do you recognize t\{\s gentleman, mademoiselle ?" Guy 
 said, addressing the girl, and pointing in mock civility to 
 Vivian. 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 323 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir — I do indeed," she answered in a sweet, 
 melancholy voice, *' it is Bijou— see ! he recognizes me !" 
 - ^ All eyes were turned on Vivian Standish. He trembled 
 violently. He looked up once, while they all stared him 
 so suspiciously, and that look was directed towards Honor ; 
 He sa»v her clear grey eyes buried in his tell-tale face. He 
 leaned against the tall back of a chair unsteadily, hesitated 
 a moment, and then addressing Henry Kayne, said, in a 
 husky and trembling voice, 
 
 " It would not avail me much to try my defence under 
 these crushing circumstances, Mr. Rayne, bui at least I can 
 have my say as well as the others. I admit that in years 
 gone by, I was guilty of many things of which you did not 
 suspect me, but a man is not supposed to disgrace himself 
 for his whole life because he has at one time committed 
 extravagant follies. I thought I had buried mj' past forever, 
 or I should never have taken advantage of your hospitality 
 as I have. Ciuilty as I was, I could not help being influenced 
 by the fascination that bound me to your home — the resist- 
 less attractions of that girl," pointing to Honor. " I leave 
 it now, disgraced, condemned, but at least, you, who are all 
 so blameless, can consent not to crush me entirely. In 
 administering justice, be a little kind, my misery is bitter 
 enough — God knows !"- 
 
 Then Fifine de Maistre stepped forward and laid her 
 hand on the shoulder of the wretched man. 
 
 " Vivian Standish," she said, you have wronged me, 
 inasmuch as a man can wrong a woman ; you have driven 
 my good father to any early grave, and blighted every hope 
 I had for the future, and though my heart lies shrivelled and 
 dead where you have left it, / forgive you !" 
 
 At these words, the look of hard contempt in every 
 eye, melted into one of glowing admiration ; tears stood in 
 Honor's eyes, though she had worn such a merciless expres- 
 sion before, and Vivian Standish as he raised his face from 
 his trembling hands, looked calmer and more resigned, he 
 turned his eyes on the slight figure standing beside him, 
 and said in a nervous voice of emotion : 
 
 " May God bless you, Fifine, you can never regret 
 these words." 
 
 Henry Rayne's feeble voice was the next to be heard. 
 
 "This strange, painful news," he said, "is a greater 
 
324 Honor Edgeworth ; or. 
 
 shock to me than anything else in the world that I could 
 hear of. I have received you Standish, and treated you as an 
 intimate friend of my family, and had you in return, confined 
 your deceptions to myself, I might yet have forgiven you ; 
 but knowingly, to extend your treachery to that innocent 
 and unsuspecting girl, aware, as you were that she was all in 
 all to me, is a base ingratitude that living or dying, / will 
 never forgive. What would she have become ? blighted in 
 hopes, ruined in prospects for life, and by my urgent 
 request too, that, she would have been very soon, but for — 
 you," he said, turning towards Guy, " you, my boy, have 
 saved my heart from breaking, though I did not deserve it 
 from you. I suppose it is too late to seek your forgiveness 
 now after I have judged you so hastily, and punished you 
 so severely, but God knows, I have repented of it many a 
 time since." 
 
 His voice broke down, into a weak sob, and he bowed 
 his head. 
 
 " You think too harshly of me, uncle dear," Guy said, 
 advancing, " for I have long ago forgotten the past ; the day 
 I left your house I took my first step to good fortune, and 
 I have never regretted your severity since, though it pained 
 me much at the time. It has all blown happily over now, 
 however, and I have tried in a measure to atone for the 
 folly of my past, let us learn a lesson for the future from the 
 misunderstanding, but in every other respect let us forget 
 that it has ever occurred." 
 
 " Bless you, my noble boy," were the words his uncle 
 answered, " you are a treasure, and I am proud to own you." 
 
 Meantime, the other two gentlemen, stood watching 
 the strange proceeding, until Guy, remembering them, said — 
 addressing all present — 
 
 " These gentlemen will explain their own presence." 
 
 Whereupon, one of them, the most respectable of the 
 two, stated in brief, business like terms, that " he had been 
 the family lawyer of the Bencroft's for many years, and that 
 previous to his recent demise, Nicholas Bencroft had laid 
 information with him, against one Vivian Standish, for 
 swindling him out of a considerable sum of money, and that 
 he had come there to see the man identified by the one 
 who knew him best — it being unnecessary now, to tell him, 
 he concluded, that the punishment of his crime j^waited 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 325 
 
 him ;'' he then drew back to make clear the way for his 
 companion, who, as he advanced said : 
 f " And I sir, am the person engaged by the father of 
 this young lady, previous to his death, to hunt up the 
 mystery of his daughters' disappearance ; the whole catalogue 
 of her wrongs and misfortunes being attributed to you, you 
 are my prisoner, until your trial has taken place." 
 
 " May God help me ! " came in heart-rending tones 
 from the bowed face of the accused man. " It has all come 
 down upon me together," he moaned, raising his trembling 
 hands to his throbbing temples, then with one pitiful, appeal- 
 ing, contrite look he scanned the faces of all those present, 
 and gave himself voluntarily up, a guilty man, a culprit. He 
 was escorted out of the house where he had shone as a star 
 in the days of his freedom, out of the spot which held all 
 that his poor miserable heart could care for now. Vivian 
 Standish, the bright comet of Ottawa's gay season, seated 
 in a corner of that covered sleigh, on that bright morning, was 
 a hopeless, ruined man, outcast, dejected, wretched. 
 
 Fifine de Maistre, in her sad voice, spoke a touching 
 farewell to Honor and Guy and Henry Rayne. The holy 
 resignation of her words, and the christian spirit in which 
 she forgave her wrongs, had strangely edified her hearers. 
 Mr. Rayne and Honor pressed her very hard to remain and 
 share their hospitality longer, but this she gently declined 
 to do, and with affectionate, grateful thanks to all, and to 
 Guy in particular, she left the house in company with the 
 serious looking elderly lady, who awaited her, the last but 
 one of the interesting personages who had appeared in the 
 closing scene of the strange drama of 'a culprit's life.' 
 
 When quiet was restored, and the din of accusing voices 
 had ceased, Henry Rayne looked proudly up at the manly 
 young fellow who stood before him, and said : 
 
 "Guy, I can never thank God sufficiently for having 
 sent you so fortunately, in time to interrupt the course of the 
 terrible destiny that I was forcing on to my poor little girl. 
 A little longer would have made all the difference of a life- 
 time — a young life shattered and crushed in its bloom, and 
 some day she would be justified in cursing my memory and 
 my name, after I had tried, in blind love, to secure her 
 unalloyed happiness. I cannot live to return you, in deeds 
 of active merit, compensation for the good you have done 
 
326 Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 me — that I know and regret, but in some way I must find a 
 means of acknowledging all I owe you, my dear boy." Here 
 he hesitated a little, and looking from one to the other of 
 the young people standing before him, resumed : 
 
 " I suppose I am more unworthy than ever, to express 
 a wish or a ho[)e now, but let me tell you, before 1 die, oi 
 the wild wish that animated my heart to the very end, the 
 gratification of which, would be the summit of my earthly 
 expectations." ':;,:: 
 
 " What is it ? " and " speak it ! " broke, simultaneously, 
 from the young people's lips. 
 
 "'Tis this," he said, stretching out his feeble hands, 
 and taking one of each in their nervous clasp, " 'tis to join 
 together both those little hands, by these, my old, trembling 
 ' ones, that would so unconsciously have wronged them to 
 knit them together in one holy link, that I might fasten, 
 with the last remnant of my life's strength —that is the old 
 ■ man's ambition now, the ambition of long ago, re-awakened 
 and revived ; the plan conceived before the clouds of dissen- 
 sion gathered over our happy home ; the plan re-conceived 
 when the dark clouds have melted away into obscurity, 
 ' and threaten us no more." 
 
 The hands thus joined, this time lay wilUngly clasped 
 ^ together. Honor did not seek to snatch hers from the tight, 
 ' warm grasp that held it a i)risoner, while Guy gathered in the 
 little trembling fingers into his strong palm, as the miser does 
 the yellow gold he has long coveted. The lovers looked 
 meaningly at one another, and then Guy, whose eyes were 
 brimful of unspoken emotion, answered his uncle, saying : 
 
 " You had said you could not live to comi)ensate me 
 for what I have just done. Now, let me tell yju, that 'twere 
 worth a whole life-time of wrongs and mihioriunes to me, if 
 compensation meant this ;" and with these words he brought 
 his other hand over the willing little captive he already held 
 in one. " It has been the dream of my life too. uncle," he 
 continued, "it has been the only hope that encouraged me 
 through weary scenes of strife and disappointment, and if I 
 can receive it from your own hand, and with your blessing, 
 -my cup of bliss will indeed be filled to overflowing." 
 
 " And you, little one?" Henry Rayne faltered, looking 
 up at Honor through his tearful eyes. 
 
 " I ?" the girl answered with blushing, averted face, "It 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 327 
 
 is the most I had ever hoped for. Therein my happiness 
 also dwells." 
 
 The old man bowed his head for an instant, and then 
 raised his eyes and scanned the face of his/z't'/^iT^f curiously. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," he asked in profound aston- 
 ishment, " that you have loved ( iuy Elersley through all 
 these years ?" 
 
 " That I have," she answered firmly. 
 
 " But " began he. 
 
 " I know what you would say," she interrupted ijuietly. 
 " That a moment ago I was ready to sacrifice my love, to 
 belie my heart, to crush my fondest hope — and that is true, 
 indeed. I was a friendless, helpless, orjihan child when you 
 took me under your care, and watched me, and guided 
 me, and gave me every comfort your hapi)y home afforded ; 
 in everything you have proved yourself the most devoted 
 friend in the world : and knowing this, feeling, realizing 
 this, as 1 did, could I on the mere account of natural 
 prejudice, deny you the favor you asked of me so humbly. 
 What was my love, my ambition, my hope, to my duty to- 
 wards you, the representative of my dead father ? Nothing 
 at all. I did it miserably, badly, I know. I clung to my 
 heart's inclination with the very last breath of freedom I drew, 
 andthen when I had trampled it, though so cowardly, I felt that 
 1 had done my very best to repay you your devotedness 
 and kindness. If destiny has pleased to show us that she 
 was only trying us, we at least ha\e given proof to one 
 another of our confidence and love ; but 1 earnestly hojje 
 that never again will destiny play the same game with our 
 hearts." 
 
 A low sob broke from the old man's lijxs. As she 
 linished, he drew her gently towards him, and in a voice 
 that shook with pain and emotion, he began 
 
 " Oh, Honor ! my dear little one, how could you have 
 tortured your poor noble little heart like this ? What terrible 
 things I must have made you do unthinkingly ? and I 
 dreaming all the while it was my boundless love alone that 
 influenced me ; but believe me, child, these feeble, wrinkled 
 hands would burn heroically over the slowest fire before 
 they could be raised in voluntary tyranny over you. I 
 would rather far that those dim eyes became stone blind to 
 the li^ht of hea\en than that they should cast one glance ol 
 
328 Honor Edgeivorth ; or, 
 
 undue reproach upon you. Aye, and my very heart would 
 break within me rather than it should foster one sentiment 
 that was not love for you ; and yet, feeling thus, 1 was 
 driving you to ruin and wreck ; instinct taught you the ter- 
 rible truth, and you would blight your life rather than not suit 
 the whims of a thoughtless old man. How can I ever look 
 you in the face again ? Oh ! my dearest child, this indeed 
 is too much— too much— too much !'' and sobbing violently, 
 the bowed head, with its snow-white locks, fell on the 
 shoulder of the tearful girl kneeling beside the old man's 
 chair. In her gentlest, most childish and winning way, 
 Honor, brightening up her countenance, said to her discon- 
 solate guardian, 
 
 " Well, if you are really sorry, as you pretend, it is not a 
 very good proof that you love me as much as you say." 
 
 At this ;;he bowed head was raised, and a glance of 
 hopeful enquiry cast on the girl's face. 
 
 " Well, it is this way," Honor continued, answering it : 
 " you see, if \'ivian Standish had never been encouraged by 
 you, he would never have come here at all, and Guy would 
 never have been alarmed about us, and would not have 
 come back at all, and then, of course, we would never have 
 all been reunited : I would be a gloomy, grumbling old 
 maid, that could never be happy, and life would have been 
 painfully glum for the future ; whereas," —and here the old, 
 care-worn face smiled, as it watched the good, kind features 
 of the girl -" you brought everything to a beautiful crisis, 
 by pretending to force another man on me, for I really don't 
 believe now, you meant me to marry him at all," she said, 
 laughing outright, and kissing away the remnants of the old 
 mtin's grief from his sorrowful fr^.ce. 
 
 " You are an angel of consolation, besides everything 
 else," was all that Mr. Rayne could answer to her pretty 
 speech, but he clasped again the hands of the two young 
 people he loved, and in an earnest, pious tone, he said : 
 
 *' 1 give you one to another : may you live to gladden 
 and comfort one another's hearts, through a long, prosperous 
 and holy life ; and remember, that each time you dwell 
 upon the memory of the old man, who was foolish, only in 
 his wild love for you both, that he has begged of (iod on 
 this day, to sanction this humble blessing by one from on 
 high, and that the desire for your future welfares, was the 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 329 
 
 very last desire he had satisfied in this life : and now, my 
 children, I will leave you ; I an tired and worn out, and 
 would like to rest. Will you each lend me an arm, as 
 though no estrangement had ever come between us ? ('ome ! 
 forgive the old man. Come, Honor I come, Guy ! 'tis the 
 last time I will ask you to assist me uj) these stairs." 
 
 " Do not say such I'.giy, ominous word.s, dear Mr. 
 Rayne," Honor pleaded, sUdir^g her arm in a fond way into 
 his, and with (iuy on the other side of him, the old man, 
 smiling happily, was assisted bac k to his pillows, whence, it 
 may as well be said, he never rose again. 
 
 The excitement of Vivian Standishs capture and arrest, 
 with the unexpected circumstances of Guy's return, and 
 Honor's great sacrifice, had only served to hasten the slow 
 progress of a fatal illness. For days after, he weakened 
 gradually, but hopelessly, yet filled with such a holy resigna- 
 tion and peaceful endurance, as could not help softening 
 the terrible grief that would have been resistless, had he 
 suffered without fortitude or hope. 
 
330 Honor Edgeivortli ; or^ 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Man's uncertain life, 
 So like a rain-drop, hanging on the bough, 
 Amongst ten thousand of its sparkling kindred, 
 The remnants of some passing thunder shower, 
 Which have their moments dropping one by one, 
 And which shall soonest lose its perilous hold, 
 We cannot guess. 
 
 — /. BailUe. 
 
 O^HE tired, spent moments of the old year's midnight, 
 /Co ^^^^ crawling into eternity ; the fierce December 
 f.v^^ wind was sighing out its wearied farewell over the 
 o^ frozen streets ; the thick white frosts were gathering 
 on the window panes, in crystal shrubs and icy forests ; 
 December was howling, in a spectral voice, the ominous cry 
 of the " Banshee," in anticipation of the old year's death. 
 It was well nigh the hour of another day's dawn, but in the 
 house of Henry Rayne everyone was astir. In the old, 
 familiar home, where we have intruded so often upon happy 
 inmates in their joy, we now steal an entrance, to witness 
 the gloom, the stillness, the oppressive silence of an awful 
 grief. There is a wasted hand lying over the neat counter- 
 pane : it is clammy and feeble ; there is a feverish brow, 
 tossing on a downy pillow ; parched lips, dim eyes, shadowy 
 features, are now what we recogni/.e, instead of the good- 
 natured, smiling face of Henry Rayne ; there is labored 
 breathing, causing the weak breast to heave and fall in heavy 
 subs ; there is the sound of stifled weeping and half muttered 
 prayers from those who kneel around his bed. Honor is 
 kneeling at the head, with blanched face, clutching her clasped 
 hands nervously, while her pale lips repeat a supplication for 
 him who is dying before her : Guy, on the opposite side, 
 stands peering eagerly into the face of the doomed one he 
 loves, watching and waiting for the last terrible change that 
 will ever come. Jean d'Alberg, kneeling at the foot, with 
 her face buried in her hands, is stifling the tears and sobs 
 that burst from her weary eyes and breast ; and at a little 
 distance., away, the two faithful servants arc weeping and 
 
Ottawiis Present Tense. 331 
 
 praying over the last of him, whom they had learned to 
 cherish and idolize. 
 
 Suddenly the dim eyes grow somewhat bright, a sweet 
 smile hovers around the mouth of the dying man, he makes 
 a feeble effort to take the hand of his little girl in his ; Honor 
 sees it, and quietly lays her cold hand in his, she is 
 conscious of a weak pressure, which almost breaks the bounds 
 of her heroic endurance ; then the dying glance is turned on 
 ( iuy, and the same effort repeated, he too lays his trembling 
 hand in that of the dying man, beside Honor's ; with its 
 last feeble effort they feel the hand of the man they had each 
 loved as a parent attempt to link their's together; when that 
 is done he tries to move his lips ; bending low over him, 
 Honor can catch the words, " I.ove — one- — another," and 
 then the voice fails, after that, she hears stray, broken 
 syllables, "happy," "memory," and "at last." '■"/.,. 
 
 Guy, taking Honor's hands in both his, across the 
 death-bed, pledgeshis love for Ufe in a tone so clear and 
 loud* that the dying man can hear it, for he smiles, and looks 
 at each, and with the half-stifled words of his blessing, he 
 closes his weary, languid eyes, and his spirit passes away ! 
 
 All the toil and worry of life have perished with that 
 last long sigh, no more work awaits those weary hands, so 
 Honor crosses them reverentially on the still breast. His 
 dying smile lingered on his dear kind face, even in death, 
 and people as they came and went wiped away a tear and 
 said, " it was easily seen the old man had died with an 
 unburdened conscience." Every one regretted the demise 
 of such an estimable man, the daily papers came out next 
 morning and evening with lengthy obituaries and tributes 
 to the memory of one who was known to be such a valued 
 citizen. The funeral was one of, if not the longest, that was 
 ever seen in the streets of Ottawa, and every man who joined 
 the solemn procession was a genuine mourner for the kind- 
 hearted deceased. 
 
 People stared and wondered at seeing Ouy returned, 
 but they were also very glad, for he was a universal favorite 
 with those who had known him before. 
 
 Through all her bitter grief Honor had shed no tear, 
 though every tinge of color had faded out of her face, and 
 her eyes grew wild and vacant in their gaze. ^Vhen the 
 
332 Honor Edgeworth ; or, 
 
 bustle, and excitement had all subsided, immediately after 
 the death of Mr. Rayne, Honor had stolen into the room 
 where he lay, in the depths of a handsome cofifin, sleeping 
 his eternal sleep, and throwing herself on her knees beside 
 him, she bowed down her head until her own fair, warm 
 cheek rested against the icy cold face of the dead man she 
 loved ; here she neither wept nor moaned, but in silent, 
 tearless anguish mourned over her departed friend. She 
 gently chafed the stiff, cold hands with hers, and smoothed 
 back the silver hair from his marble brow ; there was a load 
 of crushing weight and pain and care down deep in her poor 
 heart, but still no tear would come to her burning eyes. By 
 and bye, when she had spent nearly an hour beside the life- 
 less figure she loved so fondly, Guy missed her, and suspecting 
 her whereabouts, came stealthily to the door of the room 
 where their dead relative lay ; it was closed, but yielded to 
 his gentle pressure, and opened noiselessly,— sure enough, 
 there she was, still lying beside the dead smiling face, but 
 now she was speaking, in a low, murmuring tone, such 
 heart-rending words as brought the tears to Guy's own eyes 
 while he listened, unnoticed. 
 
 " Lonely ? " she was saying, in a long sigh, " Oh, yes, 
 poor Honor will often be very lonely for her dear friend and 
 parent ; she will look for him in all the dear, familiar nooks 
 where once she loved to see him, but she will always be 
 disappointed, he will never, never see her nor speak to her 
 again. Oh, I might have known," she rambled on, " that 
 this was too much happiness for me — but dear, dear Mr. 
 Rayne, open your beautiful eyes and look at me. Just once 
 again, in the old way— we are alone now, will you not say a 
 little word to poor Honor? — See how I kiss you right on 
 your dear lips, like of old, but your lips are so cold, I do 
 not believe you feel or care for my kiss " 
 
 Guy could stand this no longer, he feared the girl's mind 
 would become demented if allowed to continue in such a 
 strain ; he stole over, and putting his arms gently around 
 her, he drew her away from the figure of the dead man — 
 
 "Honor," he whispered, '*you must come away now, 
 this will harm you— you look so tired and ill already, you 
 must take great care of yourself darling, — for my sake, do.'" 
 Very mechanically she obeyed, and turned away. Guy felt 
 as if in this mutual sorrow, they had been drawn closa 
 
Ottawa s Present Tense. 338 
 
 together than any other tie could bring them ; he raised the 
 pallid, serious face, and kissed it tenderly, saying — 
 
 " You must bear up, my darling, for you know what a 
 great grief it would be to him, to know that you suffered so." 
 
 " Trust me, Guy," she answered softly, " I will brave 
 it — but then you know, he was my father, and I loved 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, that is all true, my love, but you must remember 
 he is better off, and he has left his blessing with us, for all 
 our lives." 
 
 " And we will merit it, Cruy, will we not, he was so 
 good, so kind, so true ? " 
 
 '* That we will, Honor, I swear it, 1 will never forget 
 the pledge I spoke into his dying ears." 
 ' " Nor I,' she answered, in a whisper. 
 
 They left the room together, and Honor stole away to 
 her own quarters ; she saw no more of her dear guardian 
 after that, until the funeral day, when she pressed the 
 last long kiss of eternal farewell on his cold, unfeeling lips, 
 that was the scene which racked her poor tried heart 
 with all the sharpest pangs that grief doth know she fancied, 
 at that moment her endurance must yield, and her heart 
 break, but she remembered dimly having been carried 
 away to another room, and when she saw and felt again, 
 all was over. 
 
 Ml III ./ ., i .-i* 
 
 Two days after the interment of Henry Rayne, Guy 
 and Honor sat chatting f[uietly together in the little sitting- 
 room from whose window, Guy had caught the first glimpses 
 of Honor, on that autumn evening long ago. In a close- 
 fitting dress of heavy black. Honor looked more imposing 
 and dignified than ever ; her face was very pale, and there 
 were deep, dark lines under her sad eyes. Guy too was 
 serious, though handsome and careful as ever ; their grief 
 it is true, had thrown a heavy pall over the happiness of 
 their new love, but still, each, felt, that it had served only 
 to draw them still closer together, they were now all in all 
 to one another. 
 
 '* You are looking pale, and ill, my darling," Guy said, 
 rising and throwing himself on the handsome fender-stool 
 at her feet, " I hope you are going to try and regain your 
 former health and spirits very soon," 
 
334 IJonor JEdgdvorl/i ; or, 
 
 " Oh, yes indeed, I intend to, Guy," she answered 
 sweetly, *' I can do that easily, for your sake," 
 
 " Don't forget that you are exclusively mine, now," he 
 said looking straight up into her clear, gray eyes, " and very 
 soon, I want to let every one know it too." 
 
 Honor smiled sadly. 
 
 " Foolish boy," she said, half in soliloquy, " you will 
 have enough of me all your life, take your time now ; " 
 while she spoke thus, she was burying her gaze in a beauti- 
 ful little ring, which she twisted thoughtfully around her 
 finger, without lifting her eyes, she said in such a serious 
 tone : 
 
 " Guy — I hope you have not forgotten, to balance well 
 in your mind, all the consequences and penalties of the 
 step you are in such a hurry to take -remember that all is 
 not so smooth and tempting as one sees it through the 
 illusionary eyes of a first love. After all, we women, are only 
 human and as likely to err as any one else ? let us not then 
 deceive ourselves, that sometimes in our lives, little thorns 
 will not cross our path, and little storm-clouds obscure our 
 bright, warm sun — if you have not prepared yourself for 
 this, it is not now too late — better give in at the brink of a 
 precipice than risk a fall — — " 
 
 " Honor !- -your words are strange — maybe true, but 
 not appropriate here ; it was your voice, your example, that 
 recalled me from the downward path of recklessness I was 
 pursuing when I met you, I was haunted by your look, and 
 your words always stood between me and evil, at last I fled, 
 I ran away from temptation, I sought a new field of action, 
 I worked in it, ever in the presence of your dear face, look- 
 ing into your deep eyes, listening to your sweet voice ; 
 success awaited nie, I rose, higher and higher ; prosperity 
 lavished her favors on me, I worked hard to redeem the 
 name I had tarnished, and thanks to you, my noble durling, 
 I have succeeded ! " 
 
 " You exaggerate a woman's influence, Guy, I admit 
 that there are women who are grand enough for this, but 
 they are very rare ; woman, it is true, has much in her power, 
 a great deal in her ambition, but to accomplish all that you 
 say, one needs a loftier stimulant, a worthier motive, than a 
 woman's love." 
 
 " Ah ! 'tis not you who have tasted the experience,' 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 335 
 
 he answered, " 'tis I, and now, I answer safely, when asked 
 by a less fortunate man, the secret of my success, ' Cio, seek 
 the society of high-minded, noble women, you will learn 
 your duty, from their lips, as none others can teach it,' and 
 believe me, Honor, this I know to have been the rescue of 
 many, and you are the indirect source of all this good. If 
 then, I have learned so much as a stranger to you, is it 
 likely I can ever regret the fortunate step that will bring me 
 under the immediate guidance of your hand and heart. 
 Ah no ! Honor, I will never again know what regret is." 
 
 " So be it," she answered seriously, looking into the 
 fire, " but why I spoke, is, because so many, in fact nearly 
 every one, enters the marriage vocation now-a-da)s, as 
 though 'twere a trifling risk, r i though to a woman it were 
 not fraught with the sublim-.st responsibilities it is possible 
 for the noblest woman to assume, as though it were indeed, 
 nothing more, than the gratification of having secured a 
 husband, the fuss of an elaborate trousseau or the Mat of a 
 wedding ceremony. Why are our cities so plentiful of sin 
 and shame, and wrecked youth, if not, because of women 
 who never considered the serious importance of their 
 vocation as mothers, who were unworthy their title of wives, 
 who tired of their self-assumed duties. If any of these 
 destinies awaited me, Guy, I would rather die to-night, than 
 risk them — the thought makes me shudder." 
 
 " You, Honor ? " he said, viewing her with very evident 
 admiration. " such a destiny as that for yoi4, you are jesting, 
 for since you can save, and reclaim others, you know, you 
 are above every taint of evil yourself." 
 
 " You still persist in your obstinate view, eh ?" she said, 
 smiling. ' Well, remember, I warned you in time. I hope 
 there will never be cause for regret in the future." 
 
 It was growing late as they sat there talking quietly. 
 The sun-streaks vanished from the window sill ; the dark, 
 grey shadows of twilight began to steal around them, but 
 they scarcely heeded the change. They loved one another 
 now with that pure and ardent love which finds all satisfac- 
 tion, and all comfort in it's own existence. They had not 
 shown their attachment in wild enthusiasm or showy 
 demonstration, but it is not the largest flames that burn the 
 most intensely. The love that lies quietly, unspoken in the 
 heart, the love that endures in silence, that strengthens in 
 
' 33G Honor Edgeworth ; or^ 
 
 solitude, that thrives in hope, is the truest and holiest, and 
 
 most exalted love of which the human heart is susceptible. 
 
 Such love never dies. As it has lived, so there comes a time, 
 
 ! sooner or later, when the heart's dream may safely float on 
 
 \ the surface of the deep, honest eyes, and the heart's desire 
 
 r flow in fitting terms over the unsullied lips. Su^ch a love 
 
 invariably brings its own reward. ' ' ' ''^' 
 
 II3.V r.'The darkness had nearly spread its thickness from 
 ceiling to floor, when Jean d'Alberg put her head in at the 
 i; sitting room door, and exc:laimed, ^'•^^'- ^'**"' .1.:;.' 1 -.-.'iv 
 
 " Well, upon my word ; such «twHsiSbon5i'"rn^V(2V'did 
 see in all my life."' 
 audi I Both young people looked up and smiled,''^^" ^ 
 bo7/ ri" If you'll please to substitute two spoons for /'dvj'-spoons, 
 ■ you iiiay come to the dining-room now, for tea is quite 
 < ready," she said, disappearing out the doorway again. 
 Hand-in-hand (tuy and Honor rose, arid w^n^ Out to 
 patronize Aunt Jean's comfortable table.' '>^^^^''^^M-''^> '• ''' 
 
 Three months after this, on a wild March morning, (iuy 
 
 Elersley and Honor Edgeworth became man and wife. It 
 
 ' was a very quiet little wedding in the early, early morning, 
 
 • without any guests or sj^ectators save the priest, who tied the 
 
 ; marriage knot, Dr. and Mrs. Belford, of New York, Madame 
 
 d'Alberg and Anne Palmer, or " Nanette." ^'^'''' i^^'^" 
 :>rt) fiTThere was a tempting breakfast for the little party after 
 ^ the ceremony, to prepare which, good Mrs. Potts had put the 
 very best of her abilities to the test, and before noOn of the 
 same day. Honor and her husband, with Nanette and Aunt 
 Jean, were rolling along to their new home. 
 
 Mrs. Potts and the faithful Fitts followed later in the 
 season with the furniture and belongings, and all were 
 established in a home full of pleasant distractions and 
 promising happiness^ but under'the same old management 
 as ever, and bound by the same old ties of long ago. 
 
 Ottawa began to miss Henry Rayne and his household, 
 and many a word of kind remembrance was uttered as a 
 friendly tribute to their memory. 
 
 The wonderful story of Vivian Standish's disgrace never 
 found its way in detail into the gossipping circles of the 
 capital, although there were a few who shook their heads 
 and winked their eyes and affected to know all about it. 
 Josephine de Maistre had gone back to the peace and 
 
Ottawa's Present Tense. 337 
 
 comfort of her seclusion, after the critical interview, and no 
 one of Mr. Rayne's household had betrayed the secret 
 There were only a few little unavoidable words afloat, by which 
 the curious public of Ottawa could surmise why Honor 
 Edgeworth had so coldly rejected her handsome suitor at 
 the last moment, and why Guy Elersley had come back in 
 the nick of time, to be reinstated in his uncle's favor. 
 
 Honor was the recipient of many dainty notes of well- 
 worded cont^ratulations, and the sweetest sounding — like 
 Miss Dash's and Miss Reid's- were those whose writers 
 
 1^. envied with a great bitterness the luck of Henry Rayne's 
 protege. 
 
 I need not fol'ow the course of events farther than 
 this, although strongly tempted to tell of certain stylish wed- 
 dings that followed this one in busy succession. My pen 
 would be kinder, if it might, than merciless Fate to my 
 other heroines, who are threatened to remain " fancy free" 
 for a deplorable number of years to come, and after that — 
 
 , forever. 
 
 The married life of Honor Edgeworth could not but be 
 consistent with her single life. In peace, happiness and 
 prosperity, and in the enjoyment of health, wealth and 
 nmtual devotedness, we leave our worthy hero and his 
 worthy wife. 
 
 ^ May our destinies, as they unroll themselves from the 
 
 scroll of time, be as promising, as salutary, and as well 
 deserved as theirs.