LADY CLARISSA.
 
 LADY CLARISSA 
 
 EMMA JANE WORBOISE, 
 
 Author cf " Father Fabian" " Overdale," " Nob'.v Born," " Grey and Gold," 
 " Oliver IVestwood," li Husbands and Wives," &-'c., &-'c. 
 
 " These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them ; 
 This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet ; 
 My face is stedfast towards Jerusalem 
 My heart remembers it. 
 
 " Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief, 
 
 Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness ; 
 Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf, 
 I languish and grow less. 
 
 " Although to-day I walk in tedious ways, 
 
 To-day His staff U turned into a rod, 
 Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days, 
 And stay upon my God." 
 
 Christina, Rossetti. 
 
 TENTH THOUSAND. 
 
 iLcntoon : 
 JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREET.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CVAFTE* 
 
 I. Tlio Prologue .".?. 1 
 
 II. Motherless 12 
 
 III. The Earl's Alternative 23 
 
 IV. Mrs. Shrosbery ... 33 
 
 Y. " On Her Best Behaviour " 43 
 
 VI. A "Wedding-Day in January 54 
 
 VII. All Alone in the Wood C4, 
 
 VIIL In Durance Vile 75 
 
 IX. A Domestic Tournament 86 
 
 X. Father and Daughter 97 
 
 XL "The Oddest Child in the World" 103 
 
 XII. Throwing Down the Gauntlet 120 
 
 XIII. "It is My Duty" 130 
 
 XIV. The Son and Heir 142 
 
 XV. Not Jealous 153 
 
 XVI. Late Repentance 162 
 
 XVII. Unexpected, but Delightful 173 
 
 XVIII. The Countess at Home 1S4 
 
 XIX. A Morning of Surprises 195 
 
 XX. Another Step-Daughter 205 
 
 XXI. A Friend at Last 216 
 
 XXII. Memento Mori ... 22 7 
 
 2138900
 
 iv. CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER TAGB 
 
 XXIII. A Blood Eelation 237 
 
 XXIV. On the Southboume Shore 240 
 
 XXV. On the Mere-Side 2GO 
 
 XXVI. The Huntsman's Loap...., 271 
 
 XXVII. Medicine and Law 231 
 
 XXVin. Passing Away 292 
 
 XXIX. A Legal Interview 302 
 
 XXX. Susan and Clarissa 613 
 
 XXXI. The Young Earl 324 
 
 XXXII. Coming to an Understanding 332 
 
 XXXHL The Summer-House 343 
 
 XXXIV. Light at Evening-Time 354 
 
 XXXV. "Nothing Left to Love" 36G 
 
 XXXVI. What was Written in the Book of Fate 379 
 
 XXXVII. The Eenewal of Hope 3S9 
 
 XXXVIII. A Last Appeal 401 
 
 XXXIX. On the Eve of Departure 412 
 
 XL. On the Journey 423 
 
 XLI. " The Mermaid " 435 
 
 XLn. Hue and Cry 446 
 
 XLIII. Miss Clara Leigh 436 
 
 XLIV. Gleams of Sunshine 467 
 
 XL V. Clarissa Tells Her Story ,. 478 
 
 XLVI. Adelaide's Previsions *_ 433 
 
 XLVII. " Sing Small, Loo, Sing Small I" 493 
 
 XXVIII. Homeward Bound 509 
 
 XLIX. A Miserable Woman 520 
 
 L. Mrs. Jack Sparks 531 
 
 LI. Shades of Evening 512
 
 LADY CLAEISSA, 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 1 
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 CT He compassed her with, sweet observances 
 And worship, never leaving her, and grew 
 Forgetful of his promise to the king, 
 Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 
 Forgetful of the tilt and tournament. 
 Forgetful of his glory and his name, 
 Forgetful of his earldom and its cares." 
 
 " If thou wilt prove me, dear, 
 Woman's love no fable, 
 
 I will love thee half a year, 
 
 As a man is able." 
 
 TUB bells were ringing merrily in the ancient ivied towel 
 of Orwell Church one bright summer evening \ve will 
 not say how many years ago. You might have known, 
 had you been there to listen, that it was no common peal 
 ringing out so grandly and sweetly over the well-wooded 
 meads, and green flowery vales, and pleasant lanes of 
 Orwell Magna and its neighbourhood. They were 
 wedding bells that awoke the echoes and filled all the soft, 
 blue air with silvery, resonant music on that exquisite 
 June evening ; and if the old tower had been silent, or 
 empty of those jubilant voices, no one, however dull his 
 perceptions, could have failed to divine that something 
 had happened, or was about to happen, of no ordinary 
 moment to the crowds assembled in the churchyard, on tha 
 Tillage-green, in the village street, and especially near the
 
 grand embattled gateway, which wag the stats entrance to 
 Orwell Park, and which was now wreathed with garlands 
 of evergreens and flowers, and ornamented with flags, 
 and streamers, and banners in all manner of gay devices. 
 At the entrance of the village was a triumphal arch ; all 
 the inhabitants were out in their very best attire j the 
 children of the district had all been scrubbed and brushed 
 up by their zealously tidy mothers till their faces shono 
 and every hair was in its proper place, while they gloried 
 in new hats, bright handkerchiefs and tippets, and per- 
 fectly spotless pinafores. For the Earl of Orwell, who 
 was, to all intents and purposes, king of that beautiful 
 region, of which he was lord and master, was bringing 
 home his bride his newly wedded and, as report averred, 
 his exquisitely beautiful three months' wife to the stately 
 home of a long line of noble ancestors. 
 
 A favoured few of the tenantry were permitted to join 
 the household retainers in welcoming the happy pair in 
 the courtyard of the castle ; and there it is, under the 
 frowning wails and battlements of the ancient keep, that 
 our story or its prologue rather commences. Mrs. 
 Sweetapple, the housekeeper, had gathered about her some 
 of her chosen friends, the farmers' wives and daughters, 
 whom she had just regaled with rich cakes and tea, and 
 to whom she was graciously extending such information 
 respecting "the family " as seemed expedient in her es- 
 timation. A very prudent and sagacious person was Mrs. 
 Sweetapple, of Orwell Castle ; she had been in the 
 Orwell service, was her boast, girl and woman, almost 
 forty years, and she had never betrayed the trust, sho 
 humbly hoped, so fully bestowed upon her by her 
 superiors ; the honour of the Orwells was her honour, 
 their fortunes were her fortunes ; and if it had been 
 possible for disgrace to befall persons of station so exalted, 
 she also would have shared their humiliation. On the 
 present auspicious occasion Mrs. Sweetapplo was gor- 
 geously arrayed in brocaded dark grey lutestring and 
 rich Mechlin lace, and she wore her large gold watch 
 fixed conspicuously on the outside of her waistband, at- 
 tached to a curiously-wrought Venetian chain, the present 
 of "my late lord, on his i\turn from foreign parts." At
 
 TEE PROLOGUE. 3 
 
 her side sat a comely dame, the wife of one of the largest 
 tenant farmers on the Earl's estate. To this lady Mrs. 
 Sweetapple chiefly addressed herself. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Field, it is, as you remark, a most happy 
 and desirable event ; and I was beginning to be half afraid 
 that rny lord had taken an aversion to holy matrimony, 
 and that he would be the last Earl of Orwell in the direct 
 line. "Why, it is eight years come next October since my 
 lady, the Viscountess, and her little baby-boy were in- 
 terred in the family vault yonder. She never was Countess, 
 you know, ma'am, because she died before the present 
 Earl succeeded to the title he was only Lord Fordham in 
 those days." 
 
 "Did mv lord tako his lady's deabh. much to heart, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Well, I can hardly say. If 3 was terribly cut up afc 
 first ; but he went away to Italy, and I saw no more of 
 him till he came back post-haste ia order to receive the 
 dying commands of my late lord, his father. Lady 
 Fordham was of a very high family, and she was sola 
 heiress to I don't know how many thousands a year." 
 
 " And that all went to her husband, of course ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Family property don't go in thafc 
 way, Mrs. Field ; it keeps in the family always, except 
 under very particular circumstances. If the little heir 
 had lived, he would have had the money naturally, for 
 it was all settled on her and her heirs for ever ; but dying 
 childless, every penny of it reverted to the next heir a 
 cousin, I believe, whom she had never seen, and for whom, 
 she had no great fancy." 
 
 " What a pity the baby didn't live ! And was Lady 
 Fordham handsome ? " 
 
 "Well, no; I cannot say she was. She was not over 
 young either. It was not exactly what one might call ' a 
 marriage of affection.' There was blood and there was 
 money ; and the rich old General, her father, and the -late 
 Earl, made up the match between them. Not but what 
 my lord was very fond of her, as of course it was his 
 duty to be, and he was the kindest of husbands ; but ifc 
 stands to sense that a man thinks more tenderly of tho 
 woman of his own choice than of one chosen for him. 
 
 1-2
 
 4 1ADT CLARISSA. 
 
 This time his lordship pleases himself, and a very 
 beautiful lady the new Countess is, I am well assured." 
 
 " And who is site, if I may presume to inquire, Mrs. 
 Sweetapple ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sweetapple fidgeted a little in her comfortable 
 seat, and glanced around to see if there were any 
 listeners ; but all were occupied with their own private 
 chatter, and seemed intent on that. "Well," she 
 answered in a low tone, " I don't mind telling ypj,, as a 
 person of discretion, Mrs. Field, that I know nothing 
 whatever of the bride whom my lord is bringing home to- 
 day. Report says she is a great beauty, and quite young, 
 and her name was Grey Clarissa Grey and the Earl 
 and she were married at St. George's, Hanover Square, 
 by the Bishop of St. Beetha's, his second cousin, yc-u 
 know, Mrs. Field. But who Miss Grey really was, I assure 
 yon I know no more than a post ! And I've searched the 
 Red Book through and through, and there are many 
 aristocratic Greys, I find lots of them, in fact ; and 
 some ' de Greys,' the most aristocratic of all ; but not one 
 Clarissa among them. It is rather an outlandish sort of 
 name, don't you think, Mrs. Field ? " 
 
 " I think it is a beautiful name ! Why, there was once 
 Clarissa Harlowe, was there not, a person of distinc- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Clarissa Harlowe was only in a novel, Mrs. Field. No 
 such woman ever really lived, or ever could have lived, I 
 should say. I've read ' Clarissa Harlowe,' and ' Sir 
 Charles Grandison,' and 'Tom Jones' all through, which 
 is more than many of my betters can say ; but I always 
 did affect polite literature. Give me a clever book and I 
 ask nothing else, unless it be a cup of good green tea, with 
 plenty of cream, or a glass of the old Cyprus wine that 
 Mr. Ramsey makes so much of ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't read novels ; I've too much to do and 
 too much to think about. My mother never liked to see 
 us girls wasting our time over a book. ' Reading's an 
 occupation that's no yield, girls,' I've heard her say often 
 and often. ' Read your Bible, and your " Pilgrim s Pro- 
 gress," and your "Whole Duty of Man," on Sundays,' 
 eays she, ' and I don't mind you taking up the " Elegant
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 5 
 
 Extracts" now and then, if you have a headache, and 
 can't sew ; bat books never did anybody any good yet, 
 and why people should take the trouble to write them, 
 I can't make out!' But that's neither here nor there; 
 Clarissa is a fine name, and one that suits the Countess of 
 Orwell. Only I did hear of course, it was only foolish 
 talk ! people will talk, you know, Mrs. Sweetapple ; but 
 my own cousin, Maria, who is married to a topping green- 
 grocer and fruiterer, at the West-end, and keeps her pony, 
 phaeton, and her two maids, declares that the new 
 Countess was nothing better nor worse than private gover- 
 ness in a baronet's family ! " 
 
 " Foolish talk, indeed ! and I hope you won't go and 
 repeat such an absurd story, Mrs. Field. A governess, 
 forsooth ! As if the Earl had not the pick of all tha 
 ladies of quality that are unmarried ! A likely thing 
 that he should take up with a young person in that 
 capacity ; why, a governess is but an upper servant, when 
 all is said and done. The Oakleighs of Orwell have never 
 yet married beneath themselves. The late Miss Grey was 
 a lady, you may depend upon it, Mrs. Field." 
 
 " Don't you think she might be a lady, and yet a gover- 
 ness, Mrs. Sweetapple ? It seems to me a governess 
 onght to be a lady, else how should she know how to bring 
 up ladies ? " 
 
 " Well, she might be, and should be altogether genteel, 
 I grant you ; and I've seen a governess before now, looking 
 as well-born as the little Lady Jane, or Lady Augusta, 
 that she was paid for teaching. And I should never think 
 of slighting a governess because she had to get her own 
 living ; but governesses should marry tutors and curates, 
 and that sort, certainly not peers of the realm ! Oh, dear 
 no, Mrs. Field ; you may make up your mind it's all sheer 
 nonsense, this tale that your cousin heard what's vulgarly 
 called 'a cock and bull story,' whatever that may be! 
 My lord has married a lady of rank, you may depenJ 
 upon it ! " 
 
 "Very likely! It does not concern me, of course. 
 Only Cousin Maria is a very reliable person, and never 
 gossips, nor talks at random. I never knew her to be 
 wrong."
 
 6' LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 And in tliis case " Cousin Maria " justified the dictum 
 of her kinswoman. Clarissa, Countess of Orwell, nee 
 Grey, "was actually a governess in the family of Sir Charles 
 Ridley, when Francis, Earl of Orwell, first beheld her. 
 It was the old, old story ; she was beautiful and gentle; 
 he was noble and impressible. He had never fallen in 
 love before, and he was over thirty ; Clarissa's lovely face, 
 and the sweet refinement of her character, took his heart 
 by storm. He saw, he admired, he worshipped ! Ere he 
 was aware, he was fathoms deep in love, and all his 
 dreams of happiness were centred in the hope of win- 
 ning her for his wife. He behaved in the most irre- 
 proachable manner ; he spoke to Sir Charles Ridley at 
 once ; he even made a feint of consulting Lady Ridley. 
 
 The common fate of governesses especially those who 
 are blessed or cursed with undoubted personal attractions 
 was not Clarissa Grey's. The Ridleys had no grown-up 
 daughters of their own, their eldest girl, Clarissa's pupil, 
 being under ten years of age. Sir Charles was extremely 
 good-natured, and his lady, who was as romantic as any 
 schoolgirl, was only too delighted to have a real love affair 
 going on under her roof, and both were quite willing to 
 throw over the lovers the aegis of their sanction and pro- 
 tection. For, as Sir Charles said, "Orwell is certainly 
 old enough to choose for himself, and as he has married 
 once to please his family, it is no more than just that he 
 should marry now to please himself. I dare say we shall 
 be blamed, but I fancy our shoulders are broad enough to 
 bear whatever society may please to lay upon them. It is 
 an imprudent match, no doubt a mesalliance, in fact. 
 What then ? There have always been imprudent and un- 
 equal matches ever since Adam and Eve came out of 
 Paradise, and Miss Grey is not a woman that any man 
 need be ashamed of. She is tolerably well connected, too, 
 I believe ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the lady ; " her father was a clergy- 
 man, and her mother was a naval officer's daughter. Bnfc 
 what is best of all is that she has at present no relations 
 in the world, save her brother, who went out to Mexico 
 or Japan I am not sure which many years ago, and haa 
 never been heard of since. So Orwell need not fear being
 
 THE PEOLCGUJJ. 7 
 
 pestered by vulgar and needy relatives ; marrying rather 
 lower in the scale than one's self so often involves the 
 most unpleasant collateral consequences. If Miss Grey 
 had a lot of hungry brothers, and sisters, and cousins, in 
 her train, I could not conscientiously advise Orwell to 
 marry her. As it is, he will have a beautiful and amiable 
 \vife, whom lie will make Countess of Orwell. I shall ba 
 quite proud to present her, I assure you. Her beauty is of 
 eo uncommon an order, of so patrician a type in spite of 
 the want of sang pur in her veins that she is sure to 
 make a sensation in the fashionable world. And Grey is 
 such a convenient name ; there are all sorts of Greys, you 
 know. When people ask to what family she belongs, I 
 shall answer quite confidently, ' Oh ! to the Leicestershire 
 Greys ! ' And it will be quite true, for her father onco 
 held a curacy somewhere in that county." 
 
 Thus encouraged by these good people, Lord Orwell 
 proceeded in his wooing, and in due season won his 
 beauteous bride. The wedding took place in town, from 
 Sir Charles' mansion in Portman Square, and was duly 
 celebrated with all requisite ceremonial at St. George's, 
 Hanover Square. And very few people really knew that 
 Lord Orwell had married his friend's governess. Of 
 course, in the present day it would have bsen speedily 
 known to all whom it might concern, as well as to a great 
 many whom it could not possibly concern ; but all this 
 happened, as I mentioned before, a good many years ago, 
 when news travelled slowly, or stayed at home altogether ; 
 when the public press was slow and feeble in its entire 
 constitution, and when railways and telegraphs were only 
 dimly portended by the signs of the times. It would be 
 far more difficult now to conduct a strictly private affair 
 in Japan, than it was in those days to transact your busi- 
 ness in London without suffering tidings of it to escape 
 to your friends in the Midland or Eastern Counties. Con- 
 sequently, the good people at Orwell Magna remained in 
 profound ignorance of their new Countess's antecedents 
 till Mrs. Field threw in a light on the subject, which, 
 though welcomed by some who heard it, was received with 
 distaste, if not with absolute incredulity, by Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple, and by Mr. Kamsey, the house-steward, who both
 
 8 LADY CLAttlSSi. 
 
 held it as a law of the Medes and Persians, which might 
 never be reversed, that the Earls of Orwell were limited, 
 matrimonially, to the daughters, grand-daughters, and 
 near kinswomen of the peers of the realm. 
 
 Meanwhile to come back to the castle courtyard, and 
 to the events of that particular evening the bells had 
 ceased ringing. The ringers were taking some slight re- 
 freshment, in order to be quite ready for the grand peal 
 which was to welcome the travellers as soon as their 
 carriage should reach the snmmit of the hill from which 
 Orwell Magna was visible. Mrs. Sweetapple, with many 
 apologies, stole away to give one last look at my lady's 
 apartments, and Mr. Ramsey once more glanced critically 
 round the dining-room, and exchanged a few anxious 
 words with Mr. Portsoke, the bntler, and the head gar- 
 dener fvdded another spray of stephanotis to the choice 
 bouquet which he was humbly to present to the Countess 
 as she alighted at the portico. Another quarter of an 
 hour and the bells burst out again, and very soon it was 
 whispered that the carriage was in sight. The thunder of 
 a small piece of ordnance told that the bridal pair had 
 entered the village, and had passed under the triumphal 
 arch, and it was not long before the cry of " Here they 
 come ! " resounded on every side. 
 
 Slowly the carriage advanced, drawn by its four milk- 
 white steeds, and as it passed the lodge gates the excite- 
 ment of the bystanders reached its climax, for seated by 
 their Earl was the loveliest lady they had ever seen out of 
 a picture-frame or a Book of Beauty ! Loud and hearty 
 were the acclamations, and many the blessings showered 
 on the heads of the noble couple as they passed onward to 
 the castle, and truly they presented, as Mr. Portsoke 
 averred, " a most satisfactory and distinguished appear- 
 ance ! " Never did noble lord lead to his ancestral halls 
 a fairer, sweeter bride than Clarissa, Countess of Orwell. 
 
 And there was a patrician grace in her remarkable beauty 
 which Mrs. Sweetapple and her friends were not slow to 
 perceive and appreciate. She was slender and rather tall, 
 dark-haired and dark-eyed, pure complexioned, and perfect 
 as to features and contour. Bat the chief charm lay in 
 t 1 ^* sweet radiant smile, which lightened all her face as it
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 9 
 
 stole over a rosebud mouth and delicately-moulded chin, 
 and shone out in the deep, soft, tender eyes that he 2 
 bridegroom had likened to gazelle's eyes, when first he 
 beheld her in her maiden loveliness at Ripley Court. 
 
 The Earl himself, without being an Apollo or an Adonis^ 
 was a fine specimen of a high-born ^English gentleman. 
 He was fair and ruddy, broad-shouldered, well-propor- 
 tioned, with curly chestnut locks and laughing blue eyes, 
 and an expression that everybody declared to be frank and 
 good-natured; and which a few only a few, though 
 described as indicative also of moral weakness and insta- 
 bility of character. And truly, even as a boy, Arthur, 
 Viscount Fordham, had been famous for his love of change, 
 for his capricious likes and dislikes, and for his sudden 
 ardent friendships, and their equally abrupt termination. 
 " Fever-heat one week, and down to zero the next ! " waa 
 the verdict recorded upon his general conduct by one o 
 the wisest of public schoolmasters, as regarded his nobla 
 pupil's attachments, pursuits, and sentiments; and the 
 only hesitation which Sir Charles Ridley felt in giving his 
 sanction to Orwell's courtship of an orphan girl under his 
 protection was on this head. He knew the proverbial 
 fickleness of his friend's disposition, and he feared lest his 
 ardent passion for the lovely Clarissa should be quenched 
 as quickly as it had sprung into existence, and he actually 
 said to the Earl, " Think well what you are going to do, 
 I entreat you, before you speak to Miss Grey. Though a 
 sweeter, better girl does not live, remember she is not, 
 socially speaking, your equal ! And if if you tire of her, 
 Orwell, it will be ill for her and ill for yon. My wife tells me, 
 *nd my own knowledge of the girl confirms it, that she is 
 of a wonderfully deep and tender nature, and will, if she 
 returns your affection, give you her whole true woman's 
 heart, completely and for ever. Now that sort of woman 
 Buffers terribly, and not unfrequently dies, under cold 
 indifference and neglect." 
 
 To which admonition Lord Orwell replied that he had 
 never, till he met Clarissa Grey, known what it was to 
 love any woman ; that he loved her with his whole soul, 
 with every fibre of his nature, and that his life without 
 her would not be worth enduring. Indifference ! neglect I
 
 10 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 thero was not much fear of tliat ! In short, lie raved like 
 a mad lover, and very much in the fashion of the poet who 
 so continually reiterated, "ISTo man e'er loved like me." 
 In conclusion, he exclaimed, with emphasis, " If Clarissa 
 rejects me, there is no more happiness for me in this 
 world. I shall go abroad and not return for years, if ever." 
 
 But Clarissa did not reject him, although she received 
 liis overtures with almost painful hesitation. She loved 
 him at once, poor girl, from the first hour of his proposals, 
 and, indeed, before, for he had made his intentions very 
 plainly manifest ere he spoke ; he became her hero, her 
 ideal, her king and lord ! Bat she knew perfectly well 
 that her birth and position were not such as to entitle her 
 to match with noble Earls. She knew, no one better, that 
 her marriage with her patrician lover would be styled as a 
 mesalliance, and that in the proud world of rank and 
 fashion in which Lord Orwell moved, as " one to tho 
 manner born," her claims as Clarissa Grey would always 
 be ignored, perhaps contemptuously spurned. And what if 
 the day should ever arrive when he would regret the step 
 the all-important and irrevocable step which he now 
 eo ardently desired to take ? What if, by yielding now to 
 his entreaties, she should mar his future, cloud his fortunes, 
 darken his career ? For she truly loved him, and all true 
 love is unselfish and ever self-sacrificing. And she said to 
 Lady Ridley, " I can trust you, my kind mistress and 
 friend ; and if you tell me that it is my duty to refuse 
 Lord Orwell, if you think I may in any measure mar his 
 life or injure his prospects by my humble origin and 
 plebeian descent, I will, whatever it may cost me, reso- 
 lutely decline the honour which he solicits me to accept." 
 
 But Lady Ridley she had not half the good sound 
 sense and judgment of her beautiful young governess 
 chid her for her morbid doubts, and assured her that she 
 might, by her determined rejection, drive her noble suitor 
 to despair. 
 
 Once married once betrothed, indeed ! Clarissa forgot 
 her scruples, and gave herself up to the intense felicity of 
 loving and being loved. Or well was devoted to his lovely 
 bride ; he lived but for her ; ho studied and even fore- 
 stalled her tastes and wishes j he never left her side save
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 11 
 
 when compelled to do so. His pride in her was wonderful, 
 and he accounted himself as the happiest and most 
 favoured of mankind. For six months after his marriage 
 he played the ardent lover, and seemed entirely absorbed 
 in the sweet companionship of his young wife, who, on 
 her part, lived in a delicious dream of ceaseless happiness. 
 Her life had suddenly turned into a fairy tale, and she 
 could hardly bring herself to believe that there had ever 
 been a time when she suffered from loneliness and common 
 care. For six months, without one break or cloud, she 
 led this charmed existence ; and then Orwell began 
 gradually to take an interest in old pursuits, and to desire 
 the society of former friends and comrades. That was 
 well, she told herself ; there was much demanded of him 
 beyond the narrow circle of his own hearth. Inexpe- 
 rienced as she was in the great world's ways, she knew 
 perfectly that the Earl of Orwell must fulfil those duties 
 which his high rank demanded of him. Society had its 
 claims, which could not and ought not to be ignored. 
 Like the gentle, true-hearted Enid, she could not bear that 
 people should 
 
 Babble of him 
 
 As of a prince whose manhood was all gone, 
 And molten down in mere uxoriousness." 
 
 And so, when the late autumn came, and he rode bravely 
 in the hunt, and grew enthusiastic in the sport, and spent 
 day after day with friends whose chief talk was of horses, 
 dogs, birds, and foxes, she did not complain, even to her- 
 self. " Our honeymoon is over at last," she said, when 
 she began to feel lonely and depressed for she was far 
 from well, and there was beginning to be talk of the son 
 and heir that was to be born in the ensuing spring. That 
 Clarissa should present her lord with a daughter was 
 deemed most improbable, and of course she herself ardently 
 desired that her infant should prove a boy. 
 
 But it was a dreary winter, nevertheless, in spite of all 
 her endeavours to be cheerful and contented ; and some- 
 thing seemed to say to her " Those blissful days are 
 gone for ever." And yet and yet, it must be that he 
 loved her quite as dearly as before ; only the demonstra- 
 tions of his affection were changed, and contrasted with
 
 12 IAD? CLARISSA. 
 
 the old ardent devotion appeared of course it was only 
 "but appearance cold, colourless, and shallow. She bore 
 up bravely, and met him always with her own sweet, 
 bright smile ; and if in secret she shed some bitter tears, 
 they left no traces on her pale, lovely face ; and one 
 showery April morning the bells were ringing again, but 
 not for the promised heir. Clarissa, Countess of Orwell, 
 had given birth prematurely to a daughter ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MOTHERLESS. 
 
 fl Her lot is on you silent tears to weep, 
 
 And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, 
 And sumless riches, from affection's deep, 
 
 To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower ! 
 And to make idols, and to find them clay, 
 And to bewail that worship therefore pray ! " 
 
 THE Countess's baby was a poor, puny little creature, and 
 it was as much as the pompous London doctor, and the fine 
 London nurse, and all their coadjutors and satellites com- 
 bined, could compass to keep life in the fragile, new exist- 
 ence that seemed perpetually on the eve of departure ; 
 while Clarissa herself lingered long on those mysterious 
 confines of life and death the border-lands of both. It 
 was under April's tearful skies, and while the gay daffodils 
 were blooming, that the little Lady Clarissa was born ; 
 but tke summer roses were over, and the dahlia and holly- 
 hock were in full flower, Avhen her mother once more 
 feebly trod the velvet greensward of Orwell Park. Never 
 again was Lady Orwell the bright, radiant creature she 
 had been as Clarissa Grey, and in the first months of her 
 married life. It was generally supposed that she could 
 aot recover from the severe illness which followed upon
 
 MOTHERLESS. 13 
 
 the birth of her infant, and without doubt her constitution, 
 not very robust, then received a shock from which sho 
 never actually rallied. 
 
 But that was not all ; her life had lost its mainspring. 
 Lord Orwell was bitterly disappointed at the advent of 
 "only a girl," and he showed his chagrin without even 
 the decent reserve which his wife's critical circumstances 
 necessitated. True it is that he displayed considerable 
 anxiety while Clarissa's fate hung in the balance ; but he 
 could not be prevailed upon to admire, or to bestow the 
 least notice on, the small, shrunken specimen of humanity, 
 which was duly robed in costly lace and fine linen, and 
 rocked in a rose-lined cradle to the tune of the orthodox 
 patrician lullaby 
 
 " Oh, hush, thee, my baby j thy sire is a knight, 
 Thy mother's a lady, so lovely and bright." 
 
 He had so counted upon the hoped-for heir that he could 
 scarcely believe he heard aright when it was announced to 
 him that he was the father of a daughter. " And such a 
 daughter ! " he exclaimed, after his introduction to the 
 little stranger ; " such a mite of a child, with a wizened 
 face, and shrunken limbs, and a little piping voice, and 
 every appearance of incipient deformity ! If Clarissa must 
 give him a girl, why did she not transmit to her child her 
 own beauty of face and elegance of form ? This was a 
 baby who Avonld be reared with difficulty, who would prove 
 a sickly child and an invalid young woman. A daughter 
 of whom no father could be proud, who seemed to have 
 been born into the world only to give trouble and cause 
 annoyance, and require an exti-a expenditure ! " Lord 
 Orwell felt positively furious when he saw the poor unwel- 
 come infant surrounded by all the preparations which had 
 been made for the expected viscount, and he spoke so 
 bitterly that Mrs. Sweetapple, notwithstanding her rever- 
 ence for her master, was constrained to say, "Nay, my 
 lord, it is as God pleases. Depend upon it, your little 
 daughter will grow up to be a blessing and an honour to 
 her noble house, and to the generation in which she lives." 
 
 " She ivmit live," replied the Earl ; " upon my word she 
 hardly looks human. Why, her fingers are like birds'
 
 14 LJLDT CLARISSA. 
 
 claws, and she has no features, and ivliat a complexion t 
 And the Oakleighs have always been famed for their com- 
 plexions." 
 
 " And with justice, my lord. Bat new-born babies are 
 never much better in that respect than this one. And I've 
 known the very dingiest, worst favoured infants grow up 
 with lovely clear skins, and turn out regular beauties. 
 You'll see hpw she'll improve, my lord ; in two or threa 
 months she will begin to be pretty, and in a year's time, I 
 make no doubt, she will be quite a fine, thriving little lady 
 that is if she lives, and I don't see why she should not, 
 I have had plenty of experience, and it is my opinion 
 that this child, though so small and frail looking, and 
 what Mrs. Nurse calls ' a shabby baby,' has a very toler- 
 able constitution." 
 
 But this did not comfort Lord Orwell. He did not care 
 a jot about the child, whom he merely regarded as an in- 
 terloper, and a future incumbrance. Nor did he affect any 
 paternal solicitude when, two days afterwards, the doctor 
 sought him, as he was reading his morning paper, and, 
 with a good deal of circumlocution, informed him that he 
 thought it might be necessary to administer the rite of 
 private baptism to the little girl, whose vitality was mani- 
 festly decreasing. 
 
 " By all means," said the Earl, briskly. " Send for Dr. 
 Goodman, or the curate, whenever you choose. You think 
 the child is dying ? " 
 
 " I would not say that, my lord ; but it is a very feeble 
 little life a mere flickering spark, that may be fanned 
 into a flame, but which is more likely to die out suddenly. 
 It would be only prudent it is, in fact, a duty, if I may 
 be permitted to say so not to postpone the ordinance ol 
 the Church. The child may do well after all, but it is 
 quite as well to be on the safe side." 
 
 " Of course, of course ! And if the poor little thing is 
 likely to be sickly you know one can scarcely wish her to 
 survive." 
 
 And so the rector was summoned, and then the question 
 naturally arose as to the name which should be given to 
 the child. The Earl was appealed to, but he replied that 
 any name would do ; he had no particular fancy for any
 
 MOTHERLESS. 15 
 
 feminine appellation just then. They might please them- 
 selves ! And as the Countess was quite too ill to be dis- 
 turbed, Mrs. Sweetapple and Mr. Rnmsey proposed that 
 their little lady should be christened after her mother, and 
 accordingly she received simply the name of Clarissa, and 
 at once became the Lady Clarissa Oakleigh. 
 
 For several weeks her small ladyship seemed on the 
 point of depai'tnre from, this life's troubled scene, but no 
 one was unduly afflicted on this account, as her mother, 
 who still continued in extremity of danger, engrossed tho 
 attention of all about her. The Earl was in despair, for, 
 as his jewel appeared 'likely to vanish out of his keeping, 
 it became more precious than ever, and he wearied the 
 doctors in attendance with queries that were unanswerable, 
 and drove the nurses to desperation by interfering with 
 their functions and usurping their prerogatives. All were 
 agreed that " my lord was a most devoted husband," and 
 even those who complained that he slighted his puny, 
 wailing little daughter, sympathised with his disappoint- 
 ment at the non-arrival of the son and heir. 
 
 At length, however, the Countess began to show signs of 
 amendment. The famous physician who came posting 
 down from London cautiously admitted that he " had 
 hopes," and the family doctor, who had attended Clarissa 
 from the first hour of her illness, confirmed the happy 
 news, and quickly afterwards issued the gratifying bulletin, 
 " Out of danger!" From that moment up to a certain 
 point her ladyship continued to improve, though very 
 slowly, and at last she was able to leave her room, and was 
 permitted to enjoy the society of her infant. Naturally the 
 Countess had wished for a son ; but now that the little girl 
 tad arrived she would not have exchanged her for the 
 finest boy that ever squalled. Her very weakness com- 
 mended her to her mother's heart, that tender heart which 
 was throbbing with the new sweet passion of maternal 
 love. When once Clarissa had learned to say "my baby /" 
 when once she had felt the little form nestling in her arms, 
 when once she had tried to soothe its weary, restless pining 
 there had not been, alas ! any chance of nursing it her- 
 self she was never satisfied unless it was near her or afc 
 her side. And strange as it may appear to those who
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 have never known a mother's fond infatuation she v/aJ 
 actually proud of the tiny weakling she loved to call her 
 very own. Nurse Barlow smiled to herself when her lady 
 claimed her admiration for the darling baby ; but she was 
 too wise, too kind, perhaps, to say what she thought about 
 the little bundle of muslin and lace, that seemed nothing 
 but clothes, and scarcely a living child at all. 
 
 " I declare, nurse, she smiles at me," said Clarissa one 
 day, when, at her request, her infant, newly dressed, was 
 laid upon her lap. " What pretty features she has ! I 
 am so glad she is not one of those large gross children one 
 sees sometimes ; she is quite a little fairy ! " 
 
 "Yes, my lady," replied nurse, dryly; "she is small 
 enough, certainly." 
 
 "But not so very small, for a girl? Besides, she 
 grows ; I am sure of it." And Clarissa fondly kissed the 
 tiny wrist, and the diminutive hand, where the dimples 
 ought by good rights to have been, but where, alas ! there 
 was nothing but flabby skin and bone. Clarissa the 
 younger was undoubtedly the very shabbiest specimen of 
 aristocratic babyhood that Nnrse Barlow had ever tended, 
 but the poor Countess evidently considered her a beauty ! 
 Nurse could only keep silence, and recall the old story of 
 the maternal goose, who appraised her own goslins as 
 fairer than the nestlings of the swan. The Countess did 
 not half like Mrs. Barlow's limited commendation and 
 grave reserve, and she at once took alarm. "She ia 
 healthy, is she not, nurse ? " she inquired hastily ; then, 
 seeing the hesitation visible in the woman's face, she 
 added, half imploringly, " Oh, don't tell me she is not ! I 
 know she is not strong : but then the most robust infants 
 do not always turn out the most thriving. The doctor said 
 BO most distinctly." 
 
 " Surely, surely, my lady," returned nurse, but still, as 
 it seemed to her mistress, with a certain reservation; "he 
 must know, of course. And I've known, too, extra fine 
 children that throve from birth, go off in fits when teething 
 time came. But I do wish her little ladyship would not 
 keep up that queer, chirping bit of a cry ; it's more like an 
 unfledged bird than a human infant. I would give soma* 
 thing to hear her give a good downright squaU."
 
 MOTHERLESS. 17 
 
 *' Bat you do think she will thrive ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my lady, please God ! at least, I hope so } 
 but I sha'n't be satisfied myself till she gains flesh, and 
 cries less and louder." 
 
 Clarissa herself, however, was tolerably content, till one 
 day, when the baby was ten weeks old, she tried to enlist 
 the admiring sympathy of its father, and he coolly re- 
 marked that he could not fancy what she saw in such an 
 ugly brat to make a f ass about it. Shocked and pained, 
 the young mother could scarcely answer her imprudent 
 lord. 
 
 " Ugly ? Oh, Orwell ! " she gasped, the tears filling 
 her sweet, brown eyes, for she was still sadly feeble. 
 " Why, our darling will be just like you" 
 
 The Earl burst into a hearty laugh. "Now, really, 
 Clara, that is too unkind ! I had no idea I was such a 
 bad-looking fellow ! My dear wife, I really entertain 
 serious doubts whether the creature is any child of ours. 
 She is a changeling imposed upon us by some malignant 
 fairy, who has spirited off our own little princess to elfia 
 land." 
 
 " Ah, yon joke ! You cannot mean what you say, my 
 dear lord ? " 
 
 " But I do, indeed! Look you, Clara, I don't care for 
 babies in general, and would always prefer their room to 
 their company noisy, exacting, tiresome little wretches. 
 But for this baby in particular, I feel something like 
 aversion, or shall feel it if I am pestered with her. I shall 
 tolerate her, perhaps, if she is kept out of my sight, by the 
 time her brother comes to town. In the first place, I am 
 bitterly disappointed in her sex ; in the next place, I am 
 vexed with her for being such a miserable, skinny object*- 
 inheriting neither my manly proportions, nor yoar mar- 
 vellous beauty, rny love. I cannot imagine who she takes 
 after who she 'favours,' as the gossips say! There, don't 
 cry, my dear, and I won't abuse her any more ; only do not 
 expect me to share your sentiments." 
 
 But the heir so ardently desired did not come to gladden 
 the hearts of his parents, and to set the joy-bells ringing. 
 The good folks of Orwell Magna often talked about the 
 mythical young gentleman who remained a myth and 
 
 2
 
 18 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 nothing more; the Countess never bore another cLild. 
 She recovered, as I told you, up to a certain point, and 
 beyond that there was little or no real progress. All 
 through the winter which followed upon Lady Clarissa's 
 birth, she was confined to the house, and very much to her 
 own apartments, and the return of genial weather did not, 
 as was expected, restore to her the health and vigour of 
 former times. Nevertheless, she exerted herself to go up 
 to town for a few weeks during the season, and she issued 
 her cards, and gave receptions, and went out like any 
 other fashionable lady; but she came back to Orwell 
 Castle feebler and frailer than ever, and from the time of 
 her return till the day of her death never travelled many 
 miles from home. Of course, London was never revisited; 
 neither was it found expedient to assemble many guests at 
 Orwell. 
 
 The Earl was bitterly disappointed as months passed 
 on, and his wife continued a decided invalid, now better 
 and now worse, but always more or less indisposed, and 
 unable to take her place in the gay circles where her lord 
 Lad expected her to become the cynosure of all admiring 
 eyes. He was often absent for weeks together; sometimes 
 lie was in Paris, sometimes at his own town-house, some- 
 times shooting in Scotland, and sometimes fishing in 
 Ireland. And the Countess, though she longed for the 
 free, happy intercourse of past days, could scarcely wish 
 that he should be debarred any of those pleasures which 
 seemed the privilege of his rank and age. Constantly 
 languid and suffering, she knew that she was not a very 
 lively companion for one who exulted in all the vigour of 
 perfect health and in the robust energy of mature man- 
 hood. Yet how she watched for his visits, how she 
 listened for his footsteps in the corridor, how her pulses 
 throbbed as she saw him enter, no one ever knew ; though 
 he could not but perceive the excessive happiness that 
 filled her heart, and brightened her faded face, when ho 
 was at her side. 
 
 Yes, she was faded, certainly ; the bloom of youth and 
 health was gone ; there were lines of pain about the 
 delicate mouth, hollows in the temples, and dark circles 
 round the deep, lustrous eyes ; and yet there were thoso
 
 MOTHERLESS. 19 
 
 wlio thought her lovelier than ever. What was lost in 
 contour and in colouring was gained in expression. She 
 was still beautiful, but it was beauty of another type from 
 that which had first charmed her husband. It was a 
 strange, sad, spiritual beauty which now rested on the 
 worn, though still exquisite, features. There was a 
 pathetic regard in the soft, dark eyes, that seemed always 
 looking into the far away, and the smiles that sometimes 
 curved the almost colourless lips were more of heaven 
 than of earth. On her weary conch of pain not all 
 physical pain, alas ! in her frequent sleepless, solitary 
 horn's, Clarissa had learned many a lesson, undreamed of 
 in the bright days of health and full content. A new life 
 had come to her, a new soul had been born within her; 
 gradually she began to live in the unseen, to rejoice in the 
 hope of the Christian, and to rest content in the love of 
 One who never fails or forsakes the feeblest of His chil- 
 dren. And day by day, and year by year, as decay 
 became more rapid and visible, arid the hand of death 
 began to press heavily on heart and brow, so was the inner 
 woman renewed, and her soul filled with an exceeding 
 peace that nothing could destroy. 
 
 The child still lived, and in a manner throve ; but she 
 continued small, stunted, and singularly plain not unlike 
 the kind of creature which " a changeling " is commonly 
 supposed to be. Her features were irregular, her month 
 large, her forehead too prominent, her neck and arms 
 painfully skinny, and her complexion dull and sallow. 
 The small, sharp face under the heavy brows had a curious, 
 uncanny expression ; it was the face of an adult, sur- 
 mounting the ungainly figure of a dwarfish child. The 
 little Clarissa's proportions at five years old were those of 
 a child of two or three ; her face, especially when she was 
 silent and thoughtful her ordinary mood might havo 
 been that of a woman of middle age. 
 
 " I declare," said Nurse Barlow one day to Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple, after she had had what she called a " tussle" with 
 her refractory charge, who stubbornly, refused to bo 
 dressed " I do declare, my Lady Clarissa looks years 
 older than her ma ! And such a temper ! I never did see 
 a child cf her age half so obstinate no ! that I never did I" 
 
 2-2
 
 20 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 And " obstinate " she truly was. When once she had 
 made np her curious little mind, there was no unmaking 
 it. No one, except her mother, had the smallest control 
 or influence over her. Her mother's word was law, for 
 Clarissa loved her child too well and too unselfishly not 
 to exercise that authority which God Himself has com- 
 mitted to parents. And the child herself loved supremely, 
 and in her own way reverenced, the one person whom she 
 unhesitatingly obeyed. As for her father, she seldom saw 
 him, and always when he and she did meet, manifested a 
 strong aversion to his presence. It was chiefly his own 
 fault, for he, utterly and even unnaturally indifferent to 
 his daughter, treated her in a manner which she painfully 
 resented. She knew well enough that he cared nothing 
 about her, and she even took a certain pleasure in making 
 sundry uncouth noises and grimaces which she had dis- 
 covered annoyed him greatly. It was a great pain to 
 Clarissa that such a state of feeling should exist between 
 the two who were so dear to herself ; and she often sighed, 
 thinking of the days to come, when her perverse and un- 
 lovable little daughter should be left without the shelter 
 of a mother's love. 
 
 Lady Clarissa was nearly six years old when it became 
 apparent to all that the Countess's life on earth was 
 swiftly drawing to a close. The Earl was at Baden, with 
 certain friends of his, whom it had been better for him 
 never to have met ; and when Mrs. Goodman, the 
 rector's wife, wrote to him on the subject of his lady's 
 declining health, and more than hinted that his speedy 
 return was desirable, he was too entirely absorbed in his 
 own pursuits to feel much alarm, or even to recognise as 
 a fact the approaching end of Clarissa's long, weary 
 malady. He had special reasons for wishing to remain 
 where he was a few weeks longer. Clarissa was always 
 weaker in the spring, he told himself, and doubtless the 
 symptoms on which Mrs. Goodman dwelt were simply 
 those which invariably recurred at this season of the year. 
 Still, he would go home earlier than he had intended not 
 just at present, but a little later on, when his wife would 
 be better able to enjoy his society. For to do Lord Orwell 
 Justice, he did not for one moment imagine her to bo
 
 MOTHERLESS. 21 
 
 djing. She had been an invalid now so long 1 , that ho had 
 grown accustomed to the situation ; and she had for so 
 many years alternately sunk and rallied, that he quite 
 forgot the possibility of a sinking which should be final. 
 He wrote, however, to Clarissa, offering to return imme- 
 diately, if she really wished him to do so ; bufc at the 
 same time showing very plainly how reluctant he was to 
 leave the scene of his enjoyment. His letter was kind, 
 but not affectionate ; he had never, indeed, said a harsh 
 word to his wife during the whole of their married life. 
 But it is quite possible to break a woman's heart without 
 any positive unkindness. A man may be kind, in the 
 common acceptation of the term, and yet show no sign of 
 that affection which alone can satisfy the heart that has 
 once known all the tenderness and sweetness of love itself 
 or of what passed current for love, rather ; for a true, 
 pure love is deathless, " love is love for evermore." 
 
 Early in May, the Countess became apparently stronger, 
 a,nd her attendants hoped that once more the crisis was 
 past, and partial convalescence commencing. My lord 
 was expected in the first days of June. But ere the 
 flowery May month closed, Clarissa was gone 
 
 ' ' Past night, past day, 
 Over the hills, and far away." 
 
 She sank very suddenly at last. In the morning she waa 
 sitting up as usual in her boudoir, helping the little 
 Clarissa to arrange a lapfnl of hawthorn sprays and 
 guelder roses, which she had brought in with her from 
 the shrubberies ; in the evening, she lay quietly on her 
 couch, with " the light that never was on sea or land " in 
 her dying eyes. 
 
 " Oh, if my lord would but come ! " said Nurse Barlow, 
 as she watched beside that lonely deathbed ; and her mis- 
 tress answered, " When he does come, nurse, give him my 
 last dearest, fondest love, and the letter which you will 
 find in my desk addressed to him. And tell him he must 
 not grieve too much that he comes too late. I thought 
 myself that I might last till Midsummer I did, indeed, 
 or I should have entreated him to hasten his return," 
 
 "Perhaps yon will rally again, my lady," said nurse,
 
 22 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 consolingly. "1 have known you as bad as this be- 
 fore." 
 
 " No," she replied, " this is the end, and I thank my 
 God that ifc comes so calmly, so peacefully. It is not hard 
 to die, nnrse ; do not be afraid for me. He in whom I 
 have trusted is with me still. He has trodden the way, 
 once so dark, but now lighted by His love, and cheered 
 by His presence ; for, I tell you, He is with me now ! 
 And, nurse, I shall see Him face to face, and be with Him 
 for ever." 
 
 " Shall I fetch Lady Clarissa ? " asked nurse, an hour 
 or two later, when the shadow of death rested unmistak- 
 ably on the quiet, ash-pale features. 
 
 "JSTo," was the mother's answer. "Let my darling 
 remember me as she saw me this morning, before I was 
 worse. Be patient with her, nurse ; for my sake, love the 
 child and bear with her. God has been so good ; He has 
 told me that my prayers for her are heard, and will bo 
 answered. My Clarissa will one day be an earnest, noble- 
 hearted Christian woman, a blessing to all about her. 
 Through much sorrow and suffering, my child will enter 
 into God's kingdom ; it seems to me that years of trial are 
 before her, but at the last her Master will say to her, 
 ' Well done, good and faithful servant ! ' ' 
 
 A little longer, and all was over ; the mysterious 
 threshold was passed, the new life begun. That which 
 had been the Countess of Orwell lay cold and still in 
 death, but that which had loved and suffered so patiently 
 had passed within the veil. The slow-tolling muffled bell 
 sounded sadly on the sweet May morning. All the village 
 knew that " my lady " was gone, and that the little Lady 
 Clarissa was motherless.
 
 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 THE EARL'S ALTERNATIVE. 
 
 " I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if there he no great 
 L)ve in the beginning, yet Heaven may decrease it upon better ac- 
 quaintance, when we are married, and have more occasion to know 
 one another." Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 " WELL, my lord, I wouldn't make complaints if I could 
 help it, but it has been borne in upon my mind this long 
 time that I am failing in my duty by not speaking. I did 
 hope as she grew older and came to have more sense that 
 she would improve, but things grow from worse to worse, 
 and there's no saying what they may come to. It does 
 not do for children, even very good children, to have their* 
 own way entirely." 
 
 " Have their own way, Mrs. Sweetapple ? Certainly 
 not ! ' Spare the rod and spoil the child,' you know ! 
 But why do you allow Lady Clarissa to have her own 
 way ? " 
 
 " My lord, if you were more at home, if yon saw more 
 of her little ladyship, you would never ask that question. 
 Lady Clarissa will have her own way ! It is of no mortal 
 use saying ' you must,' or ' you must not,' to her. What 
 she will do she will do, and what she won't she won't, and 
 that's just the plain English of it." 
 
 "But that is sheer nonsense, Sweetapple! Dear me, 
 you are four times bigger and stronger than she is, and 
 rfeven or eight times older ; and if the child will not do 
 your bidding, you should simply make her obey you. 
 What persuasion won't do, compulsion may ; if kind 
 words are of no avail, use angry ones." 
 
 " My lord, you may use compulsion without being able> 
 to compel. And as for angry words, my young lady cares 
 no more for them than for gentle ones. You can neither 
 coax her nor frighten her into being good. And then, 
 the questions she asks ! "
 
 24 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " What sort of questions ? " 
 
 "All sorts, my lord. Dreadful questions for a child, 
 and dreadful thoughts she must have, too. I will givo 
 you a specimen of her strange talk. A little while ago, I 
 tried to teach her some of Watts' s First Catechism, and we 
 did get through the first questions and answers, which, no 
 doubt, your lordship remembers ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do not. I suppose I learned ray catechisms 
 when I was a little chap, but I have forgotten them, every 
 word. I remember the Church Catechism begins by ask- 
 ing yon what your name is, and there's something about 
 your godfathers and godmothers, and the devil and all his 
 works, isn't there ? " 
 
 " Certainly there is, my lord ; but ii was not the Church 
 Catechism which I endeavoured to impart to Lady Clarissa. 
 It was Watts' s Catechism, the ' First Catechism/ which is 
 meant for quite young children. And it begins with 
 * Can you tell me, child, who made you ? ' The answer 
 is, ' The great God who made heaven and earth.' Well, 
 my young lady straightway caught at that, for she has a 
 wonderful memory, and says she to me, ' Now, Sweetie,' 
 that's the name she gave me as soon as ever she could 
 speak ' who is God, after all ? People talk a lot about 
 Him ; but where does He live, and who ever saw Him ? 
 And how do I know the book tells true ?' " 
 
 "A born sceptic, I declare ! And what did yon 
 .answer ? " 
 
 " I replied gravely, 'My lady, good books always tell 
 true, and it does not become little girls to doubt their 
 elders ! ' And then I explained that God was a Spirit, 
 and no one could see Him, though He could see us. And 
 I told her how He marked all her naughty words and 
 *vays, and put them down in His book, and how when she 
 died all her sins would be found written against her. 
 And then she laughs and says, ' And what will be done to 
 me ? ' I replied that she would go to hell, and live there 
 for ever and for ever in everlasting fire and torment." 
 
 " Rather strong doctrine that, for a girl just turned 
 Beven, is it not, Sweetapple ? Do you call that milk for 
 babes ? What did she say ? " 
 
 "She said plain out, 'I don't believe it, Sweetie; I
 
 THE EARL'S ALTERNATIVE. 25 
 
 conld not be burnt for ever and ever ; I should burn out ! 
 I daie say there is no hell, after all.' My lord, it made my 
 very flesh creep to hear such a child talk like a wicked in- 
 fidel. Of course, I punished her, but it was of no use. I 
 locked her up in the linen-room, where she could not well 
 get into mischief, and she got out through the window ; 
 I am sure I wonder she did not break her neck ? She had 
 to scramble down a clear fifteen feet, and nothing to hold 
 by but the ivy and the lattice-work the clematis is trained 
 upon. I have promised to shut her up in a dark closet 
 next time." 
 
 " Do you know, I would not do that, Sweetapple, for it 
 would be of no use. Besides, I don't hold with frighten- 
 ing children out of their senses, even if they are 
 terribly naughty. And, after all, the child only said what 
 she thought." 
 
 " Oh ! if children are to say all they think, my lord, 
 I've done. In my young days we were never allowed to 
 answer our elders, or to call in question what they taught 
 ns. And to go reasoning in that way ! And I am pretty 
 sure that at this moment Lady Clarissa no more believes 
 in hell than I believe in Mahomet's Paradise. It's a shock- 
 ing thing for a young lady of rank." 
 
 " If that is all, you need not trouble yourself, Sweet- 
 apple. Leave hell alone, and tell the child that if she is 
 good she will go to the other place. Preaching hell fire 
 and God's wrath would never make a Christian of me ; 
 talk to her about heaven, and see how that answers." 
 
 "My lord, she believes nothing of that sort. I read to 
 her on Sunday afternoons from the Bible; and the last 
 wet Sunday that ever was, I read to her all about the 
 Flood and the Ark, and she listened very attentively, and 
 as usual asked heaps of questions. When I had finished, 
 I said, ' Now, is not that a very pretty story, Lady 
 Clarissa ? ' And what do you think was her reply ? " 
 
 " Something quite heterodox, I am sure, from your face, 
 Sweetapple." 
 
 " I am not sure, my lord, what heterodox means ; bnt 
 what my lady did say was, ' No, it is not pretty, bnt it is 
 very funny. And it can't be true it never conld rain so 
 inuck. I don't believe it.' And I might as well have
 
 20 LADY CLATCISSA. 
 
 talked to a post as have gone on talking to her. I shotted 
 not have convinced her if I had argued with her for a 
 year." 
 
 " 1 believe you. I am afraid I am a bit of a sceptic 
 myself, Sweetapple ; and I suppose my daughter takes 
 after me. It is a pity, in consideration of her sex, that she 
 does not take after her mother, who was a saint if ever 
 woman was. There is always something repulsive in au 
 irreligious woman ; women had better be superstitious than 
 sceptical. It does not matter what a man is." 
 
 " Except to himself, my lord. A man must give an ac- 
 count of himself to God, just as surely as a woman. Bat 
 I have not told you all. One day I had occasion to say to 
 Lady Clarissa that she was nothing but dust and ashes. 
 It was just after she learned that bit of the Catechism, and 
 she turned upon me with, ' Did the great God make me of 
 dust and ashes, then are you sure ? ' Of course I said I 
 was. She only replied, ' I don't believe it ; if He did make 
 me He had something else.' And she looked at her hands 
 and arms and laughed, till I felt a creeping all down my 
 back. Next day she got a lot of dust and a heap of ashes, 
 and seemed to be playing with them. Nurse went to stop 
 her, asking her how she could touch such dirty things, and 
 she said she was trying to find out whether she was made 
 of dust and ashes, as I had told her, and she was sure now 
 that I was wrong, for dust and ashes would not stick to- 
 gether without they were wet with water, and made into a 
 paste. Nurse laughed, but I felt more inclined to cry, for 
 what can be done with such a child, my lord ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know, Sweetapple. She is an ' enfant 
 terrible,' and no mistake, and she will give all her teachers 
 a lot of trouble. I am sure I do not envy her tutors and 
 governesses. But you were to blame. Of course she could 
 not understand, nor could you explain, that she inherited 
 flesh and blood, which is popularly supposed to be dust and 
 ashes. And of course her only idea of ashes is cinders. 
 To tell her that she was actually compounded of dust and 
 ashes was to tell her what was untrue. You should not 
 Bay things to set her thinking." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord," returned Mrs. Sweetapple, deeply 
 offended, " I a v all be only too thankful to wash my hands
 
 IDE EARL'S ALTERNATIVE. 27 
 
 of Lady Clarissa. And that is what I mainly intended to 
 say to your lordship. I can't be responsible for her any 
 longer. You are away for months together, and the older 
 she grows the more refractory and the odder she gets. I 
 have tried to teach her to sew. Bless you ! I might as well 
 have tried to teach a wild cat to set her stitches ! She 
 wouldn't even thread her needle, and she threw her silver 
 thimble out of window. Lady Clarissa must be placed 
 under proper discipline, my lord." 
 
 " What do you mean by proper discipline, Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple ? " 
 
 " The discipline of school life, my lord, or else of a strict 
 governess, that has had experience. Besides, it is quite 
 time she learned something." 
 
 ** I suppose it is. She can read, of course ? " 
 
 *' Not a word, my lord. She barely knows her letters, 
 and she won't look at a book. Nurse bought her a pi'etty 
 picture-book last time she went to Winsham, hoping to get 
 her so interested that she would want to read the stories. 
 Instead of that, she jnst made up the tales to suit the pic- 
 tures out of her own head, and would not hear of looking- 
 at the printed pages. Was there ever such a child ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Sweetapple, for I never had much to do 
 with children ; but I suppose she ought to learn to read> 
 A girl cannot do without some sort of education, though 
 she need not learn much. She ought to read and write 
 and speak her own language correctly, and she should be 
 able to patter French pretty fluently, and she should be 
 taught to dance gracefully, and to play a little on the 
 piano ; and, of course, she should be trained in the habits 
 and manners of a gentlewoman. That is quite enough. I 
 do not like girls crammed with all kinds of knowledge and 
 burdened with accomplishments ; if women are ornamental 
 and amiable, that is all that can be required of them. I'll 
 see about a governess, Mrs. Sweetapple." 
 
 " Thank yon, my lord, and I hope you will soon find jusfc 
 the person who may be suitable." 
 
 But in her heart Mrs. Sweetapple was far from san- 
 guine. She knew too well that her lord's promises were 
 not very often kept, and that it was quite possible he would 
 go away and think no more about his little daughter and
 
 28 LADY CLA1U3SA, 
 
 licr requirements. He lived now almost entirely in town 
 or on the Continent. Since his wife's death Orwell Park 
 had been deserted, and, as the country people complained, 
 " not properly kept up." The fact being that the Earl was 
 in difficulties, and sadly short of money, though he had 
 succeeded to as fine a rent-roll and to estates as unencum- 
 bered as any in the Eastern Counties. How this unplea- 
 sant state of things came about he never could clearly 
 understand ; for, as he argued, when explaining his position 
 to the man of business who had also had charge of his 
 father's affairs, " I am not a spendthrift ; I don't keep up 
 a great establishment ; I am not extravagant, and yet " 
 
 " And yet all the large sums of ready money which came 
 into your lordship's possession on the demise of the late 
 Earl, your father, have somehow been expended, without 
 any apparent result. Kor is that all : you have borrowed 
 largely at a ruinous rate of interest, and at this moment 
 you run the risk of forfeiting certain valuable securities. 
 I tell you plainly all that is not entailed may for ever pass 
 away from you, and that which is inalienable will be so 
 heavily burdened that your actual income must be dis- 
 agreeably limited." 
 
 " And yet I have not squandered money as some of my 
 friends have ! I have not been exactly what you would 
 call economical, I know ; but I never dreamed of the neces- 
 sity for economy existing in my own case. Fellows have 
 to retrench now and then, I am aware ; and I suppose there 
 are very few noble families that have not, at some period 
 or other, gone through that uncomfortable process, and I 
 don't mind retrenching a little if need be." 
 
 " ' A little ' will be of no avail. And your lordship must 
 remember that you have been professedly ' retrenching ' 
 for the last four years. But retrenching may mean some- 
 thing or nothing or worse than nothing." 
 
 "It cannot mean 'nothing' in my own case. For have I 
 not let on lease my mansion in Grosvenor Square and 
 lived in chambers and at my club ? And have I not gone 
 abroad, as you recommended eh, Mr. Hadfield ?" 
 
 " I did not recommend your lordship to take up your 
 abode at Hombnrg, which unfortunately seems to be the 
 only place that agrees with your health. And there is a
 
 THB EARL'S ALTERNATITO. V.O 
 
 certain phase of club-life which proves in the end ten times 
 more costly than the most careless and lavish housekeep- 
 ing. If your lordship would only forswear the turf, and 
 roulette ! and games of hazard generally ! " 
 
 " You might as well ask me to turn cold-water drinker ! 
 And as for play, why, you know it is mere amusement f , 
 I seldom go in for stakes of any magnitude, and I won a 
 pot of money at Ascot last year." 
 
 " And lost it, and more than lost it, at Goodwood ! Loro 
 Orwell, your method is to save sixpences and squandei- 
 half-crowns. You say your stakes are, as a rule, not heavy, 
 but I must beg to remind you that, light or heavy, they are 
 continually being entered. A moderate incessant play is 
 far more disastrous in its issues than a few gambling 
 crises, which are apt to frighten foolish people into their 
 sober senses. It would have been good for you, my lord, 
 had you lost immensely." 
 
 " I never lost immensely nor gained immensely, Mr. 
 Hadfield. But it is of no use arguing about the way the 
 money goes when it is gone. We must raise money again 
 on the Hansdon estates." 
 
 "Yon cannot! That is unless you sell yourself body 
 and soul to the Jews. The Hunsdon lands are mortgaged 
 to the last penny of their value." 
 
 " What about S waff dale ? " 
 
 " Still worse ! S waff dale, not being in the entail, is all 
 but lost to yon." 
 
 " And I really can't thin the timber any more. I should 
 only come to grief if I did. You know the sort of can- 
 tankerous fellow Tom Oakleigh is! If Providence had 
 only blessed me with a son of my own, I might have come 
 to speedy terms with these reptiles of creditors. That 
 puny girl of mine is more plague than profit in short, 
 nothing but an anxiety and an incnmbrance." 
 
 " That reminds me, my lord, Lady Clarissa ought to 
 have some income secured to her. Her mother having 
 no property, and there being no marriage settlements, 
 she might, in case of your premature decease, be left as 
 portionless as a beggar. I am afraid it would be a 
 matter of much difficulty to do anything wilder present 
 circumstances ; still, if you are willing, for your child's
 
 30 LADY CLAKISSA. 
 
 sake, to make a sacrifice, I think a little might be secured 
 for the Lady Clarissa's future use say, a couple of 
 hundreds per annum ! A woman of title can scarcely do 
 with less, I think." 
 
 " Bother Lady Clarissa ! I never wanted a girl ; I had 
 set my heart on a son ! and to think that she should be 
 the only one. No, I don't feel inclined to make a sacrifice 
 on her account ; besides, I have a good part of my lifo 
 still before me ; I am barely forty." 
 
 " A man's fortunes are usually made or marred before 
 he is forty. My lord, I will be frank with you. I havo 
 carefully considered your liabilities, and I have calculated 
 that they cannot be met with your present means. If you 
 continue in your career of impecuniosity, there is nothing 
 but rain and outlawry before you. I see but one alter- 
 native " 
 
 " And that is ? " 
 
 " Yon must marry again, and the Countess of Orwell 
 must be a wealthy woman." 
 
 The Earl's countenance fell. " I don't want to marry 
 again : I have been twice married, and have no desire to 
 make another venture. And it is not so ea,sy to catch 
 heiresses, out of novels. Is there no other way ? " 
 
 " No other way that I can perceive. You have married 
 for family, and you have married for love and beauty ; 
 now yon must marry for money ! " 
 
 " Easier said than done, Hadfield. And the pill, though 
 gilded, would be difficult to swallow ! Heiresses are always 
 ngly, elderly, exigeante. No ! I can't do it. Think of 
 some other scheme." 
 
 " Your lordship can surrender your affairs to your 
 creditors, become bankrupt in point of fact. When the 
 estate is finally wound up, some small pittance may or 
 not remain to you. The alternative is not a pleasant one; 
 take my advice, and mairy." 
 
 "Many whom? Have you a heiress all ready and 
 waiting for me ? Who is she ? What is she ? Let me 
 know all about it. I tell you beforehand I won't marry 
 a chattering old maid, not if she can afford to play afe 
 chaek-penny with sovereigns, and curl her hair with ban's 
 notes."
 
 THE EAEI/S ALTERNATIVE. HI 
 
 S1 The lady I have in view is not an old maid. She is 
 very rich , very handsome, and and I am, assured, well 
 educated." 
 
 ' is she a gentlewoman ? " 
 
 ** I can scarcely say she is. She is a client of mine, and 
 that is how I came to know her so well. Her lata 
 imsband " 
 
 " Her late husband / You are not proposing that I 
 should marry a widow, surely ? " 
 
 "Why not? It seems to me only in the fitness of 
 things that widowers should wed with widows. And this 
 widow is immensely wealthy, and childless though, by 
 the way, I believe she has a step-daughter ; and she is 
 ambitious, wants rank and position, and will be only too 
 happy to pay your debts, redeem your mortgages, release 
 your securities, &c., if she may only be made Countess of 
 Orwell in return." 
 
 " I shoald not mind her money if I could have it with- 
 out the encumbrance. A few cool thousands would set me 
 on my legs again." 
 
 " No, not a few, my lord ! A. few thousands would only 
 be a sop for the jaws of Cerberus. You want a good 
 many thousands, and you may have them, if you will. 
 Mrs. Shrosbery is in possession of a quarter of a million 
 I don't say how much more and it is her whim to marry 
 a nobleman. Why should you not be that nobleman ? " 
 
 " I'll think about it. I don't mind seeing the lady ; but 
 I make no promises, mark you. I have no inclination for 
 the match, not the least; still, one may as well wear chains 
 of matrimony as chains of debts and duns. And you are 
 eure the widow is handsome ? " 
 
 "I am no great judge of beauty myself; bat it is under- 
 stood on all hands that Mrs. Shrosbery is a very fine 
 woman. She is tall and well made, and she has a 
 splendid head of hair." 
 
 " Her charms are full-blown, no doubt. She is not it 
 the rose-bud style, 1 suppose ? " 
 
 " Well, no ! A full-blown rose would be the better 
 simile. But she is barely thirty-five, and does not look her 
 a S e 5 hy candle-light, and judiciously dressed, she might 
 pass for twenty-five."
 
 52 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 u Where is she to be seen ? " 
 
 " She is at this moment in my own house ; flihe i?as 
 spending the winter at Cheltenham, and is now come up 
 to town for the season. She is in treaty for a house in 
 Kensington Gore. If your lordship would condescend to 
 dine with ns to-morrow evening, you might be introduced 
 to Mrs. Shrosbery, and judge for yourself. I should give 
 out that you had a little business which could not be 
 properly settled to-day in office hours. Will you come ? " 
 
 "Thank you, I think I will. If the widow is not to 
 my taste, I have only to be discreet. I need not compro- 
 mise myself at a first interview. But I warn you, I won't 
 marry a fat, vulgar woman, with nobody knows how 
 many vulgar relations, even though she may have in- 
 herited Aladdin's lamp. You are quite sure the money is 
 all right ? " 
 
 *' Perfectly sure. I know her affairs far better than she 
 knows them herself. Her fortune, derived from her late 
 husband, Peter Shrosbery, is left to her quite uncondition- 
 ally ; the old man was very fond of her ; he was thirty 
 years her senior, and as kind and generous an old fellow 
 as I ever met. He was no dog in the manger to tie her 
 up with conditions, when he should be cold in his grave. 
 I advised him to make some limitations as to his widow's 
 power over the property ; but he would not hear of it. 
 ' ISTo, no ! ' he answered ; ' she has been a good wife to me, 
 and I should like her to enjoy herself when I am dead and 
 gone. She is no romantic girl, and has plenty of common- 
 sense. I am not afraid but that she will make a good 
 bargain for herself when she marries again.' " 
 
 " How long has Mr. Shrosbery been dead ? " 
 
 " About fifteen months ; the widow is still in her 
 second mourning ; she is only just thinking of returning 
 to society." 
 
 "Was she 'in society,' then, in her husband's life- 
 time ? " 
 
 " Not in what you would consider as ' society,' my lord. 
 ' Society ' is a relative term, I take it. There is society ab 
 Seven Dials, and there is society in May Fair. Mrs. 
 Shrosbery's society was somewhere between the t-*vo. 
 Nothing less than May Fair, however, will in future coa
 
 MRS. SHEOSBERY. 33 
 
 tent her. My lord, my previsions are that you will mai*ry 
 Louisa Sbrosbery." 
 
 " And so her name is Louisa ! a name I detest." 
 
 " Mr. Shrosbery generally called her ' Loo,' and being 
 christened Peter himself, he had a little joke of his own 
 about ' Peterloo ! ' If you like the lady, you will soon 
 be reconciled to her name." 
 
 " I must first be reconciled to the idea of marrying her. 
 Do widows expect mnch love-making ? " 
 
 " I really cannot say, my lord, never having had any 
 experience in that way. But women, whether maids or 
 widows, like to be courted. However, you need not 
 concern yourself on that point at present. I will not say 
 another word till yon have been introduced to Mra. 
 Shrosbery." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MRS. SHEOSBERT. 
 
 " Methinks the lady talks exceeding wise ! 
 Has she a heart, think you? " 
 
 " WE shall have a small dinner-party to-night," said Mr. 
 Hadfield, at the breakfast- table, next morning. " And, 
 Mrs. Shrosbery, I shall expect you to be indescribably 
 charming." 
 
 " Am I ever anything but charming ? " asked the lady, 
 with a languishing glance at the celebrated lawyer. 
 
 " Certainly not ! " was the gallant reply of the old bean, 
 who had been making fine speeches to fine ladies ever 
 Bince he left off petticoats. " Of course, you are in- 
 variably charming ; but I want you to outshine yourself 
 this evening. Pray make your appearance in the drawing- 
 room armed for conquest." 
 
 " Will there be anybody worth the trouble of conquer* 
 
 3
 
 34 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ing ? I can tell you I am not accustomed to put on my 
 war-paint for every-day people. Who is coming ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hadfield will tell you all about it ; I am duo in 
 Westminster Hall in half an hour, and I hear the 
 brougham coming round. Good morning, Mrs. Shros- 
 bery ; I shall expect to find you radiant when I return 
 with my most honoured guest. A word to the wise is 
 sufficient ! Good morning, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Hadfield, who was really the lawyer's wife, though, 
 like many other elderly husbands, he called her " mother," 
 was a dear, gentle-voiced, kind-hearted little woman, 
 verging upon sixty-five. She was still pretty, with a 
 faint tint of peach-blossom on her cheeks, and soft lustre 
 in her light blue eyes, and braids of beautiful silver- white 
 hair, that exactly suited her delicate but faded complexion, 
 and her sweet, innocent expression of countenance. A 
 greater contrast than she presented to her visitor can 
 scarcely be imagined. 
 
 Mrs. Shrosbery was, as Mr. Hadfield had declared, tall 
 and well-made, and would undoubtedly be considered 
 handsome by most people. She had a good deal of colour, 
 not too much, at present ; fine hazel eyes, which she knew 
 how to use ; a straight nose, and that great charm of 
 woman an abundant supply of glossy, curling dark hair, 
 which she could arrange in any way that pleased her. 
 Her month spoiled her ; it was a coarse mouth, and her 
 forehead, too, wanted breadth, and was just a trifle too 
 high for actual beauty. Also, there were points about 
 her, such as large ears, over-sized hands and feet, which 
 to a fastidious observer might be supposed to indicate a 
 plebeian origin. 
 
 Who really was she ? yon may perhaps ask ; and as 
 her history and that of Lady Clarissa became speedily 
 interwoven, it is just as well that yon should know all 
 that is to be known about her. The records of her earliest 
 years are shrouded in obscurity. Her father and mother 
 "lived down Whitechapel way," and it was commonly 
 reported that her parents, being but in a small way of 
 business, had her taught the trade of dressmaking, with a 
 view, of course, to future self-maintenance. But this on 
 dit cue would think must have been without foundation,
 
 MKS. SIIROSBERY. 35 
 
 since, as Mrs. Peter Shrosbery, she barely knew how to 
 thread her needle, unless it were with chenille and Berlin 
 wool, and she frequently avowed her own ignorance and 
 stupidity in the womanly art of sewing, shaping, and 
 cutting out. It was also rumoured falsely, of course 
 that in her first bloom she was engaged to a Whitechapel 
 butcher ; but this fact, if fact it be, remains entirely un- 
 substantiated. The exact point at which the history of 
 Louisa Sparks becomes really reliable is that of her 
 marriage to Peter Shrosbery, of Bermondsey and of 
 Peckham, a wealthy tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, old 
 enough to be her father, a widower, with the encum- 
 brance of an only child a delicate little girl, who lived 
 almost entirely with her mother's family in. the country. 
 How Miss Sparks and Mr. Shrosbery met, and felt a 
 mutual flame, and how soon their passion was confessed, 
 cannot be ascertained; nor does it concern us to inquire, 
 as Miss Sparks had nothing to do with Lady Clarissa, 
 though Mrs. Shrosbery and she were fated to become 
 most intimately acquainted. It is enough to state that 
 the tallow- chandler was quickly fascinated ; that he made 
 honourable proposals, and was not refused ; and that in 
 due season the banns of marriage betwe.en Peter Shros- 
 bery, widower, and Louisa Sparks, spinster, were put up 
 in Shoreditch Church, where the ceremony was subse- 
 quently performed. 
 
 Now, Mr. Hadfield was Mr. Shrosbery's lawyer, and it so 
 happened that at one period or another of his prosperous 
 career he required a good deal of law. Gradually, as 
 Mr. Shrosbery grew richer, which he did at an amazing 
 pace, his affairs were more and more in the hands of Mr. 
 Hadfield, who was very often at the chandler's private 
 residence at Peckham, where, as a matter of course, he 
 saw a good deal of the youthful and sprightly Mrs. Shros- 
 bery. He could not but admire the lady who made his 
 friend and client so good a wife. He could scarcely sup- 
 pose she had married for love ; nevertheless, she was most 
 exemplary in all her wifely duties. Her menage, if not 
 elegant and tasteful, was really excellent in itself ; and she 
 waited upon her husband, when he became an invalid, 
 with a devotion not too common in those who are snp- 
 
 32
 
 35 LADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 posed to have made a match of pure, uncalculating affec- 
 tion. 
 
 The timo arrived when it became evident that Peter 
 Shrosbery's days on earth were numbered; when the 
 family doctor and the famous physician, who was called in 
 to "give an opinion,'* ominously shook their heads, and 
 cautiously hinted that if their patient had any worldly 
 affairs requiring settlement, it would only be prudent to 
 attend to them without delay. Also, it was intimated 
 that it was expedient that the little girl before-mentioned 
 should be fetched from her home among the Surrey hills, 
 and that a clergyman should forthwith be requested to 
 take in hand the spiritual interests of the fast-failing 
 tallow-chandler. 
 
 So prudent a man as Peter Shrosbery had not, of course, 
 kept his worldly affairs in such confusion as to require 
 any great amount of settlement ; still, there were several 
 matters needing adjustment, and Mr. Hadfield's legal and 
 friendly services were continually in demand. 
 
 " It's all straight, I think," said the dying man to the 
 lawyer not many days before the end came. " I have 
 taken pains to leave everything quite square and clear, so 
 that there shall be no questions or quibbling when I am 
 gone. As you drew up my will, you know all about it. 
 My daughter Susan has her mother's property, and she 
 has tidy expectations from her relations at Beigate, and I 
 leave her twenty thousand pounds besides quite enough 
 for a girl who will never make any great figure in the 
 world. All the rest, to the last farthing, I leave, wiihoui 
 conditions, to my wife Louisa, and you and she are sole 
 executors." 
 
 " Bat," urged Mr. Hadfield, " Mrs. Shrosbery is a very 
 fine young woman, and excuse me, my dear friend but 
 it is not impossible that in years to come, when time has 
 naturally softened the anguish of bereavement, she may 
 take to herself another husband." 
 
 " Of course she will marry again," replied his client. 
 ft Why should she not ? "Why should she, in the flower 
 of her days, be condemned to perpetual widowhood ? Of 
 course she thinks now, poor girl, that she can never get 
 over my losa ; but time heals deeper wounds than hera
 
 MRS. SHEOSBEEY. 37 
 
 can be, and she will naturally recover her spirits, and ba 
 once more admired and courted and why not ? I am no 
 dog in the manger, and I am not going to tie her up any- 
 how. Poor Loo ! she has been a good wife to me, and we 
 have been very happy ; but I know I was too old and 
 grave for her. I want her to enjoy her lifo. You will 
 look after her, I know ? " 
 
 " I will do what I can. You are a very generous man, 
 Mr. Shrosbery." 
 
 " ISTo, no ! only just. I don't like binding women 
 down, and making conditions, and that sort of thing. I 
 have made my money myself, and I have a right to do 
 what I like with it little Susie being provided for. And 
 it shall all go to my dear wife, Louisa Shrosbery, and she 
 may do precisely what she likes with it." 
 
 " Still, you would not like your money to be turned into 
 ducks and drakes ! To be squandered by any worthless 
 prodigal, who may spend Mrs. Shrosbery's handsom.9 
 income, and dissipate the principal, and ill-use Tier f " 
 
 " I should turn in my grave, if any brute ill-used her J 
 by all that's sacred I should ! " said the sick man. " Bat 
 I am not afraid I should be afraid of most women, but I 
 am not of Loo. She is prudent to a fault ; she won't be 
 caught by Brummagem jewellery and gilded shows ! No 
 fear of that; she'll make a wise choice, as you'll see, if 
 you live a few years longer. I don't say she'll wed a 
 wealthy man, for money need not marry money, though it 
 often does, which seems to me a pity ; but she will know 
 what she is about, or I am much deceived, and take her 
 pigs to the best market. She thinks a lot of gentility, 
 titles, and all that kind of thing, and maybe she will go 
 in for rank and position in her second marriage. I don't 
 see why she should not, if it pleases her. Anyhow, she is 
 safe to do well for herself." 
 
 If Mr. Hadfield had known how much money was being- 
 thns bequeathed, he would perhaps have continued to urge* 
 upon his client the necessity of the conditions which he- 
 spurned ; but he did not know till it came to settling tho 
 estate how very rich the widow Shrosbery really was. 
 When he told Lord Orwell that she possessed over a 
 quarter of a million, he spoke quite within the truth ; the
 
 38 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 fact being that the surplus thousands over and above the 
 250,000 went far towards making up the quarter to half 
 a million ! 
 
 And so Peter Shrosbery, who had never wronged any 
 man, nor owed a sixpence in his life, nor spoken an unkind 
 word to child or woman, died, and was buried with all the 
 pompous ceremony due to so rich a person and to so excel- 
 lent a citizen. He had retired from business some years 
 previously, so that Louisa was not mixed up with the soap 
 and candle works, to her own extreme satisfaction ; and as 
 soon as possible after the funeral she retired with an 
 elderly companion to Bath, whence after awhile she 
 migrated to Cheltenham, where she resided during some 
 months quite apart from society the most decorous of 
 inconsolable widows ! 
 
 But the first year of mourning being fully expired, she 
 felt that it was only her duty to return by degrees to the 
 world of fashion in which she secretly desired to shine. I 
 said return ; but enter would have been more correct, for 
 Tip to the period of her widowhood she had not aspired to 
 that which certain privileged people call " society." She 
 was heartily tired of the dnlness and inanities of fashion- 
 able watering-places, and her heart yearned after the joys 
 of the metropolis. Mr. Hadfield, who had arranged 
 everything for her, and to whose judgment she trusted 
 implicitly, at this juncture invited her to come up to town 
 at once, and spend a few quiet weeks with himself and 
 Mrs. Hadfield, while she looked out for a suitable house in 
 the aristocratic quarter, and made her arrangements 
 generally. Nothing loth, she accepted the invitation, and 
 found the situation so pleasant that her visit extended over 
 many weeks. 
 
 Mr. Hadfield, too, enjoyed the society of Mrs. Shros- 
 bery, for a little mild and perfectly decorous flirtation was 
 quite in his way. Exchanging compliments and graceful 
 speeches with her gave a flavour and piquancy to his home 
 life which had long been wanting. As Mrs. Hadfield 
 used to say, " They get on amazingly, and she amuses my 
 husband so well that 1 can go to sleep after dinner with- 
 out feeling that he is slighted." And so it came to pass 
 that the lawyer was consulted on nearly every point, and,
 
 ling. SHEOSBERT. 39 
 
 of conrso, it one day fell out that, while the lady of the 
 house took her siesta, the subject of second marriages 
 come upon the tapis. And then it was that Mrs. Shros- 
 bery avowed her ambitious projects. She quite intended 
 making a second alliance, and nothing short of the peer- 
 age would content her. " I will be ' my lady,' or remain 
 Mrs. Shrosbery to my dying day," was the conclusion of 
 the whole matter. And Mr. Hadfield assured her that 
 with her beauty, her wit, and her splendid fortune, she 
 might command any alliance she chose short of royalty. 
 And even that might be within her reach if she did not 
 object to petty German princes of ruined fortunes. 
 
 Bat Mrs. Shrosbery would object, and she said so very 
 decidedly. Poor Peter had known what he was talking 
 about, when he gave his widow-elect credit for an unusual 
 amount of worldly wisdom. Louisa was not going to 
 waste her charms or her money-bags on impecunious 
 black-legs, with mortgaged principalities and dubious re- 
 putation. She had a supreme contempt for any sort of 
 foreign title, and was persuaded in her own mind that 
 nearly all the Continental counts and chevaliers who 
 figured in Bath and Cheltenham drawing-rooms were 
 hairdressers or dancing-masters in their native land. 
 
 " No !" she replied gravely; "no German princes for 
 me, I thank you, Mr. Hadfield ! Of course I am not so 
 foolish as to suppose that I can ever aspire to match with 
 British royalty, but I see no reason why I should not be- 
 come the lawful wife of a British peer. No recent crea- 
 tion, mind you, no ' law-lord/ whatever that may be, but 
 I know my Peter thought very small beer of them, as 
 only half-and-half noblemen. And I scarcely expect to 
 get a duke dukes are rather scarce, are they not ? Nor 
 yet a marquis perhaps. An earl is about the ticket, I sup* 
 pose, and I would put up with a viscount if he could 
 boast of long descent, sixteen quarterings, and all that, 
 you know ! But I will have nothing to say to anything 
 lower than a viscount, so don't propose any borons or 
 baronets ; and, of course, City knights are no more eligible 
 than draymen." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield was inwardly amused. He was secretly 
 hoping that his eldest son, who was a much cleverer man
 
 40 LADY CLAKISSA. 
 
 than himself, might one day aspire to becoming " a law- 
 lord," and the idea of a woman, -who had never even 
 heard of heraldry, stipulating for "sixteen quarterings," 
 was, to say the least of it, extremely diverting ! Certainly, 
 Mrs. Shrosbery was not at all disposed to underrate her 
 claims ; it was very clear that if she disposed of herself, 
 and of what was of infinitely more importance, of her 
 very handsome fortune, she meant to have an equivalent. 
 But Mr. Hadfield was determined to be quite sure of his 
 premises ; before he stirred in the matter, he would re- 
 ceive definite " instructions." And his fair client being 
 far from over- fastidious, he was not afraid of offending 
 her by coming boldly to the point. 
 
 " Let me quite understand yon, Mrs. Shrosbery," he 
 said gravely; "you do, then, contemplate a second 
 marriage ? " 
 
 "Well, yes! I may as well say first as last that I do. 
 I cannot say I appreciate single blessedness as some women 
 do; "if I had children I might feel differently. As it is, 
 I see no reason why I should not marry well and enjoy my 
 life. If I am careful, I have twenty years of health and 
 tolerable looks before me. A woman with advantages, 
 and with proper attention to her dress and to her appear- 
 ance generally, may hold on till she is fifty-five. After 
 that, the sooner she retires into private life the better, I 
 should fancy, unless she is like that Madame Ninon that 
 von were speaking of the other day, who kept her beauty 
 till she was over seventy." 
 
 " So far, so good ! Now, how soon will you marry, 
 provided an entirely eligible parti presents himself ? " 
 
 " Well, that is a delicate question ! Some ladies think 
 they have done all that is prudent if they wait a twelve- 
 month and a day. I would not marry Peter till the first. 
 Mrs. Shrosbery had been in her grave a twelvemonth and 
 a day. If I had, I should have expected her to haunt 
 us. But I have always said, and I think I'll stick to it, 
 Mr. Hadfield, that I never would marry again under two 
 years. Then, no one could say ugly things of me, and 
 tell people that I was in a hurry, and I should feel 
 that I had paid every respect to my poor dear Peter 'a 
 memory."
 
 MRS. SHEOSBERT. 41 
 
 " Next I must ask, will yon be content with nobility, 
 without wealth ? Will you accept a title, without the cor- 
 responding income ? Would an impoverished nobleman 
 not disgust you ? " 
 
 " That would depend ! I should not care to marry a 
 beggar. Though, I really don't know, all other things 
 being equal, that I need mind titled beggary. For, you 
 see, I have enough, if he have not, and Peter always 
 used to say he never could go in for money marrying 
 money. And there's something else to be considered : I 
 am no young simpleton, and I am pretty sure no rich, un- 
 encumbered peer of the realm would marry me. Men of 
 rank and ancient family marry for three things family 
 or connection, beauty, and money. Now, I need not mince 
 matters with you, Mr. Hadfield, because you know pretty 
 well that I have no connections that I choose to acknow- 
 ledge. I've got some uncles, and aunts, and cousins down 
 Whitechapel way, but even as Mrs. Shrosbery I always 
 gave them the cold shoulder. So I cannot be married for 
 my family. I am not ' well connected,' as you are, I be- 
 lieve. Then as to beauty, I am afraid I have not enough 
 to make a man sacrifice all considerations to that. I am 
 well to look at, I am aware ; poor Peter always said so, 
 and you have paid me a few compliments, you know, Mr. 
 Hadfield, quite enough to turn a vain woman's head ; but 
 I am not like Jidiet in the play, nor like that Helen that 
 they fought about in the ancient times though I do believe, 
 now I come to think about it, that I am a little like that 
 Queen of Egypt whose picture I went to see the other 
 day, only my hair is not so blue-black, nor my skin so 
 brown, and I am always properly dressed, which she was 
 not, by any means. And then to come to money, it is 
 all right, and the man that wants that, gets it, when he 
 marries me." 
 
 " You are a very sensible woman, Mrs. Shrosbery, yes, 
 and a very handsome one, too ! I will not have you under- 
 rate your own good looks. As to Cleopatra, she was 
 not fit to hold a candle to you that is, in my esti- 
 mation." 
 
 *' I am sure it is very kind of you to say so. But do yon 
 know any impoverished nobleman at present ? He muat
 
 42 ^ADT CLARISSA. 
 
 be good-looking, yon understand, and not too elderly, and 
 he must be amiable, and Tie must have a pedigree ! " 
 
 Mr. Hadfield smiled. He did know Mrs. Shrosbery'a 
 antecedents, and lie had often wondered that Peter Shros- 
 bery had had the temerity to overlook them. Louisa's 
 papa was something in a very small way so small that ho 
 hardly knew himself what it was. And Louisa's mamma 
 was a very inferior greengroceress, and dispensed potatoes, 
 and cabbages, and "garden-stuff" generally, and half- 
 hundredweights of coals, with her own fair hands. Sho 
 was none the worse for that, certainly ; honest trade, down 
 to costermongering, is nothing to be ashamed of, and sell- 
 ing onions and radishes, and pickling cabbages in their 
 season, is perfectly respectable, though not exactly genteel. 
 Still, it was too much that the lucky daughter of Mrs. 
 Sparks should stipulate for pedigrees and sixteen quarter- 
 ings ! But Louisa attributed the lawyer's quiet smile to 
 an appreciation of her own peculiar good taste and judg- 
 ment. 
 
 And as he "smole that smile," he determined to make 
 a match between the wealthy, ambitions widow, and his 
 impecnnious client, the Earl of Orwell. There would be 
 no difficulty so far as the lady was concerned, for 
 Lord Orwell more than fulfilled all the required conditions 
 she had named ; but whether the Earl could be induced to 
 woo the rich relict of Peter Shrosbery was quite another 
 consideration ; so Mr. Hadfield kept his own counsel and 
 said nothing about any contemplated introduction. Ho 
 would sound his lordship first, before he gave Mrs. Shros- 
 bery a hint. As we have seen, he did sound his noble 
 client, and found him, though slightly averse, by no 
 means impracticable. Indeed, the thing was as good as 
 done in the lawyer's estimation, for the Earl was abso- 
 lutely ruined. He must have money, and there was only 
 one way of securing it. And then Mrs. Shrosbery would 
 know very well how to make her game ; she had wonderful 
 tact, and would soon find out all her lordly lover's little 
 weaknesses. Once introduce the pair, and he was toler- 
 ably certain that ere long the widow would become Countess 
 of Orwell. 
 
 Left alone with Mrs. Hadfield, Louisa soon learned all
 
 "ON HER BEST BEHAVIOUR." 43 
 
 that she wanted to learn concerning that evening's enter- 
 tainment. The Earl of Orwell was the principal guest ; 
 he was a widower, and he was according to Debrett 
 and Lodge of very ancient family, and was bound to 
 have a lengthy pedigree, and an unlimited number of 
 *' quarterings." 
 
 " He has never been here to dinner before," said the 
 gentle little lady, "for, of course, earls are not exactly in 
 our way. Bat I suppose Anthony has some special end 
 in view in asking him. They have had a great deal of 
 business together lately. It is so widely known that his 
 lordship is in difficulties, that I need not mind mentioning 
 the fact to you. I am very sorry for him." 
 
 Mrs. Shrosbery said she was sorry, too, though her 
 remark would scarcely have passed unchallenged in the 
 Palace of Truth. But she perfectly comprehended why 
 she was to arm herself for conquest. As Mr. Hadfield had 
 remarked, " A word to the wise is sufficient for them." 
 Half a word is enough for some people, who are shrewd 
 and far-seeing, if they are not wise in the best interpreta- 
 tion of the word. Feeling, therefore, that this evening 
 would probably be the crisis of her fate, she very soon 
 made some excuse to Mrs. Hadfield for retiring to her own 
 room, in order that she might reflect without disturbance, 
 and decide upon the dress and ornaments she would wear 
 on BO impoi'tant an occasion. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " ON HER BEST BEHAVIOUR." 
 
 "A verb must a^ree frith, its nominative case, in number and 
 person." LINDLEY MURRAY. 
 
 IT was long before Mrs. Shrosbery could decide upon the 
 most becoming costume for the evening, although, 1 being 
 still in mourning, her choice was limited. Assisted by 
 her maid, she turned over her dresses, only to find herself
 
 44 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 dissatisfied with them all ; if she had had but a fow more 
 hours' notice, she might have gone to her dressmaker, and 
 insisted upon something entirely new for the occasion. 
 All she could do now was to grumble, and worry that 
 much-enduring young woman, Nancy Pretty well, whom 
 she had engaged as personal attendant during her stay in 
 Bath. 
 
 " What am I to do ? " inquired Mrs. Shrosbsry, at 
 length, in utter despair. " The fact is, I have nothing afc 
 all fit to put on, Pretty well ! you ought to have been more 
 considerate. What is the use of keeping your own maid, 
 if you are to be bothered in this way ? a lord coming to 
 dinner, and not a dress in all my wardrobe that is in the 
 least distingue ! " 
 
 Prettywell looked askance at all the handsome robes 
 that were spread forth for her mistress's inspection. 
 There were rich silks, and satins, and moires several of 
 them quite new, and made in the very latest fashion ; but 
 they all had one supreme fault ; they were llacJc, and 
 Mrs. Shrosbery hated black with an excessive and inex- 
 tinguishable hatred. Nevertheless, as widows those, at 
 least, who are not of the Society of Friends are expected 
 to wear sable garments for an indefinite period, she had, 
 as a matter of course, donned the garb of woe, and covered 
 herself with bombazine and crape, till she looked not 
 unlike a perambnlatory hearse or mourning coach. And 
 equally of course, she had proclaimed her intention to 
 mourn in deepest " weeds " for the remaining term of her 
 natural existence. She tired, however, of crape and bom- 
 bazine in less than six months, and began to add a little 
 smart bugle trimming and a few jet ornaments ; and very 
 soon she allowed herself to be persuaded to dispense with 
 the ugly orthodox cap, which so spoilt her beautiful hair, 
 and gave her nervous headaches. Still, though by this 
 time bombazines had given place to silks and even satins, 
 and though not a vestige of crape, save a few graceful 
 folds of aereophane, was to be seen upon her comely 
 person, it necessarily followed that she wore black only ; 
 hence her difficulty. 
 
 " You must wear that lovely satin, ma'am, which you 
 have never put on yet since it came home from Madame
 
 "ON HER BEST BEHAVIOUR." 45 
 
 Marie's. It becomes you wonderful, and snows off yon* 
 figure to perfection." 
 
 " It doesn't look quite so gloomy as the silks," replied 
 the lady, " but it is black ! How I wish I h^d a pale 
 lavender, or a delicate French grey, or something of that 
 sort ! And really, Prettywell, it's too bad of you not to 
 have thought of it; a person in your position should 
 always be ready on an emergency." 
 
 "No doubt," thought Prettywell ; " but who would ever 
 have dreamed of a fifteen months' widow wanting to go 
 into the lightest complimentary mourning at a moment's 
 notice ? " 
 
 But she said no word, for Prettywell was a thoroughly 
 trained Abigail, and knew her place and her mistress's 
 temper likewise. She only suggested that as it was quite 
 impossible to have a new dress in readiness by eight 
 o'clock that evening, Mrs. Shrosbery had better take 
 kindly to the thick, glossy satin, which she had im- 
 patiently tossed aside, and have it tastefully trimmed up 
 with lace and white rucheings, or anything else that 
 would take away from it the appearance of actual 
 mourning. 
 
 " Can you do it ? " asked Louisa, eagerly, jumping at 
 the proposition. " Will there be time ? And do you think 
 it would look strange if I wore some of my jewels ? I am 
 so sick of jet." 
 
 " I know I can do it, ma'am," replied Prettywell ; '' I 
 have got all I want. I can make the dress look most 
 elegant. As to the ornaments, pearls are always worn in 
 mourning that is to say, in demi-deuil, which black satin 
 and lace is, and no mistake. Don't fear, ma'am, I'll be 
 bound you go in to dinner to-night the best dressed lady 
 as sits down to table ! " 
 
 This important question being settled, and the black 
 satin fairly in process of ornamentation, Mrs. Shrosbery 
 was able to give herself up to meditations of a more 
 serious character. She had never in all her life spoken to 
 a real nobleman, City knights having been hitherto the 
 most exalted personages with whom she had been on 
 speaking terms, and she was much exercised in her mind 
 oa the subject of the etiquette which wa* supposed to pre-
 
 46 tADY CLARISSA. 
 
 vail among tlie tipper ten thousand. Of course, she must 
 address the Earl as " my lord " and " yonr lordship." She 
 knew so much from certain Mansion Honse experiences ; 
 but, oh dear, how should she ever sustain a conversation 
 properly? She was "a good one for making fan," her 
 Peter had often told her ; but then she had a shrewd sus- 
 picion that some of her jokes were just a little too broad 
 for aristocratic listeners ; nor was she quite certain aboufc 
 her " parts of speech." She had never learned any 
 grammar in the days of her youth, bat in later years, 
 with a laudable view to self-improvement, she had studied 
 her Lindley Murray, without, however, being very much 
 the wiser. All she gained from her self-imposed task was 
 a cursory knowledge of her "parts of speech," and she 
 thought she could discriminate between a verb and a noun, 
 though the conjugations, with all their inflexions of mood 
 and tense, remained the most inscrutable of mysteries. 
 
 When she had dismissed Prettywell, she again drew 
 forth the small school- grammar, which she always kept at 
 hand, together with a pocket dictionary, a ready-reckoner, 
 and " Hints on Etiquette," and once more assured herself 
 of the rule which demands " that a verb shall agree with 
 its nominative case." She puzzled over that rule, and 
 the next one, till she lost patience, and flung down the 
 book in absolute disgust. " What's the good of writing 
 such stuff?" she said, crossly, feeling much inclined to 
 toss the unoffending little volume behind the fire. " ' A 
 verb must agree with its nominative case ! ' Well, and 
 what then ? Let it agree ! I am sure I have no ob- 
 jection, if I only knew how to make it agree, and if I had 
 the least idea what the nominative case really meant. 
 And what has that to do with talking properly ? I can't 
 see the connection between a verb and its nominative case 
 and the right way of speaking. And if I could, I should 
 never remember it just at the right time. I am sure 
 the trouble that first rule of syntax has given me no 
 one would believe, and I am no nearer understanding 
 it now than I was when I first opened the grammar-book. 
 I dare not think about the twenty- one rules that como 
 after; a glance at them is enough to turn one's brain. 
 What in the world is a disjunctive conjunction, and why
 
 "ON HER BEST BEHAVIOUR." 4? 
 
 has it an effect contrary to that of the conjunction copu- 
 lative P And what's a noun of multitude ? And then, 
 again ! ' Relative pronouns must always agree with their 
 antecedents ! ' Mr. Hadfield said something about my 
 antecedents the other day, and he recommended me not 
 to refer to them, even casually. I don't see why my 
 antecedents should be less important than the pronoun's 
 antecedents ! And what can ifc matter whether the pro- 
 nouns and their antecedents quarrel or not? All I care 
 about is being able to talk like a lady born. I would not, 
 for worlds, come out with anything ungrammatical beforo 
 my lord ; and how can I help it if I don't know what is 
 grammatical and what isn't P And this stupid book will 
 never make me a bit the wiser, not even if I learn it all 
 by heart, every word of it, from Orthography to Prosody, 
 which doesn't seem to mean anything at all ! I wish I had 
 thought of taking a few lessons last winter ; I might have 
 done it on the quiet at Cheltenham so nicely, and no one 
 been the wiser. I might have said my health was delicate 
 as a girl, so that my education was rather neglected, and that 
 I wished just to refresh my memory, and all that. How 
 could I be so stupid, when I had quite made np my mind 
 to marry into the peerage ? And there is nobody I could 
 consult ; my old friends know no more than I do, and per- 
 haps not so much, and I don't like to expose myself to 
 new and genteel acquaintances. I wonder if I could get 
 anything out of Mrs. Hadfield ! She is a lady, and must 
 know grammar, and rhetoric, and versification, and all, 
 of course. There is the luncheon bell ; I have a great 
 mind to try the old lady ! She isn't one to sneer at you 
 because you are not as well educated as you might be." 
 
 And with this determination Mrs. Shrosbery went down 
 to luncheon, and apologised for her morning seclusion up- 
 stairs. " Do not say a word, my dear," replied Mrs. 
 Hadfield ; " I never interfere with my guests in the morn- 
 ing, unless there is some plan of shopping or going to one 
 of the picture galleries. I leave them to their own devices, 
 only letting them know what time, the carriage is coming 
 round." 
 
 " 1 wonder if that is the way in fashionable circles now, 
 in tip-top society 1 " mused Mrs, Shrosbery ; but, being
 
 <J8 LADY CLARIS SA. 
 
 discreet, she ate her cold chicken in silence, and spoke DO 
 word till the servant in attendance had left the room, 
 which he did very quickly, it being the custom of the 
 Hadfields to do without much waiting on at luncheon time. 
 As soon, however, as the ladies were alone, Mrs. Shrosbery 
 commenced, " Dear Mrs. Hadfield, I have such a favour 
 to ask of you. Of course you know grammar ? " 
 
 The old lady looked a little surprised. " No," she 
 answered, " I really cannot say I am anything of a gram- 
 marian. I learned grammar at school, just as most girls 
 did in my day, without a very clear understanding of what 
 it meant. If you want to come to a conclusion on any 
 knotty point, you had better consult Mr. Hadfield. He 
 thoroughly understands the English language, which I do 
 not, as I am entirely ignorant of Latin." 
 
 " What has that to do with it ? You cannot mean that 
 you must learn Latin in order to understand English ? " 
 
 " In. order to understand it thoroughly you certainly must 
 know something, at least, of Latin, or how are you to get 
 at the roots of words ? " 
 
 Mrs. Shrosbery had no idea that words had roots. Trees 
 and plants had roots she knew, but how words came to 
 have them she could not at all imagine ; so she put by 
 the phrase for future consideration, and for use when 
 needed. 
 
 "But, my dear Mrs. Hadfield," she continued, "how 
 did you learn to talk so beautifully, if you never understood 
 your grammar ? " 
 
 "I learned to talk by ear, as thousands of people do." 
 
 " By ear ? I don't think I understand." 
 
 " Do we not all learn to speak our own language by ear ? 
 We learn, as little children, from those about us." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course ; but I was alluding to something 
 more than mere talking. Can a person who knows no 
 grammar converse in his or her own language with pro- 
 priety ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly, if the person is accustomed to hear only 
 correct speaking. Bad habits in this respect are easily 
 contracted ; in early life especially, we catch almost im- 
 perceptibly the accent and provincial errors of others. A 
 princess or any lady of rank would, probably, from mere
 
 "ON HER BEST BEHAVIOOB." 49 
 
 usage, speak with perfect grace and propriety, even 
 though she never learned a page of grammar." 
 
 " Then what on earth is the use of grammar ? " 
 
 " It is of so much use that you. could scarcely write 
 your own language correctly without it. Indeed, I sup- 
 pose without it one might miss some of the finer points, 
 even in speaking it. But, my dear, what does all this tend 
 to ? Are you thinking of making a special study of 
 grammar ? " 
 
 " I have thought of it, and I have read my grammar- 
 book through carefully, from beginning to end, half-a- 
 dozen times at least, and I am not an inch the for- 
 warder." 
 
 " The forwarder in what, my dear ? " 
 
 "In knowing how to speak correctly and elegantly. 
 There ! I may as well tell the truth at once. I'm not an 
 educated person, Mrs. Hadfield not as well educated as I 
 might be and I want to know how best I can make up 
 for past deficiencies. I've heaps and heaps of money, Mr. 
 Hadfield says, and so I don't see why I shouldn't keep 
 first-rate company, if only I can make myself fit for it." 
 
 The old lady, who, gentle and retiring as she was, knew 
 very well how to put two and two together gentleness 
 and modesty being compatible with a good deal of keen 
 perception began to see pretty clearly what was disquiet- 
 ing her usually self-satisfied and rather consequential 
 visitor. She at once understood the delicate dilemma. 
 Lord Orwell was asked on Mrs. Shrosberj's account, and 
 Mrs. Shrosbery's misgivings were all on Lord Orwell's 
 account. And the widow, notwithstanding her desire to 
 speak elegantly, said to herself though only to herself, of 
 course " Ah ! she smells a rat. So much the better. If 
 only she would give me a hint now ! " 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Hadfield, gravely, " I think I. 
 understand you. In the first place, console yourself with 
 the reflection that a golden key means ' open sesame,' under 
 nearly all circumstances. If charity covers a multitude of 
 sins, money covers a multitude of deficiencies. And in the 
 second place, believe me and forgive me if I speak too 
 plainly yon may pass muster in what is called ' society ' 
 very fairly, if only you take common pains, maintain a cep
 
 50 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 tain self-control, and correct one or two little mistakes 
 which, now and then, you fall into." 
 
 " Oh ! do tell me what mistakes, and I shall be ever- 
 lastingly obliged to yon, dearest Mrs. Hadfield." 
 
 " You must not say ' you was,' nor ' was you ? ' nor ' we 
 was,' nor ' they was.' Any one of these expressions stamps 
 you at once as as well, perhaps I had better say, as very 
 
 * middle class ! ' And, if I understand aright, yon aspire 
 to something quite beyond middle-class associations ? " 
 
 " Of course I do ; and why should I not ? I always was 
 ambitious, Mrs. Hadfield ; from a child I always had a 
 notion of rising in life, and I have rose, and mean to rise, 
 whatever it may cost." 
 
 " Very well ; then you must say ' have risen ! ' * Have 
 rose ' is incorrect English." 
 
 " Why is it ? " 
 
 " Ah ! there my ignorance comes in the way. Of course 
 there is a rule about that very thing ; indeed, I know there 
 is something about the past participle and the past tense 
 my memory serves me so far. But I could not explain it, 
 even to myself ; I only know from mere habitude that 
 
 * have risen ' is pure English, and that ' have rose ' is the 
 reverse. And, my dear, if you mean to mix in high society, 
 you must take the tone, and speak the language, of the 
 people with whom you associate." 
 
 When Mr. Hadfield came into his wife's room that 
 evening, while she was dressing for dinner, she gave him 
 to understand that she had fathomed his designs, and that 
 she was not quite sure that he was doing the best thing for 
 either of his clients. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Hadfield impatiently he always 
 Baid " my dear " when he was rather cross, and " mother " 
 when he was perfectly good-tempered "yon know 
 nothing whatever about it. Lord Orwell is ruined if he 
 do not speedily secure an immense sum of money : he 
 wants hard cash, she wants a titled husband. A fairer 
 exchange could no one desire." 
 
 "Well, my dear, you know best," replied the gentlo 
 little lady, quite meekly. She believed implicitly in her 
 husband, and she was used to being snubbed. " But, dj 
 yon think he will take to her ? "
 
 11 ON HEB BEST BEHAVIOUR." 51 
 
 " What is there to hinder ? " replied the lawyer. " When 
 > roan is starving to death, he is not likely to quarrel with 
 a. plain leg of mutton because it isn't ortolans or venison. 
 I tell you Lord Orwell has but the one alternative Mrs. 
 Shrosbery, or hopeless, irremediable ruin ! And, after all, 
 he might have a far harder fate than to accept a rich and 
 handsome bride, with plenty to say for herself, and a very 
 amiable disposition." 
 
 "I am not sure about that. I think Mrs. Shrosbery 
 is selfish j I should not svonder if she do not turn out ex- 
 acting and jealous. She is just the kind of woman to be 
 perpetually imagining slights, and urging her own petty 
 claims. And as for being handsome though she ia a fine 
 woman, I grant I should scarcely imagine that her 
 charms would subdue the man who knows so well what 
 perfect feminine beauty really is." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You women never have a good word for 
 each other ; you are so jealous of each other's praisea ! 
 Mrs. Shrosbery has not the refined loveliness of the late 
 Countess, I grant you; nevertheless, she is, in my 
 opinion, a remarkably handsome woman, and she is witty 
 and amusing, and has a fine flow of spirits. And some 
 men, you know, prefer tulips to Belladonna lilies !" 
 
 "Well, they are both old enough to know their own 
 minds," replied Mrs. Hadfield, quietly. " A man of forty 
 can scarcely complain of being influenced, and a woman 
 of Mrs. Shrosbery's age is quite competent to discern 
 what is gold and what is only glitter. All the advice in 
 the world would be thrown away upon her; to warn 
 either of them would be to waste one's breath." 
 
 " It would, indeed, and I must request that yon will not 
 attempt anything of the kind. You and I have nothing 
 to do with the possible alliance ; we simply introduce the 
 Earl to the widow, and the widow to the Earl ; we are 
 no matchmakers, and have, therefore, no future responsi- 
 bilities. All that may follow depends upon the parties 
 themselves ; and, as you remark, they may both be safely 
 left to look after their own interests. Now, make haste 
 and finish dressing ; it is quite time you were in the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, and the fateful introduc- 
 
 42
 
 62 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 tion had taken place. Louisa fell ia love at first sight 
 She had never seen so handsome, so noble-looking, so 
 courtly a man in all her life ! How different from poor 
 Peter, who was short and stout, and squinted a little 
 with one eye, and never could be persuaded to dress pro- 
 perly for dinner ! The Earl was altogether charming ; 
 and what a soft voice he had, and what a nice little click 
 he gave to his words, and how smoothly he turned his 
 sentences ! Then, with what a grace he led her in to 
 dinner, and how delightfully he talked, and how sweetly 
 he smiled, and seemed to take it for granted that she had 
 moved always in aristocratic circles ! 
 
 As for the Earl's impressions, they were of a widely 
 different character. He had not the smallest wish to 
 marry again ; he had promised himself that he would be 
 faithful to Clarissa's memory; and even supposing he 
 were inclined to make another choice, the widow Shros- 
 bery would most certainly not be the woman of his selec- 
 tion. " Still, it might have been worse," he soliloquised ; 
 "she might have dropped her h's, which she does not; 
 though, to my taste, she aspirates a little too strongly. 
 Her voice is rather harsh, and she laughs too loudly ; but 
 all that may be amended. And her beauty such as it is 
 is not my style, a little coarse, in fact. She will have 
 a red face in a few years, and my prophetic soul tells me 
 she will be enormously stout ; besides, that very dark hair 
 is apt to turn to such an ugly iron-grey, and she owns to 
 being thirty-five, Hadfield says. I daresay she is forty, 
 though she does not look it ; but women, except the very 
 young ones, always try to pass for being younger than 
 they are. I suppose, though, I should have to take her 
 if she were fifty-five, or even older, and * ruddier than the 
 cherry,' and as fat as a prize porker. Her money will 
 set me on my legs again, it will retrieve all my losses, and 
 turn me from a titled pauper into a wealthy nobleman. 
 And then she will take Clarissa in hand. Dear me, it 
 will be an excellent thing for the child to have some one 
 to look after her. I had not thought of that. Of course, 
 she ought not to be left so entirely to servants. I begin 
 to see that there is every reason why I should marry again. 
 At the same time, I wish it had been a slightly different
 
 "ON HER BEST BEHAVIOUR." S3 
 
 kind of woman that had fallen to rny share. Well, \ve 
 cannot have everything, and I have had blood and bea/uly 
 in my wives, now I mast go in for money, and of that, 
 thank heaven ! there is no lack. How do these vulgar 
 tradespeople contrive to get so rich, I wonder ? " 
 
 " Well," interrogated Mr. Hadfield, nnderthe hall lamp 
 that evening, while the Earl's cab waited at the door, " is 
 it to be a match ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Orwell, in a snrly tone. " It's of no 
 use quarrelling with your bread-and-butter when it's a 
 question of one particular loaf or none at all. You are 
 perfectly sure about the money? " 
 
 " You shall see old Peter's will to-morrow, and, when 
 yon have quite made up your mind, I can show you 
 documents that will rather surprise you. The fact is, 
 Mrs. Shrosbery herself does not know how immensely rich 
 she is." 
 
 " I have made up my mind." And Lord Orwell stepped 
 into his cab and drove away, while Mr. Hadfield returned 
 to the drawing-room, and rallied the widow on her ob- 
 vious conquest. He was surprised to see the colour 
 mount into her cheeks, as she lowered her eyelids, and 
 smiled very faintly. 
 
 " Why, I do believe she is really hit ! " he said to his 
 wife afterwards. " So much the better." 
 
 " So much the better for her ; but is the Earl ' hit,' as 
 you call it ? " 
 
 " I should say not ; but he has no idea of drawing back. 
 It will be a match, mother; and Lord Orwell, if he have 
 a scruple of sense or a grain of gratitude, will bless me to 
 his life's end. I thought Mrs. Shrosbery looked extremely 
 well to-night those pearls in her hair suited exactly ; but 
 how quiet she was ! I suppose she felt a little nervous." 
 
 " She is very wise to be quiet. She is much more at- 
 tractive in her quiet moods than when she rattles away 
 without much regard to what she is saying, or how she 
 says it. She has buen on her best behaviour to-night." 
 
 " Well, I suppose she has. A prudent woman, and 
 knows a thing or two ! There are just a few points on 
 which yon might give her a gentle hint. There is some- 
 thing about her laugh ! it is either affected or noisy, and
 
 54 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 as Countess of Orwell she must learn to modulate her 
 voice a little. She is really a fine creature. What a 
 pity she is not the Earl's equal by birth ! But, if she 
 wore, she would scarcely possess the splendid fortune 
 which adds so largely to her powers of fascination." 
 
 The next evening Lord Orwell " dropped in," as Louisa 
 eaid, " quite promiscuous," and the business of courting 
 commenced in real earnest. A few days more and the 
 engagement was formally announced. Mr. Hadfield at 
 once undertook the settlements ; one half of the widow's 
 fortune was to be secured to her and to her heirs for ever, 
 the other half went to pay the noble bridegroom's debts, 
 and disencumber the estates. The marriage which was, 
 after all, not deferred to the close of Lonisa's second year 
 of widowhood was to take place at St. James', Picca- 
 dilly, from the house of the Honourable Miss Oakleigh, 
 Lord. Orwell's ancient spinster aunt. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A WEDDING-DAY IN JANUARY. 
 
 " All, bitter chill it was ; 
 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold." 
 
 * The bridegroom spate low, and led onward the 
 And before the high altar they stood side by side ; 
 The rite book is opened, the rite is begun, 
 They have knelt down together to rise up as one. 
 Who laughed by the altar ? " 
 
 so Mrs. Shrosbery became Conntess of Orwell, at Sfc. 
 James', Piccadilly, one bitter morning, early in the New 
 Year. The Earl had gallantly pleaded for an earlier day, 
 for he sorely wanted his Louisa's money, and only as her 
 husband could he lay his hands npon it. Of course, tho 
 great weight of his li abilities was lifted from his shoulders
 
 A WEDDING-DAY IN JANUARY. 55 
 
 the moment lie formally announced his engagement to the 
 rich widow of Peter Shrosbery ; those creditors who had 
 been as roaring and ramping lions, impatiently seeking 
 after what was left to them to devour, became on the in- 
 stant mild as lambs, and professed themselves entirely 
 ready to wait his lordship's convenience ; while the very 
 Shylocks of the money-lenders, who had helped so largely 
 to his undoing, became in words, at least as confiding 
 and considerate as the most disinterested Gentile. And yet 
 the Earl knew well enough that if anything happened to 
 break off the proposed alliance, all this false peace would 
 be at an end, the truce would be quickly over, and he must 
 fall alive into the hands of his enemies, or put the sea be- 
 tween himself and British shores possibly for ever. 
 
 Naturally, therefore, he was anxious to_redeem all those 
 fair promises so liberally given ; and the delay on which 
 the bride-elect insisted was as irksome to him as if he had 
 been a youthful lover waiting with ardent desire for the 
 happy day of union. He had quite intended that his 
 marriage should take place soon after the close of the 
 London season at least, early in the autumn ; but Louisa 
 would not listen to his pleadings. She had him safely now ; 
 she was not at all afraid of being jilted, and she so much 
 enjoyed the excitement of courtship that she determined to 
 sustain the interesting character of fiancee as long as 
 possible. She could not put aside her mourning under 
 eighteen months, and then it would be the height of in- 
 decency to rush out of black straight into bridal finery. 
 Besides, the Countess Clarissa had not been in her grave 
 quite as long as her " sainted Peter " had been in his, and, 
 indeed, she must protest against anything like undue haste 
 and disrespect to her memory. Then there were her 
 clothes ! She must have a trousseau worthy of his rank 
 and her own position ; it would be utterly impossible to bo 
 ready much before Christmas. In short, she was resolved 
 not to forego one iota of her woman's privileges ; she 
 would be honourably wooed and wedded in the sight of the 
 whole world. For well she knew the difference between 
 husbands and suitors ; and she could not but perceive that 
 her lordly futur, though behaving in proper loverly fashion, 
 before folk, was by no means as ardent a lover as he
 
 56 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 might have been. Peter, poor fellow, made a deal more 
 fuss with her; and as for her girlish sweethearts the 
 Whitechapel butcher included they were ten times more 
 enthusiastic and showed their affection ever so much 
 plainer than this grandly-descended nobleman, who, how- 
 ever, could place a coronet on her brow, and make her 
 "my lady" for life ! And shrewdly she suspected that 
 she was now getting all the love-making she ever was to 
 inow, that the wedding once over she would cease to queen 
 it over the Earl himself, and, therefore, it behoved her to 
 keep him at her feet to the last moment, and to defer 
 the final act of the drama as long as it might be expe- 
 dient. 
 
 Then when December arrived, and the appointed day 
 was close at hand, there came some little hitch with the 
 settlements, and the lady, backed by her lawyer, postponed 
 the ceremony till all should be in proper form and readi- 
 ness ; and as people of rank are never married during the 
 Christmas holidays, they must wait till at least the middle 
 of January, by which time it might be hoped that 
 the necessary arrangements would be complete. Only 
 February, she had been given to nnderstand, was a much 
 more lucky month in which to many ! January was ex- 
 cellent for worldly prosperity, but very bad for the affec- 
 tions. February, June, and September were, of all months 
 in the year, the best in which to contract matrimony. 
 Why not, then, wait till February, and secure the felicity 
 of an ever-deepening and never-ending mutual attach- 
 ment ? 
 
 The Earl almost lost his temper almost forgot himself 
 while Louisa, with coquettish smiles and glances, pro- 
 posed a further delay. He did matter something about 
 " old woman's nonsense," and he swore a little under hia 
 breath ; but it became him in such case to evince impa- 
 tience, and swearing was rather an accomplishment than 
 otherwise in the days of the Regency. And so Mrs. Shros- 
 bery was in no wise offended ; only being, as her Peter 
 had declared, a woman of discernment she very wisely 
 forbore to push her advantage. She modestly yielded to 
 my lord's importunities, which gathered strength as he re- 
 membered the importunities of his creditors, some of whom
 
 A WEDDING-DAT IN JANUAUT. 57 
 
 had begun to look suspiciously on this extended courtship ; 
 and the marriage was finally and definitively fixed for a 
 certain day in January, about five weeks distant, and 
 Louisa perfectly understood that from that decision there 
 could be, and must be, no appeal. 
 
 The last month of her widowed life Mrs. Shrosbery 
 spent under the roof of the Honourable Miss Oakleigh, 
 who, while she fully appreciated the fortune- of the bride, 
 strenuously objected to the bride herself. Miss Oakleigh 
 had but a limited income, and she was niggardly likewise ; 
 she loved to accumulate this world's gear, and parsimony 
 was her ruling passion. She knew she could not fail to be 
 the better for Mrs. Shrosbery's temporary residence under 
 her roof that is, in a pecuniary point of view ; and she 
 must certainly reap much benefit from the celebration of 
 the nuptials under her immediate auspices, the whole affair 
 being conducted regardless of expense, at the bride-elect's 
 own cost. And then, Mrs. Shrosbery gave more wedding 
 presents than she received ; and Aunt Lavinia became the 
 happy possessor of a splendid diamond brooch, such as for 
 brilliancy and actual worth had never before graced her 
 rather scantily furnished jewel-case. 
 
 It was "bitter cold " on the wedding morning. A good 
 deal of snow had fallen, and then there had come a partial, 
 sudden thaw, quickly followed by intensest frost, almost 
 amounting to that dismal state of things which our French 
 neighbours call " le verglas." And, at one time, it seemed 
 to be doubtful whether there would be any wedding at all 
 that day, unless the bridal party, in list slippers, walked to 
 church. However, as neither bride nor bridegroom cared 
 how large were their expenses, and as the distance to St. 
 James' was not great, superhuman efforts were made to 
 supersede natural obstacles. Every horse was re-roughed, 
 and the streets were hastily sanded or strewn, rather, 
 with whatever debris came most readily to hand and in 
 due time the church was reached, and the prelate, who had 
 been specially retained for the ceremony, made his appear- 
 ance in his snowiest lawn sleeves at the altar rails, and at 
 once commenced the marriage service. 
 
 " Wilt thou have this man ? " " Wilt thou have this 
 woman?" A couple of " I wills," and a few half-whis-
 
 58 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 pered and wholly inaudible words, by way of exchanging 
 vows, the transfer of a ring, and the business was done. 
 The Right Reverend my Lord Bishop joined the hands of 
 the plighted pair, and pronounced them " Man and wife to- 
 gether, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 
 the Holy Ghost." And the lady who had entered the 
 church as Louisa, relict of Peter Shrosbery, Esquire, left 
 it as Louisa, Countess of Orwell. 
 
 But, oh ! how cold it was ! In those days, the appa- 
 ratus for warming public buildings was dreadfully de- 
 fective. It was generally contrived that the temperature 
 of the church should be at freezing point, just a degree or 
 two higher than that of the vaults beneath ; or that the 
 flues should be overheated, and the sacred edifice con- 
 sumed by fire. Fortunately for London, St. James', Picca- 
 dilly, escaped conflagration. Unfortunately for the bridal 
 party, a combination of frost and stupidity kept the flues 
 as cold as charity, and the bride's teeth chattered while 
 she signed her name, and Miss Lavinia sneezed seven 
 times on her way home to Clarges Street. The breakfast 
 was not a success, though the Bishop was present, and 
 there was wine enough to drown him, should he desire that 
 mode of translation. 
 
 The bi'ide's white satin looked too much like the newly- 
 frozen snow, and her jewels sparkled but faintly in the 
 grey and sunless day, which grew chillier and mistier 
 after noontide, and so dark that lamps had to be lighted 
 before the banquet had fairly commenced. Speeches were 
 made, and toasts were drunk, and champagne was spilt, 
 and the guests wished the cold meats were hot, and 
 nobody so much as looked at the pine-apple ice. While 
 the bride withdrew to change her dress and drink warm 
 negus, the bridegroom indulged in a large tumblerful of 
 strong smoking toddy; and there was not a man or 
 woman present who did not commiserate the luckless pair, 
 doomed by the miserable decrees of fashion to travel in 
 such inclement weather. 
 
 Miss Oakleigh was only too thankful to behold their 
 departure, to say good-bye to the wedding guests, and to 
 retire to her own sitting-room, where she could toast her 
 feet on the fender, and nurse her incipient influenza.
 
 A \VEDDING-DAY IN JANUARY. 59 
 
 And so the lady won her coronet, and the gentleman 
 effectually replenished his exchequer. 
 
 Meanwhile, Clarissa had been accommodated with a 
 governess, a Miss Rigby, who had the reputation of being 
 a person of a strong mind and superior judgment, Mrs. 
 Sweetapple herself being chiefly responsible for the lady's 
 introduction. Miss Rigby was tall and thin, with piercing 
 black eyes, and a great hooked nose like a parrot's beak. 
 She was of an uncertain age, but she affected youth in her 
 dress and manners, and she liked the idea of being 
 governess to a nobleman's daughter. She would have 
 been less pleased with her engagement had she known the 
 peculiarities of her future pupil. The housekeeper, being 
 in disgrace with her young mistress, deputed to Nurse 
 Barlow the pleasing task of preparing Lady Clarissa for 
 the arrival of her instructress. " Do you know, my lady, 
 I have such a surprise for you?" said that astute per- 
 sonage, as she combed and curled the child's hair before 
 putting her to bed. "What do you think is going to 
 happen ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," replied Lady Clarissa, care- 
 lessly. " Am I going to have that retriever pup that Tom 
 Bates promised me ? Do you think he will be good after 
 the rats ? " 
 
 " Oh, my lady, it's time you began to think less about 
 dogs, and cats, and rats, and beasts generally, and more 
 about your books. No, it isn't a dog yon are to have ; 
 there are too many dogs about the place already ; my lord 
 said so the last time he came down to Orwell." 
 
 " Is it anything alive ? " asked Lady Clarissa, feeling 
 her curiosity suddenly stimulated. She had quite a 
 menagerie of her own, indoors and out-of-doors ; she 
 never seemed so happy as when enjoying the society of 
 her pets, and she was continually adding to their number. 
 She had a cat, of course, and puss was allowed to bring 
 np an unprecedented family of kittens ; she had a large 
 dog, a tame bullfinch, a green linnet, a squalling cocka- 
 too, a vicious raven, a squirrel, an old donkey, some 
 white mice, a lot of rabbits, a lame duck, and a little fat 
 pig ! And besides these creatures, which she considered 
 her private property, she was en intimate terms with all
 
 60 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the animals oil the estate in field, and yard, and stable ; 
 to say nothing of an enormous toad which she fed daily, 
 and which came at her call, and followed her np and 
 down the garden-walks, and even, npon occasion, into the 
 honse. 
 
 And nurse answered gravely, "Yes, my lady, some- 
 thing alive, sure enongh." 
 
 " Oh, what is it ? " cried the child eagerly. " If you 
 don't tell me, I'll run away, and you sha'n't catch me till 
 ever so late ! " 
 
 " Oh, fie, fie, Lady Clarissa ! That is not a pretty way 
 to talk ; and don't jerk yourself about so, I can't curl 
 your hair properly. Can't yon guess, now ? Try." 
 
 "If it isn't a dog, perhaps it is a pony. Is it anything 
 I want ? " 
 
 " Something you want, certainly," replied nurse, with 
 emphasis ; " that is to say, something you really need, 
 and something, too, that I hope yon will like very 
 much ; something that is coming entirely on your own 
 account." 
 
 *' It is something I shall not like, I am sure," said the 
 child, twisting herself round and confronting her nurse. 
 *' I know by the way yon speak it is something very 
 nasty ! It is not that horrid governess that Sweetie said 
 would keep me in order, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Now what a clever young lady you are! You are 
 the one to guess right ! Yes ; yon are going to have a 
 governess all to yourself like other young ladies, and she 
 will teach you to read, and write, and play music, and draw 
 pictures, and to behave prettily." 
 
 " I don't want to learn to read or to write, and I can 
 play music, and I can draw pictures I drew the spotted 
 cow and her calf only yesterday ; and I won't have the 
 governess ! ' ' 
 
 Now Nurse Barlow knew from long experience that 
 when her young lady spoke in that quiet, decided tone, 
 persuasion and argument were alike useless. Obstinacy 
 was certainly Lady Clarissa's prevailing characteristic, 
 and when once she had declared her intentions there was 
 but little chance of inducing her to renounce them. There 
 would certainly be battle royal between Miss Rigby and
 
 A WEDDING-DAY Ds T JANUARY. <& 
 
 her pupil. Nurse only hoped that the lady would be 
 equal to the emergency when it arrived. 
 
 " When is she the stupid governess- thing coming ? * 
 asked Lady Clarissa, finding that nurse made no rejoinder. 
 " And who sends her here ? " 
 
 " Miss Bigby comes to-morrow, my lady ; and my lord, 
 your papa, said it was high time you had some one to- 
 teach yon and look after yon, for you won't mind Mrs. 
 Sweetapple nor me. And you are quite too old to go 
 running about digging and delving, and nursing your 
 animals any longer." 
 
 " Do you mean she won't let me run about all day, and 
 go into the stables and the cow-house, and feed the rab- 
 bits, and the calves, and the little pigs ? And sha'n't I 
 dig potatoes when I have a mind ? " 
 
 " Now, my lady, just ask yourself if the stables and the 
 cow-house are the proper places for a nobleman's daughter ! 
 Why, the poor village children dig potatoes and feed 
 pigs." 
 
 "I don't care! I wish I were a village child! I 
 hate being a nobleman's daughter, I do ! And I won't 
 have this governess, so it is of no use her coming. I'll 
 have nothing to do with her, and yon had better send her 
 back again, straight away." 
 
 " A pretty look-out for Miss Bigby," said Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple, when nurse duly reported the result of her commu- 
 nication. " She'll have a nice handful with my young 
 lady." 
 
 "Yes, but she'll manage her," continued the house- 
 keeper ; " Miss Bigby is one that knows how to be obeyed, 
 and she will soon teach our young lady that it is of no 
 use to rebel. She is very strict with children, I am told 
 indeed, for meek children she is quite too strict, I 
 should say ; but such a little termagant as our Lady 
 Clarissa needs a tight hand over her, and she'll get it. 
 There will be fine rows at first, no doubt ; but Miss 
 Rigby will soon settle who shall be mistress." 
 
 Now, in the engagement of Clarissa's governess, a 
 great error had been, at the very outset of the affair, 
 committed. Lord Orwell went his way, and thought no 
 more of his promise to Mrs. Sweetapple, till that excel-
 
 62 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 lent woman, being really alarmed at the child's wild 
 pranks, and shocked at her torn-boy propensities, wrote to 
 him, humbly but urgently entreating him to be as good 
 as his word, and without any more delay " see about ths 
 governess." Lord Orwell hated trouble, and he really 
 did not know to whom to apply, for his old friend, Lady 
 Ridley, was dead, and Aunt Lavinia at once declined 
 the responsibility. So he wrote back to his housekeeper, 
 telling her to advertise and inquire among her own 
 friends for a suitable young person, only she had better 
 not be too young, for then she would be inexperienced ; 
 $.nd she need not be a first-class governess, as her pupil 
 would merely require the rudiments at present ; but it 
 would be quite necessary that she should bo a strict 
 disciplinarian, and accustomed to exact obedience and 
 respect. 
 
 Accordingly Mrs. Sweetapple set to work, and through 
 her friend, Mrs. Field, she soon heard of "just the very 
 person to bring an unruly, headstrong child into proper 
 order." And references being satisfactory, Miss Rigby 
 was quickly engaged, though she was by no means a 
 gentlewoman, and though sho had a fierce, despotic 
 temper, and was by nature cast in a harsh, unloving 
 mould. But she was declared to be an excellent " child- 
 tamer," having had considerable experience with refrac- 
 tory pupils, all of "whom she had conquered and brought 
 into wholesome subjection. Obstinacy was the strong 
 point in Lady Clarissa's character, and firmness was Miss 
 Rigby's prime virtue. It never occurred to Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple that grown-np obstinacy commonly ranks as "firm- 
 Bess." and that to bring one strong will into antagonism 
 with another, which is simply stronger on account of 
 superior age, is not always the wisest course to follow. 
 But no one knew what the poor child really needed she 
 was wild, and she must be tamed ; she was wilful, and she 
 must be subdued; she was ignorant, and she must be 
 instructed; and so they gave her into the keeping of 
 one whose only idea of discipline was tyranny, and who 
 knew no other force than that of stern compulsion. 
 
 Nurse Barlow sighed, and hoped the new governess 
 would not be too hard upon the dear child, and crush
 
 A WEDDING-DAT IN JANUARY. 63 
 
 her spirit; for she really loved her troublesome little 
 charge, and was, indeed, the only person who could at 
 all control her. Mrs. Sweetapple thought it jnst as well 
 that the spirit of defiance and revolt should be broken, 
 and she hoped that Miss Rigby would hold the reins aa 
 tightly as possible, and teach Lady Clarissa that she could 
 no longer have her own way and set her elders at defiance. 
 
 And Clarissa having spoken her mind, went quietly to 
 bed, though not to sleep. Hours afterwards, when Nurse 
 Barlow looked in upon her, she found the child sitting up- 
 right, with tightly clasped hands, compressed lips, and 
 knitted eyebrows she was evidently as wide awake as she 
 could be. 
 
 " Oh, for shame, my lady ! " said nurse. " Do you know 
 what time it is ? On the stroke of twelve, as I'm a living 
 woman, and you not gone to sleep yet ! " 
 
 "lam not going to sleep," replied Clarissa, gravely; " I 
 have a great deal to think about." 
 
 " What can a child like you have to think about, I should 
 like to know ? There, lie down and go to sleep, and think 
 in the morning when you get up." 
 
 " I do not wish to lie down ; I am settling what I am to 
 do with the governess-thing that is coming." 
 
 " Then I hope, my lady, you are settling to behave to 
 her as a good young lady should ; for it's full time you were 
 brought under, and she is not one, as I am assured, to 
 stand any nonsense." 
 
 " She will not bring me under," quoth Clarissa, with 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 "Ah, well, we shall see. She has her own way of 
 managing naughty little girls. She has had plenty of 
 practice, and knows how to deal with them, and you'll find 
 that yon have to obey her. Why, she comes here on pur- 
 pose to be obeyed." 
 
 " Does she ? " replied the young lady, significantly. " I 
 think she had better stay away, then ; I am not going to bo 
 ruled by a servant." 
 
 " She is not a servant, my lady ; she is a governess, and 
 governesses must be treated accordingly." 
 
 " Accordingly how ? Will she be paid for for look* 
 in if ter me ? "
 
 $4 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 u Of course she will. She will be paid handsomely.** 
 " Then she is a servant ! and I am not going to have any 
 servant over me, except yon, now and then, nurse, when 
 you are very nice. When I do what you tell me, it is bo- 
 cause I like you, not because you arc my mistress for, oi 
 course, I am yours, and I shall be hers. And now I think 
 you had better leave me, and go to bed yourself ; it is quite 
 time you were fast asleep. Old women ought not to sit up 
 eo late." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ALL ALONE IN THE WOOD. 
 
 " Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, 
 
 And at midnight's hour of harm, 
 * Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber. 
 We say softly for a chann." 
 
 ALL the next day Clarissa was remarkably quiet ; she said 
 very little to her human companions, though from time 
 to time she whispered confidences to her tortoiseshell- 
 kitten, and she had something especial to communicate 
 to the dog, Tartar, the most favoured of her intimates. 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon, she was dressed in a 
 clean white-muslin frock, tied up with black ribbons ; her 
 best black sash was fastened round her waist, her face 
 and hands were made clean, and her elf-locks reduced to 
 order. She submitted with a better grace than usual to 
 the tedious and despised ceremonial, and nurse began to 
 hope that, after all, her young lady, who had plenty of 
 sense and rather too much for a child of her age, was 
 going to accept the inevitable, and make the best of her 
 fate, whatever it might be. " There," said nurse, as sho 
 fastened a jet necklace round the child's skinny yellow 
 neck, <; now take your pretty picture-book, or your box of 
 letters, or your Noah's ark if you like, and sit still, and
 
 ALL ALONE Iff THE WOOD. 65 
 
 don't mess your frock, nor your hair, there's a lady-bird ! 
 I want you to look like a new pin when Miss Rigby 
 comes." 
 
 " Will she be here soon ? " inquired Clarissa. 
 
 " In less than half an hour if the London coach is to it3 
 time. No ! don't nurse that kitten, and don't let Tartar 
 paw you ; I shall have to keep an eye upon you, I see." 
 
 There was an amused expression on the child's face that 
 nurse did not notice, or she might have watched her a 
 little more closely. They were in the schoolroom, whic\ 
 had been duly prepared for the new regime. Mrs. Sweet* 
 apple had ransacked some boxes of books, which had long 
 been shut up in the unused garrets in the roof, and finding 
 a number of children's school Catechisms and Histories, 
 some of them half a century old, she had dusted them and 
 arranged them on a set of oaken shelves for Clarissa's 
 benefit ; and she had provided a brand-new slate, a sponge, 
 a packet of pencils, some single-line copy-books, and ink 
 and goose-quills at discretion. An imposing-looking, well- 
 cushioned chair was set throne-like at one end of the 
 baize-covered table, and a tall, narrow, upright chair, of 
 the species called " educational," at the other. An ancient 
 harpsichord, that had been untouched for 110 one knew 
 how many years, had also been tuned and rubbed up, and 
 placed in the apartment, which was henceforth to be known 
 in the household as the schoolroom. It was on the 
 shady side of the house, on the first floor, and looked upon 
 a broad piece of neglected garden, and a sort of half-wild 
 shrubbery, half wilderness, beyond. 
 
 Clarissa seemed so occupied with the picture of Cinde- 
 rella giving her first audience to her fairy godmother, that 
 nurse left her, in order to count over the clean linen, 
 which had just come in from the laundry. There were 
 several best towels short, so she went downstairs to make 
 inquiries, and while she was still busy at the presses, the 
 news came that Miss Rigby had arrived. Mrs. Sweetappla 
 hastened to receive her with all ceremony ; nurse waited a 
 little in the background, anxious to see for herself what 
 kind of person had been selected for the discharge of such 
 important duties. 
 
 Her first impression was not a pleasant one. The 
 
 5
 
 66 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 governess looked, she thought, extremely stern, ill-tem- 
 pered, and cross-grained. 
 
 " She's not the one for a child like my Lady Clarissa," 
 said nurse to herself, as she marked the sharp, curt manner, 
 the haughty bearing, and the morose expression of the 
 unlovely countenance before her. " She's got a dreadful 
 nose, and a shocking voice, and I never could bear those 
 thin, straight lips. Why, she looks for all the world like 
 a cruel hawk, swooping down on a defenceless little 
 chicken ! And she is no lady, no more than I am ; I know 
 a gentlewoman when I see one ! " 
 
 And nurse was right ; Miss Rigby had not a drop of 
 gentle blood in all her veins ; there were cruelty and harsh- 
 ness in her sardonic smile, and her general appearance 
 was grim, and suggestive of vindictive tyranny. " Where 
 is my pupil ? " she inquired haughtily, looking around her ; 
 " she ought to be here to receive her instructress." 
 
 " Will you please to walk upstairs, ma'am ? " said Mrs. 
 Sweetapple, a little dismayed herself at the tone of 
 authority. She knew very well that it would be in vain to 
 require Lady Clarissa to pay her respects to her governess. 
 She would not come of her own accord, and, if carried 
 down by force, she would either scream and kick, and per- 
 haps bite, under the compulsion, or she would relapse into 
 a little heap of stolid, dumb, seemingly stupid sulkiness, 
 which nothing but the most extreme measures could hope 
 to dissipate. 
 
 " I will await my pupil here ; it is her place to seek me, 
 not mine to seek her. I shall begin as I mean to go on ; I 
 am accustomed to be treated with unwavering respect." 
 And Miss Rigby seated herself, as she imagined, with much 
 dignity ; while nurse, at a sign from Mrs. Sweetapple, 
 went upstairs to see if by any means Lady Clarissa could 
 be coaxed, beguiled, or coerced into allowing herself to be 
 presented to the governess. The schoolroom door was 
 closed as she had left it, but Lady Clarissa was not within. 
 Nurse called her softly and then loudly, and sought her 
 in all the adjoining apartments ; but no Lady Clarissa 
 answered, nowhere could be discerned the fluttering of her 
 white muslin, or her long black ribbons ; she had mys- 
 teriously disappeared. Nurse was obliged to descend and
 
 ALL ALONE IN THE WOOD. 67 
 
 report the absence of Miss Rigby' s pupil, much to that 
 lady's disgust, and Mrs. Sweetapple's annoyance. 
 
 " She is up in the garrets, or else in the north-wing ; 
 those are her favourite hiding-places," said the house- 
 keeper. " Go and look for her, Fancy." 
 
 Fanny Mann, commonly called " Fancy," was a rather 
 pretty girl of fifteen or sixteen. She had been engaged to 
 supplement the services of Nurse Barlow, who, being rheu- 
 matic, and lame in one leg, was unable to follow her erratic 
 charge as closely and continually as was expedient. Fancy 
 was supposed to be in constant attendance on her young 
 lady, and she generally did her best to keep her out of any 
 very flagrant piece of mischief, only now and then aiding 
 and abetting her in revolt against the powers that be. She 
 at once took part against the new governess, and deter- 
 mined to be a thorn in her side from the very day of her 
 arrival. Fancy, now promoted to be schoolroom-maid, 
 was a "Susan Nipper" sort of young woman, and the 
 odds were that when she and Miss Rigby came to measure 
 their strength, Miss Rigby would by no means gain the 
 advantage. Demurely enough Fancy now obeyed the 
 housekeeper, going into every room where she knew the 
 child was not, searching every nook and cranny, and 
 opening all the trunks and chests that happened to be un- 
 locked, as if Clarissa were likely to emulate the luckless 
 bride of the ancient Venetian story, who played nnmatronly 
 and fatal pranks on her wedding-day ! After a while she 
 returned, stating that she had looked high and low, and that 
 Lady Clarissa could not be in the house; she must have gone, 
 out for a walk, and would, no doubt, soon return. But 
 nurse and Mrs. S \veetapple shook their heads ; they felt 
 all too sure that their young lady had of malice prepense 
 witniirawn herself to some secret place in order to signify 
 her disapproval of Miss Rigby. The stables, the poultry- 
 yard, the barns, and all the out-offices were then seai^ched, 
 and many inquiries were made, but no trace o Clarissa 
 was to be obtained. 
 
 "Never mind," said Miss Rigby, when quite tired of 
 waiting for the young rebel ; " I am fatigued ; I require 
 rest and refreshment. Send Lady Clarissa to me the 
 instant she returns. I shall severely reprimand her, 
 
 52
 
 68 LADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 and inflict to-morrow a punishment equivalent to tha 
 offence." 
 
 " Laws-a-mercy ! " said Fancy to nurse, as the governess 
 retired, after ordering a liberal meat tea ; " she don't no 
 more know what my Lady Clarissa is to deal with than I 
 know what the rack in the Tower of London is like, when 
 it gets the grip of one ! I should enjoy to see my lady 
 submit to ' a punishment equivalent,' whatever that may 
 be ; or rather, I should not, "for I should think she was 
 taken for death if she knocked under to such as her." 
 
 " Do you know where my lady is ? " asked nurse, with a 
 keenly inquisitive glance. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Barlow, as if it was likely I should know ! 
 I don't, but if I did, I am not sure that I should tell not 
 that she-dragon, any-ways ! She'll turn up presently. I'll 
 go and look down the park towards the lake." 
 
 " You don't think she has gone down there, and slipped 
 in ! " cried nurse, aghast at the terrible idea thus suddenly 
 presented. 
 
 "Not a bit of it ! " said Fancy ; " she is not one to slip 
 iind stumble ; I believe she could walk up the gable end of 
 ihe house, or stand on the edge of a precipidge, or do any 
 mortal thing she had a mind to, without coming to grief. 
 She's more like a sprite than a child ; she does all but fly." 
 
 " Well, go and look in the park, and you may as well 
 see that the boats are all right. I shall send Tom Bates 
 and Colin Smart to scour the woods. She must be found, 
 you know." 
 
 It was dusk when Fancy returned with no news of the 
 truant, and almost dark when the boys came in together, 
 saying that "they had seed nuthin' and nobody." The situ- 
 ation began to be serious, not to say alarming, and Miss 
 Rigby remarked that she had never before known such 
 shocking behaviour ; she felt quite " put about," and 
 must have a dose of camphor-julep administered without 
 delay. 
 
 And all the while Clarissa was about half-a-mile from 
 home. As soon as nurse had left her, she rose, and telling 
 Tartar not to follow her, slipped away into her own bed- 
 room, where she seized a soft, warm shawl, and changed 
 her thin house slippers for walking boots. In another
 
 ALL ALONE IN THE WOOD. 69 
 
 minute she was in the open air, having left the Castle by a 
 window, in one of the lower rooms. She darted across the 
 terrace on which she alighted, ran down the steps, through 
 the neglected rose-garden, and gained the covert of a 
 thicket of laurestinos and rhododendrons. From this point 
 of the grounds it was only a step or two into the park 
 itself ; and not far away, just across the sunk fence and a 
 few yards of smooth greensward, was a little copse, where 
 the trees had not been thinned, nor the undergrowth 
 cleared away, for many years. Thither Clarissa scudded, 
 very much like a hare that fears the dogs are on her scent, 
 and in a few minutes found herself safe under shelter o 
 the wood. 
 
 " Suppose I climb one of the trees," she said aloud, asr 
 she surveyed her position. " They might come here and' 
 find me, but they never would think of looking up there ; 
 and the branches are so thick, I could hide myself quite 
 well if they did. Nobody but Fancy knows how I can 
 climb, and she won't tell." 
 
 No sooner said than done. There was one spreading oak, 
 with boughs sufficiently near the ground, and in a few~ 
 seconds Clarissa had surmounted every obstacle, torn her 
 frock, and generally dishevelled her toilet, of course ; but" 
 she was securely perched in a charming little nook, com- 
 pletely curtained by green leaves, and safe from human 
 observation. She could just see the blae sky above the 
 gently waving branches, and just catch a glimpse of the 
 emerald-green moss below, on which the slanting sunbeama 
 glinted ; and she could hear the birds twittering and singing; 
 all about her. It was delightf nl. Clarissa had not felt so 
 triumphant for many a day. What fun it was, running 
 away and hiding up in the tree like a squirrel ! How she 
 wished she could build a nest, and live there with the birds 
 as long as ever she chose ! And she would run away again 
 and again, till the horrid " governess-thing " took her de- 
 parture. Once she heard Fancy calling her, and she was 
 half-inclined to answer, but on second thoughts she decided 
 not to betray herself ; she laughed and sang a little low 
 song as she caught a glimpse of her maid leaving the wood, 
 convinced that it did not shelter her whom she sought. 
 
 It was all very delightf al for an hour or more, and then
 
 70 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 she began to get very hungry. Clarissa, though so sallow 
 and meagre, had a very healthy appetite of her own, and it 
 \vas considerably past her nsnal tea-time. Also her limbs 
 were getting cramped, and though she shifted her position 
 from time to time, her legs ached, and she had a creeping 
 pain in her back, while her hands were stiffened by holding 
 on to the friendly boughs. There was a convenient fork a 
 little higher up, where she might repose herself in ease and 
 safety ; and thither she mounted, to find, however, that 
 matters were not greatly mended, for though her hands 
 were at liberty, she had to sit, or rather crouch, with her 
 knees almost touching her chin. The situation grew more 
 and more disagreeable, and she could not help picturing to 
 herself the new milk, and fruit, and nice bread-and-butter, 
 on which she was wont to regale herself about half-past 
 five ! What time was it now ? 
 
 The sun was dropping behind the fir-wood on the hill, 
 the birds were sinking to repose, for only now and then a 
 short sweet snatch of evensong broke the silence of the 
 fast-fading twilight. Very soon it would be quite dark, 
 and suppose she had to stay there till the morning ! She 
 did not care for the darkness, she was not in the least 
 .afraid of being alone ; but she could have cried for the 
 want of something to eat, and she was very tired, and 
 >vould have been right glad of the little white bed at home, 
 which seemed to her at the moment such a comfortable, 
 cosy nest. 
 
 Still, she was not going to give in just yet. If they were 
 very much frightened, they would surely come and look for 
 her and entreat her to return, and the governess would 
 understand that she was going to have her own way and 
 do exactly as she liked ; she would find out that she Lady 
 'Clarissa Oakleigh was not one of those little girls who 
 were to be reduced to submission for fear of consequences. 
 But suppose no one did come ? Well, it would be grand 
 fun to sleep out of doors for once, only she must get down 
 from the tree. She had her shawl ; she would find a bed 
 of dry moss there were lots all about and she would 
 wrap her cashmere round her and lie down quite happily 
 till the morning ! Only, if she could but get a slice of cake 
 and a drink of milk fi.vst ! She had not thought it possible
 
 ALL ALONE IN THE WOOD. 71 
 
 to be so miserably hungry ; and she began to wonder how 
 long it took to starve people to death ! 
 
 Descending from her leafy eyrie was no easy perform- 
 ance ; she was so stiff she could scarcely stir, and in the 
 darkness she had to feel every inch of her way towards 
 terra firma. She was down at last, however, with her 
 white frock hanging in rags about her, and several deep 
 scratches on her arms and legs. She could not see the 
 moss carpet which she sought, so she groped with her 
 hands to find it, and got stung with nettles for her pains. 
 At last she. found a spot that seemed both c. .y and soft, 
 and there was a gnarled root that would serve capitally 
 for a pillow. She looked up, and the stars were shining, 
 and that made her think of her prayers, which she said 
 hastily, as a sort of charm she dared not neglect ; and 
 then she cuddled herself up in her mother's old shawl, 
 poor little rebel, and was soon as fast asleep as if she had 
 been in her own pretty cot, under her lordly father's 
 ancestral roof. 
 
 Poor little Clarissa ! though she pattered through " Our 
 Father " glibly enough, she had no idea of the good God 
 who at that moment watched over her as she lay there 
 with only the wild creatures of the wood for her com- 
 panions. There was a God so she had been told but 
 she did not like to think of Him ; for was He not going to 
 burn her for ever and for ever, if she did certain things 
 which she could not help doing now and then ? No one 
 had ever talked to her of the "gentle Jesus" of the 
 children, and the sweet word "Father" had no meaning 1 
 for her. No more desolate child lay down to rest that 
 night than the high-born, high-spirited Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh. 
 
 Bet by this time Mrs. Sweetapple and nurse were at 
 their wits' end, and the under-servants shook their headf 
 when the lake in the park was mentioned, and talked oi. 
 getting out the drags as soon as morning broke. Fancy 
 was in tears ; her little mistress had never played such a 
 prank as this. How she blamed herself that she had not 
 hindered the escapade ; for Clarissa had told her that she 
 meant to hide when the nasty governess came, and give 
 them all a good fright ; but she had not entered into par-
 
 72 1ADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ticnlars. Indeed, Fancy had replied, " Then don't tell mo 
 where yon hide, my lady : for I shall be sure to be ques- 
 tioned, and I should not like to peach, nor to tell lies 
 neither." And now Fancy would have given a year's 
 wages for the chance of peaching ; it was so dreadful to 
 think of that r-L-ild wandering alone in the darkness like a 
 stray gipsy, xiungry and cold, and running all sorts of 
 risks. And ? T jppose she had got down to the lake, and 
 missed her footing for once ! She was so wild and ven- 
 turesome, and was so fond of dangerous places ; and there 
 was a proverb about the pitcher going to the well once too 
 often. Fancy was nearly beside herself, when Tartar, 
 comprehending that something was amiss, came up 
 whining and sniffing about, as if looking for what was 
 lost ; and then it suddenly occurred to her that the dog, if 
 he ccnld only be made to understand what was wanted of 
 him, ^ould be sure to hunt the little truant, and find her 
 speedily, alive or dead. 
 
 Tartar was a huge beast of a peculiar breed ; he was 
 very fierce, and, at the same time, very docile. He was 
 gentle always with Clarissa, to whom he was devotedly 
 attached, and whom he invariably obeyed ; and he knew 
 so well what was said to him, and what was going on 
 about him, that it was difficult to believe him unendowed, 
 with actual reason. A few words, and the sight of the 
 child's cloak and hat, made him prick up his ears and 
 listen so Fancy said " just like a Christian ! " For a 
 minute or more he seemed to ponder the situation, and. 
 then,, with a few short, low barks, he set off at a swinging 
 trot, with his nose well to earth, taking the paths Clarissa 
 had trodden some hours before. Kurse, and Fancy, and 
 all the stable-boys and garden-boys and other boys em- 
 ployed about the Castle, followed. 
 
 Clarissa was dreaming that the governess was gone, and 
 that she was at home with a cup of milk and a pile of 
 bread-and-butter before her, when she awoke to find a 
 cold nose and a rough face pressed against her own. 
 Most children so roused would have screamed with terror ; 
 but Clarissa, though she could not at first think where she 
 was, nor why she felt so stiff and chilly, and altogether 
 queer, was by no means dismayed. As soon as she was
 
 ALL ALONE IN THE WOOD. 73 
 
 fully awake, she recognised the presence of her four-footed 
 friend, who, after a lick or two, held up his great head 
 and began to bark, as a signal that he had found hi* 
 game. And directly afterwards a light flashed through 
 the branches, and she heard the voice of one of the servants. 
 
 " Here's Tartar ! and here be my lady ! This way, Miss 
 Fancy." And looking up, Clarissa saw the honest face of 
 her faithful ally, the under-gardener's boy, peering at her 
 between the tall, plume-like fronds of fern, and, presently, 
 quite a constellation of lanterns appeared in her imme- 
 diate neighboui'hood. " Oh, my lady, my lady ! " sobbed 
 Fancy, as she gathered up the unresisting little form, 
 " how could you go and frighten us right out of our very 
 senses ? Oh, you bad, naughty child ! You good-for- 
 nothing little wicked creature ! If ever a young lady 
 deserved a good whipping, and bread and water in a dark 
 closet for a week, you do ! There now ! And you'll catch 
 it, you'll see, and serve you right ! I sha'n't pity you if 
 you are punished till next Christmas twelvemonth." And 
 then Fancy kissed and hugged her light burden, her words 
 and her caresses being singularly at variance. As she 
 said afterwards, she could have eaten her up for very joy 
 and thankfulness ; but she thought it her duty to give her 
 such a scolding as she had never had before from her 
 confidential maid, at least. Mrs. Sweetapple scolded, toa, 
 though more moderately. As for poor nurse, she was only 
 too happy to feel her child in her arms again under any 
 circumstances, and she could not find it in her heart to 
 utter one word of reprimand. 
 
 Clarissa had had a bath and her supper, and a little 
 white wine negus, and she was still sitting on her nurse's 
 lap, when she was aware of an awful presence, dark, tall, 
 and straight, approaching her. Instinctively she knew 
 that this was her enemy from whom she had fled, and sho 
 roused up and folded her little dressing-gown more closely 
 about her, and prepared herself for battle. Miss Bigby, 
 however, declined the contest; she only said in a hard, 
 cold, steely voice, that Fancy declared must have been 
 " made of iron-filings " " Lady Clarissa, I have no words 
 in which to express my displeasure at your outrageous and 
 abominable behaviour! Wearied with my journey, I
 
 74 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ought to Lave retired some time ago. For to-night I am 
 silent ; to-morrow I shall punish you as severely as you 
 deserve." 
 
 " Laws, miss," said nurse, angrily, "she's been punished 
 enough already. Look at her poor hands and arms, all 
 scratches and blisters ! It was only a child's trick, and 
 she did not like the notion of a strange person being put 
 over her. There, never mind, my lambkin ; I'll carry you 
 to your bed." 
 
 " You foolish old woman ! " was all that Miss Rigby 
 deigned to answer, as she glanced contemptuously at 
 !Nurse Barlow, and left the room. During this short col- 
 loquy, Clarissa sat up with grave, composed air, and un- 
 dauntedly confronted " the horrid governess-thing." 
 
 " She's "worse than I thought she would be," she 
 observed, as soon as she and nurse were left alone. " She 
 is very ugly, isn't she ? And she's ugly inside, I know." 
 
 By Avhich remark Clarissa intended to convey her con- 
 viction that Miss Rigby's mind and countenance corre- 
 sponded. 
 
 " I never was called a ' foolish old woman ' in my life 
 before," said nurse with an indignant sniff. ""Who's she, 
 I should like to know, taking upon herself to find fault 
 with me, that have been in my lord's service going on for 
 eight years ? No, no ; keep your own place, Miss Gover- 
 ness, and I'll keep mine ! Not but what you've been a very 
 naughty child, Ls;dy Clarissa, and I shall have to make 
 you promise that you'll never do such a dreadful thing 
 again. I must rub some opodeldoc into your arms and 
 legs to-morrow, and that will make them smart. And I 
 dare say you've taken your death with cold. To think, 
 now, of your lying down on the damp ground, and creep- 
 ing things getting all over you ! Suppose an earwig had 
 got into your ear, it would have killed you, or made you 
 stone deaf all yonr days. And that beautiful clear muslin 
 just routed to bits, and the worked flounce that is all 
 ribbons of rags, a piece of your dear blessed own ma's 
 own gown ! Oh, my Lady Clarissa ! my dear lambkin ! 
 you didn't ought to have gone and done it ! " 
 
 And the lambkin replied, "Very well, nurse, I don't 
 think I shall want to do it again at least, I think so now,
 
 IN DUKANCE VILE. 75 
 
 bnt I am not sure, and I can't promise. Let me go to 
 bed ; I do ache so, and I am sleepy. And I hope Tartar 
 has had a nice supper. And did you give my kitty her 
 milk at tea-time ? And, nurse, I do wonder what she 
 will do to punish me, to-morrow morning 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN DUKANCE VILE. 
 
 ** Come when you are called. Shut the door after you. Speak 
 when you are spoken to. Do as you are bid." Adage of the 18th 
 Century. 
 
 FOR several days, however, the threatened punishment 
 had to be suspended; the child was really poorly, and 
 nurse took care to keep her jealously secluded in her own 
 especial quarters, which Miss Rigby happily did not 
 choose to invade. But Clarissa, though so puny, was 
 thoroughly healthy, and she soon threw off the cold which 
 her repose under the greenwood-tree had engendered. 
 She bore the application of the opodeldoc with unshrinking 
 fortitude, and she swallowed, without hesitation, a horrible 
 potion of warm salts-and-senna which nurse thought 
 proper to administer. For those were the happy days 
 when maladies of every kind, from fevers and small-pox 
 down to that mysterious disorder styled " the vapours," 
 were treated with strong aperients and violent emetics ! 
 
 Nurse would fain have prolonged the period of indispo- 
 sition ; but Clarissa, as soon as the aching of her limbs 
 and the general feverishness had subsided, craved her 
 liberty. On the fourth morning she proclaimed herself 
 quite well, and desired Fancy to dress her, and accom- 
 pany her into the kitchen-garden, and bring a basket for 
 some of her own peas and beans, which must be ready to 
 be gathered. Nothing loth, Fancy prepared to obey, and 
 mistress and maid were on the point of leaving the house,
 
 76 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 when a summons came from the schoolroom " Miss 
 Rigby orders Lady Clarissa into her presence imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " I -won't go ; tell her so ! " replied Clarissa, stontly. 
 
 But Fancy interposed : " Yon. had better go, my lady S 
 It's no mortal nse carrying on like this ; she is come here 
 to be your governess, and you will have to mind what she 
 says, and do as you are bid." 
 
 "I don't know about that, Fancy; but I suppose I may 
 as well have it out with her, and have done with it. The 
 peas and beans must wait. I am not afraid of her, you 
 know ; not a bit afraid." 
 
 And throwing down her trowel and garden hat, Lady 
 Clarissa walked boldly to the dread tribunal. Miss Rigby 
 had evidently not expected such prompt obedience, for 
 her pupil discovered her indulging in a most undignified 
 yawn. It was something to perceive that she could relax 
 those iron muscles, and incline herself from the rigid per- 
 pendicular. The governess, however, quickly drew her- 
 self into position, and looking over her nose, as was her 
 habit when she wished to assume a commanding aspect, 
 said sharply, " Come here, Clarissa ! " 
 
 The pupil came, and, unbidden, took a seat not the 
 "educational chair" and gravely faced her judge. At 
 the same moment, Tartar walked in, and lay down at his 
 little mistress's feet. Now during the days of Clarissa's 
 seclusion, Miss Rigby had made the acquaintance of this 
 animal, and the animal had made acquaintance with Miss 
 Higby, and drawn his own conclusions. He had not been 
 in her vicinity many minutes before he expressed his un- 
 favourable convictions in deep, low growls, and a terrific 
 display of his dreadful fangs. There are people who have 
 the sixth sense and people who have it not, and the latter 
 laugh incredulously at the former whenever they advance 
 their pretensions ; but, for all that, the faculty, which i 
 sometimes quite as much of a curse as a blessing, does 
 exist, and that irrespective of age, or sex, or vice, or 
 virtue, or condition. And what is very curious, it is 
 largely shared by the inferior animals ; and there are 
 eoine brute creatures, dogs especially, who seem intuitively 
 to discern the mere presence of true nobility and of base-
 
 IN DURANCE TILE. 77 
 
 ness and cowardice. Tartar, who, though not of pure 
 breed, was descended from a splendid wolf-hound and 
 some people affirmed there was a cross of the blood-hound 
 in him was largely endowed with w^at may be called 
 perception of character. Anyhow, he took at first sight 
 or, perhaps, at first scent the strongest and most invin- 
 cible likes and dislikes to different persons with whom he 
 was confronted. Nobody cared to be the object of Tartar's 
 aversion, and, to do the dog justice, he was not capricious ; 
 he hated and testified against certain folk, he tolerated 
 others, but objected to familiarities ; and others, again, he 
 elected to serve, obey, and defend, if needful, to the 
 death. He was a great favourite with the Earl, whom he 
 treated simply with common respect ; he was very much 
 attached to Fancy ; but it is scarcely too much to say 
 that he literally worshipped the child Clarissa, whom he 
 had evidently chosen to be his liege-lady and his queen. 
 
 Miss Bigby did not like great dogs ; she had a constitu- 
 tional dislike to them, though she was rather fond of 
 French poodles. On the morning after her arrival, Tartar 
 had stalked into the room where she was seated, had 
 sniffed in a most contemptuous way, but had made no 
 sign till she cried, in her usual imperious tone, " Get out, 
 you nasty brute ! " And then he had growled and 
 Tartar's growls were not pleasant to hear ; they were like 
 mutterings of distant thunder. And then he had stead- 
 fastly contemplated her at about a yard's distance, while 
 she sat as if rooted to the spot, had shown his enormous 
 fangs, growled again more ominously than before, and 
 then, turning tail, had retired as majestically as he 
 entered. 
 
 So now, instead of addressing her recalcitrant pupil, 
 Miss Bigby found herself constrained to remark, in a very- 
 nervous tone, " I can't have that dog here ! " Clarissa 
 made no reply, but she never took her eyes off her gover- 
 ness. " Are you deaf, child ? " was the next inquiry. 
 " I tell you that dog is not to enter this room." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "Then send him out." 
 
 " I never send Tartar out of the room ; he is wit-h ma 
 nearly always."
 
 78 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 "Go out, sirrah ! " And Miss Rigby made a threaten- 
 ing 1 gesture. Bat Tartar never stirred ; he lay still with 
 his big head between his awf al fore-paws, and growled. 
 
 Clarissa interposed : " It is of no use you telling him to 
 go out when I am here. And if I told him to stay and 
 I do ! he would be killed before he would movo 
 wouldn't you, Tartar ? " 
 
 Tartar wagged his heavy tail, and made sundry thuds 
 npon the floor, and pressed closer to his mistress. It was 
 very plain that he quite understood what she was saying. 
 
 " But," continued Clarissa, " he will only growl a little to 
 show that he is not friends with you ; he will not touch 
 you if yon leave him alone, and me, too" she added, 
 emphatically. 
 
 "I shall order him to be chained up." 
 
 " It would be no use if you did," quoth Clarissa, 
 gravely shaking her head, and looking inexpressibly old 
 and quaint. " Not one of the servants would dare to 
 touch him ; besides, papa says he is to go loose always. 
 No one could chain him up but me." 
 
 It sounded queer enough so queer as to be almost 
 uncanny to Miss Rigby's thinking. That mite of a child, 
 with her baby hands, and her fragile frame, chain up that 
 great savage beast that would be a match for the strongest 
 man unarmed ! It was another version of Una and her 
 lion, only Miss Rigby could not perceive it. She began to 
 see that for the present, at least, the dog had better be 
 left, so she at once plunged into the attack which had been 
 adjourned so long. 
 
 " But," she commenced, " I did not send for you, 
 Clarissa, to talk about the dog. I have something of more 
 importance to say to you. I told you the other night that 
 I should punish you for running away." 
 
 " I know you did, Rigby." 
 
 ** You are to call me Miss Rigby, or ' ma'am.' " No 
 answer. " Do you hear, Clarissa ? " 
 
 "Yes, Rigby; and you are to call me Lady Clarissa, or 
 my lady.'" 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the sort." 
 
 " If-, does not matter." 
 
 21 But 1 shall punish you, and severely, too."
 
 IN DUKANCE TILE. 79 
 
 What will you do ? " 
 
 The child's cool manner, and the amused expression of 
 her countenance, exasperated Miss Rigby most cruelly. 
 She was on the point of rising to box the ears of her con- 
 tumacious pupil, but luckily she remembered Tartar or 
 rather, as if divining her amiable intention, he reminded 
 her that he was on guard by a long, low growl, that 
 seemed to say, " Touch my little lady if you dare." Ifc 
 came so naturally to her to box the ears of naughty chil- 
 dren, that the wonder was she did not do it on the impulse 
 of the moment. It was well for her, however, that she did 
 not. There was no knowing to what lengths Tartar might 
 have gone had he once been really roused. 
 
 " I should like to give you a good whipping," she 
 foolishly replied. 
 
 " Ah, but that wouldn't do," answered Clarissa, with as 
 thoroughly an unconcerned air as if she had been discuss- 
 ing the plans of a doll's house ; " would if/, Tartar ? " 
 
 A longer and louder growl than before, and several im- 
 patient thuds with that heavy tail, a queer, sinister look, 
 too, in the animal's fiery, red-brown eyes, and a movement 
 of the mouth very like a grin. 
 
 " As we are only just commencing our career together," 
 continued Miss Rigby, " and as I will give you the credit 
 for being sorry and ashamed, I shall not go so far, this 
 time, as to inflict the chastisement you so richly deserve. 
 I shall so far condone your fault as to remit the personal 
 penalty." 
 
 " You mean you won't beat me ? " said Clarissa, quietly, 
 " But what will you do ? " 
 
 "I shall sentence you to solitary confinement for the 
 rest of the day." 
 
 " In the dark ? " 
 
 " Yes ; in the dark, if you answer in that tone." 
 
 " I don't mind whether it is dark or light ; I like being 
 in the dark ; I can always go to sleep if I choose, or I can 
 keep awake, and tell myself stories. Shall I go up now 
 into one of the lumber-rooms ? There are three dark ones 
 at the top of the house. One is quite dark ; when fch e 
 door is shut you cannot see your hand, if you hold it n>x 
 1 am wry fond of that room. Or, if you like, there 13
 
 SO LADT CLAEISSA. 
 
 fchi ghost-room. I think I will go there, Rigby, and then 
 I shall not be disturbed, because no one ever goes into it. 
 You see, the ghosts know me, and I know them ; but the 
 servants are afraid." 
 
 " What nonsense you are talking. Lady Clarissa, there 
 are no such things as ghosts ! " 
 
 " Are there not ? That's what Sweetapple says ; but, for 
 all that, she would not go near the ghost-quarter, after 
 dark, for the world. If you stay here long enough, per- 
 haps you won't say there are no such things as ghosts any 
 more! " 
 
 " Lady Clarissa, I must protest ! Ah ! it is full timo 
 you were looked after ; yon. have been left to servants and 
 their vulgar chatter, till you are as foolish as they. Now, 
 I forbid you ever again to speak of ghosts. I assure you 
 there are no such things." 
 
 " Very well, I don't want to talk about them ; I can 
 talk to them when I like. Now, then ! have you done with 
 me ? Tartar and I want to go out." 
 
 " You will not go out to-day. Lady Clarissa, what do 
 you suppose I am here for ? " 
 
 " I have not any idea ! I don't want you. Nurse and 
 Fancy wait upon me very well, and Sweetapple sees to my 
 dinners. And Tom and Colin help me with my garden, 
 and then there's Tartar I really don't see what you can. 
 do for me." 
 
 " Lady Clarissa, you. provoke me beyond all bounds. 
 Wait upon you, indeed ! Do you take me for a menial ? " 
 
 " I don't know what a menial is." 
 
 " Then it is well that you should learn, and I am going 
 to teach you. The noble Earl, your father, has engaged 
 ine for that purpose. I am your governess. 1 ' 
 
 " What do governesses do ? " 
 
 "Teach little girls all sorts of things, and make them 
 behave themselves as young ladies should. I believe you 
 are a very ignorant little girl, as ignorant as the poor chil- 
 dren in the street. They tell me yon. cannot read, that 
 you do not even know the alphabet ? Is that true ? " 
 
 " Do yon mean the ABC? I know all the big letters, 
 1 think, but I don't know the little ones. I never can tell 
 W 7 aich is b, and which is d. It was very stupid to make
 
 IN DURANCE VILE. 8| 
 
 them so much alike, and p and q are just as bad. If t 
 had to make an A B C, I would do it very much better." 
 
 " I think you are a very conceited child, and a very 
 foolish one. Do you not Avish to learn to read ? " 
 
 " Not yet ; Fancy reads to me whenever I want any 
 reading. And I can make stories myself, and tell them to 
 Fancy, and that is much better than reading them in a 
 book. Of course, I shall learn to read when I grow up, or 
 perhaps before ; but I do not mean to learn anything ex- 
 cept cricket, just yet." 
 
 " Indeed, you will begin to learn several things imme- 
 diately. Give me your spelling-book." 
 
 " I have not one. I have a box of ivory letters ; wil! 
 that do ? " 
 
 " No ; boxes of letters are for babies. You must learn: 
 out of a book. I will get you a spelling-book and a copy- 
 book at once ; you must learn to write." 
 
 " Well, I think I should like to leai-n to write, though 
 it cannot be as nice as drawing pictures." 
 
 "All in good time ; you shall learn to draw, but reading, 
 and writing, and arithmetic come first and foremost." 
 
 " Oh ! but I can draw ; I make pictures of everything. 
 I'll show you if you like ; I keep the best of them always, 
 though some I give away. There is Tartar, of course ; 
 I've done him standing up and lying down ; but I could 
 not do him running at least, not well. And there are my 
 rabbits, the old black buck eating lettuces, and the doo 
 with the long lop ears, and her little ones. The spotted 
 cow and the calf I have promised to nurse. If yon are 
 not tiresome, I may perhaps do something for you ; but 
 it will depend upon how you behave. And now I am 
 oing come, Tartar ! " 
 
 "But you are not going, Lady Clarissa! First of all, 
 you must have your proper lessons, and then I sentence 
 yon to spend the rest of the day quite alone, as a punish- 
 ment for your bad conduct in running away and hiding 
 yourself, and for your sauciness in answering me so rudely. 
 I never was so addressed by a pupil in all my life ! No 
 little girl and I have taught many ever spoke to me as 
 you have spoken this morning." 
 
 " They must have been very stupid little girls. Bat I 
 
 6
 
 82 LAr 
 
 don't mind if I do have lessons just now ; it will amuse 
 me, for I see it has begun to rain, and the clouds look as 
 if they would go on all day. I'm ready. You may teach 
 me something if yon like. What do you know ? " 
 
 Miss Bigby clasped her hands in despair, and heartily 
 wished she had never made her debut as Lady Clarissa's 
 governess. It was " an awful child " she had to deal with, 
 she assured her friends when she wrote to them. a child 
 who was not afraid of the dark, and who pretended to be 
 on intimate terms with the family ghosts ; who kept at 
 ter side a huge savage dog like a wolf ; who treated her 
 as a servant, and actually reversed their mutual positions 
 and asked her, what she knew ! 
 
 It seemed useless to go on with, this extraordinary and 
 undignified battle, in which she could not help feeling 
 half -beaten, and she did not dare to give the child her 
 deserts that is to say, a good whipping to bring her 
 tinder, and break her stubborn spirit without more ado. 
 She was quite thankful when Clarissa herself proposed to 
 be amused with " lessons," and if she had had the smallest 
 tact, the least qualification for the difficult task she had 
 undertaken, she would have seized the hint and acted upon 
 it forthwith* A really sensible, high-principled, kind- 
 hearted woman might have done anything she pleased 
 with Clarissa, who, with the right sort of leader, would 
 have followed docilely, for she was wonderfully clever, 
 though so quaint, as isolated children often are ; and she 
 had a funny little conscience of her own, and an intuitive 
 appreciation of "noblesse oblige." Also she was generous 
 and affectionate, and might so easily have been won. But 
 Miss Bigby was not sensible ; she was decidedly unprin- 
 cipled, and if there had ever been any milk of human 
 kindness in her composition, it had long ago curdled and 
 turned sour. The idea of loving or of being loved by her 
 pupils never entered her mind ; her sols theory of tuition 
 was to command absolutely, and to require, or rather to 
 compel, obedience the most implicit. What she might 
 have been in her youth, I cannot say ; but now, after years 
 of experience, she had succeeded in qualifying herself, not 
 for the truly honourable post of governess, but for that of 
 schoolroom tyrant. And tyranny had so long been her
 
 IN DUKANCE VILE. 83 
 
 metier and her forte, under the guise of rigid discipline, 
 that it had come to be a second nature, and she would as 
 soon have thought of treating Tartar as a gentleman, as 
 of showing courtesy to the child committed to her rule and 
 guidance. 
 
 Miss Rigby was the worst person who could have been 
 chosen to deal with a clever, spirited, utterly untrained 
 and undisciplined child like Clarissa. She was essentially 
 the wrong woman in the wrong place, as nurse and Fancy 
 decided on the evening of her arrival, and as Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple herself more than suspected before the governess 
 had been quite a week an inmate of the Castle. She rose 
 now, feeling painfully uncertain whether Tartar might not 
 think proper to resent the movement, and sought among 
 the books on the shelves till she found an ancient calf- 
 bound spelling-book, very badly printed, on very dingy 
 paper. Whether it was "Mavor's," or not, I cannot tell, 
 but it was that celebrated spelling-book, so lauded in its 
 day, and so often quoted even now, whieh contains the 
 highly moral story of Smith, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, 
 who played truant, and went out to bathe in the river on a 
 fine summer morning one of the number being promptly 
 drowned, and the rest well thrashed by the schoolmaster 
 for their disobedience, or perhaps for not being drowned 
 with their unfortunate comrade. Also the instructive and 
 solemn history of " Don't Care," aad the evil end to which 
 he inevitably came. But here my memory is at fault, for 
 it seems to me that one " Don't Care " was killed by a mad 
 bull as a judgment on him for his wicked insouciance ; that 
 was the version, you know, which Mrs. Pipchin, of 
 Brighton, taught to little Paul Dombey, who considerably 
 posed the old lady by his questions on the subject of the 
 bull's lunacy. While there is yet another and more ancient 
 reading, which makes " Don'fc Care" a wanderer on the 
 face of the earth, or the sea rather ; shipwrecks him, of 
 course, casts him on a desert island, and makes him 
 finally the prey of a ferocious lion. Such was the mild 
 and pleasant literature by which, in days of yore, the 
 tender thought was reared, and the young idea taught to 
 shoot ! 
 
 Now, Clarissa was greatly charmed with the hideoua 
 
 62
 
 84 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 wood-cuts in this most delightful volume, and \vhen she 
 had submitted with tolerably good grace to an examination 
 in the alphabet, and had actually committed to memory, 
 without any apparent effort, b-a ba, b-e be, b-i bi, 
 b-o bo, &c., she said, calmly, " Now, if I am to go into 
 punishment, as you call it, I may as well go at once, and 
 I'll take this book with me ; I can make out a beautiful 
 story all about those naked boys by the river. How long 
 am I to stop, and what room shall we stop in ? " 
 
 " We ! I am not intending to put myself in disgrace. 
 I am not going to be shnt up with you." 
 
 " I hope not ; I should not like that. No, I meant 
 Tartar ; he will come with me/' 
 
 " That I cannot allow. You must remain alone." 
 
 " Tartar," said Clarissa to her wide-awake dragon, 
 "come with me ; I want you." 
 
 "He is not to come," interposed Miss _Rigby, getting 
 very angry. 
 
 " But he u'ill come, and you cannot hinder him. Why, 
 if he were shnt out he would tear the door down, and he 
 would half eat you up, if I were to set him at yon and 
 just one word would do it, because he knows all I say ; 
 don't you, Tartar ? " 
 
 Tartar rolled his eyes at Miss Rigby, and growled. 
 Then he got np, shook himself, and stood close to his little 
 lady. There was nothing for it but to give in ; for discre- 
 tion was, undoubtedly, the better part of valour in this 
 case. Tartar was clearly not a dog to be trifled with, and 
 he had espoused the cause of Lady Clarissa as his own. 
 They both went together to a certain dreary-looking apart- 
 ment not far from the schoolroom, and Miss Rigby locked 
 them both in, first saying, with her head between the door 
 and the door-post, " You will remain there till bed-time, 
 yon naughty child ! and at one o'clock I shall send you a 
 piece of dry bread for your dinner, and at five another 
 piece, and a cup of milk and water." 
 
 " Tartar must have his dinner properly." 
 
 " Then he must go and take it in the right place ; if he 
 likes to starve, he can," returned Miss Rigby, delighted to 
 think she could punish the child through the dog ; for she 
 had an uncomfortable suspicion that Clarissa would not
 
 IN DURANCE VIL3. 85 
 
 care much about short-commons and frugal fare, nor object 
 to the confinement, as it was now raining heavily and hope- 
 lessly. Kurse had given her to understand that she often 
 spent honi j alone with her dog from choice. 
 
 Clarissa only laughed, and replied that Tartar would 
 not like to starve, but it did not matter. And then she 
 was left alone. Punctually at one a lump of bread and a 
 glass of water were handed in to her by Miss Rigby her- 
 self, and at five that lady again appeared with a second 
 relay of refreshments, which were strictly en carte du jour. 
 Clarissa was fast asleep on the hearthrug, with one arm 
 round her four-footed friend, and her sallow little face 
 pressed to his huge head. Miss Rigby shuddered ; but there 
 was something else that astonished her so much that she 
 forgot for the moment her dread of the great dog. Close 
 at hand lay a half-gnawed bone ; and on the table were 
 crumbs of cake, the empty claw of a fine lobster, and two 
 or three well-picked chicken bones ; about half the bread 
 had disappeared. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this, Lady Clarissa ? " she 
 asked sternly, as the child awoke, and rubbed her eyes. 
 " Ah, I see ! one of the servants has obtained access to 
 you ; but that will not happen again, and I shall complain 
 to my lord. Was it Fancy ? " 
 
 " What was Fancy ? " said Clarissa, still only half awake ; 
 she had been sound asleep for at least three hours. 
 
 " Was it Fancy who transgressed my orders by bringing 
 yon delicacies for your dinner, when I had sentenced you 
 to dry bread ? " 
 
 " Fancy ? Oh dear no ! How could she get in ? You 
 kept the key of the door, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Certainly. But how came these crumbs and bits to bo 
 here ? And the dog has had a beef -bone." 
 
 " Of course. Why, you didn't think I was so silly as 
 to keep Tartar without his dinner and go without my- 
 self ? " 
 
 " Silly indeed ! you naughty, shameless child ! How 
 did you get the dinner ? that is the question I will 
 know.'" 
 
 "That is my secret," returned Lady Clarissa. " Tartar 
 and I managed it between us. We always do manage
 
 86 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 things when we are together. Fancy had nothing to do 
 \vith it ; none of the servants had anything to do with it." 
 
 " You are telling lies," cried Miss Rigby, getting more 
 angry every moment as perhaps, all things considered, 
 was not nnnatnral ; for no grown-up person likes to be 
 baffled by a child. " You are telling lies, you know you 
 are, you bad, wicked little girl ! " 
 
 " It is yon that are bad and wicked, trying to starve 
 Tartar and me. I never tell lies ; I am Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh ! Come, Tartar, we will go to the nursery ; we 
 have stayed here long enough." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DOMESTIC TOURNAMENT. 
 
 " Man, proud man ! 
 Dress'd in a little brief authority ; 
 Most ignorant of what lie's most assured, 
 His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 As make the angels weep." 
 
 ATJD so from day to day the warfare was continued, Miss 
 Rigby versus Lady Clarissa and Tartar, to whom nurse 
 and Fancy, and all the servants, presently gave in their 
 staunch adherence ; the underlings of the household loudly 
 protesting against their young lady's tyrant, and, some- 
 times, caballing among themselves as to the speediest 
 means of getting quit of her. Nurse at once told Mrs. 
 Sweetapple that Miss Rigby " wouldn't do ;" she had nofc 
 the right method with children ; she was especially un- 
 suited to the difficult pupil she had undertaken, and, worst 
 of all, she was certainly not a lady ! And the housekeeper, 
 though admitting in her own mind the perfect justness of 
 nurse's remarks, still felt herself bound to stand up for
 
 A DOMESTIC TOURNAMENT. 87 
 
 her protejee for as such she considered Miss Rigby, who 
 had been engaged under her own auspices, and for whose 
 failure or success she could not but feel that she was, to a 
 great extent, responsible. , 
 
 " Well," she answered, crossly, " I cannot say she does * 
 get on with Lady Clarissa ; but then, if there ever was a 
 child born to torment the persons put in charge over her, 
 it's she ! And she has taken to new and more provoking 
 ways than ever since Miss Rigby came ; she does not go 
 into her wild rages now, I am told ; but she quietly argues, 
 and contradicts, and ridicules, just as if she and her 
 governess were equals. It must be aggravating ! " 
 
 " I dare say it is, and I don't defend my lady, for a child 
 ought to be obedient and bidable, and she shouldn't answer 
 again, nor be pert, nor ask too many questions. But I 
 tell you what, Mrs. Sweetapple, the child that knocks 
 under to Miss Rigby must be a child without a bit of 
 spirit one of those meek, dull, timid little creatures, that 
 will bear any sort of ill-usage, and never rebel, nor make 
 complaints, though I have heard how worms will turn 
 again, if yon tread too hard. I should bepity the child that 
 was altogether in Miss Rigby's power, that I should. As 
 for my Lady Clarissa, she is doing her more harm than 
 good, because she is bringing out the worst part of her 
 nature, and continually provoking her to naughtiness. 
 She has a nasty temper herself ; and, as I said before, and 
 I said it to myself the moment I set eyes upon her, she's 
 no lady." 
 
 " She knows a lot of things, and to hear her play upon 
 the piano is wonderful. She's up and down the keys like 
 lightning, and she makes more noise in five minutes than 
 our late lady, the Countess, made in an hour ! And she 
 talks French, she tells me, and knows Italian, and loga- 
 rithms, and she can dance hornpipes, and the Minuet de la 
 Gour, and teaches composition and the use of the globes. 
 If that is not being a lady, what is ? " 
 
 " I can't tell," replied nurse, " because I am not a lady 
 myself ; but I know one when I see her, just as I know a 
 tabby cat from a tortoiseshell. And a governess did ought 
 to be a lady, sure enough ; and I have known governesses 
 that had all the manners of ladies of rank governesses
 
 88 LADI CLARISSA. 
 
 lhat I would defer to in a moment. But I don't like being 
 treated as if I was scam, I don't ; my late dear lady never 
 spoke to me as this woman does. It's my belief she 
 comes from a country where the servants are negro slaves, 
 and she has been one of the drivers. If she were mistress 
 here, our own lawful countess, she could not order about 
 her more; and never such a word as 'please,' nor 'thanlc 
 you? whatever's done for her. That's a bad example for a 
 child, and Lady Clarissa had better never know the use of 
 the ' globes ' to her dying day, than learn such manners. 
 If I were yon, Mrs. Sweetapple, I should just let Miss 
 Rigby understand that she is to behave herself decently, 
 and I should make her know that she is going quite the 
 wrong way with our young lady." 
 
 " Well, if opportunity occurs, I shall speak, perhaps, 
 but I am not sure how she will take it. She thinks her- 
 self mightily above me ; though I dare say my people are 
 ,as respectable as hers. Still, I do say that Lady Clarissa 
 is an awful handful ; and Miss Rigby has taught no end 
 of young ladies; and the character she brought with her 
 she does not call it that, though ; 'testimonials,' I think 
 she says all written in beautiful fine writing on vellum, 
 and blue, and gold, and red all round the borders, full 
 of her praises, and saying how she is the best of disci- 
 plinarians." 
 
 The housekeeper had not to wait long for her opportu- 
 nity ; the very next day came Fancy to the still-room, 
 where she was engaged, with a message from the gover- 
 ness. " Please, ma'am, Miss Rigby wants to see you." 
 
 " She must wait a little, Fancy; I must tie up these jars. 
 Is she in my room ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, in the schoolroom. I think, ma'am, she 
 seems to expect you will come to her." 
 
 " Go and tell her, Fancy, that I am very busy just now, 
 but that I will see her in half-an-hour in my own sitting- 
 room. She will find me there." 
 
 Fancy went with her message, and soon returned. 
 
 " She says, ma'am, that she will see you in the school- 
 room ; she is accustomed to be waited upon, not to come 
 and go at at other peoples' beck and call." The truth 
 being that Miss Rigby had spoken of the housekeeper as a
 
 A DOMESTIC TOUEXAMEM?. 83 
 
 "servant;" and Fancy had the discretion not to repeat 
 the epithet which was so sure to be offensive, although she 
 had herself replied to Miss Rigby : " Mrs. Sweetapple is 
 my lord's servant, of course, just as you are ; but she is 
 mistress in this house, and we all treat her as such." For 
 which speech she was rewarded by a summary dismissal as 
 " a bold-faced, impudent young hnssey ! " 
 
 " Well ! I am sure," said the indignant housekeeper, 
 writing " apricots " on the cover of a jar of preserved 
 damsons. " What next, I wonder ! And I engaged her, 
 and it's me that will pay her her wages when they are 
 due. But as I brought her here, I can send her away 
 again, I suppose. My lord knows no more of her than if 
 she came from the moon ; he left it quite to me. And I 
 was assured she was so suitable, such a good one for 
 bringing troublesome children under, and so clever and 
 accomplished, and so anxious to be employed in a noble- 
 man's family, and to speak of her pupil as ' my lady.' 
 And this is the way she behaves to me ! I'll let her see. 
 No ! I have no further message, Fancy ; go yon, and look 
 after your young lady, and don't let her go and dig in the 
 gravel-pit if you can help it. She had three pairs of clean 
 stockings on yesterday, nurse says." 
 
 And Mrs. Sweetapple sat cogitating and nursing her 
 displeasure for a good hour after Fancy had gone away. 
 She was so " put about," as she said afterwards, that she 
 really did not know greengage from gooseberry, nor mar- 
 malade from conserve of roses, and all her work was to do 
 over again next day. A little while after, as she was 
 crossing the hall, she encountered Miss Rigby buckling on 
 her clogs, for it was dirty out of doors, and goloshes at 
 that period were very rarely, if ever, seen. She was still 
 struggling with a refractory strap, when, looking up, she 
 perceived the housekeeper, and addressed her " I sent for 
 you, Sweetapple, more than an hour ago ; I suppose that- 
 saucy minx, Fancy, never delivered her message ? Sh& 
 must have her discharge immediately ; you had better give 
 her warning to-day or I will, as her offence was against 
 myself." 
 
 "Miss Rigby," replied Mrs. Sweetapple with a good 
 deal of quiet dignity, " no one engages or dismisses ser-
 
 90 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 vants in this house bnfc myself. And Fancy did carry her 
 message ! Except in cases of illness, I am not in the 
 habit of attending to summonses from any person but my 
 lord himself. "What have you to say to me ? " 
 
 " That I really must give that tiresome child a good, 
 sound whipping, and therefore I desire yon to chain up 
 that great dog ; lie is positively dangerous about the 
 house." 
 
 ** Miss Rigby, are you mad ? " 
 
 " Mad, indeed ! Speak respectfully, woman ! Do you 
 know who I am ? " 
 
 " My lord's governess, I suppose, whom J engaged in 
 obedience to his commands." 
 
 " Then, as the governess, I claim to be treated with 
 proper deference and respect." 
 
 " Proper respect you shall have while you are at Orwell, 
 Miss Rigby, and proper respect you have had, I think, 
 ever since you came except perhaps from my Lady 
 Clarissa, and that is very much your own fault, for yon 
 don't behave in a way to command the child's respect. Of 
 course, a governess is a person to whom respect is due, but 
 there are different sorts of governesses, I take it, just as 
 there are different sorts of kitchen-maids and cooks ay, 
 and different sorts of prime-ministers, and kings, and 
 queens, if you come to that and I am afraid, Miss Rigby, 
 you are of the sort that neither servants nor children will 
 look up to." 
 
 "I am not going to argue with you, Sweetapple " 
 
 *' Mrs. Sweetapple, if you please, Miss Rigby ! That is 
 my style and title at Orwell. It is not good manners to 
 address me in that way, let me tell you. As to your 
 whipping Lady Clarissa, I forbid you to lay your hands 
 upon her. She has never had a blow or a slap in her life, 
 and do you think she would bear it ? If you cannot 
 manage her, yon had better give it up at once, and I 
 think it will be better for all parties that we separate ; 
 shall we say this day month, and all travelling expenses 
 paid ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you, Mistress Sweetapple ! " 
 
 " I think yon do, Miss Rigby. You must have had 
 warning or notice before this. You have scarcely, I should
 
 A DOMESTIC TOURNAMENT. 91 
 
 imagine, discharged yourself from all the situations you 
 have held." 
 
 " Do yon mean that you give me notice ? " 
 
 " Of course, I do. I engaged yon, and I dismiss you. 
 I am the only authority at present at Orwell. I have not 
 even told my lord that you are arrived. He leaves the 
 entire management, and, of course, the responsibility, in 
 my hands." 
 
 " I shall not accept your notice, and I shall write im- 
 mediately to your master, and my employer, the Earl of 
 Orwell ; and I shall give Lady Clarissa the beating she 
 deserves, if I think proper, and I shall issue orders that 
 Tartar be chained up." 
 
 " You may give such orders, but no one will obey them. 
 If Tartar is to be chained, yon must do it yourself, and I 
 fancy you will scarcely make the attempt. Not one of the 
 men on the ground would dare to touch him. And unless 
 you give me your solemn promise to keep your hands off 
 Lady Clarissa, I shall withdraw her from your society, 
 and request you to leave the Castle to-day." 
 
 " I never met with such insolence ! Woman ! your 
 assurance is only surpassed by your ignorance. Give 
 your menial servants notice, if you choose, but do not 
 presume to interfere with my province." 
 
 " Woman, indeed ! " cried the indignant Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple. " Woman yourself, if you please ! We are not 
 used to vulgar expressions here. Woman or not, you 
 are no lady ; and once more, I give you notice proper 
 legal notice of a month a calendar month from this day, 
 at which date, if you do not leave peaceably, you will be 
 forced to go." 
 
 And Mrs. Sweefcapple walked away, feeling thafc 
 she could not trust herself a minute longer, lest she 
 should "forget herself and say what had better be left 
 unsaid." And before curfew rang that evening, as it 
 always did from the old church tower, every man and 
 woman, and girl and boy, in and about the Castle 
 knew that the governess had received her dismissal. 
 And everybody said it was no more than was to be ex- 
 pected. But Miss Rigby was as good as her word ; 
 she spent the whole afternoon in writing a long and
 
 92 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 elaborate epistle to the Earl of Orwell, dilating upon 
 her wrongs, upon the gross insults she had received, 
 upon the iniquities of Mrs. Sweetapple and Fancy, and 
 upon the vicious propensities of her pupil, whom she 
 stigmatised as the wickedest, "worst child she had ever 
 had to deal with ! Which letter proved Miss Rigby to 
 be a very foolish and ignorant woman, since there is 
 not one parent in a thousand, however neglectful and un- 
 kind himself, who will bear abuse of his offspring from 
 another. If she wished to find favour in the eyes of Lord 
 Orwell, and to enlist his sympathies on her own side, 
 she took the very worst way she could have taken in order 
 to secure her ends. 
 
 The Earl in due season received the precious document, 
 which was addressed to him at his club, and he read and 
 even re-read it, with a good deal of amazement. " What an 
 insufferable person ! " was my lord's cogitation, when he 
 had made himself fully acquainted with the contents of 
 the long, rambling, scratchily-written epistle. " This 
 comes of leaving things to your housekeeper ! Sweet- 
 apple must have been crazy when she engaged this 
 woman for my daughter's governess a vulgar upstart, 
 about as fit for a governess as I for an archbishop. I 
 mast speak to Mrs. Shrosbery. After all, it is the very 
 best thing I can do to get married again. Though, if I 
 had not wanted the money, I might have sent Clarissa to 
 a good school." 
 
 For in those days, young ladies of rank were occa- 
 sionally educated in very expensive and high-class board- 
 ing-schools. 
 
 For the first time the Earl felt some satisfaction in his 
 engagement, as unconnected with his pecuniary difficulties. 
 It was only in the fitness of things that he should consult 
 his future Countess, and accordingly he carried to her the 
 letter he had received. Mrs. Shrosbery it was full three 
 months before that freezing wedding in St. James', Picca- 
 dilly gave the epistle her very best attention, and at once 
 decided against the governess. 
 
 "A very unfit person to be entrusted with the care of 
 children, I should say, and the sooner yon dismiss her the 
 better," was her dictum, when the Earl requested her
 
 A DOMESTIC TOURtfA-JIENT. yJ 
 
 opinion. " What names she calls the dear little angel ! 
 And to talk of whipping her ! No wonder the child hates 
 her. Did you engage her without references, my lord ? " 
 
 " I did not engage her at all. Svveetapple said the child 
 must have a governess, for she was so utterly wild and 
 unmanageable she could do nothing with her, and old 
 nurse spoiled her ; and, really, it was time she learnt some- 
 thing, and left off climbing trees, and taking birda'-nesta, 
 and feeding calves." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! my lord ; quite a little torn-boy." 
 
 " Yes, quite. And though she is small of stature, she 
 ia old for her age, if you know what I mean ; she is very 
 sharp and, in a certain manner, cunning ; for if she 
 cannot get her own way openly, she will plot and scheme 
 for it or so I am told. Well, I felt that it was not quite 
 the thing to leave her entirely to servants, though nurse 13 
 most trustworthy, and Mrs. Sweetapple a really superior 
 person ; and so I said I supposed the child must have a 
 governess. I spoke to Aunt Lavinia about it, but she 
 declined to interfere, and then somehow I had so much to 
 attend to I quite forgot my promise, and Sweetapple 
 wrote again, urging me to secure the services of a suitable 
 lady as soon as possible. So I wrote back, and desired 
 Sweetapple to take it in her own hands ; she knew the 
 child better than I did. It seems but the other day 
 Clarissa was a baby, and I thought she Svveetapple, I 
 mean might easily find what was wanted by inquiring 
 among her friends, or by answering advertisements. And 
 this Miss Higby is the result." 
 
 " It was like her impudence to write to you, when she 
 was engaged by the housekeeper. Bat, there ! governesses 
 generally are impudent, and what are they but servants, 
 when all is said and done ? " 
 
 The Earl winced and coloured like a girl. As his bride- 
 elect spoke just as ignorant, vulgar, prosperous women 
 always do speak of othr women who have to earn a living 
 he remembered his lo fc, lovely, refined Clarissa this 
 child's mother ; a governess, indeed, but graceful, high- 
 bred, "a thing of beauty," "a phantom of delight." 
 And he gravely responded, " Of course, Louisa, there are 
 governesses and governesses, and some of them, doubtless,
 
 54 LADY CLARISSi. 
 
 are impudent. But there are others, as true gentlewomen 
 as ever walked the earth, excellent, highly- educated, ac 
 complished ladies, whom no one could possibly stigmatise 
 as servants, although they receive a 'stipend.' " 
 
 He was just going to say, " no one except the merest 
 parvenu ! " when he luckily remembered that to that class 
 his fair Louisa undoubtedly belonged. And Louisa 
 noted his hesitation, but attributed it to a far different 
 cause. She fancied she had lighted upon a weak point 
 in her future husband's character. She had a very poor 
 opinion of the virtue of men, either married or single, and 
 she made no doubt that the Earl had once upon a time 
 been caught by a pretty, designing governess ; the truth 
 of the case she never once suspected. And she mentally 
 resolved that as Countess of Orwell she would never on 
 any account engage a governess who could lay claim to 
 personal attractions. It was, however, decided that Miss 
 Rigby should at once take her departure from Orwell 
 Castle, and that Clarissa should be left to go on in the 
 old way till her new mamma should assume the reins of 
 government. 
 
 " And I should say the sooner she is out of the house 
 I mean the Castle the better!" said Mrs. Shrosbery. 
 *' Pay her her month's wages, and let her go. What's a 
 few pounds, more or less ? " 
 
 " Nothing, of course," replied the Earl. " I will take 
 yoar advice, and write to Svveetapple this evening." 
 
 " Won't you answer Miss Eigby's letter ? " 
 
 " Certainly not; unless she wofnlly belies herself, she is 
 just the woman with whom one should have as little to do 
 as possible. Sweetapple engaged her, and Sweetapple 
 must give her the sack." 
 
 " ' Give her the sack ! ' Oh, my dear lord, what a 
 vulgar expression ! But you are so funny ! You are the 
 very drollest creature ! " 
 
 And the Earl, who had not the smallest idea of being 
 funny and droll, bade his Louisa adieu, and went home to 
 compose the document which should arm the housekeeper 
 with the fullest authority, in respect of MissRigby, who had 
 informed him that she refused to be dismissed by a menial 
 - -slie was wonderfully fond of that word, and would nevec
 
 A DOMESTIC TOURNAMENT. y& 
 
 pnfc a coal on the schoolroom fire, because it was a Denial 
 auty ; that, in short, she would receive her conge only from 
 the Earl himself. 
 
 Several days later, his lordship' ti letter reached its des- 
 tination, and, in her anxiety to secure her own portion of 
 the morning's correspondence, Miss Rigby invaded Mrs. 
 Sweetapple's own sanctum, where she was closeted with 
 nurse. 
 
 " Where are the letters ? " demanded the governess. *' I 
 know there is one for me." 
 
 " There is no letter for yon, Miss Rigby," replied Mrs. 
 Sweetapple. " But I have a communication from his lord- 
 3hip, enclosing your own letter to him. I have just been 
 reading it." 
 
 " What is my letter retarned for, I should like to know ? 
 And what business have you to read it ? It was strictly 
 private." 
 
 " Private or not, my lord sends it back again, desiring 
 me to peruse it, and of course I have done what he re- 
 quested. I think you took a liberty, a veiy great liberty, 
 indeed, Miss Rigby, and the Earl is altogether offended. 
 I will read you what he says on the subject, for there is no 
 time to be lost. Says my lord, ' This person's strange, in- 
 trusive, and unladylike epistle proves her to be quite unfit 
 for the task she has undertaken. I am surprised that you, 
 with your discrimination, decided to engage her. I think 
 the negotiation must have been concluded without a per- 
 sonal interview. I shall thank you to dismiss her imme- 
 diately ; pay her the full salary up to Christmas, and her 
 travelling expenses to London, or to whatever place in 
 England she may prefer. Only get rid of her at once. I 
 enclose a cheque for the occasion.' 
 
 " Those are my lord's commands, Miss Rigby. I will 
 send one of the maids to help you with your packing, 
 but as the coach is already starting, if not started, I sup- 
 pose you must remain till to-morrow. You see I made no 
 rash boast when I told you I was mistress here, and that 
 my lord left the household arrangements entirely in n?y 
 bands. And if I may give yon a bit of advice at parting. 
 I should say, ' Don't make enemies wherever you go ! ' A 
 mast be friendly if. she wants friends ; and it, '
 
 rf IADY CLATJISSA. 
 
 awkward to be without any, for there's a time for every - 
 oody to be in trouble, and I dare say you've heard about 
 a * friend in need,' &c." 
 
 Miss Rigby's rage and astonishment were simply inde- 
 scribable, but she saw clearly that resistance was useless. 
 She did say though more out of bravado than with serious 
 meaning "What if I refuse to pack up, Mistress Sweet- 
 apple ? What if I say I will not go ? " 
 
 " In that case, I must send for Tomkiss the constable, 
 show him my lord's letter, and bid him do his duty ; and 
 that duty would be very unpleasant to you, Miss Rigby." 
 
 " Don't be afraid," retorted Miss Rigby. " I would not 
 stay now to be insulted and oppressed, not for ten thou- 
 sand a-year, offered to me by the Earl himself on his 
 bended knees." 
 
 "That is a sight you are not likely to see," replied 
 nurse, laughing. " It is easy to refuse what never will be 
 offered." 
 
 Next day, Miss Rigby, without taking any leave of 
 her pupil, departed, Tartar barking loudly, yet good- 
 humouredly, after the carriage which bore her through 
 the park. But there was something in the Earl's letter 
 which was not communicated to the deposed governess 
 something which. Mrs. Sweetapple and nurse agreed to 
 keep secret for the present, though no secrecy had been 
 imposed upon them, and though the important news 
 which they suppressed must necessarily become public in a 
 very short space of time. I need scarcely say that I refer 
 to the announcement of Lord Orwell's marriage. Once 
 more the Earl would have a wife, the Castle a lady-mi n- 
 tress, and Clarissa a stepmother ! 
 
 " And if the new Countess is a really good and sensible 
 woman," said nurse, " I don't know but what it is not the 
 best thing that could happen for my little lady. But if 
 she isn't if she don't take to the child, nor the child to 
 her, heaven help us, but there will be sore trouble. And 
 we can't get rid of her. Suitable or unsuitable, she'll 
 be a fixture for life." 
 
 And Mrs. Sweetapple shook her head ominously. " I'vo 
 no opinion of stepmothers," said she. " I, for one, sba'V f . 
 oike seeing her in that angel's place ; and I did think icy
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 lord would have bad the decency not to take a third wife. 
 But there ! men are never tired of matrimony, though it's 
 a lottery with more blanks than prizes in it ; and my mind 
 misgives me that we shall be none the better for our new 
 Countess." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 " And the village was gay 
 
 For a holiday. 
 
 Merrily echoed the old church bells, 
 Peal on peal o'er the hills and dells j 
 Borne away on the morning breeze, 
 Over the moorland, over the leas ; 
 Back again with a joyous clang ! 
 Merrily, merrily, on they rang ! " 
 
 AND so it came to pass that it was necessary once more fco 
 prepare Clarissa for certain changes which might speedily 
 be anticipated. Miss Rigby had not been out of the house 
 many days when workmen came down to Orwell and com- 
 menced their labours in several parts of the Castle. There 
 was not time to make extensive alterations ; but even 
 Mrs. Sweetapple, who highly disapproved of her lord's 
 approaching marriage, could not but own that some 
 changes and improvements ought to take place before the 
 bride came home. Things had not been "kept up" since 
 the Countess Clarissa's death ; all the state-rooms were 
 closed, though duly aired and dusted at regular periods, 
 under the housekeeper's own supervision, and the furni- 
 ture, though costly and massive, was altogether out of 
 fashion. Of course it was very soon known that the Earl 
 was again on the point of marriage. 
 
 But no one spoke to Clarissa on the subject. Mrs. 
 Sweetapple and nurse agreed to defer the evil hour as 
 long as possible, Fancy could be reticent enough when she 
 chose, and the under-servantg were one and all desired to 
 
 7
 
 9 LADY CLARIS S A. 
 
 keep silence before their little lady ; and so from day ta 
 day the child went on in blissful ignorance of the impend- 
 ing earthquake that was to convulse the little kingdom of 
 which she had long constituted herself sole princess. Ife 
 would have been far wiser if someone had quietly told 
 her what was about to happen, but there was no very wise 
 person just then at Orwell, therefore Clarissa was still 
 nnapprised when one dull day early in December the Earl 
 himself unexpectedly appeared. And then both nurse and 
 housekeeper felt that they had foolishly procrastinated, 
 and been terribly remiss. 
 
 But it was too late now to mend matters ; a sudden 
 communication might be dangerous ; besides, my lord, 
 within half an hour of his arrival, walked into the school- 
 room, where Clarissa, who had suddenly resolved to edu- 
 cate herself, was busily engaged in writing a copy which 
 Fancy had been persuaded to set for her. That young per- 
 son was also in attendance, and she was merrily chanting 
 the unseasonable lay of " Cherry ripe," when the Earl, 
 without being announced, opened the door, and struck her 
 dumb with confusion and surprise. She hastily gathered 
 up her work, and, curtseying profoundly, said : "I beg 
 pardon, my lord, I did not know that your lordship had 
 arrived," and, without much ceremony, made her exit. 
 
 The Earl approached his daughter, and kissed her, as 
 she silently laid down her pen. Very, very seldom had he 
 kissed the child, and she scarcely knew what to make of 
 the unfamiliar caress ; she sat and mutely regarded him 
 with dark, serious eyes, and a curious expression of 
 wonder in her little sallow face. Tartar was more demon- 
 strative ; he came and put his huge head on the Earl's 
 hand, and gave one or two short barks of welcome. The 
 prospect of a little society did not displease him. 
 
 "Well," said Lord Orwell, drawing a chair to the 
 table, and seating himself by Clarissa, "and are you 
 surprised to see me ? " 
 
 " Rather," she replied gravely. "What are you come 
 for?" 
 
 " Suppose I am come to see yon ? " 
 
 "I don't think you are. I think you are come to see 
 bow the men are doing their work."
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 99 
 
 This shrewd reply amused the Earl, and he said to him- 
 self, " What a queer little animal ! half a baby and half 
 an old woman ! I wonder whether Mrs. Shrosbery will 
 take to her ! " For it was a significant fact that the bride- 
 groom-elect always thought of his betrothed as the relict 
 of Peter Shrosbery. " Well," he returned, after a 
 moment's pause, " I did come down partly to see how 
 (things were getting on, but I want to have a little talk 
 with you, Clarissa. How was it that you and Mias Rigby 
 quarrelled so soon ? " 
 
 "She was horrible!" replied Clarissa, earnestly. "I 
 could not bear her, and Tartar growled whenever she came 
 into the room. And she locked us up in one of the east- 
 wing rooms without any dinner, except a dry lump of 
 bread ; but I got out of the window, and took what I 
 wanted from the larder, and I got in again, and she never 
 could find ou't how I did it. It was great fun to see how 
 angry she looked." 
 
 " I am afraid you were a naughty little girl. You 
 ought not to have escaped, when you were shut up as a 
 punishment, which I dare say you well deserved." 
 
 " But I wanted my dinner, and Tartar wanted his ! 
 We could not eat her stale bread; and it was not near 
 enough for us both. I could have stayed quite quietly, if 
 I had had what I liked, and what Tartar liked, and plenty 
 of it. And I came back again ; I did not try to get away 
 for it rained, and it was best indoors." 
 
 " What did yon have for your dinner ? " asked the Earl, 
 with increased but unexpressed amusement. 
 
 " Let me see ! I had some cold chicken, I remember ; 
 the white part, for that is nicest. There was a whole 
 chicken ready cut up on a dish, and I could reach it quite 
 easily on the larder-steps. Then there was just one claw 
 of a big red lobster, and I took that, and some sweet 
 cake, and some little apples, and some beef-bones, with 
 lots of meat on them, for Tartar. And I went into the 
 dairy, and had a good drink of milk. But I had to 
 X)me back again for Tartar's bones, for I could not 
 /.arry all at once ; it's rather a hard climb up to that 
 window ! " 
 
 " Upon my word, Clarissa, you are a very extraordinary 
 
 72
 
 100 IADT CLARISSA. 
 
 yonng lady! You seem to have dined superbly. TTas 
 that all ? " 
 
 " Yes ! except a piece of pie that I ate in the larder 
 because it was juicy, so that I could not take it away. 
 But I could not quite finish the cake, and Tartar did not 
 care for it ; he liked best to gnaw his bone. And when 
 we had done dinner, we lay down on the hearthrug, and I 
 told Tartar tales tales out of my own head till we both 
 went to sleep." 
 
 " I do not wonder that your governess called yon ' a 
 most incorrigible child.' However, I dare say there were 
 faults on both sides ; she was not a proper person to be 
 about you, but you must never do such a thing again ; 
 and, when you have another governess, you must make up 
 your mind to do just as yon are told." 
 
 " I don't want another governess ! governesses are no 
 vood ; I am teaching myself, and Fancy helps me. I can 
 almost read now, and I shall soon write very well, Fancy 
 says so. Please, papa, I am not to have another governess- 
 thing, am I ? " 
 
 " I cannot say. That will be for your mamma to de- 
 cide." 
 
 The child looked puzzled. " Mamma ! " she replied, in 
 a bewildered tone ; " why, she is dead ! at least, she is 
 in heaven ! Everybody says she is, and I have not seen 
 her this long time. Can she send me a governess from 
 heaven ? " 
 
 "How foolish you are, child ! Of course, I mean your 
 new mamma." 
 
 " My new mamma ! " 
 
 " Yes ! It is rude to repeat what I say. Have they not 
 told you that I am bringing yon a new mamma, very 
 soon ? " 
 
 " No one told me. And you need not bring her, for I 
 don't want her, and I won't have her." 
 
 " You will be obliged to have her, Clarissa, and it is 
 very much on your account that I have asked her to come 
 and live here with us." 
 
 " Will she live with us always for ever and ever ? 
 And will you be here, too ? " 
 
 " I shall be here part of the time, certainly, and your
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 101 
 
 mamma, of course. Wives always live with tLeir husbands, 
 and mammas with their little girls." 
 
 " Will she be your wife ? " 
 
 " Most certainly, and my wife will be your mamma. 
 You seem so sharp, you ought to understand that." 
 
 " Your wife will be my mamma ! " repeated Clarissa, 
 slowly ; " or your mamma will be my wife ! Which did 
 you say ? " 
 
 The Earl burst out laughing. He was really annoyed 
 at the impracticable child's behaviour ; her imperturbable 
 coolness made him for the moment seriously angry, but 
 there was something so utterly ludicrous in her quaint, 
 would-be grown-up airs, and in her unsophisticated, 
 tone, that he gave way to merriment in spite of him-- 
 self. " My wife will be your mamma," he reiterated. 
 "There! now you know all about it. And I do hope, 
 Clarissa, you mean to be a very good girl, and do 
 exactly as you are told, and give your new mamma no. 
 trouble." 
 
 Clarissa privately resolved that she would give the 
 " new mamma " as much trouble as possible, but she kept 
 a grave countenance, and shut her lips. Her father 
 thought she looked like a little owl, so stolid, so sagacious,, 
 so contemplative. The next minute he was wondering at 
 her stupidity, for she asked quietly, " And shall I have a 
 new papa, as well as a new mamma ? " 
 
 "Don't be absurd, child!" he cried, crossly. " I am: 
 not dead, am I ? Should you like a new papa, pray ? " 
 
 w No, for I don't like any new things, except new dogs. 
 I could do without any papa, I think, but I will not have- 
 a new mamma." 
 
 " It is of no use talking in that way," replied the Earl, 
 in a tone of serious displeasure. " Your new mamma is- 
 coming, whether yon like her or not ; and if you do not 
 behave well to her, I shall punish you severely. I shall 
 give you a downright good whipping, and shut you up with 
 dry bread for your dinner, in some place where you cannot 
 get out of the window. It is quite time you were taken 
 in hand, Clarissa ; you have had your own will too long. 
 Lady Orwell will soon bring you under. She is not one 
 to be disobeyed, so you had better make up your mind at
 
 102 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 once to behave properly. It will be tlie worse for you if 
 yon do not." 
 
 And then the Earl went away, leaving Clarissa to ponder 
 the situation. When he was gone, Tartar came and laid 
 his head in his mistress's lap, and looked wistfully at her. 
 She began to talk to him " We won't have her, will we, 
 Tartar ? We will have nothing to do with her, and you 
 must frighten her like you did Miss Rigby ; and if growl- 
 ing does not do, you must bite her, you know. A new 
 mamma, indeed ! I Jcnoio people can't have two mammas, 
 and the Countess was my mamma perhaps, she is my 
 mamma nou; up in heaven, just the same ! I wonder what 
 she does up there, Tartar! Don't you think she must 
 want to come down ? I should, I know. It must be 
 dreadful tip in heaven ! Sunday always, and church, 
 always ! Great high pews, I suppose, and ' Lighten our 
 darkness,' and somebody always saying 'Amen!' How 
 tired we shall be. Only that is not the worst of it ! They 
 say there are no dogs in heaven, so you can't go, Tartar. 
 I am sure I wish I was a dog I do ! :> 
 
 Don't be shocked at poor little Clarissa, my readers. 
 Sunday was a wearisome day to her a day of best frocks 
 and no play, and sitting hours and hours, as it seemed to 
 her, in the high Castle pew, listening to a service she could 
 not possibly understand, or probably not listening, but 
 very tired, and hot, and sleepy, and longing to escape 
 into the outer world. Orwell Church was a large, ugly 
 building, with low, flat ceiling; cattle-pens by way of 
 pews, and the stately Castle pew square, dusty, stuffy, 
 and shut out from the vulgar gaze the worst of all. Those 
 were days the "good old days," some people call them 
 still when Nonconformity was nothing and nobody, and 
 was thankful to feast itself on humble pie ; and when the 
 Kational Church held its own without interference and 
 without reproof, and held it drowsily, comfortably, 
 stupidly, and luxuriously, and without much regard to 
 the salvation of souls, and a good deal of regard for that 
 which perisheth in the using ; days when sermons were 
 repeated from year to year, till the drowsy congregation 
 knew them by heart ; days when " the prayers " were 
 droned through anyhow, and " the Lessons " read very
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 Bin eh as an educated parrot might read them ; days when 
 " Sabbath drawlers of old saws" hummed through " some 
 worm-cankered homily ;" days when a moribund farmer 
 might comfort himself as he reflected 
 
 ** A knaws I hallos voated wi' Squoire, and Choorch an' Staate. 
 An' i' the woorst o' toimes, I wur niver agin the raate, 
 An' I hallus corned to's choorch afore moy Sally wur dead, 
 An' 'eered un a bnmmin' awaiiy loike a buzzard-clock ower m^ 
 
 yeiid, 
 An' I never knaw'd whot a meiined, but I thowt a 'ad summut 
 
 to saay, 
 An' I thowt a said whot a owt to a' said, an' I corned awaiiy." 
 
 And Clarissa, poor child, with her active little body, 
 held in bondage, and her still more active little mind, 
 which could not be restrained, was told solemnly that " it 
 was alv;ays church-time in heaven ! " that, in fact, the 
 New Jerusalem was a city where it was Sunday the whole 
 week through, and where congregations never heard the 
 welcome and much-longed-for " Now to God the Father," 
 &c., which folks in this world are privileged, sooner or 
 later, to hear. 
 
 Then it was on Sundays that Clarissa was instrncted 
 in theology, of a decidedly sulphurous character ; it was 
 on Sundays that she had the headache after sitting in the 
 musty, fusty pew, in the mouldy, airless church, which 
 was generally guiltless of ventilation ; it was on Snndays 
 that she and Tartar generally contrived to get into trouble. 
 Naturally, she disliked Sunday, but she could endure ifc 
 once a week. It was the prospect of perpetual, never- 
 ending Snnday that filled her with dismay. 
 
 Presently, Fancy came back, and inquired what my lord 
 had been talking about. 
 
 Then Clarissa burst out, " He told me, Fancy, that 1 
 should have a new mamma, and that he would whip me if 
 I behaved badly to her! " 
 
 " Then, if I were you, I would not behave badly, my 
 lady. I would just try how very good I could be. When 
 she comes, we shall all have to be on our best behaviour, I 
 can tell yon." 
 
 " Cannot we get rid of her somehow ? Hiss Rigby 
 conld not stay, you know."
 
 104 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Y*ou must not so much as think of such a thing. No ! 
 Whoever goes, she will stay on always, and rule over us 
 continually. Why, she will be our countess, your papa's 
 wedded wife, Lady Clarissa ! " 
 
 " That is what papa said. But I don't see how she is to 
 be my mamma. Anyway, Fancy, if I can't make her go 
 away, I can bother her and plague her, till she doesn't 
 know where she is." 
 
 Fancy laid down the needlework which she had just 
 taken up, and looked solemnly at Clarissa. 
 
 "My lady," she said, in a tone so grave, that the child 
 for the moment was almost awed ; " my dear little lady, 
 yon know I love you, don't you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think you do love me, Fancy, though you would 
 not take me to see Colin bait the traps the other day, and 
 you told Sweetie of me when I climbed up the tree, and 
 greened my new frock all over." 
 
 " I did my duty, Lady Clarissa. Noblemen's daughters 
 must not help to hunt vermin, nor climb up trees like 
 torn-boys." 
 
 " I wish I were a torn-boy ! I hate to be a girl." 
 
 " That is very wrong ; but I am not going to talk to 
 you just now about your naughty, rude pranks. I some- 
 times check and vex you, my dear, because I do love you ; 
 I don't think anybody loves you better than I do, and so 
 I want you to be good and happy. And that brings me 
 to what I want to say ; now, listen ! as sure as you and 
 I sit here, as sure as Monday comes next to Sunday, you 
 will have to give in to the new countess, and it is of no 
 use fighting against one in power. She will be too strong 
 for you, my dear ; too strong for me, for all of us, to op- 
 pose. Besides, as our lady, she ought to be obeyed and 
 treated with respect. And perhaps she will be very fond 
 of you, and have you with her a great deal. I should 
 not wonder if she brought you such a beautiful doll as you 
 never saw before, and perhaps a doll's house. Who 
 knows ? There are splendid things to be bought in 
 London, I am told ; and my lady that is to be is very rich, 
 they say. Now do behave yourself prettily to her when 
 she comes, there's a darling young lady. Make her your 
 friend, and don't do anything to cause her to dislike you.
 
 FATHER AND UAOGHTEE. 105 
 
 If you once begin to go against each other, there's no 
 saying what will happen." 
 
 "I don't feel as if I could be good, Fancy." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can ; everybody can be good if they 
 please ; leastways, they are not obliged to be downright 
 naughty." 
 
 " I am afraid I don't please to be good. I cannot bear 
 to be told to do things. And when people vex me, I like 
 to serve them out." 
 
 "Oh, my lady! my lady! You will have lots of 
 trouble, I fear. Well, I have said my say, and if you 
 will go contrary ways, and set yourself against your new 
 mamma, I cannot help it. But you will have to pay for 
 it ! I am afraid, Lady Clarissa, you will have to go 
 through seas of sorrow and shed oceans of salt tears, 
 before you learn the right way to behave. And you have 
 got plenty of sense, if you like to use it ; and your sense 
 must tell you, if you think at all about it, that a child 
 like you must have tasks and teachers, and must do as she 
 is bid, and, above all, ought to honour her father and her 
 mother, as the Catechism teaches." 
 
 " Is that Catechism ? I thought it was Bible. They 
 say it in church every Sunday, and then they say, 
 ' Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to 
 keep this law.' I think it is great nonsense to keep on 
 saying the same thing over and over again, don't yon, 
 Fancy ? " 
 
 " Lady Clarissa, you downright shock me ! If Matthew, 
 Mark, Luke, and John came down from heaven to talk to 
 yon, I do believe you would cavil at them. Do you know, 
 I begin to be afraid yon are wicked as well as naughty, 
 and you know where wicked people go to ! It is dreadful 
 to find fault with what they say in church. I dare not da 
 it ; I should be afraid some awf nl judgment would como 
 upon me." And Fancy, feeling quite cast down, resumed 
 her sewing. She was honestly trying to influence Clarissa 
 for good, and she knew she had spoken kindly as well as 
 faithfully, but it was most disheartening to come to such 
 results, and she foresaw a future of misery for her way- 
 ward little mistress the prospect of which drew tears- 
 from her eyes. Clarissa saw them fall upon her work.
 
 100 LADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 and at once asked what she cried for. "Was nurse cross ? 
 or had Sweetie been scolding her again ? 
 
 "lam crying for yon, my lady," said Fancy; "yon 
 make me very nnhappy. I am older than you, and I 
 know that you are making a rod for your own back, and a 
 heavy, sharp rod, too." 
 
 " I will be good ! " exclaimed Clarissa, herself melting 
 into tears. " Don't cry, Fancy, and I will do all the new 
 mamma tells me ; and I won't set Tartar at her I pro- 
 mise you I won't." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, you had better not ! He would most 
 likely be shot, if you did such a wicked thing." 
 
 " Shot ? Papa likes Tartar ; he would never have him. 
 killed." 
 
 " He would for certain, if he touched the Countess ; or 
 she might order him to be shot, you know. She will be 
 Tartar's mistress, as well as yours and mine, and her word 
 will be law." 
 
 " I don't like it," answered Clarissa, tearfully ; " but I 
 will try to be good. And I'll begin this very day. I will 
 tell papa next time he talks to me that I am sorry I made 
 him angry, and that I mean to love the new mamma at 
 least, if she is not very nasty and disagreeable." 
 
 But Clarissa had no opportunity of carrying her good 
 intentions into effect. The Earl scarcely saw her again, 
 and did not speak to her during the few days he remained 
 at the Castle. She had greatly displeased him, and he 
 wished her to feel that she was in disgrace. And he went 
 back, and told Louisa that Clarissa was worse than ever, 
 and that she must rule her with a rod of iron from the 
 very first. It never occurred to him that he had neglected 
 his child from her birth ; that the estrangement and an- 
 tagonism between them were far more his fault than hers ; 
 that some day the Nemesis of unfulfilled duties might 
 confront him. 
 
 Mrs. Sweetapple said nothing about approaching events, 
 but in her heart she pitied the child unfeignedly, for she 
 knew what Clarissa was, and she had an ignorant and 
 nnreasonable aversion to stepmothers in general. Nurse 
 largely shared the sentiment, though she hoped for the 
 best. But she nullified all the good advice she gave by
 
 FATEFF, AND DAUGHTER. 1C 7 
 
 occasionally exclaiming in Clarissa's presence, and in 
 reference to the new Countess's coming reign, " Ah, poor 
 lamb ! poor lamb ! Stepmothers have stony hearts ! " 
 
 At length news of the marriage reached the Castle. 
 There were no rejoicings; those were postponed till " the 
 happy conpje ~ s'iionld return from the bridal tour. But 
 the bells rang merrily over the snow on the wedding 
 morning, and the ringers got drunk at the Earl's expense 
 later in the day. Upholsterers and decorators came down 
 from London, and my lady's boudoir, in "rose colour and 
 gold," was a marvel to all who were favoured with the 
 sight thereof. A little longer, and a splendid carriage 
 arrived, and carriage-horses also, and grooms and stable- 
 men, and a most consequential coachman, and quite a 
 little army of serving-men and serving- women, greatly to 
 Mrs. Sweetapple's discomfiture. For she knew that her 
 long reign was over, and old times passed away for ever,., 
 and she pitied herself almost as much as she pitied Lady 
 Clarissa. 
 
 Lord and Lady Orwell remained abroad till the winter 
 snows had melted, for they were keeping Easter in Rome, 
 seeing all the grand sights, and being blessed by the Pope, 
 and doing generally as Rome does on grand occasions. 
 But the day came when they were expected home, and 
 the new Countess was to be installed in her honours. And 
 once more the bells rang their loudest peal, and the 
 tenants kept holiday, and everybody wore white wedding 
 favours Tartar and the tortoiseshell kitten included. 
 And one chapter of Clarissa's life was over, and the new 
 leaf turned. What would be written on tho blank pagea 
 to cczuc ? everybody wondered.
 
 1C 8 LADT CLAKISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN THB WORLD." 
 
 " I wish I were a peasant girl, 
 
 And not a lady gay ; 
 I'd like upon the village greea 
 
 All day to dance and play j 
 I'd like to wear a russet gown 
 
 Instead of silken sheen ; 
 Had I been reared beneath yon thatch, 
 
 How blessed I might have been ! " 
 
 "Now, my lady, promise me solemnly that yon won't 
 go and do as you did when Miss Rigby came," said Fancy, 
 as she turned her yonng mistress round and round, in order 
 the better to contemplate her unwonted splendours of em- 
 broidered muslin, lace frills, and blush-rose ribbons ; to 
 which Clarissa replied, " I am not thinking of any such 
 thing, Fancy ; I am older now, and I know better ; I was 
 such a child then." 
 
 " Yon are a matter of nine months older, and little girls 
 of eight years generally do count as children ; but I hope 
 yon know better than to behave as you did then. It was 
 such a foolish thing to do, you know." 
 
 " So it was," replied Clarissa, with the serious air of a 
 person convinced of error ; " whatever you may say about 
 my being a child, Fancy, I have grown up a great deal 
 since then. I understand most things better, and I under- 
 stand, especially, that it is of no use fighting with my rew 
 mamma. She cannot be driven away, anyhow, because 
 she comes for good ; if she could be got rid of, I think I 
 should try what I could do, for I don't want her, and some- 
 thing tells me I shall not like her, neither will she like me 
 nor Tartar." 
 
 " Well, don't do anytning to make her dislike yon at 
 first setting out. In many ways it is best we should have 
 a Countess again. The Castle has been as dismal a place as 
 ever I saw, but now we shall be having company again ; 
 aivd though we have been very comfortable, it is not right
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN THE WORLD." 109 
 
 that a nobleman's daughter should lire with only servants. 
 I know what's what, my lady ! And now come with me to 
 the great staircase window, where we can see the tarn of 
 the road ; as soon as the carriages are in sight, yon must 
 go to the drawing-room, and be ready to receive my lord 
 and my lady." 
 
 " Whatever shall I say, Fancy ? I know I shall not be 
 Able to say a word if papa looks cross at me." 
 
 " You must not mind how anybody looks. The moment 
 you hear the Earl and Countess in the gallery outside, run 
 you to the door, advance a little way, hold out your frock 
 so ! put your feet in the fourth position, as Miss Bigby 
 used to show you, and make a real curtsey so ! and say 
 going a little closer as you speak ' I am very glad to 
 see you, mamma; I hope you have had a pleasant journey; 
 I hope you and papa are quite well.' " 
 
 " I cannot say that, Fancy it's not true ; not the first 
 part, at least. I am not .glad to see her, and I can't make 
 myself glad ; it's as much as ever I can do not to be dread- 
 fully sorry. I can just make myself hope the journey was 
 not disagreeable, and I do hope she is well, and papa, too ; 
 but I can't say I am glad. I never did say what was not 
 true. Why, yon tell me yourself, and so do nurse and 
 Sweetie, that I must never, no, never, on any account, tell 
 the least bit of a fib ! " 
 
 " Oh, that doesn't count as a fib, or, if it does, it's a sort 
 that everybody, very good people, too, tells by the dozen. 
 Of course, story-telling is very wicked and mean, but one 
 must be polite, and say a few things one does not exactlr 
 feel." 
 
 But Clarissa shook her head. " It's of no use, Fancy ; 
 I shall not say I am glad ; she would know I did not mean 
 it, and papa would know, too. I should like to say,- ' 1 
 am very sorry to see yon, Lady Orwell, and though you 
 are the Countess, you are not my mamma.' But as that 
 won't do, I shall just make my curtsey, and say, ' Good 
 afternoon, mamma ; I hope you have had a pleasant 
 journey,' and the rest." 
 
 " Very well ! I don't know but what that is as good as 
 the other, only mind you say it pleasantly. And you had 
 better tell Tartar to be on his good behaviour j he'll mind
 
 110 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 what you say just like a Christian. He will be civil if yon 
 tell him he must be, though, I don't expect he will be 
 friendly. Now come along, my dear, and turn your toes 
 out, and don't stand one foot on another, to soil and fray 
 your nice white satin slippers." 
 
 Presently they knew by the excitement of the people 
 down below that the carriages were approaching, and in 
 another minute there was a cloud of dust between the tall 
 elms, and there was the grand new travelling chariot in 
 which the Earl and Countess were to arrive ; a ponderous 
 affair, such as one seldom sees now, drawn by four pranc- 
 ing white horses, with postilions, and outriders, and foot- 
 men hanging on behind, and all the show and state of a 
 day gone by. Behind them came several other vehicles 
 containing my lord's valet, my lady's own maid, and at- 
 tendants, in charge of the luggage. Altogether, it was 
 quite a procession such a display as the Orwell folk had 
 never seen in all their lives before. 
 
 As the white horses came clattering up to the grand 
 entrance, Fancy turned to Clarissa, whispering, " Now, my 
 lady, now is your time ! run along the corridor, take the 
 second staircase, and slip down into the drawing-room 
 before they are well alighted. Don't be afraid." 
 
 " I am not afraid, but I feel so odd," replied Clarissa, 
 faintly; and then Fancy saw that the child was white to 
 the lips, and trembling all over. The girl was frightened, 
 and ran to call nurse, who was even then looking for her 
 charge. 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear ! " cried the good woman, as Claris.-^ 
 almost sank into her arms, "whatever is the matter 
 with her ? What nonsense have you been talking to her, 
 Fancy ? " 
 
 "No nonsense at all," answered Fancy, indignantly; 
 " she was all right a minute back, then all on a sudden 
 she turned ghastly ! "Whatever is it, Lady Clarissa ? " 
 
 " I think I feel sick," said Clarissa, more laintly. 
 "Please take me, nurse; I can't go down; everything 
 spins round and round." 
 
 And so it came to pass that one part of f .he programme 
 failed. The bridal pair entered the Castle m stato, all the 
 servants, save nurse and Fancy, being drawn up in the
 
 "THB ODDEST CHILD IN THE WORLD." Hi 
 
 grnat hall to receive them. The tenants were still loud in 
 acclaim, and the bells were yet ringing their loudest, 
 maddest peal ; but the Earl looked in vain for his little 
 daughter, whose attendance he had specially commanded. 
 His brow darkened as he glanced round, and missed the 
 quaint little figure, and the small sallow face, and he at 
 once attributed the child's absence to sheer perversity and 
 contumacious insolence. As for the Countess, she was too 
 delighted with her reception, too pleased to have attained 
 her pinnacle of glory, to feel anything like disappointment 
 from so trivial a cause. She had never even pictured to 
 herself such splendour, such homage. Why, it was ten 
 times better than the Lord Mayor's show ! not to be com- 
 pared, indeed, with any City pageant, in which some 
 element of vulgarity was always sure to mingle. The 
 Countess was fast becoming disgusted with " City 
 people" and "City grandeurs." And yet it was not so 
 very long ago, either, that Mrs. Shrosbery had felt that 
 her highest ambition would be satisfied, her loftiest aim 
 reached, her Ultima Thule of earthly bliss attained, if 
 only her Peter might enjoy the dignity of the mayoralty 
 of the metropolis. That he should one day be Lord Mayor 
 of London, and she the Lady Mayoress, dispensing her 
 favours at the Mansion House, was a brilliant dream in 
 which she had once indulged a dream too delightful ever 
 to come true ! 
 
 And now she could afford to despise civic honours for 
 City honours and trade always went together and tho 
 Countess of Orwell, on the threshold of her husband's 
 ancestral home, might patronise any Lady Mayoress to any 
 extent, provided only they were free of the precincts of 
 the mighty City, in which mayors and mayoresses reign, 
 with almost regal sway. Even in that particular, though, 
 how great was her own advantage ! The Lady Mayoress 
 was but the queen of a year, who could only take a sip at 
 the cup of aristocratic pleasures, while she was. a peer's 
 wife to her dying day, and might drink deep of the over- 
 flowing bowl, the sweetness and exhilaration of which were 
 beyond all that she had conceived. So she bore herself in 
 right queenly fashion, bowing right and left, affable but 
 dignified, cordial to a certain extent, "yet unfamiliar."
 
 112 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 She was well satisfied that she played her part of grand* 
 dame successfully, and she felt every inch a chatelaine, as, 
 leaning on the arm of her " nob^e husband," she passed 
 onward to her own private apartments. 
 
 No one condescended to ask for Lady Clai'issa ; but 
 when dinner was over, and the sumptuous dessert on the 
 able, the door slightly opened. Nurse appeared for an 
 instant on the threshold, and then one of the grand new 
 footmen, being duly instructed, pompously announced 
 " The Lady Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " What a poor little creature to have such a grand 
 name ! " was the Countess's unexpressed thought, as 
 Clarissa, looking more insignificant than ever in her costly 
 worked muslin and lace, shyly advanced up the long room 
 to where her new mamma sat enthroned at the head of the 
 table. Her magnificence did not become her ; the snowy, 
 filmy muslin was all unsuited to her angular and meagre 
 form ; the delicate, pale rose ribbons made her appear 
 more sallow than she really was, and the pearl necklace 
 and pendant round her scraggy, yellow throat, seemed as 
 unfitting and out of keeping as if Tartar had worn it as an 
 ornament. And as she approached, her slight embarrass- 
 ment rapidly changing into calm self-possession for 
 Clarissa was generally equal to the occasion Lady Or\vell 
 exclaimed, though quite under her breath, " What a little 
 fright ! " 
 
 Bat Clarissa's quick ears caught the uncomplimentary 
 sotto voce ; and, as may readily be conjectured, it did not 
 tend to modify her prejudices against her lady stepmother. 
 It was in a rather sullen tone, and very much as if she 
 were repeating a lesson learned by rote, that she said, 
 "Good evening, mamma ! I hope yon have had a plea- 
 sant journey, and I hope you and papa are quite well " 
 at the same time making the regulation curtsey as ex- 
 emplified by Miss Kigby, and improved upon by Fancy. 
 It must be confessed that Lady Clarissa's elaborate reverence 
 was a very curious performance ; but it had one good 
 effect it amused the Earl, and banished the heavy cloud 
 tvhich had gathered on his brow as his daughter was 
 announced, and he burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Who is your dancing-master, Clarissa ? " he asked j
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN THE WORLD." 11?, 
 
 mockingly. "Why, yon are qualified to perform in a 
 company of strolling players ! " 
 
 "Don't daunt the child ! " interposed the Countess, bent 
 on being maternal. " Don't you see how you vex her f 
 Never mind him, my pretty dear ; it was a very nice 
 curtsey, though, perhaps, a little overdone. Come to me, 
 and eat some hot-house grapes, or whatever you like best. 
 Will yon have a macaroon, or a piece of sweet cake, or a 
 candied orange, or some of this stuff ? " 
 
 This stuff being a cream of some kind, most artistically 
 produced by the chef, who now reigned supreme in the 
 Orwell kitchen, and regarded Mrs. Sweetapple and her 
 ancient staff as English ignorant barbarians. At the same 
 moment Lady Orwell lifted Clarissa on to her knee. 
 
 Clarissa immediately wriggled down again, and quietly 
 observed " I am not a baby, though I am so little. I am 
 eight years old, and I should prefer to sit on a chair." 
 
 " Oh, very well ! by all means," replied the Countess, 
 with an offended air; and the Earl remarked, " Ah ! I told 
 you what a small termagant she was, and now you may 
 judge for yourself. You will have your hands full with 
 her, you perceive, and I leave her to yon, though I shall 
 be surprised if you succeed in shaping her into any form 
 of decency." 
 
 Clarissa ate, or pretended to eat, the slice of rich cake 
 which was on her plate, and said nothing. 
 
 " Why did you not come to meet us, Clarissa ? " asked 
 her papa, presently. 
 
 "I was not well, papa," she answered. "I meant to 
 come, but just as the carriage stopped I felt so sick, and 
 nurse carried me to the nursery, and gave me camphor- 
 julep." 
 
 Child-like, she did not discriminate between sickness 
 and faintness, but she felt hotly indignant when her father 
 went on to say, " I dare say you have been eating too 
 much, for you seem very fond of improper food. In 
 future, however, I think you will find private raids upon 
 the larder to be out of the question. You are a greedy little 
 girl!" 
 
 Mortified, angry, and still far from recovered, Clarissa 
 crambled her cake and wishod herself anywhere in the 
 
 8
 
 114 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 A r orld but where she was. The hot tears gathered in her 
 eyes, but, with the rare self-repression of her unchildlike 
 nature, she drove them back, pride and a bitter sense of 
 injustice coming to her aid. After that she refused all 
 the fruit and sweetmeats which were offered her, and only 
 just put her lips to the wine, in which she was required to 
 drink to the health and happiness of the Earl and Countess 
 of Orwell. It was a great relief when she was at last 
 ordered away to the nursery. She was feeling very tired 
 and sad, the rich cake had made her really qualmish, 
 the smell of the wine had disgusted her, and the stiff 
 stays in which, according to the custom of those times, 
 she was tightly laced, were fast becoming unbearable. 
 Oh ! how glad she was to find herself once more safe 
 in her own domains, nurse and Fancy quietly sewing by 
 lamplight, and Tartar peacefully asleep upon his mat. Her 
 dispirited aspect told her friends that she had not made 
 the triumphant debut for which they had striven ; but 
 nurse, in her usual tone, asked, " And how has it gone with 
 my ladybird ? And what does the new mamma say ? " 
 
 "Oh, she says nothing nice," replied Clarissa, wearily; 
 " and it has all gone very badly ; they said I was greedy ! 
 and oh ! Fancy, do undress me, my stays are squeezing 
 me to death." 
 
 Fancy made haste to comply with her mistress's re- 
 quest, and then Clarissa, wrapped in her dressing-gown 
 and an old faded shawl, nestled into a corner of the 
 large antiquated nursery sofa, and began to feel a little 
 more like her ordinary self. "Nurse," she said, gravely, 
 "I will never wear that frock again; I saw myself from 
 top to bottom in the glass panel they have put in the 
 gallery, and I looked like a nasty scarecrow ! She might 
 well say I was ' a little fright.' " 
 
 " She did not call you that sure-Zy ? " asked nurse, 
 aghast, and roused to sudden anger. 
 
 " Yes, she did ! only she said it almost in a whisper. 
 I am not sure that she meant me to hear it. But she 
 did say it, and it was true. I was a fright in that foolish 
 fine frock, that made ino look like a picture of the 
 wicked, crazy Lady Betty my great, great, ever-so-many 
 great aunts 1 Well, then, afterwards she called me her
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN THE WORLD." 115 
 
 ' pretty dear ; ' and I am not pretty, but ugly, and it hurts 
 me when I am called pretty. Put that frock away where 
 I shall never see it again, and the sash and the ribbons, 
 and all; and mind, both of you, I will never wear stiff 
 stays any more they kill me ! " 
 
 " But, my lady," interposed nurse, " yon must wear 
 stays. They hurt everybody a little at first, and then they 
 get used to them, and at last come to like the feel of them. 
 Why, my dear, I once knew a lady, and she slept in her 
 stays, because she never felt comfortable without them, 
 though she cried bitterly/as she told me herself, when first 
 her mamma's maid laced her up in them, and begged and 
 prayed that she might have them taken off. She came to 
 have a beautiful figure a waist that you could span ! Her 
 complexion was far from good, though ; and she died 
 from lung disease before she was five-and-twenty." 
 
 " Don't we breathe with our lungs, nurse ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think we do indeed, I am sure of it. People 
 that have inflammation of the lungs cannot breathe freely, 
 and if they are not relieved in time, they die." 
 
 " Then that was why that lady died. Her stays killed, 
 her ; they kept her lungs in too tight, and shopped her 
 breath. I had rather be killed some other way. It in 
 horrible when you can't get your breath; and I know it; 
 was the stays that made me so queer." 
 
 " No, my lady ; it could not be the stays. It was just 
 the sight of the new countess that was too much for yon, 
 as it was almost for me." 
 
 " It might have been that as well ; but I am sure I 
 should not have turned so sick if I had not been laced up. 
 You don't know how hard Fancy had to pull before she 
 could get those new stays together ! I told her they were 
 not half big enough, and I never will have them on 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, but my dearie, every lady wears tight stays. You 
 would like to have a nice slim waist when you grow up, 
 wouldn't yon ? And in order to have a fine, genteel figure, 
 you must begin lacing young." 
 
 " When did you begin, nurse ? " asked Clarissa, mis- 
 chievously, looking at that worthy's rather extensive cir 
 cumference of forty inches or thereabouts. 
 
 8-2
 
 116 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 "I, my lady ? Oh, I never laced much; I had hard 
 work to do, and 1 couldn't be properly tightened. Besides, 
 it did not matter for me; it is of no consequence what 
 kind of figure a servant has, unless, perhaps, she may be 
 a lady's-maid. Common people need not trouble them- 
 selves about their waists." 
 
 " Then I wish I were a common person. It seems to mo 
 that common people can do so many things that lords and 
 ladies cannot. I wish I were not Lady Clarissa." 
 
 " Oh, fie, my lady ! Thousands of little girls would give 
 I don't know what to be an Earl's daughter, ay, and an 
 Earl's granddaughter, to boot. For the Orwell peerage is 
 no creation of yesterday ; you have a long line of noble 
 ancestors, Lady Clarissa, and you ought to be thankful for 
 your privileges." 
 
 " Ought I ? I had just as soon be the gardener's 
 daughter. I should like to be that little girl at the North 
 Lodge Sally Brown, I mean. She looks so pretty with 
 her long, light curls, and her rosy cheeks, and it must be 
 nice to wear a faded cotton frock, that she need not take 
 any care of. And her mother kisses her, and loves her 
 ever so, and her father says to her, ' My little maid ! ' 
 and I don't suppose she will ever be troubled with a 
 governess." 
 
 "No, indeed, my lady. If Sally learns to read and 
 write, that is as much as she can expect, and quite as 
 much as is good for her. I don't hold with poor girls 
 being over-educated ; it makes them discontented, and 
 sets them up, and fills them with foolish notions, and they 
 waste their time reading romances, which never yet did 
 anybody the least bit of good." And here nurse looked 
 severely at Fancy, who was too much addicted to the 
 perusal of light literature, and often got into sad trouble 
 through gratifying her inclinations, when she ought to 
 have been otherwise employed. And she had the " Chil- 
 dren of the Abbey " at that moment in her pocket, and 
 meant to finish it that very night, if only she could find 
 the opportunity. And nurse added "Yon needn't wish 
 to be Sally Brown, my lady, for she will have to go out to 
 service as soon as she is old enough." 
 
 " How nice ! I do wish I might go to service ! It must
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN THE WORLD." 117 
 
 be sncli fun to clean pots and kettles. I have helped clean 
 the harness before now, and I liked it ever so much. I 
 suppose ladies cannot go to service ? " 
 
 " I should think not, Lady Clarissa ; who ever heard of 
 such a thing ? You are the oddest child in the world, I 
 do believe. Bat it's quite time yon were in bed ; you must 
 just take a powder and be off to sleep as fast as possible." 
 
 "I don't think I want a powder, nurse; I feel quite 
 right now those horrid stays are taken off. I am sure 
 they made me ill." 
 
 " Still, you had better have a powder, my lady. T 
 always like to be on the safe side, and yon do look bilious ; 
 so I shall give you a powder to-night and a little salts-and- 
 senna in the morning, before you get up. What will you 
 take your powder in ? there's honey, and jams, and 
 marmalade." 
 
 " In nothing but water. I don't like putting physic into 
 sweet things. If things are nasty let them be nasty, and 
 all the jam and treacle in the world does not take off the 
 filthy taste. I wonder if Sally Brown is always having 
 grey powders, and salts-and-senna, and calomel ? " 
 
 " Was there ever such a child ? " said nurse, turning to 
 Fancy. "Any way, you will want something to take the 
 nasty taste out of your mouth, Lady Clarissa ? " 
 
 " No ! if I must have nasty things I'll know how they 
 taste. I wish you would not be always calling me 
 'a child,' nurse ; I feel quite, or almost, grown up." 
 
 " Bless us, my lady ! " cried Fancy. " If you are grown 
 up, you'll be nothing but a female dwarf, like one I once 
 P.IW at the fair. She was forty years old, they said, and 
 not much bigger than you are. You are mighty little yet, 
 half a head shorter than Sally Brown, who is only just 
 turned seven. You have a deal of growing to do, I hope, 
 before you are grown up into a young lady." 
 
 "I didn't mean in that way; of course I shall get a 
 good deal bigger than I am now ; but I don't feel as if I 
 were a child like I used to be, before Miss Rigby came. 
 She was a sort of medicine to me, I suppose, for she was 
 hatefully disagreeable ; but, somehow, she did me good, 
 and I think, I am not sure " 
 
 " Here's your powder," interrupted nm-se. " I can't
 
 ]18 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 have you talking yourself into a fever. Yon are snre yon 
 won't have it in a little currant jelly ? " 
 
 " Quite sure. I like what's sweet to be sweet, and what's 
 nasty to be nasty ; I won't mix them. After all, it is only 
 making pretence, for you always taste the physic. Yon 
 would taste it if it were put into as much jelly as you 
 could eat." 
 
 And without a wry face, Clarissa took her " grey 
 powder" in a little water, and steadfastly declined " some- 
 thing to take the taste away." 
 
 Meanwhile, she was being discussed by the Earl and 
 Countess ; and the latter, of whom I have already spoken 
 as a decidedly sharp-witted woman, at once came to tho 
 conclusion that " my lord " cared little or nothing abonb 
 the offspring of his former marriage, and that she might 
 pursue towards her any course of conduct that seemed 
 expedient and agreeable to herself. 
 
 " Such a plain child, too ! " she said, at the close of the 
 conversation ; " and a little imp of mischief, I am sure. 
 Is she all right here ? " and she raised her jewelled fingers 
 to her forehead as she spoke. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the Earl, hastily ; he did not qnito 
 like the insinuation, and he added, " She is too sharp, by 
 a great deal ; she can talk like an old woman. She has 
 more brains than enough, I should say; and such a spirit! 
 She does not appear to be afraid of anything." 
 
 " As for spirit, I will be bound to match hers," proudly 
 replied the Countess. " I have always been used to my 
 own way, and I am not going to knock under to a child ; 
 BO my Lady Clarissa had best mind what she is about. 
 But I do wish she had a better complexion, and was not 
 no very thin. She does not take after you, my lord ; and I 
 think you said she did not resemble her mother ? " 
 
 " Her mother was the loveliest woman who ever 
 breathed," replied his lordship, gravely; "and as good 
 and sweet as lovely. I have never seen her equal. Hero 
 is her portrait." And he took from a cabinet close by 
 a beautifully executed miniature on ivory of the late 
 Countess, and placed it before his wife. The present 
 Countess contemplated it with secret dissatisfaction. Yes, 
 her predecessor was lovely indeed ; and would not people
 
 "THE ODDEST CHILD IN IJJE WORLD.** 139 
 
 Bometimes draw invidious comparisons ? And would not 
 my lerd sometimes contrast her own beauty such, as it 
 was with that of this exquisite creature, and not favour- 
 ably as regarded herself ? She soon closed the case, say- 
 ing coldly, " Miniatures on ivory are always nattered." 
 And Lord Orwell replied as coldly, "It was impossible 
 to natter her ; no artist ever did, or could, do her full 
 justice." 
 
 From that moment Louisa, Countess of Orwell, hated 
 the memory of that beautiful dead woman. She was as 
 jealous of the departed Countess Clarissa, as if she were 
 a living breathing woman, to whom her lord paid undue 
 allegiance. 
 
 There are two kinds of jealousy one which may pro- 
 ceed from excess of love, and which may flatter for a little 
 while, though it is sure to irk and disgust, if too long 
 persisted in ; and another kind, far commoner, and alto- 
 gether detestable the jealousy which is born of self-love, 
 of an exacting spirit, and of bad temper. The first kind 
 of jealousy may be borne with, though it always lowers 
 the woman who displays it ; the second is simply intoler- 
 able, and gradually undermines and destroys even the 
 most ardent affection. Woe betide the woman who 
 cherishes it ever so little, for she is always trampling under 
 foot the flowers of life, and plucking thorns that pierce 
 her to the heart always flinging away pure gems to 
 gather up sharp, wounding flints. And woe to the un- 
 fortunate man whom she calls husband! It was this 
 miserable kind of jealousy to which the new Lady Orwell 
 was much inclined.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " By our own niggard rule we try 
 The hope to suppliants given ; 
 We mete our love as if our eye 
 Saw to the end of heaven. 
 
 ** Yes, ransom'd sinner ! wouldst thou Icnovr 
 
 How often to forgive, 
 How dearly to embrace thy foe 
 Look where thou hop'st to live." 
 
 THE more the new Countess saw of her step-daughter, the 
 more she secretly disliked her, though she still called her 
 ; a " pretty dear," and insisted on her coming down every 
 evening to dessert, exceedingly to Clarissa's discomfiture. 
 Clarissa did, most unfeignedly, "try to be good;" but 
 utterly undisciplined, and brought suddenly into subjec- 
 tion to an entirely uncomprehending and ungenial person, 
 her endeavours proved notably unsuccessful, and were not 
 long in coming to a close. The child, in spite of her queer 
 tastes and caprices, and her innumerable gaucheries, was a 
 genuine little lady, naturally endued with a strong con- 
 tempt for those people whom society stigmatises as '' snobs." 
 That is to say, she hated pretension and insincerity ; she 
 rather liked poor folks, and was particularly fond of nurse, 
 Fancy, and Sweetie, and some of her friends about the 
 stable; but then they never claimed to be what they were 
 not, and never tried to assume the style and manner of 
 their superiors. She wanted very much to have pretty 
 -Sally Brown as a playmate, and she would fain have culti- 
 vated an intimacy over the wash-tub or at the ironing- 
 board with Mrs. Brown herself the good woman was her 
 ladyship's laundress ; she had not, as her humble friends 
 frequently averred, " the least bit of pride about her," and 
 yet, for all that, no prouder " daughter of a hundred earls " 
 ever walked the earth than Lord Orwell's small, untaught, 
 sickly-looking little Clarissa.
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 121 
 
 I told you that the Countess had a goodly share of that 
 most questionable gift which is assuredly very strongly 
 allied, in its essence and character, to that undeveloped 
 power called psychic or odylic the gift of intuition. 
 Coarse natures have this strange capacity in common with 
 fine ones : it is only dull natures that know it not, and are, 
 for the most part, sceptics as regards its existence. And 
 that the majority of even civilised human creatures are 
 dull, apathetic, and passive, so long as self-love and self- 
 appreciation are not roused to antagonism, must be, I 
 think, generally conceded. 
 
 Lady Orwell knew that Clarissa neither liked her nor 
 held her in esteem ; even when the child was most out- 
 wardly deferential and submissive, there was a certain 
 unexpressed something in every act and word that told she 
 submitted as a mere matter of compulsion to the lady of 
 the Castle. One thing, however, was patent Clarissa 
 was in her stepmother's hands, and the Earl would enforce 
 his wife's authority, and would not interfere, whatever 
 were the feud. All about Lady Orwell saw plainly that 
 she meant to rule autocratically, and that what she desired 
 to do she would do, and whom she resolved to vanquish she 
 would vanquish, and that strong measures would be quite 
 in her way, if she found herself opposed, or her intentions 
 circumvented. She was determined that all should bend 
 to her, that all beneath her sway should be moulded to 
 her will ; and, as regarded her household generally, she 
 perceived that there would be little, if any, difficulty, ex- 
 cept in the one instance of her step-daughter, who would 
 hold her own, and maintain, to a certain extent, her inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 She laid her plans those plans which were to bring 
 Clarissa into gradual and complete subjection, into the 
 bondage which she told herself would be the best and 
 only thing for such a child ! But she was prudent, and 
 did not at once swoop down upon her victim at one fell 
 stroke ; she did not attempt a coup-de-main, sorely as she 
 was tempted to do it, when she failed to make such an 
 impression as she desired. She said very little, and ap- 
 r-arently her interest in Clarissa deepened ; but slowly, so 
 slowly that no one, save nurse and Fancy, discerned it,
 
 122 LADY CLAIUSSA. 
 
 the child's liberties were curtailed, restraints were inalti. 
 plied, rales were imposed, harassing restrictions came 
 thick and threefold, and the result was, that the little girl 
 was continually in trouble, under punishment, and in dire 
 disgrace. 
 
 Lady Clarissa was really very clever, but, in simpla 
 cleverness, she had met her match. She could not cope 
 with one so much older than herself, and one, moreover, 
 who could not be regarded as a usurper, thongh she 
 might exercise her prerogative far beyond due bounds. 
 She began to feel that struggle was hopeless, that a web 
 was being woven about her, binding her hand and foot, 
 and, worst of all, she found herself continually watched, 
 and checked, and chidden. She might not please herself, 
 it seemed, in the merest trifle ; she must take such walks 
 as she was bidden ; she must play such games as were 
 appointed ; she must sit, stand, and even lie, in certain set 
 positions. She must do all things from morning to night, 
 from Sunday to Saturday, according to an appointed 
 formula, which might not be, in the smallest degree, in- 
 fringed. This treatment would have made many a child 
 a liar and a cheat ; but Clarissa was truth in itself, and 
 she scorned deceit, and could not be brought to exercise 
 even the smallest cunning. A little tact- might frequently 
 have saved her a good deal of trouble, but she was no ad- 
 vocate for expediency ; it was partly the inherent integrity 
 of her nature, and partly the fearlessness of a brave and 
 defiant spirit, that made her what she was, and kept tip 
 ceaseless antagonism between the Countess and herself. 
 
 The summer months passed sadly for the child. oS"o 
 more climbing of trees and tearing of frocks ; no more 
 romps with Sally Brown ; no more lonely rambles with 
 Tartar ; no more intimacies in the stable-yard. So far so 
 good ; it was high time that there should come a finale to 
 not a few of Clarissa's peculiarities ; it was necessary that 
 she should be turned from " a torn-boy " into a little lady ; 
 but it was not necessary, nor was it in any sense desirable, 
 that she should be peremptorily cut off from all her 
 former pursuits, privileges, and associations. She lost, in 
 every way, far more than she gained under the new and 
 intolerable regime from which she saw no hope of escape,
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. .123 
 
 and she writhed vainly under the yoke which pressed 
 upon her far more heavily than anyone supposed. Her 
 gardening came to an end ; she was forbidden to tonch 
 Spade, or rake, or fork ; she might not pluck up weeds, nor 
 gather vegetables ; she dare not as much as look into the 
 stable-yard, and the pet animals were all sent away, or 
 tilled. Lady Orwell hated cats and dogs, and so Tartar 
 was chained up at last, and the tortoiseshell kitten was 
 very quickly missing; and, to make amends, she waa 
 ordered to amuse herself with a Parisian dressed doll, to 
 receive dancing lessons twice a week, and to lie on a re- 
 clining board, hold the backboard, and stand in " the 
 stocks," for the improvement of her carriage and figure, 
 four hours every day. Worst of all, she was condemned 
 to wear the stiffest and tightest of stays, and if she stooped 
 or " poked," an iron instrument also, which not only in- 
 convenienced her, but gave her actual pain. 
 
 " It's too much," said nurse, one day, to Fancy, about 
 three months after the Countess's arrival ; " she won't 
 stand it much longer, I know. It was quite right that 
 she should be made to behave herself like a young lady ; 
 she was growing too old for the romping, rough ways she 
 had got into, through being without any proper control ; 
 but there was no call to make a little negro slave of her, 
 and to take away her animals, and her garden, and to pub 
 her in the stocks, just for all the world like a common 
 vagabond ! But there will be an upset soon, see if thero 
 isn't ! I don't take her part openly, because it would do 
 her no good, and only get her into scrapes, and I hope you 
 don't, Fancy. It will be the worse for her and for your- 
 self, too, if you do." 
 
 But Fancy did take her young lady's part, and that 
 most injudiciously. It was not much to be wondered at, 
 for Fancy was naturally pert and self-willed, and only 
 seventeen, and she did not scruple to aver that " she hated 
 the Countess like poison, and that she wasn't by any 
 means her notion of what a lady should be." And as the 
 new servants all cringed to the Countess, and as Fancy 
 evidently gloried in imprudence, it followed, as a matter of 
 course, that she got her dismissal more speedily and sud- 
 denly than was agreeable.
 
 124 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 One day Lady Orwell sent for her, and her own maid, 
 who brought the message, intimated that Fancy was about 
 to pay the penalty of her countless misdemeanours. "I 
 wouldn't be in your shoes," said Mrs. Ruffles, as she 
 smiled maliciously, and bade the girl make haste, and not 
 keep her betters waiting! Fancy tossed her head, ard 
 contemptuously regarded the London-bred waiting woman, 
 whom she heartily despised, and whom she had from the 
 very first constituted her enemy. It was that young 
 person's infirmity to speak her inind all too plainly ; and 
 as she had a ready wit and a sharp tongue, she succeeded 
 in affronting a good many people who had it in their 
 power to resent substantially their real or fancied insults. 
 Mrs. Ruffles had determined long before that that " young 
 hussy " Fancy should lose her place, and, if possible, her 
 character. 
 
 The Countess sat in her boudoir, looking very imposing, 
 attired in ruby velvet and point lace, with ostrich plumes 
 and diamonds in her hair ; she was expecting guests of 
 consequence to dinner. She at once addressed the girl : 
 " Fancy Flann ! that is your name, I believe very un- 
 pleasant reports of your conduct have reached me from 
 time to time, and I have come to the conclusion that your 
 influence and example are injurious to Lady Clarissa. You 
 will, therefore, leave the Castle immediately. That is all." 
 
 " Leave immediately, my lady ? " replied Fancy, almost 
 stunned. She knew she had been standing on dangerous 
 ground, but she was not prepared for an abrupt dismissal. 
 She had often threatened "to give notice," but it had 
 never entered into her mind that she would be thus vio- 
 lently separated from her young mistress, whom she truly 
 loved. 
 
 "Yes, immediately!" returned the Countess, in her 
 coldest, haughtiest tones. 
 
 " You don't mean now, this very day ? " urged Fancy, 
 ready to burst into tears. 
 
 " This very day," was Lady Orwell's answer. "Ruffles, 
 take that tuberose away ; the scent is overpowering. You 
 need not remain, Fancy ; I have nothing else to say, and I 
 am tired. Mrs. Sweetapple will give you a month's wages. 
 Ruffles, where is that new novel ? "
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 125 
 
 Bat Fancy seemed rooted to the spot ; she could not 
 believe that she was awake. Had she not once dreamt 
 something like this before, only very long ago ? Surely, 
 surely it was not real ! 
 
 Leave Lady Clarissa, and at once ? It could not, must 
 not be ! "I am sure I am very sorry if I have offended 
 you, my lady ! " began Fancy, feeling that she would 
 humble herself to any extent rather than be torn from the 
 child to whom she clung so fondly, and remembering at 
 that moment some of her most impertinent speeches, which 
 had doubtless been carried to the Countess. But Lady 
 Orwell waved her hand " Be so good as to retire," she 
 said, majestically ; " apologies are useless, excuses are un- 
 availing. You are an improper person to be about Lady 
 Clarissa, and I therefore dismiss you. B/uffles, see that 
 Fancy packs up her things directly ; in two hours I shall 
 expect her to be gone." 
 
 " Yes, my lady ; certainly, my lady ! " replied Ruffles. 
 "What do yon stop here for, you naughty, stupid 
 girl ? Be off, and get ready to go in two hours' time ! 
 If you don't mend, you'll run to your own ruin, that I 
 
 see 
 
 i " 
 
 " Look out that you don't run to ruin yourself ! " cried 
 Fancy, her sorrow changing into wrath ; " I know you for 
 what you are a viper ! a spiteful cat ! a snake in the 
 grass ! Ugh ! I wouldn't be you, Ruffles ! " 
 
 Upon which, the Countess forgot her high rank, and 
 scolded hard and fast, just as Mrs. Shrosbery had scolded 
 her maids of old at Peckham Rye. Her mamma, the 
 Whitechapel greengroceress, could not have rated the girl 
 more soundly. An aristocrat in outward seeming for 
 she had learnt her lessons quickly and well Louisa was a 
 plebeian in heart, and essentially vulgar, for she had 
 never acquired the patrician virtue of self-control, and 
 when "put about," as her own phrase was, never hesitated 
 to vituperate in what Mrs. Hadfield called "polite Bil- 
 lingsgate." And when she quarrelled, her verbs, nouns, 
 and pronouns quarrelled, too ; her aspirates played at 
 hide-and-seek, and she spoke out broad and strong a 
 veritable and unmistakable Cockney. She wound up by 
 informing Fancy that she need not expect to get a eha*-
 
 K'6 IADT CLARISSA. 
 
 racier from Orwell, and that she would die in a ditch, and 
 serve her right, for her abominable impudence ! 
 
 Fancy, who would have died now rather than show the 
 \vhite feather, replied with severe irony, "Indeed, I should 
 never think of your ladyship giving me a character ! I 
 am very particular who I go to for a character, I can 
 assure you, my lady. There are some people whose bad 
 word is better than their good word, and everybody isn't 
 competent to form an opinion, or to express one either. 
 Never fear, my lady ; I stall not think of coming to you 
 for a character ! " 
 
 To which Lady Orwell, white with passion, replied, 
 " Leave the room this instant, you saucy baggage ; if 
 jou don't, I'll have you removed by one of the men-ser- 
 vants. And, Ruffles, go and fetch Lady Clarissa here ; I 
 shall not permit any further intercourse between her and 
 this young person." 
 
 And so there were no leave-takings possible. Lady 
 Clarissa wondered why she was kept a whole weary 
 evening in the Countess's dressing-room, and she knew 
 nothing about Fancy's abrupt departure till nurse at- 
 tended her at bedtime, and told her all the truth. Then 
 she stood still in angry amazement. " Fancy gone ! gono 
 quite away, did you say, nurse ? Who sent her away ? " 
 
 " Your mamma, of course, Lady Clarissa. And to 
 tell the truth, I was afraid it would come to this, for 
 Fancy was very outspoken, and she didn't mind who 
 heard what she said." 
 
 " But she was my servant ! " interrupted Clarissa. " I 
 suppose mamma had a right to dismiss her, but it was 
 shameful to send her off all in a hurry without saying a 
 word to me, or even letting her Avish good-bye. My dear 
 Fancy ! what shall I do without her H I hate the Coun- 
 tess ; she has taken away all that I love and care for. 
 She'll take you next, nurse." 
 
 Nurse had her private apprehensions on this score, but 
 she replied, calmly, " I hope not, Lady Clarissa ; I don't 
 think my lord would permit that. Why, I have been 
 veith you ever since you were born, and your own dear 
 blessed ma that's gone to glory left you in my charge. 
 I'll tell you a bit of a secret. My lady, she wanted to
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET*, it? 
 
 get rid of Mrs. Sweetapple, who didn't know her place 
 nor her duties, she declared ; but the Earl would not hear 
 of it. Says he, I'm told, ' No, no ! Sweetapple has been 
 in service here almost fifty years ; she was here in my 
 mother's time, and her mother was one of the head 
 servants in my grandmother's time. She has served four 
 Countesses of Orwell, and surely she may serve your turn, 
 my lady. No, no ! Sweetapple is a fixture, remember.' 
 And though I have not been in the family anything like 
 so long, I don't think my lord would consent to my dis- 
 missal. Any way, if I have warning, I shall appeal to 
 him." 
 
 "You can't, if she packs you off at two hours' notice, 
 as she has done Fancy, and papa is going to Scotland for 
 ever so long next week. Oh, nurse ! I do downright hate 
 her ; she is ten times worse than Miss Rigby." 
 
 " My lady, you must not hate anybody ; it's very un- 
 christianlike and improper. Don't you know the Bible 
 bids us love our enemies ? " 
 
 "Then she will have to love me, for I mean to be 
 her enemy in future; and the Bible is for grown-up 
 people as well as for boys and girls, I suppose. If you 
 take the Bible only on one side, it's very disagreeable ; if 
 you take it for everybody, it is all right, I think." 
 
 " Whatever do you mean, Lady Clarissa ? " 
 
 " Why, this I am always being told that I mtist be 
 obedient, and gentle, and humble, and that I must forgive 
 the people that spite me, and now you say that I must 
 love my enemies. And it seems to me that I must be all 
 this and a great deal more, but that it does not matter 
 how rough and proud and unforgiving she is ! And she 
 tells fibs, I know she does ; I heard her tell one to papa 
 only the other day a very great fib, too ! I wonder she 
 was not ashamed, for fibbing is so mean and vulgar ; but. 
 then she is vulgar, is she not, nurse ? " 
 
 "Now, Lady Clarissa, it is of no use to talk in that 
 way. It's of no mortal use to put yourself in opposition 
 to her ; the more you fight against her the worse it will be 
 for you in the end. So just give in, and try what obedi- 
 ence and pretty little ways will do." 
 
 "i have tried, and I don't mean to try any longer.
 
 128 LADY CLAKIS3A. 
 
 The more I give in to her, the more she requires. Yet 
 need not talk to me, nurse. Ton know she is downright;. 
 horrid and nasty as well as I do ; and you know that 
 when I hare once made up my mind, I stick to it. I am 
 going to fight her, and, what is more, I shall tell her so* 
 I am not a coward, and I don't pretend." 
 
 " My own dearie, you don't know what you will, bring 
 upon yourself." 
 
 ' Yes, I do. She will plague me more than ever ; but 
 I think I can be a match for her. Don't look so fright- 
 ened, nurse, dear; she can't kill me, you know, and I 
 should not so very much mind if she did. Ife is not so 
 very nice to be alive." 
 
 " Oh, my lady, that you should say such a thing at 
 your age ! No ! she won't kill you, as you say. She 
 won't even try ; but she can make your life a misery to 
 you; she can punish you from morning to night; she 
 can make you wish you were not Lady Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " She cannot ! And if I choose, she cannot make me 
 miserable. She can shut me up, and set me lessons, and 
 take away my creatures ; she can beat me, and starve me, 
 if she pleases ; but it is only my outside that she can 
 hurt. She can't touch the thing in me that thmJcs ; and 
 that is really ME ! And so I don't care for her. I 
 would have cared if she had been one bit nice ; but she 
 isn't, so I am going to fight her now in good earnest, 
 and to-mo-rrow I shall tell her so. I am not afraid." 
 
 Xurse wisely thought she had better say no more. 
 She knew her young lady too well, and was quite aware 
 that opposition and dissuasion would only strengthen her 
 determination. But she trembled for the result. There 
 would be open war between the Countess and her step- 
 daughter, and it was not difficult to see on which side 
 would be the victory. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Clarissa knelt down to say 
 her prayers. She no longer said them aloud ; since her 
 eighth birthday she had been permitted, at her own re- 
 quest, to perform her devotions privately. That evening, 
 after a very curious melange of petitions, in which was in- 
 cluded a request that Tartar might be taken care of. aud 
 restored to her society, she began, according to ccstom,
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 129 
 
 to say the Lord's Prayer. She repeated it, as nsual, like 
 an Abracadabra, not even comprehending what it meanb, 
 or recognising its Divine origin. She gabbled it to her- 
 self till she came to "forgive us oar trespasses, as we 
 forgive them that trespass against us." Then she stopped 
 and pondered " Trespasses ! that means naughtinesses. I 
 don't mean to forgive her, ever, so it is of no use my saying 
 that any more. It is of no nse trying to be good. I'll 
 tell her so to-morrow. When she leaves off trespassing 
 against me, I'll leave off trespassing against her, and I'll 
 forgive her, but not till then. I don't like to leave off 
 saying that, it does not seem right, bat it can't be helped. 
 I won't say what I d-on't mean ; besides, God would know 
 I didn't mean it, and so it would be -no use." 
 
 Next day Clarissa was as good as her word. In the 
 morning, spite of nurse's entreaties, she dressed without 
 her stiff stays, she put on one of the old print frocks that 
 she used to wear when she went out with Fancy and 
 Tartar, and she refused to have her hair tied up in plaits, 
 a coiffure which was decidedly unbecoming in her case, but 
 which Lady Orwell pronounced to be the proper fashion 
 for young ladies under twelve years of age. 
 
 " You'll get me into fine trouble," said nurse, when her 
 young mistress took comb and brush from her hands, and 
 tossed her hair ribbons to the other end of the room. 
 
 "No, I will not," she replied; "of course I shall say I 
 did it myself, and that it was no fault of yours. Ah ! how 
 delicious it is without those stays ; I feel as strong again ! 
 I am going to have a run in the garden and say ' Good 
 morning,' to Tartar ; then I shall want my breakfast, and 
 then the Countess will ring for me, and then and then ! 
 For I mean to stick to what I said last night, nurse ! " 
 
 " Poor child ! " said nurse, as she watched her from the 
 window, running down the paths that led towards the 
 offices where Tartar now resided. " What will be the 
 end of it ? She's wrong, of course, and I can't set 
 her right ; I sometimes wish the Lord had taken her 
 when she was a baby. If only somebody would 
 come that understood her, and that would be her friend 
 and control her in the right way. She has a fine 
 brave spirit of her own, and she wculd make a fine grand
 
 530 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 woman if she were but led to goodness, not driven. 
 Besides, it isn't goodness, bnt badness, that my lady's rule 
 calls np in her. I wonder if it wonld be any good to 
 ask God to send somebody to save this child from her*- 
 self, and from those who may, if they are provoked, 
 make a devil of her ? At any rate, I'll try ; as she says, 
 the Bible is for ns all ; and it does say, plain enongh, 
 ' Ask and ye shall receive.' Yes, I'll try .what praying 
 will do. I wonder I never thonght of it before. If any- 
 body in this weary world ever wanted a true friend 'tis 
 Bhe poor motherless child! I think I'll ask the Lord 
 to send her one. He won't think it ill of me, I know ; 
 anyhow, He can do as He pleases, and He did tell ns to 
 ask Him for what we really want. Yes, I'll lay it before 
 Him!" > 
 
 The wisest and happiest conclusion at which you could 
 have arrived, Nurse Barlow 1 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " IT IS MY DUTY." 
 " Farewell, my noble hound ! " 
 
 "LADY CLARISSA, my lady desires you will come to her 
 this very instant in her own budwar," shouted Mrs. 
 Ruffles, the Countess's own woman. " Do you hear, my 
 Lady Clarissa ? you naughty, tiresome, perverse little 
 thing ! Where are you ? " 
 
 For Clarissa was nowhere to be seen, though her clear, 
 shrill voice had been heard addressing someone not 
 half a minute before. The lady's-maid was standing in 
 one of the long, dusky passages in the upper story of the 
 Castle. She did not like the locality, for the mnch- 
 dreaded ghost- rooms were close at hand, and a little 
 further on was a twisting flight of steep, narrow stairs s
 
 "IT 13 MY DUIY." 131 
 
 leading to a series of lumber attics, which were very 
 seldom invaded by any of the family, on account of a 
 dismal tragedy said to have been enacted among the tim- 
 bers of the roof some three centuries before. All that 
 suite of upper rooms looking towards the north-east were 
 haunted, according to certain legends current in the house- 
 hold, and tales were told in the servants' hall, and even in 
 Mrs. Sweetapple's parlour, of dismal shrieks re-echoing in 
 the dead of night ; of a lady all in white coming down 
 the little break-neck staircase, wringing her hands and 
 piteonsly wailing; of the faint crying of an apparently 
 weak young baby in one of the mysterious garrets the 
 dark one, in which Clarissa declared you could not see 
 your hand if you held it up close to your face ; and several 
 other thrilling and romantic stories, all relating to the 
 sins and sorrows of long ago dead and buried Oakleighs 
 of Orwell. 
 
 At the time of which I write, a belief in ghosts waa 
 considered rather creditable than otherwise at least in 
 certain circles, and those far above the uneducated masses. 
 Though why I should speak of such a belief as being cha- 
 racteristic of a bygone era I really do not know, sinco 
 ghosts are in our day not only supposed actually to exist, 
 but admitted to polite society and encouraged to play 
 unseemly pranks, and listened to with deference when 
 they discourse, not sweet music, but veritable nonsense 
 and puerile gossip, and that in such vile English that one 
 is seriously concerned at the bare suggestion of the retro 
 grade mental processes that must take place after death. 
 So while the present generation holds seances and devotes 
 itself to table-rapping, it cannot fairly laugh at its grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers, who were visited by hideous 
 hags in yellow sacques, and touched by death-cold fingers, 
 and frightened out of their senses by unearthly voices. 
 Only the ghosts of the past did speak grammar when 
 they spoke at all, which proves them to have been of a 
 superior order to thos3 now called up in the spiritualistic 
 circles in this present highly cultivated and refined 
 decade of the nineteenth century. 
 
 So much for ghosts, of which the house of Orwell kept 
 & good supply continually on hand. Mrs. Ruffles felt ex- 
 
 92
 
 132 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 tremely nervous as she stood almost at the foot of the 
 aforesaid winding stairway, and wished she had had the 
 sense to bring one of the tinder-servants Avith her. True 
 it is, it was not dark, nor even dusk, for it was not much 
 past ten in the morning, and the sun was straggling 
 through the grey mists ; but then that particular passage 
 tvas always rather dark and eerie, for the windows which 
 gave it light were small, and deeply set in the thick walls, 
 and much overshadowed by the ivy, which had been 
 allowed to grow unrestrainedly, even to the roof, at that 
 remote corner of the Castle. Also it was far away from 
 the inhabited rooms and the corridors where every-day 
 modern life prevailed ; and if a ghost should unfortunately 
 choose that precise moment to put in an appearance, Mrs. 
 Ruffles knew very well that no shrieks or outcries would 
 avail to bring anybody to her assistance. She was just on. 
 the point of beating a retreat, and telling the Countess that 
 Lady Clarissa was not to be found, when there fell upon 
 her startled ear a sound ! a sigh, a long-drawn, audible 
 sigh, so audible as to be something more than a sigh, 
 though scarcely a moan, and less than a wail. And then 
 followed " a deep groan," according to the abigail's ac- 
 count, though an unprejudiced person might have hesitated 
 whether to call it a snore or a growl. And then there 
 was a light step, and a childish voice was heard addressing 
 someone : " I think, if yon please, we will leave the re- 
 jnainder of our conversation till another day. In the 
 meantime, the Princess Emeraldina will take into con- 
 sideration the scheme proposed, Rosalind will continue her 
 studies, and Lady Margaret will hold herself in readiness 
 .should her assistance be required. Don't frown, Lady 
 Betty ; I really have nothing to say to you ; but I promise 
 that I will before long when I see fit, that is introduce 
 you to the Countess Loo. Come, my prince, we shall be 
 wanted ; and, prince, mind what I have said to you ; don't 
 forget!" 
 
 The voice was the voice of Lady Clarissa, only pitched 
 in a high, unnatural key, as if she were rehearsing a cha- 
 racter in a play. The words were mysterious, but they 
 reassured Ruffles ; for Clarissa, though a little uncanny at 
 times, was certainly no ghost. She called again, more
 
 "IT IS MT DUTY." 133 
 
 sharply than before " Lady Clarissa, I say ! if you don't 
 come down this very minute, I'll go and tell your ma, and 
 then see if you dcn't get punished." 
 
 Thus adjured, Clarissa appeared at the headway of the 
 stairs, and replied, "Well, Ruffles, what have you to say 
 tome?" 
 
 " I have a message from the Countess, and you'd be9 
 make haste down and listen to it." 
 
 " If you have a message to me, I will thank you to com< 
 up and deliver it." 
 
 " Come up to you, indeed ! I am not going to break mj 
 neck getting up to such a cock-loft. Come down this very- 
 minute, you bad child, and listen to what I have to say." 
 
 *' Can't yon say it as you stand ? I hear you quite 
 plainly. Most certainly I shall not come down at your 
 bidding, because you speak so rudely. Besides, it is only 
 proper that you should come to me, not I to you you are 
 Lady Orwell's maid ! I am Lady Clarissa Oakleigh ! Please 
 to go away, you disturb me." 
 
 " I'll not budge, you provoking little wretch ! I'll not 
 stir an inch, till yon come down to me. Who are you talk- 
 ing to up there ? " 
 
 " To several friends and relations of mine ; Lady Mar- 
 garet is my great-great-grandmcth ^r, the Princesses are 
 beautiful young ladies, kept in confinement by a wicked 
 fairy. We are intimate friends. As for Prince Don 
 Georgio Tartarus, you had better not offend him." 
 
 "Don't stand there, telling heaps of lies, you wicked 
 child ! Come down when I bid you." 
 
 " Ruffles, you do disturb me. If you don't go away, I 
 (shall be obliged to make you." 
 
 " Plaice me ! Why, your ma couldn't make me do what 
 I hadn't a mind to, much less a skinny, yellow-faced baby 
 like you ! " 
 
 " Ruffles, I don't want to be hard upon you, but you are 
 extremely vulgar and impertinent, and if you will not go 
 when I bid you, you must take the consequences. / ain 
 not alone / " 
 
 " Who have you got with you ? " 
 
 " You had better not wait to see. You will, you say P 
 Here he comes, then 1 "
 
 134 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 And before Mrs. Ruffles could reply there was a wild 
 rush and a dash, and down the stairs, headlong, came a 
 huge creature, in a scarlet mantle, with a curious fur-cap 
 on its head, fastened beneath the chin. Of course, you 
 will at once understand that it was only Tartar, dressed 
 np as Prince Don Georgio, and set at liberty by his 
 mistress, as her first demonstration of open revolt. But 
 Ruffles thought she was pursued by a monster or a demon, 
 and she fled as fast as her feet could carry her, shrieking 
 wildly as she went. Tartar pursued her a little way, and 
 then slackened speed j he quite understood that he was 
 required to scare, but not to attack, the enemy. Clarissa 
 at once disrobed him, saying, " There now, my dear dog, 
 we have got into a grand scrape ! That noisy, impudent 
 woman will tell a fine story, will she not ? What had we 
 better do, Tartar ? Shall we stay here, and wait for 
 another summons ? I think perhaps we should go down 
 now of our own accord. I should not like to be seized, and 
 carried. Though I don't think they would touch me in a 
 hurry, while you were by, dear dog ; and then no one cares 
 to come here, because of the darling ghosts ; I am quite 
 sare Countess Loo is afraid of them ! " 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Clarissa and her faithful 
 attendant made their appearance at the door of Lady 
 Orwell's boudoir. Ruffles, however, had not yet arrived ; 
 she had taken refuge in the butler's pantry, there to in- 
 dulge in a fit of elegant hysterics, and to enjoy the butler's 
 sympathy. The Countess's first words were " How did 
 that brute get loose ? " 
 
 "I unchained him," replied Clarissa ; "if I had not, he 
 would have broken away. He has never been used to 
 being chained. Besides, I wanted him." 
 
 " You naughty, disobedient child ! But you shall be 
 punished. Don't think you will conquer me. I'll break 
 your bold spirit before I have done with you. Yfhat have 
 yon to say for yourself ? " 
 
 " Only that I did try to be good, and it was of no use at 
 all. I could not be your sort of good, and so I have given 
 it up. I mean to do as I like." 
 
 " Do you mean openly to defy me ? " 
 
 " I suppose so, but I ara not quite sure what defy means.
 
 "IT IS MY DUTY." 135 
 
 I wanted to tell you that I cannot be what you want me to 
 be, so I shall not pretend to be good : I don't like pretend- 
 ing except in my plays." 
 
 Lady Orwell looked, as she well might, astonished. The 
 email, quaint creature spoke with all the calm decision of 
 a self-controlled, matured personage. One tiny hand 
 rested on Tartar's head ; the animal appeared to listen to 
 what she said, and he looked almost as preternatnrally 
 sage as Clarissa herself. Before she could think what to 
 reply, Ruffles, still panting and sobbing, entered, supported 
 by Marianne, her subordinate. She was greatly surprised 
 to see Clarissa whom she had supposed to be still in the 
 garrets standing there, apparently quite composed. 
 
 " Oh ! you are there, you dreadful child ! " she com- 
 menced, with another outbreak. " My lady, I hoped to 
 have served your ladyship for many years ; but it 
 can't be ! I can't stay in the same house with Lady 
 Clarissa." 
 
 " What is it now, Ruffles? " asked the Countess, fret- 
 fully. " What have yon been doing, Clarissa ? " 
 
 Clarissa smiled as Ruffles, without giving her any 
 opportunity of replying, poured out her lamentable story. 
 It was such a curious, unconnected tale, that the Countess 
 could not comprehend it at all ; she only gathered that her 
 step-daughter had committed some enormity, and that too 
 in conjunction with some other person or persons, at whose 
 identity she could not even guess. She was fairly puzzled, 
 and when the waiting-woman's incoherent account came 
 to an abrupt conclusion, she was just as much in the dark 
 as ever. She, therefore, turned to Clarissa, demanding an 
 explanation. 
 
 " But I don't know what Ruffles means," answered the 
 child, quietly. " There were no people there, except myself 
 and Tartar." 
 
 " My lady, as I live, I heard her talking to several 
 people ; and I do think they answered her. As for the 
 thing she set at me, it must have been a demon." 
 
 Clarissa burst out laughing. " Why, a demon is a kind 
 of devil, isn't it ? It was only Tartar, Ruffles ; but he was 
 dressed np for Don Georgio ; I knew be would not hurt 
 you unless I let him. I only wanted to frighten you, you
 
 136 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 were so tiresome, and yon know yon were extremely 
 disrespectful." 
 
 " What is it all about, Clarissa ? " again demanded the 
 bewildered Countess ; " and who were the people to whom 
 you were talking ? Now tell the truth, and nothing 
 but the truth, for if yon fib I shall be sure to find 
 yon out." 
 
 " I always tell the truth," replied Clarissa, proudly ; 
 " no Oakleigh ever tells a lie, and if you were one of us 
 you would know that. I was talking to two sorts of 
 people first, my own people, the ghosts, you know ; and 
 next, a lot of story people, that I have made up partly out 
 of books and fairy tales that were read to me, and partly 
 out of my own head." 
 
 " You were talking to your own people, the ghosts 
 what can you mean, child ? " 
 
 " Did you not know about them ? Shall I tell you ? 
 Well, I only know of three, and I only talk to two. Lady 
 Margaret was papa's great-grandmother, and she either 
 did something very wicked, or else something very wicked 
 was done to her. I can never make out which it was, but 
 she is so pretty in her picture I feel sure she did nothing 
 wrong. Lady Betty was ugly, like me, and she was down- 
 right bad ; there is no doubt of it. She will come to see 
 you before long." 
 
 Lady Orwell shrieked. " Good heavens, child, yon 
 must be mad ! K"o, thank you ; I decline to receive your 
 wicked Lady Betty. I have always been accustomed to 
 respectable flesh and blood. Ruffles, whatever does she 
 mean ? She looks in earnest." 
 
 "Indeed, my lady, I don't know. I have heard the 
 servants' gossip, and that is all. They are so dreadfully 
 ignorant and superstitions down in the country, my lady, 
 there is no end to their ridiculousness. If I were you, my 
 7ady, I would not let Lady Clarissa talk such nonsense. 
 Of course, it is all wicked stories ; she never sees anything ; 
 now. do you, my Lady Clarissa? " 
 
 " I never said I did, Ruffles. But I like tc talk to them, 
 and it seems to me it really seems as if they were there. 
 And I tell them all that I think about. They are my own 
 relations, you know,"
 
 *IT IS MY DUTY.'* 137 
 
 " But, in future, you will have nothing to do with them, 
 and I shall have those rooms fastened up securely. It is 
 very bad for you, Clarissa, this sort of thing. You will 
 grow up half crazy, if you persist in such foolishness. I 
 shall talk to your papa about it." 
 
 Clarissa said nothing; her face was absolutely expres- 
 sionless. Of course, Lady Orwell was perfectly right in 
 her conclusions. A more unhealthy life for a child to 
 lead could scarcely be imagined. It was quite time that 
 she should be separated from her beloved ghosts, as well 
 as from her old allies the stable-boys. And if the sepa- 
 ration had been kindly and judiciously effected, I think 
 Clarissa, who was wonderfully reasonable, would have 
 quietly acquiesced. But the Countess, who was of an un- 
 generous character, and who disliked perhaps, not un- 
 naturally her troublesome little step-daughter, rather 
 rejoiced in her discomfiture. She had no idea of making 
 things easier to a stubborn will ; and she felt that the 
 time was come to enforce, with a high hand and at any 
 cost, her own lawful authority. The spirit of antagonism 
 had also been strongly aroused in Clarissa's breast. It 
 remained to see who would win the day. Though, all 
 things considered, it was not difficult to guess which of 
 the two would be victorious. 
 
 " And Tartar or whatever you call that dreadful 
 animal must be chained up again directly. It is not 
 safe to let him go at large." 
 
 " He has gone about all his life ; he never was fastened 
 till you came. Miss Bigby ordered him to be chained in. 
 the stable-yard ; but the servants could not do it, and I 
 would not, and I will not now." 
 
 " Oh, there are plenty of men about the place ! I shall 
 just give my orders." 
 
 " He will not stay chained," said Clarissa, earnestly, 
 "and he is quite safe if people treat him politely." Then, 
 changing her tone " He cannot bear to be fastened, and 
 he will not, and I shall not let him be. After all, he is my 
 dog, and I ought to have him." 
 
 " You will not have him ! You must at once promise to 
 
 five him up, and ycmr pretended ghosts likewise. Clarissa^ 
 am not to be trifled with."
 
 133 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 And Clarissa and Tartar both looked as If they were not 
 to be trifled with either. 
 
 Clarissa replied " No, I shall not give him up, nor the 
 ghosts ; they are all I have, now you have sent Fancy 
 away. Nurse is very kind, but she does not understand. 
 Please, I want to tell you that I am not going to try to be 
 good any more your sort of good, I mean ! I don't think 
 I shall be very naughty, for I have left off going into 
 passions, and I know it is quite right that I should learn 
 lessons. But I did try to do as you bade me, and now I 
 shall not try any longer. That is all ! " 
 
 The Countess could scarcely reply for astonishment. 
 She did not feel as though she were at odds with a mere 
 child ; for the small creature regarding her with such im- 
 perturbable gravity neither pouted, nor scowled, nor fretted, 
 nor showed any childish temper. Lady Orwell, however, 
 was at a white heat, and without more ado, she took hold 
 of Clarissa, shook her violently, and boxed her ears most 
 soundly, the waiting-woman looking on approvingly, and 
 exclaiming " That's the way, my lady ! break her proud 
 spirit for her. That's the only way with such as her ! " 
 
 But Lady Orwell's triumph was short-lived. With one 
 deep bay that sounded like a brief and sudden thunder- 
 clap, Tartar sprang upon her, and the results might have 
 been terrible, had not Clarissa thrown her arms round the 
 dog's neck, and with her thin cheek pressed to his huge 
 head, half commanded him and half implored him to let 
 go. Ruffles fled from the apartment, screaming loudly, so 
 there was no one to assist Lady Orwell in her scramble to 
 her feet. She was happily unhurt, though her morning 
 wrapper was rent and soiled ; but she was very much 
 frightened and thoroughly unnerved. All things con- 
 sidered, she might well be forgiven the fit of hysterics 
 which ensued. Clarissa withdrew with her formidable 
 ally ; but Tartar's doom was sealed. 
 
 The doctor had to be called in before Lady Orwell could 
 be properly recovered, and he at once said to the Earl, 
 " My lord, that animal is not safe. Luckily, he has 
 not bitten the Countess ; but the shock must have been 
 terrible, and even now I cannot answer for the conse- 
 quences." My lord was seriously displeased, and at .nee
 
 "IT 13 MY DUTI." 139 
 
 sent out peremptory orders to shoot tbe dog. Then, 
 having comforted his wife, he sought his daughter, and 
 Bpoke to her as she had never, in all her life, been spoken 
 to. She could not understand with what dreadful crime 
 he charged her ; but she knew that she ought not to have 
 taken Tartar to her stepmother's room. At last, however, 
 the light broke npon her, and she exclaimed, indignantly, 
 " You don't think, papa, that I set the dog on mamma ?" 
 
 " You know you did, Clarissa," he replied, gravely. 
 " Do not attempt to deny it ; do not add lying to your 
 wickedness. And you do not know what you have done ; 
 this may cost your mamma her life." 
 
 " But," she continued, urgently, "mamma does not say 
 that I set Tartar at her ? " 
 
 " She did not contradict Ruffles, who told me, in her 
 presence, that the moment she attempted to chastise you 
 for your insufferable insolence and your obstinate dis- 
 obedience, you made a sign which Tartar understood, and 
 he at once sprang upon the Countess." 
 
 " I did not, papa ; I declare I did not," said Clarissa. 
 " I never thought of such a thing ; indeed, there was no 
 time to think, for I did not know what was going to 
 happen ; and mamma shook me so that I could not tell 
 where I was. I never was shaken before, and I don't like 
 it ; it takes the senses out of one. But if you will not 
 believe me " for she saw that he did not "it is of no con- 
 sequence; only, I think," she added, proudly, "that my 
 word ought to be as good as Rnffles's." 
 
 " Did you, or did you not, set the dog on Ruffles when 
 she came to you Avith your mamma's message ? " 
 
 " I told Tartar to chase her when she would not go 
 away. He knew quite well that he was only to frighten 
 her. He did not even touch her." 
 
 " That was as it happened ; Ruffles has nothing to thank 
 you for. And if you were capable, as you admit you 
 were, of the one abominable trick, you were certainly 
 capable of the further enormity with which you are 
 charged. Clarissa, I don't know how to deal with yon ; 
 you ought to be forced to repentance in dust and ashes ! 
 I mean that no punishment, no humiliation, can be too 
 great in order to bring you to confession and contrition.
 
 140 L1DT CLARISSA, 
 
 But you seem to me impracticable ; and now, to a malice 
 which it is frightful to contemplate in such a child, you 
 add the meanness of a lie, and persist in it." 
 
 She was silent, standing before him with her hands 
 firmly clasped, and her eyes fixed on the carpet at his feet. 
 
 "Do you hear me, Clarissa?" he went on; "or is it 
 that you are too much ashamed to speak to me, or to 
 look me in the face ? " 
 
 "I am not ashamed," she replied, looking boldly up. 
 " I have not told a lie, not the least bit of one. I am 
 sorry the dog frightened mamma. I was frightened my- 
 self, for I knew he might tear her, and the moment she 
 let me go I sprang upon him, so that he could not bite 
 without hurting me ; and he would not do that. And, 
 papa, I cannot be what mamma calls ' good ; ' I have 
 tried ever since she came in the spring. I tried, because 
 Fancy said it was right, and I saw myself that it was 
 right ; but it was of no use ; the more I tried, the 
 worse it became, and so I gave it up. I thought it was 
 only fair to tell mamma so, and then she shook me, and 
 boxed my ears, and of course Tartar wonld not bear 
 that." 
 
 " Clarissa, if you persist in your untruth, I must punish, 
 you." 
 
 " Very well, papa, I will be quite quiet, only don't let 
 Tartar know." 
 
 " I mean that I must whip you whip you severely, if 
 I once take it in hand." 
 
 . She quivered all over, for she was still trembling from 
 her stepmother's vigorous treatment. " You will do it 
 yourself ? " she inquired imploringly. 
 
 " Certainly ! Your mamma is too unwell to deal with 
 you, and I should not allow a servant to chastise my 
 daughter, unworthy though she be. But, Clarissa, I do 
 not like it ; I never yet laid my finger on a woman, or on. 
 a child ; I hate what you compel me to. And you are 
 your mother's daughter, as well as mine." 
 
 " If my own mamma were alive, she would know that 
 I told the truth." 
 
 " You do but add to your guilt, Clarissa. Once more, 
 will you confess, and humbly apologise ? If you will, I
 
 "IT IS MT DU1T." 141 
 
 will at once take yon to your mamma, and solicit pardon 
 for you. If not! " 
 
 " I cannot confess I did not set the dog on. There ! 
 I will say no more. You won't believe me ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I do not. Come with me." He took her by 
 the wrist, gently enough, and led her to his own private 
 sitting-room, locking the door behind him. Then he took 
 down a small, slight dog-whip not a formidable looking 
 instrument of correction, certainly, nor one which could 
 really injure the culprit ; but it was capable of inflicting 
 intensest pain. " It is my duty," he said gravely, as he 
 drew the thin, supple thong through his fingers. 
 " Clarissa, if I once begin, I shall not spare you. I don't 
 mean to do this kind of thing again ; I shall give you a 
 lasting lesson, and it will be a very sharp one. But I con- 
 cede you one more chance the last! " 
 
 Clarissa made no reply ; she looked unflinchingly at the 
 whip, and wondered how much it would hurt. 
 
 " Take off your pinafore, and unfasten your frock at 
 the top," said her father. " I shall whip you on your bare 
 shoulders." 
 
 She obeyed, and the next instant she felt the sting of 
 the lash, and winced, for she had not known how painful 
 it would be. Her punishment was indeed a sharp one ; it 
 did not last long, but every blow told on the delicate flesh. 
 She uttered no sound, nor moved ; indeed, she held 
 firmly on to the back of a chair, in the best possible posi- 
 tion for the chastisement to take effect. She was just 
 wondering if she could bear any more without crying out, 
 when her father threw the whip into the fire. " There ! " 
 he said, " I hope you have had enough, Clarissa ; I have 
 had more than enough, I can assure you. I trust this will 
 never occur again. As regards Tartar, you will have no 
 chance ; by this time he is dead and buried." 
 
 Then she broke out into passionate crying. " Yes," 
 continued Lord Orwell, " and he owes his death to you ! it 
 was all your fault. I desired one of the gamekeepers to 
 shoot him immediately. I could do nothing else." 
 
 He left her in an agony of tears, but as he opened the 
 door, she lifted her head and exclaimed "My own 
 mamma, up in heaven, knows that I told the truth."
 
 112 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE SON AND HEIR. 
 
 * Oh ! hush thee, my baby ! thy sire is a knight, 
 Thy mother a lady so lovely and bright ! 
 The hills and the dales from these towers that I see, 
 They all shall belong, my sweet baby, to thee ! " 
 
 ALMOST immediately after this unhappy event, which 
 caused Clarissa deeper and more enduring grief than any 
 one about her at all suspected, there were two arrivals at 
 Orwell Castle, both of which, though differing widely in 
 themselves, were to exercise a strong, lasting influence 
 over her life. 
 
 First came a certain Madame Pierrot, an elderly Pari- 
 sian lady, an undoubted gentlewoman, and what people 
 call " good at heart," but undeniably cold, formal, and 
 apparently unloving. She was not an injudicious person, 
 for though warned that she would find her pnpil one of the 
 worst, and most vicious, and most impracticable of children, 
 she took no notice of the kind monition, and behaved 
 exactly as if she had heard nothing that was not alto- 
 gether to Clarissa's credit. Had she been chosen earlier 
 as Clarissa's preceptress, it is more than probable that 
 the girl would have escaped many of her troubles. 
 
 Precise and methodical to the last degree, there was 
 yet nothing irritating in her intercourse with her pupil, 
 neither was there anything petty in herself or in her 
 actions. She was strict, almost to severity, and required 
 an unwavering obedience ; but she was neither captious, 
 morose, nor unjust. Clarissa quickly caught the idea that 
 her governess was as rigid and as uncompromising towards 
 herself as towards any other person ; at all events, 
 whether she liked the new regime or not, Clarissa was per- 
 fectly certain of receiving justice at the hands of Madame 
 Pierrot. And to be sure of justice, to be sure of being 
 treated irrespectively of moods and caprices, is a great 
 boon to a reasonable child, or, indeed, to a pupil of any
 
 TEE SON AND HEIR. 143 
 
 age. Half the miseries of children and young people 
 under authority, and more than half their faults, are due 
 to the wayward, pernicious, though often unconscious 
 injustice of those who bear rule over them. 
 
 And so it came to pass that Clarissa " got on," as nurse 
 said, with Madame Pierrot ; though all the while, poor 
 child, a dull sense of unhappiness rested on her heart. 
 The loss of Tartar and the severe chastisement she had 
 received seemed to have subdued her entirely. She played 
 no more pranks, she never sought the society of her 
 beloved ghosts and fairy ladies indeed, she did not for 
 years set her foot in the dim corridor where she had once 
 held her visionary court; and whether the haunted rooms 
 were shut up, as the Countess had promised they should 
 be, Clarissa did not know. She was at once too proud and 
 too sick at heart to put the question. 
 
 Besides, she had now very little leisure at her disposal. 
 She slept in the room adjoining the chamber of her 
 governess, and she was visited the last thing at night and 
 the first thing in the morning. She was required to rise 
 at a fixed hour without fail, to take exercise for so long 
 and no longer, to retire at the very moment prescribed, and 
 over and above all other requirements she was expected to 
 obey at a word, or even at a sign, and never on any 
 account to oppose her own will or her own opinion, unasked, 
 to that of her instructress. Finding her possessed of 
 superior abilities, and willing, nay, even eager, to learn, 
 Madame Pierrot gave her plenty to do in the way of study. 
 Rather more than plenty, I am afraid, for she was kept 
 too closely to her lessons, and frequently too much 
 " pushed " for a child of her yet tender years. But the 
 fact was that Madame Pierrot, though she knew her pupil's 
 age to a day, continually lost sight of this piece of useful 
 information. Clarissa's grave, controlled manner, her 
 nnchildlike sadness and reserve, her wonderfully reten- 
 tive memory, her quick comprehension of what she read 
 and studied, and, above all, the judgment she displayed 
 when allowed to speak for herself, deceived too often hef 
 governess, who very seldom realised that she was dealing 
 with a child under ten, and not with a young lady well on 
 in her teens.
 
 144 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Bnfc while I am expatiating on my heroine's relations 
 with her governess, I am forgetting to mention the second, 
 and of course infinitely more important, arrival to which 
 I have alluded. It was very shortly after Madame became 
 an inmate of the Castle that the church bells were ringing 
 again, and the villagers were making merry among them- 
 selves. One morning, nurse came as usual to dress her 
 young lady, and she had evidently some great news to 
 impart. 
 
 " Something has happened, Lady Clarissa, while you 
 have been asleep ; what do you think it is ? " 
 
 "I cannot think," answered Clarissa, in her usual 
 melancholy voice ; " and I suppose I shall not mind. It 
 cannot be that Tartar has come back again, because 
 because " 
 
 " There now ! don't cry, my darling ! Not all the crying 
 in the world will ever bring back them who are gone, 
 whether they are dogs or human creatures. But somebody 
 is come ! Can't you guess ? " 
 
 " No, I can't. I had rather not." 
 
 " Did nobody tell yon you were going to have a little 
 brother?" 
 
 " No ; I never heard of it. Have I a brother, a real 
 live brother ? And shall I be allowed to love him ? " 
 
 " Of course you will. It is quite right that sisters and 
 brothers should love each other. I thought you would be 
 pleased." 
 
 " I am not sure that I am pleased yet, but I will try 
 to be. Is he nice ? Have you seen him ? " 
 
 " No ; I have not seen him, but I have heard that he ia 
 a very fine, healthy baby, bigger than you were at three 
 months old, Dr. Hammond says." 
 
 " When may I see him, nurse ? " The sudden eagerness 
 of the child delighted the good old woman, who mourned 
 sincerely over her darling's sad subjection. 
 
 "That is more than I can say, my lady," she replied; 
 *' but they will be sure to send for you before long. Yom 
 papa is pleased beyond belief ! He looks nearly as young 
 and gay as he did when first he brought your own dear 
 mamma home. There will be a fine christening before 
 long."
 
 fHE SON AND HEIR. 14i5 
 
 w Is that why the bells are ringing ? H 
 
 " Of course it is ! Those bells always ring when there 
 are births or marriages in the family. They rang when 
 you were born. Why, that will be nine years ago como 
 next April." 
 
 "I hope papa will love the baby," said Clarissa, softly. 
 
 " He is sure to love him ; he is the son and heir, you 
 know. Ho is Lord Fordham, and will one day be Earl of 
 Orwell." 
 
 " Papa never loved me. He never ' took to me,' I onca 
 heard someone say." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, my lady ! You never could have 
 heard any such thing. Of course, when my lord wanted 
 a boy, and there came a girl, he was a good deal disap- 
 pointed. And then you were not a fine child, and you 
 cried, cried, cried. Deary me ! ho'.v you did cry and 
 wrangle the first two years of ycu poor little life ! I 
 thought you would never learn to walk ; you could not 
 stand alone when other children of your age could run 
 and play about quite strong upon their legs. I was afraid 
 you would never have your health, you dwined and 
 fretted so, and cut every tooth with a fit of illness. But, 
 thank God ! you are pretty strong and well now, for all 
 you are so little, and you are sound as sound, in spite of 
 your sickly looks that do belie yon! Country air and 
 plenty of new milk and good nursing has done wonders." 
 
 At that moment Clarissa was called ; Madame Pierrot 
 was ready to read with her before breakfast ; and, ere 
 the book was closed, the Earl himself appeared, radiant 
 wit! i satisfaction. Madame congratulated him in her own 
 language, and, after a short conversation touching the 
 arrival of this ardently-desired son and heir, they both 
 turned to Clarissa. Her father had not spoken to her 
 since the day of her disgrace and punishment. He had 
 told her that she was to consider herself in disgrace till 
 she confessed her fault. And as she had not that to 
 confess which he supposed she had, and as there was no 
 probability of her '"fessing," Topsy-fashion, there seemed 
 every prospect of her remaining under the ban of his 
 displeasure for a long period of time, or as Clarissa 
 herself sadly thought "for ever and ever in this world." 
 
 10
 
 146 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 But the advent of the heir somehow wiped off old 
 scores ; it was only fitting that a general amnesty should 
 be proclaimed, that all might rejoice together. And 
 Clarissa comprehended that because her brother was born, 
 she herself was to be restored to favour that is to say, 
 to as much favour as she had hitherto enjoyed. And she 
 could not help feeling a little happier in consequence, 
 though, as she told herself, " I shall never feel right till 
 papa knows I don't tell lies, and would not for all that he 
 could give me." 
 
 Lord Orwell, being in such high good humour with 
 himself, his Countess, and his four hours old Viscount, 
 condescended to evince an unusual interest in his daughter 
 even though she had disappointed him from the first 
 moment of her birth. The baby and his mamma having 
 been duly discussed, he bethought himself that the pre- 
 sent was a good opportunity to make a few paternal in- 
 quiries respecting Clarissa, so he, with Madame's permis- 
 sion, dismissed her to take a run upon the terrace. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with your pupil?" he asked, when 
 he and the governess were left alone. " I want your 
 candid opinion of Lady Clarissa, Madame." 
 
 " I have scarcely been long enough with her ladyship 
 to form an opinion worth expressing," replied Madame. 
 " She is naturally reserved, and I should say she is of a 
 melancholy disposition ; she never appears to have any 
 idea of amusing herself like other children. At the same 
 time, she gives me as little trouble as possible ; she obeys, 
 as it were, mechanically. I found her, and still find her, 
 indulging in undesirable habits, but a single reproof 
 generally, indeed, I may say ahvays, suffices for its re- 
 moval. So far, I have not seen in her any indications of 
 the defiant and rebellious, and even malicious, spirit with 
 which she is accredited." 
 
 "You surprise me," replied Lord Orwell; " no one, 
 except old Nurse Barlow, who spoils her, has ever obtained 
 the slightest influence over her. Even Mrs. Sweetapple, 
 who has been in the house ever since I was born, and who 
 is undoubtedly partial to Clarissa, made sad complaints a 
 year ago, and declared that she washed her hands of her, 
 and would not be responsible for so wayward, and head*
 
 THE SON AND HJillB. 147 
 
 itrong, and unmanageable a child. I expect she has some 
 deep-laid scheme, whereby, in virtue of an apparent sub- 
 mission, she hopes to get the better of you." 
 
 " It may be so, certainly, but I do not think it ; I do 
 not perceive in her any tendency to deceit and cunning 
 ways; on the contrary, she appears to me to speak the 
 truth with a certain bluntness which requires correction. 
 She is brusque, without being actually rude, and frank 
 almost to impertinence." 
 
 " Oh, then she is impertinent ? " 
 
 " I cannot say that she is. I do not allow her to an- 
 swer when reproved, nor do I permit the expression of 
 unasked opinions. I keep to the good old ways, my lord ; 
 I cannot perceive the wisdom of the licence which the 
 modern system of education, especially in this country, 
 accords to young people. I am not unreasonable, but I 
 am strict. I am not one to make allowances, and I 
 seldom, or never, admit excuses. I exact prompt and 
 invariable obedience, and I punish all deviation from duty. 
 As yet, I have had no occasion to punish Lady Clai'issa ; 
 whatever I have desired her to do she has done ; whatever 
 I have requested her to alter she has altered ; in no single 
 case has she attempted anything like arguing the point." 
 
 "I am really delighted to hear it ! Your system must 
 be an excellent one, since it produces such results. 
 Perhaps the chastisement which I felt myself constrained 
 to inflict a little while ago had something to do with her 
 speedy reformation. She might have reflected she does 
 reflect, no doubt that her days of untrammelled liberty 
 being over, she had better relinquish the struggle, and 
 turn over a new leaf, and so adapt herself to circum- 
 stances. Has she ever spoken to you of the correction ? " 
 
 " Never ! Except in answer to certain questions, she 
 has never alluded to the life she led before I entered on 
 my duties here. But the Countess told me the whole 
 story on the evening of my arrival ; and had she told me 
 nothing, my own perceptions would have informed me. 
 The marks of the whip are still visible on Lady Clarissa's 
 shoulders." 
 
 The Earl coloured and winced, as well he might. Ho 
 kept telling himself that he had done the right thing, 
 
 102
 
 148 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 that he had performed his duty as a parent ; never- 
 theless he perpetually wished that ho had kept his hands 
 off the tiresome child, and he almost swore to himself 
 never again, on any account, to turn executioner, even 
 though his wife should insist upon it. "Perhaps she 
 has forgotten all about it," he said, scarcely thinking of 
 his words. 
 
 "I should say Lady Clarissa never forgets," was 
 Madame's answer. " A child of her temperament re- 
 members only too vividly." 
 
 " But she really deserved all, and more than all, that 
 was inflicted. She told me a lie, and obstinately per- 
 sisted in it ! Indeed, she has never to this hour re- 
 tracted, or shown any sign of retracting. However, we 
 will say no more about it. We will let bygones be by- 
 gones, and leave her to begin afresh, trusting that the 
 alteration in her behaviour is sincere and permanent." 
 
 " One word, my lord. Excuse me, I pray you ; but 
 are you quite certain that Lady Clarissa was guilty of a 
 deliberate falsehood ? " 
 
 " Quite certain. Ruffles declares that she saw her give 
 the signal which she knew would make the dog attack 
 the Countess." 
 
 " Ruffles might have made a mistake ; and, in any case, 
 it is only her word against Lady Clarissa's." 
 
 " But Lady Orwell confirms the woman's statement." 
 
 " If Lady Orwell declares that it is so, there is, of course, 
 no more to be said on the subject. But, had I been unin- 
 formed, the vice of falsehood is one of the last I should 
 impute to Lady Clarissa. I should have fancied her rather 
 glorying in her bold confession, and that at any cost of 
 punishment ! But I am mistaken, it seems ; and, indeed, 
 as I told your lordship at first, I do not at present feel 
 myself competent to give any decided opinion on the 
 merits or demerits of my pupil's disposition. I need not 
 eay that I shall continue to watch her closely. I shall 
 permit no infraction of the rules which I have drawn up 
 for her benefit ; and I shall at once, and with a strong, 
 unswerving hand, check the smallest symptom of insubor- 
 dination." 
 
 You will do wisely. I have every confidence in your
 
 THE SON AND HEIB. 110 
 
 discretion. I leave my daughter entirely in your hands, 
 Madame Pierrot." 
 
 " I thank you, my lord," replied the stately governess, 
 with her lowliest reverence. " I think I may promise your 
 lordship never to betray the trust which you are so good 
 as to repose in me." 
 
 " I am perfectly easy on that point, Madame. I think 
 you said Clarissa was tolerably quick at her lessons ? " 
 
 " Remarkably so. She has superior abilities. Of that 
 there is no question. She often astonishes me by the 
 facility with which she masters a difficult lesson, and she 
 understands so quickly. I have had many pupils all of 
 them young ladies of high rank but I must avow that I 
 never had the pleasure of instructing one who profited so 
 quickly and so easily by my humble endeavours as Lady 
 Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " I always fancied she was rather clever, though for a 
 long while she refused to learn even her letters. And yon 
 really have no fault to find with her ? " 
 
 " The only fault she has displayed is a sort of dreamy 
 sullenness, which makes her, in spite of her singular 
 quickness of parts, very much like an automaton. But 
 as she always immediately answers when spoken to, and 
 in no disrespectful tone, and obeys promptly, if not with 
 alacrity, I have judged it best to take no notice of thia 
 peculiarity. In fact, I should scarcely know in what terms 
 to frame a reproof. I hope, ere long, my pupil will dis- 
 play a mere cheerful spirit, and then if she continue aa 
 she has begun I shall not have the shadow of a complaint 
 against her." 
 
 " You could not improve her complexion, I suppose ? " 
 
 Madame Pierrot felt much inclined to laugh ; but she 
 replied, with all possible gravity, " I am afraid not, my 
 lord. Interfering with nature commonly does more harm 
 than good. I think her nurse gives her too much medi- 
 cine, and I have interfered. I shall make her play at 
 battledore and shuttlecock, and I have ordered a set of 
 Les Graces from town. It is a game which tends to ex- 
 pand the chest, and improves the figure. Also I may 
 remark that I have known very sallow, swarthy-skinned 
 EU-j develop into very good-looking brunettes I I assure
 
 150 LADI CLARISSA. 
 
 your lordship that nothing shall bo wanting in my endca* 
 vonrs to render Lady Clarissa physically, as well as 
 mentally, worthy of her noble name and parentage." 
 
 An hour or two afterwards Clarissa, going to the music- 
 room for some music which Madame required, met Raffles, 
 who stopped her to say, pertly, " Well, young lady ! I 
 suppose you have heai'd that your nose is put out of 
 joint ? " 
 
 Clarissa put her hand to the feature indicated, and 
 gravely replied, "I think my nose is quite as usual, 
 Knffles ! " 
 
 " Yon little idiot ! " returned the nncourteous waiting- 
 woman. " Or perhaps you're shamming simplicity ; it's 
 just like yon ! You can't be such a born fool as not to 
 know what ' a nose put out of joint ' means ? " 
 
 " I do not know. Please to let me pass, Ruffles ; 
 Madame Pierrot is waiting for me." 
 
 " Oh, how good we are all of a sudden ! It wouldn't 
 keep its dear old governess waiting half a minute, would 
 it ? But, anyway, you know there's a young Viscount come 
 to town, and he's the son and heir the son and heir, I tell 
 you ! And you are just nowhere, my Lady Clarissa, for 
 ugly, impudent, wicked little girls don't count for any- 
 thing when there's a fine boy to inherit the title and 
 estates ! Especially when they are so dreadful wicked as 
 to set dogs at people. It might have been the death of 
 your dear, sweet ma, you see, to say nothing of the pre- 
 cious little Viscount ; and if it had you would have been 
 hung, my lady yes, hnng by your neck till you were 
 dead ! dead ! DEAD ! ' And may the Lord have mercy on 
 your soul,' as the judge would have said, when he put the 
 black cap on to pass sentence. You've had a narrow 
 escape, I can tell you ; and I only hope you'll learn a 
 lesson and take warning. Though I believe yon are 
 natural bad ; and I quite expect to be standing in front 
 of Ipsley gaol, some fine morning, to see you hanged, Lady 
 Clarissa ! " 
 
 With a shriek and a shudder, almost amounting to a 
 convulsion, Clarissa fled. It was some minutes before she 
 recovered sufficient composure to find her way to the 
 music-room, and, when there, she had to pause and collect
 
 THE SON AND HEIK. 151 
 
 her scattered senses, poor child, before she could re- 
 member for which volume of Handel she was sent. She 
 went back to the schoolroom very white and trembling, 
 and with the wrong music-book after all. 
 
 "What is the matter, Lady Clarissa?" asked the 
 governess, gravely composed, though thoroughly uneasy. 
 
 " I met Ruffles, and she was rude to me," was all the 
 child's reply. 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Must I tell you ? It hurts me to tell you." 
 
 " I know what is good for you, Lady Clarissa, better 
 than you. know yourself. I am waiting for your answer." 
 
 " She called me wicked and ugly, and said I might have 
 been hanged, and that I would most likely be hanged 
 some day at the county gaol." 
 
 " Please to explain. Why should you be hanged ? " 
 
 Thus urged, Clarissa repeated, word for word, all that 
 had passed between her and the waiting- woman. Madame 
 asked a few plain questions, and Clarissa, though re- 
 luctant, answered them, as plainly as they were put. 
 Finally the governess said, " Now, Lady Clarissa, I want 
 to know from you something with which I have really no 
 concern, as it all happened before I ever saw you, and 
 when I was in no way responsible for your behaviour. 
 May I depend upon you to tell the truth ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Clarissa, shortly and emphatically. 
 
 " Did yon or did you not set your dog at your step- 
 mother, the Countess of Orwell ? " 
 
 " I did not ! But I did set him on Ruffles, though only 
 to frighten her. And and I think I took Tartar to 
 mamma's room to frighten her ! I thought it was quite 
 safe, and so it would have been if mamma had not beaten 
 and shaken me. I did not even remember that Tartar was 
 there, the shaking and boxing made me feel so queer ; the 
 first thing I knew was that he had flown at mamma, and 
 knocked her down. If I had left him. alone, he would have 
 killed her perhaps, or hurt her dreadfully ; but I managed 
 to quiet him. And that is all." 
 
 And Madame Pierrot was perfectly convinced that that 
 was all ! She further asked, however, " What made you 
 let the dog loose, contrary to orders ? "
 
 Io2 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " I let him loose because I wanted him ; lie always was 
 my very own dog. I wish I had not let him loose, for 
 when I unchained him I killed him. But he knows now 
 I did not mean him any harm." 
 
 " He knows now ? " 
 
 " Yes ! I feel that he knows ! People say dogs and 
 horses have no souls, but I know they have. And souls 
 don't die ; they go somewhere ! So Tartar's soul knows 
 that I loved him always. And mamma's soul knows that 
 I said nothing but the truth.." 
 
 " I feel sure you speak the truth, and unless you telf 
 me a falsehood, or try in any way to deceive me, I shall 
 believe every word you say," said Madame Pierrot 
 quietly ; " but you must not talk nonsense about animals 
 having souls, for they have not any. Do you under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 "Yes, "answered Clarissa meekly. But there was some- 
 thing in her mind which, though unexpressed, was almost 
 identical with Galileo's celebrated " ma pur si muove" 
 which he muttered after his public retraction of the 
 earth's revolution, before the offended tribunal of the 
 Holy Inquisition. 
 
 "What did Ruffles mean by my nose being put out of 
 joint ? " further asked Clarissa. 
 
 But Madame could not explain. This familiar and 
 stupid English idiom was beyond her. She could only 
 tell her pupil not to mind ; it would certainly be something 
 very foolish and very vulgar. But Madame came to the 
 conclusion that she had undertaken a pupil quite unlike 
 any former one, and that there was something in this 
 noble household very much amiss. What she had seen of 
 the Countess she did not like, and it struck her most for- 
 cibly that tl/.o Earl had very little affection for his 
 daughter,
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NOT JEALOUS. 
 * And things axe not what they seem." 
 
 THE birth of the heir was duly celebrated, and he was 
 christened with all honours when he was little more than, 
 three months old. He was what people generally com- 
 mend as "a remarkably fine child !" That is to say, he 
 was large, and fat, and strong, and looked about him as 
 if quite aware of his own importance in the world upon 
 which he had entered. But there Lord Fordham's per- 
 sonal perfections ended : he was not a handsome child ; 
 and, worse still, he bore the undisguised stamp of the 
 plebeian race from which, on his mother's side, he sprang. 
 To the Countess's infinite mortification he was not an 
 Oakleigh either in feature or expression, and before she 
 left her room she had recognised in her baby's counte- 
 nance all the well-known traits of the Sparks family. By 
 some unkind freak of nature who is singularly uncom- 
 placent in her moods sometimes the little Viscount was 
 the image of his deceased grandpapa Sparks, whose name 
 he would probably never hear, and he strongly resembled 
 a good many Sparkses, living down Whitechapel way, 
 who were doubtless his lordship's grand-uncles, and 
 grand-aunts, and third or fourth cousins, of whose very- 
 existence he would probably remain uninformed to his 
 dying day. 
 
 Clarissa would have been very fond of him if she had 
 been allowed ; but on the plea that she might teach tho 
 baby her strange, naughty ways, she was almost excluded 
 from the nursery. She and Madame Pierrot were still 
 tatisfied with each other, though as months rolled on there 
 Was but the slightest increase of familiarity between them. 
 Madame never unbent, and Clarissa never broke through 
 ihe system of reserve which she had practised ever since 
 that eventful day when she bade adieu to Tartar and to
 
 154 LADI CLARISSA. 
 
 the ghosts in the upper story. She made rapid progress 
 in all her studies, and -when she was about twelve years 
 old, she began to grow, and gradually lost the dwarfish 
 appearance which caused some people to believe, and even 
 to assert, that she was deformed. And nurse was thank- 
 ful that her charge prospered, that she was comfortable, 
 and even content, under the strict rule of her governess ; 
 but she was by no means certain that Madame Pierrot 
 was the "friend " whom she had asked God to send tho 
 child. It was plain to her that the stately Frenchwoman 
 had won Clarissa's esteem and that was much ; but that 
 she had gained her heart she did not and could not believe. 
 Probably Madame Pierrot would have been rather 
 troubled than otherwise with the affections of her pupil, 
 and if Clarissa had made any demonstrations, I think it is 
 very likely that they would have been coldly and decidedly 
 repelled. 
 
 Nurse still remained in office, as Lady Clarissa's own 
 maid. The Countess tried in vain to oust her ; she had her 
 will in most things, and the household, whether at Orwell 
 or in town, was entirely under her control, with one or two 
 exceptions. And these exceptions were Mrs. Sweetapple 
 and Mrs. Barlow, whom the Earl firmly declared should 
 remain in his service, capable or incapable, as long as they 
 lived, or at least till they chose to dismiss themselves. 
 For two whole years Lady Orwell struggled to rid herself 
 of these old retainers ; but on that one point her husband 
 was immovable. She yielded at last, but with the worst 
 grace possible, and persisted in treating them a sore 
 grief to Mrs. Sweetapple as already superannuated. 
 She did not interfere with nurse, though Mrs. Ruffles 
 and Mademoiselle Aline, the French maid, often did, 
 knowing well that they would not be accountable to their 
 mistress. But Sweetapple's faithful soul was grieved 
 within her when a woman, whom she called in her vexation 
 "a fine stuck-np London madam," arrived at the Castle, 
 engaged by the Countess, nominally as her assistant, 
 really as her supplanter. Henceforth Sweetapple's occu- 
 pation was gone, and her post became the merest sine- 
 cure. Her sanctum was invaded, her privileges shared 
 with a person who scarcely treated her with civility, her
 
 NOT JEALOUS. 155 
 
 arrangements laughed at and traversed, and her orders 
 systematically disobeyed. At length she ceased altogether 
 to issue them, and leaving the wainscoted parlour in 
 which she had been, sole mistress so many years, took up 
 her abode with Nurse Barlow, in the old nursery-rooms, 
 contenting herself with the superintendence of the house- 
 linen, and certain services rendered with alacrity to 
 Lady Clarissa and her governess. 
 
 Madame Pierrot and the Countess were so far friends 
 that they never came to any kind of quarrel. But the 
 shrewd Frenchwoman was not long in taking the measure 
 of her patroness's mind and character. Knowing nothing 
 of the family history or of the family politics, it was 
 marvellous how soon she came to a right comprehension 
 of both. She divined, even before she heard a whisper of 
 the truth, that Lady Orwell had been married for her 
 great wealth and for nothing else, and she judged that the 
 Earl must have been in no ordinary difficulties before he 
 could bring himself to so evident a mesalliance. They saw 
 but little of each other, the Countess and the governess, 
 for Madame lived, by choice, almost entirely with her 
 pupil, and what they did see in no way tended to a mutual 
 liking. 
 
 Though the widow of a commoner, Madame Pierrot, 
 nee de Brecy, was of ancient noble family ; indeed she had 
 always called herself de Brecy- Pierrot, before the trouble 
 came which made her at once dependent on her own 
 exertions and an exile from la belle France. Then she 
 was too proud to make her boast of faded honours and an 
 empty name. Madame had once figured at the Court of 
 the unfortunate Marie Antoinette ; she had witnessed the 
 horrors of the revolution it was even whispered that she 
 herself had been doomed to the guillotine, and escaped as 
 by miracle. No one knew whether this were so or not, for 
 she never referred to that terrible epoch in her history, 
 nor did any one know under what circumstances M. 
 Pierrot had died. Madame only said that she was left a 
 widow in her youth, and that all her property save a few 
 family jewels* which she had contrived to secrete was 
 lost irretrievably. If anyone ever spoke to her of the 
 dreadful scenes in which she had borne her part, sho
 
 1-vO I ACT CLABISFA. 
 
 at once desired to be excused from any reference to events 
 which it was impossible to remember without over- 
 powering anguish. And no one, not even the plebeian 
 Countess, presumed to do otherwise than respect the 
 feelings of so dignified a personage. 
 
 Lady Orwell, on her side, was well content that Madame 
 Pierrot should continue to form one of the household. 
 She could not have entirely neglected Clarissa without 
 exposing herself to certain aspersions, and Madame saved 
 her all trouble on this score. She told everybody that 
 Madame was an excellent governess, and understood her 
 papil, and that she made it a point of conscience never to 
 interfere. For which consideration both governess and 
 pupil were undoubtedly thankful. 
 
 Clarissa and Madame were therefore happily left very 
 much to their own devices ; and it was well for the lonely 
 and otherwise uncared-for child that she was not exposed, 
 as might well have been the case, to the oppressions and 
 evil example of an under-bred, unprincipled, cunning 
 woman, who would have cared very little for her pupil, 
 and sought only to butter her own bread by paying court to 
 her uneducated patroness. All this Clarissa was spared, 
 for Madame was conscientious as she was discreet, and 
 high-minded as she was inflexible. Perhaps if she had 
 evinced any affection for her pupil, Lady Orwell would 
 have been so much displeased that she would quickly havo 
 found abundant reasons for dissolving the engagement. 
 And that Madame was perfectly aware of this I think there 
 can be little doubt. 
 
 Lord Orwell, as time passed on, was less and less at the 
 Castle, where Clarissa and her governess invariably re- 
 sided the whole year through. Sometimes the Countess 
 was with him, but oftener he was in London or travelling 
 without her. They were by no means happy in their con- 
 jugal relations, this ill-matched couple and the Countess 
 always considered herself to be a particularly ill-used 
 woman. She had never ceased to be jealous of Clarissa's 
 mother ; though if she had known how, in those rooms in 
 which she indulged her own ill-temper, the Countess 
 Clarissa had pined and grieved over the alienation of her 
 lord's affection, she might have been a little more reason-
 
 JFALCTS. lf.7 
 
 able and a little less ridiculous than in her selfish and ex- 
 acting spirit she too often was. 
 
 If not a devoted wife, she was a foolishly fond mother, 
 and, though she knew it not, her spoiled, unruly brood 
 were the torment and detestation of the servile menials 
 about them. For she presented her husband with a 
 numerous and healthy offspring ; "the baby" became an 
 institution, and was no longer a novelty, a son or daughter 
 and, on one occasion, a son and a daughter being 
 added to the family, pretty punctually, once a year. When 
 Clarissa was fifteen she had four brothers and three 
 sisters, and the Earl had long made up his mind that he 
 had his quiver quite too full. Lord Fordham was received 
 with raptures, and the Countess, as mother of the future 
 Earl, became a person of the first importance, even to her 
 unloving husband. She was highly to be commended in 
 that she had given an heir to this ancient house, and my 
 lord was not ungrateful. 
 
 And when the Honourable Augustus arrived just twelve 
 months later than the Viscount, he, too, met with a very 
 cordial reception ; for, of course, where it is a question of 
 succession, two direct heirs are better than one. But the 
 Honourable Sydney John, had he known how coolly his 
 advent was taken, might have considered that he had just 
 grounds of complaint. He was barely fourteen months old 
 when the Honourable Percival and the Lady Louisa Maria 
 made their appearance, to the delight of the Countess and 
 the ill-concealed chagrin of the noble Earl. And when 
 another, and yet another, daughter were added to that 
 noisy nursery, Lord Orwell became verily disgusted, and 
 remarked to Dr. Hammond that he had no idea that the 
 women of the lower orders were so absurdly given to> 
 maternity ; but he supposed that was the reason why there 
 wore always such crowds of dirty little wretches in gutters 
 and on doorsteps ! It must be confessed that his lordship 
 was rather difficult to please. The Countess Clarissa had 
 annoyed him because she had one only child a useless, 
 ill-favoured girl, too ! The Countess Louisa offended him 
 by giving him seven vigorous, lusty olive-branches, who, in 
 d?e season, would gather round about his table. 
 
 " But," said Louisa, when her youngest was born, and
 
 158 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 slie bitterly resented the worse than indifferent gieeting 
 accorded by the infant's father " there is plenty for all ! 
 Jam rich enough to bring np and endow five-and-twenty 
 children without trenching upon the family estates, which, 
 of . course, must descend intact to my son, Lord Fordham. 
 The more the merrier, I say ! " 
 
 " I am glad your ladyship enjoys so much noise and dis- 
 comfort," replied the Earl, politely ; "but -I who always 
 had a horror of a large family must be excused if I 
 absent myself a good deal from their charming society, 
 and if I request as & favour, of course! that they may 
 not be allowed to overrun the whole house when I am under 
 the same roof. You must remember that the upper classes 
 believe in nurseries as a practical institution ' the people,' 
 I believe, do not hold with them. And the Oakleighs 
 have never been a vulgarly large family. It is most un- 
 fortunate that they should now depart from their time- 
 honoured habitudes." 
 
 I think, on the whole, the Countess had some excuse for 
 her discontent. And yet, as Mr. Hadfield once told her, 
 when she poured out her troubles in his ear, and plainly 
 reproached him for having had a hand in her second 
 marriage, she had really all for which she had bargained. 
 She was Countess of Orwell; she was called "my lady" 
 and " your ladyship !" Her eldest son was a viscount; 
 her daughters were, as she expressed hei-self, "born lady- 
 ships ; " she appeared at Court ; her name held sway in 
 the most aristocratic circles, and she revelled in all the de- 
 lights of the London season, whenever the titled babies 
 did not interfere with town engagements. 
 
 " And what more can your ladyship desire ? " said Mr. 
 Hadfield, when, upon one occasion, she had sent for him to 
 *' take instructions " which, though rather vague and wild, 
 had reference to "a separate maintenance." 
 
 " What more can I want ? " replied the angry Countess. 
 " Why, a great deal more ! You men always stand up for 
 each other ! Am I not slighted, neglected, vexed, despised P 
 \Vas I not married for my money ? " 
 
 " Most undoubtedly ! And you married for your title 
 Had position. That was quite understood at the time. 
 Lady Orwell, you and I have known each other a good
 
 NOT JEALOUS. 
 
 many years, and there is no reason why we shonld wear a 
 disguise in our private and confidential interviews. I 
 can help you most effectually by speaking plainly ; yon 
 will best serve yourself and your own interests by a 
 clear statement of the facts, or supposed facts, which 
 have caused you so much disquietude. You know very 
 well that affection had no part in the alliance which I had 
 the pleasure of arranging between the Earl of Orwell and 
 yourself. My lord wanted money, you wanted rank. He 
 knew that you were a woman of obscure birth and ante- 
 cedents, but of irreproachable respectability ; had it been 
 otherwise the union would not have been for a moment 
 contemplated ! You knew that he was sunk in debts and 
 difficulties, from which there was no extrication, save by 
 his obtaining an immense sum of money, such as marriago 
 with a wealthy woman alone could secure to him. Hia 
 rank and ancient pedigree were little or nothing to him, 
 if he became an exile and a beggar, comparatively 
 speaking ! Your overflowing coffers were little or 
 nothing to you, as a mere woman of the people, with 
 no place in society. You could give what he most 
 urgently required. He could give what yon. most 
 earnestly sighed for. Was it not a fair equivalent ? At 
 least, you thought so at the time, and you were willing 
 nay, more, you were anxious to enter into the compact 
 upon the terms proposed. "Was it not so, Lady Orwell ? 
 I was going to say, Mrs. Shrosbery." 
 
 "It is not very generous of you to remind me of my 
 past weakness," said the lady, with a sullen 'countenance, 
 and a sigh that might have been audible in the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " What weakness ? " quietly asked the lawyer. 
 
 " The weakness of giving myself and my money to ono 
 whom I knew never loved me." 
 
 " Whom you then knew did not love you ! Forgive me, 
 but if Lord Orwell never loved you, if ho has not loved 
 you since you became his wife, and the mother of his 
 children, it is surely your own fault. What is all thig 
 about ? What is the matter ? And what do you want ? " 
 
 " I want a divorce ! " said Louisa, savagely. Now ai 
 tlul iime the law of divorce was shamefully one-sided;
 
 \GO LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the husband could easily rid liimself of the guilty wife, 0* 
 even of the wife whom, as a matter of expediency, he 
 assumed to be guilty. But the guilty husband, as far as 
 the law was concerned, was a fixture for life ; and the wife 
 who was wronged could only negotiate for a separation, 
 legal or otherwise. Therefore Mr. Hadfield looked gravely 
 at his client, and replied " I am grieved shocked, in- 
 deed ! I thought the widow of my old friend Shrosbery 
 was to be trusted." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Then Mr. Hadfield explained, and after a little more 
 conversation Louisa understood the situation. 
 
 "I see," she said; "my husband can divorce me if I 
 deserve it or, if he can make it appear that I deserve it ! 
 But I cannot divorce him, should his infidelity be patent 
 to the world." 
 
 " In such case you could scarcely fail of obtaining a 
 separation on favourable terms." 
 
 " Very well ! I shall try for that." 
 
 " Think well what you do, Lady Orwell. Of what do 
 you accuse the Earl ? " 
 
 " Of nothing in particular ; but of a great deal 
 generally." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield burst out laughing. " That won't do," 
 he said ; " but you relieve me ! I was really afraid that 
 there was some ground for scandal. Can you not manage 
 to give me some idea of the ' great deal generally ' ? " 
 
 "Lord Orwell does not confide in me as he ought to 
 do ; he does not talk to me as he talks to other women." 
 
 " What other women ? Be definite, or hold your peace." 
 
 " Several ! Mrs. Grahame, Mrs. Hammond, our doc- 
 tor's wife here, Lady Helen Stuart, and even Clarissa's 
 governess, Madame Pierrot ; but especially Mrs. Grahame! " 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Grahame ? " 
 
 " She is a widow lady I do detest widows ! who lives 
 across the park, just on the verge of the village. Her 
 husband was a great friend of Lord Orwell's." 
 
 " And what does she do to excite your jealousy ? " 
 
 Louisa flared up at once. " Jealous ! I jealous ! no, 
 indeed ! I respect myself too much for that, 7 liopa 
 Whatever I am, I am no* jealous , Mr. Hadfield."
 
 NOT JEALOUS. l&l 
 
 " I am glad to hear it ; it must be such an unpleasant 
 state of mind. But I never yet knew a jealous woman 
 own to the impeachment. Is Mrs. Grahame young and 
 handsome ? " 
 
 "Oh, no; not so much younger than I am. And, 
 certainly though it sounds vain certainly not so 
 handsome." 
 
 " Is she in lovo with him, then, or he with her ? " 
 
 " Neither, of course. Do you suppose ray husband 
 would be in love with any woman but his wife ? " 
 
 " From my knowledge of Lord Orwell, I should say not. 
 But your words implied something of the sort. What is 
 it, then ? " 
 
 "He talks to her about things I don't understand. 
 When he is in town he talks to Lady Helen Stuart, who 
 is fifty if she is an hour, and a regular fright, and dresses 
 so ill ! They talk about books I have never read or heard 
 of ; about debates in Parliament that I know nothing of ; 
 about discoveries in science that no one believes in. Now 
 I think men should talk only to their own wives, and they 
 should only talk of things that please and interest them. 
 That is my idea of matrimony ! " 
 
 " And if that is your ladyship's idea, I really do not 
 wonder that Orwell and yourself are not better friends. 
 My lady, I cannot interfere in any way ; you have no 
 more right to ' separate maintenance ' than my wife has, 
 and she, dear old soul, never dreamed of such a thing ! 
 But you can separate by mutual agreement, if you like, on 
 grounds of ' incompatability of temper.' But I warn 
 you that it would be most inexpedient ; neither law nor 
 society would be on your side; you would expose your- 
 self to a thousand unpleasantnesses, and yon would 
 have to renounce the companionship of your children, 
 as soon as they had passed the aga of infancy, if not 
 before." 
 
 " Then I won't be ' separated.' I did not mean it, you 
 know. I only wanted to frighten Orwell." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield went away, feeling very cross and dis- 
 satisfied with himself. He felt that he had done wrong 
 in making this " alliance " between two people who cared 
 little or nothing for each other. " Never again," said ho 
 
 ll
 
 162 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 to his wife, " will I have a hand in such another business. 
 You never approved of it." 
 
 "No," she answered, gently; "because I thought that 
 such a marriage, for mere convenience' sake, was littla 
 better was, in fact, a sin in the eyes of Almighty God." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LATE REPENTANCE. 
 
 " But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 Will never come back to me." 
 
 THE Countess took Mr. Hadfield's advice, and said no more 
 about " a separate maintenance." Though matters were 
 in no wise mended between her and her noble husband he 
 absenting himself more and more frequently, and for 
 increasingly prolonged periods from home ; and she resent- 
 ing, by every means in her power, the slights, both real 
 and imaginary, from which she suffered. 
 
 It was in the spring of the year which witnessed 
 Clarissa's fifteenth birthday, that the Earl and Countess 
 went np to town together, in orthodox Darby and Joan 
 fashion. The Countess had been unavoidably detained at 
 Orwell, for several years in succession, by her maternal 
 cares, and the Earl had consequently expatiated alone 
 during the season, which he made last from early in 
 February till the close of July, when it was high time to 
 be thinking about the moors, and making arrangements 
 for sundry shooting parties. At the termination of the 
 last London season the Countess had wished to accompany 
 her lord into Scotland, on a grouse-shooting expedition ; 
 but he declined the pleasure of her society, on the ground 
 that the friend whom he was about to visit was a bachelor, 
 and that no ladies were expected ; that the box was a 
 mere rough Highland cabin, altogether unfitted for the
 
 LATE REPENTANCE. 163 
 
 reception of the gentler sex, and that the party were going 
 in for vigorous sport and nothing else, and could not be 
 encumbered with the care of wives or sweethearts ! 
 
 Of course, Lady Orwell was compelled to submit, 
 though, with a very bad grace. She said little, however, 
 but made certain private inquiries, and was not long in find- 
 ing out that nearly all the gentlemen assembled as Bors- 
 land Tower were accompanied by their wives, that several 
 voung ladies were chaperoned by the matrons, and that the 
 'tower, though situated in a desolate and wild region, was 
 really a noble residence, celebrated for its luxurious appoint- 
 ments, and for the lavish hospitality of its wealthy owner, 
 who, though himself unwed, was a veritable squire of 
 dames, and loved nothing better than to find himself sur- 
 rounded by the fair, to whose delight he could never suffi- 
 ciently administer. It may be better imagined than 
 described how wroth the Countess became Avhen she had 
 acquainted herself with these facts ; but no words could 
 paint her passionate displeasure when, at the appointed 
 time in September, her lord neither returned nor gave any 
 report of his proceedings. It was quite by chance that she 
 learned he was enjoying himself with a few choice spirits 
 in some Ultima Thnle of which she had never heard before, 
 and, later still, that he was in Paris, and in society of 
 which she strongly disapproved. Yon will readily under- 
 stand that when my lord did at last put in a tardy appear- 
 ance, just before Christmas, he received a rather doubtful 
 sort of welcome, and had somewhat more than the traditional 
 mauvais quart d'heure in which to bewail his iniquities and 
 his shortcomings, and enjoyed the privilege of listening 
 to rather more than the customary allowance of curtain- 
 lectures awarded to unsatisfactory husbands. 
 
 In February the last child of this ill-matched pair was 
 born, and the Countess, having recovered with her usual 
 rapidity, made speedy preparations for an ensuing London 
 campaign. She was scarcely so handsome as when she 
 etood at the altar of St. James' on that freezing January 
 morning. She had grown, as her lord had prophesied, 
 stout and ponderous, her complexion was decidedly florid, 
 and her hair, if she had not taken measures to darken it, 
 would have been what she herself described as " grey a3 
 
 112
 
 164 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 a badger." Bat aifc sometimes triumphs over nature, and 
 a fashionable lady, with no lack of money, and an adroit 
 dame de toilette, may work wonders by the aid of a few 
 simple adjuncts, which the initiated know how to employ 
 effectually. And the Countess " made up " judiciously, 
 not too extensively, and with consummate skill, so that she 
 passed muster very well, provided that her dress became 
 her, that the light was not too strong, and that nothing 
 happened to ruffle her temper, or disturb her equanimity. 
 For she looked both old and ugly when she was offended, 
 or, as she was fond of saying, " affronted." And she was 
 so easily affronted that her good looks too often suffered 
 total eclipse. 
 
 The Earl would willingly have left her behind at Orwell : 
 he was tired of country life himself, and longed for 
 the haunts of Mayfair, for the bachelor luxuries of 
 his club, for his lounge in Bond Street, for his canter 
 in the Park, for a thousand pleasant things which 
 are only to be found in London, and found in their 
 perfection only during the London season. Bnt he 
 ould very well have dispensed with the companion- 
 -ship of his wife, her society being in no way essential to 
 his happiness ; rather, on the contrary, a weariness and 
 perpetual source of annoyance and vexation. Up to the 
 last he hoped against hope that something might occur to 
 keep her safe at Orwell. He went into her boudoir one 
 afternoon as she was superintending the packing of her 
 jewel-case, resolved to try what a little expostulation would 
 do, and, if that did not answer, to tell her very plainly 
 that he thought her right place was at home among the 
 children, rather than in West End drawing-rooms, sur- 
 rounded by cunning admirers and false friends, who were 
 ready enough to profit by her free-handed hospitality, 
 while they secretly laughed at her bad style and her want 
 of gentle breeding. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, my lady," said his lordship, as 
 he entered ; " send your women away." 
 
 "Is it very important ? " she asked, with that air of 
 affected languor which she carefully practised, as being 
 essentially haut ton. 
 
 " Of course I have something to say, or I should not
 
 1ATE REPENTANCE. 165 
 
 take the tremble of coming to this end of the corridors," 
 was his rejoinder. 
 
 " Very well ; but yon see I am very bnsy ! Leave those 
 things " (to the maids) " and put ont all my morning- 
 gowns in the dressing-room, that I may see them altogether, 
 and decide which of them I shall take to town. I expect 
 they are every one too outre to be worn." Then to the 
 Earl, as the waiting- women disappeared " Now, my lord, 
 whatever is it ? I have really very little time to spare, 
 and will thank you to be brief." 
 
 " As brief as you will ! I came here to ask you if all 
 this packing and arranging are in earnest ? Are you ab- 
 solutely thinking of going up to town this season, 
 Louisa ? " 
 
 Louisa opened wide her eyes and stared in undisguised 
 astonishment. " Whatever do you mean ? " she inquired 
 at length, with such genuine surprise in look and tone 
 that the Earl scarcely knew how to word his answer. 
 
 " Mean ? " he in his turn interrogated. " Why ! I mean 
 just simply what I say. I spoke quite plainly, I thought." 
 
 " So plainly that I feel convinced I misundei-stood yon. 
 It seems to me that you are asking to be told what you 
 know very well already, and what you have known for 
 weeks past ! You might as well inquire whether I expect 
 to go to bed to-night, or whether I intend to dine pre- 
 sently ! " 
 
 " Dining and going to bed are part of the ordinary daily 
 programme of one's life. Leaving the country for town is 
 quite another affair. I repeat the question, Are you 
 actually determined to spend this spring in London ? " 
 
 " I am determined ! Pray, have you any objections to 
 offer ? " 
 
 " Five hundred ! But it will be sufficient to name two 
 or three of them. I think it unwise to risk your health, 
 for you are far from strong, and the baby is not six weeks 
 old." 
 
 "You are like that stupid fellow in Young's 'Night 
 Thoughts;' or is it Knight's 'Young Thoughts'? I 
 never can remember ! You take ' no note of time ' ! Our 
 darling baby is exactly ten weeks old, and I am as strong 
 and well as I ever was in my life. It is something new
 
 106 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 for yon to be concerned about my health ; but yon must 
 excuse me if I don't feel quite as grateful as you might 
 expect. Yon would not mind if I died to-morrow, and 
 then yon could marry your dear Mrs. Grahame." 
 
 " Louisa ! I did not come here to talk nonsense, and 
 worse than nonsense! We -will not, if yon please, dis- 
 cuss Mrs. Grahame at present. I think yon take great 
 liberties with the name of an excellent and admirable 
 lady." 
 
 "Oh yes! Of course she is admirable! She is charm- 
 ing ! She is divine, no doubt ! As to ' excellent * well, 
 I should not like to say!" 
 
 "Louisa, if yon talk in that strain I must leave yon; 
 and if I leave you, it will be to give orders to have my 
 yacht in readiness by this day week. It is utterly nn- 
 worthy of you, this absurd and vulgar jealousy. Once 
 more I repeat the question, Is it your sober intention to 
 go np to town the day after to-morrow ? " 
 
 " And once more I assure yon that it is, and that I 
 am not by any means to be turned from my purpose. 
 My health, I assure yon, is just now extremely good, and 
 I am much stronger than when I entered upon my last 
 campaign four years ago. It is very kind of you most 
 considerate ; but yon may lay aside all anxiety on my 
 behalf." 
 
 "How can you find it in yonr heart to leave that 
 infant?" 
 
 " I have provided a thoroughly trustworthy and eligible 
 nurse. The whole nursery staff, indeed, is to be depended 
 on. The children will receive every attention, and Mrs. 
 Morris will write full particulars three times a week." 
 
 " Mrs. Morris, forsooth ! That woman never tells tho 
 truth except by accident. I really think she would lie by 
 preference, even though the truth best served her turn. 
 To gain her own ends, to feather her own nest, to save 
 herself all possible trouble, is all that she concerns herself 
 about. However, if you choose to abandon your offspring 
 to the tender mercies of unprincipled hirelings, that is 
 yonr affair. They will have bad times while yon are 
 figuring away yonder poor little wretches ! " 
 
 " You speak as if they were no children of yours."
 
 LATE KEPENTANCE. 167 
 
 *' They are my children, certainly, worse luck ! I never 
 expected to have such a plain-featured, plebeian-looking, 
 common-place brood about me, claiming me as their 
 father. But children of their years are always supposed 
 to be their mother's care, and I must say I think you do 
 quite wrong to leave them." 
 
 " You talk as if I were a petty tradesman's wife," she 
 returned angrily. " One would suppose I was always in 
 the nursery myself, with one small nurse-girl to help with 
 the bigger children. What's the use of having a lot of 
 servants, at unheard-of wages, if you can't make them 
 entirely responsible ? And Mrs. Morris is a most exem- 
 plary woman, most devoted to me and to baby, most 
 respectful ; she knows how to behave to her superiors ! " 
 
 " She knows how to toady and befool her mistress. 
 And I am glad I am not the baby, that is all." 
 
 " Well ! since you are uneasy about the children I 
 did not know you cared twopence for any of them, 
 except Fordham and Augustus the best way will be to 
 take them with us. There is plenty of room at the top of 
 that great rambling house ; the servants must pack a little 
 closer, that is all." 
 
 " Take them with us ! " cried his lordship, who had not 
 foreseen this possibility. " Not if I know it, my lady ! I 
 won't be shut up in a town house with seven spoiled, 
 unruly, unmanageable brats. I'll see them all at Jericho 
 first, or go there myself ! If you had them in anything 
 like order it might be done, though I still say nothing 
 could be worse for the children than London air, used as 
 they are to a pure country atmosphere. Kensington 
 Gardens and Hyde Park would be a poor exchange for 
 our own breezy domains, as far as they are concerned. 
 No ! I put my veto on that ! The children stay at Orwell, 
 and I require you to stay with them, and do your duty as 
 a mother." 
 
 " You are most unreasonable, most unkind ! " pouted 
 the Countess ; " it is four years since I had a bit of enjoy- 
 ment, and now you grudge me a few weeks in my proper 
 sphere. But it's of no use ; I've made up my mind, and 
 go I will ! I didn't marry you and give you such heaps of 
 money to rust down in the country, from year to year, and
 
 168 tADT CLARISSA. 
 
 look after my children, as if I couldn't afford to pay the 
 proper people to look after them. I didn't sacrifice my 
 liberty and my wealth for this, I can tell yon ! I married 
 yon, Lord Orwell, to be a Countess, and to enjoy myself 
 accordingly, not to be a poor, dragged, shnt-np mother, 
 no better than a nnrse." 
 
 Lord Orwell shnddered, for his lady invariably pro- 
 nounced nurse as " nuss," and it grated naturally upon his 
 patrician ears. She also, when at all excited, talked 
 volubly about her " proper spear ! " It was clearly useless 
 to declaim further, or continue to expostulate. Nothing 
 but force would keep her from London, and it would be 
 only waste of breath to carry on the discussion, which was 
 fast developing into an open quarrel. And the Earl never 
 quarrelled if he could possibly avoid it that is to say, he 
 never, or at least very rarely, condescended to a downright 
 fight of words. When it appeared that an ebullition was 
 inevitable, he generally shut his ears and walked away, 
 whither the Countess dared not follow for of late years 
 he had rigidly preserved the privacy of his own rooms. 
 
 He went away now, leaving the Countess to fret and 
 fume, and to feel herself thoroughly "affronted," but as 
 firmly resolved as ever on following out her plans. And 
 we must admit that there was very little reason why she 
 should not accompany her lord ; nor can we for a moment 
 believe in the sudden access of paternal solicitude with 
 which, apparently, he was seized. Her ladyship was quite 
 right he cared only for his two eldest sons ; for his heir, 
 and for the next in succession, supposing the young 
 Viscount should never arrive at man's estate. As for the 
 five younger children, he really regretted their existence, 
 and if any sudden malady had swept them all away he 
 would scarcely have mourned, except in that outward 
 seeming which decorum required. 
 
 He went now to his private library, where no one eve? 
 ventured to intrude on him, and, throwing himself back 
 in his easy chair, gave way to his chagrin. 
 
 " What have I gained ? " he asked himself, as, lost in. 
 bitter thought, he reflected on his present situation ; 
 " what have I actually gained by this most unequal, most 
 unsuitable, most mortifying marriage ? I have preserved
 
 I ATE REPENTANCE. 169 
 
 my estates, my position, my reputation, perhaps ; and I 
 have an heir of my own blood, though that might have 
 followed upon a marriage with a woman of my own rank 
 a woman of birth and breeding, of whom, in society, I 
 should not be involuntarily ashamed. But, then, no lady 
 of my own order had so much monoy as this woman of the 
 people ; or, having a large fortune, would consent to 
 bostow it upon a beggared spendthrift, reduced to his last 
 extremity! When a man is necessitated to selling him- 
 self, he cannot afford to be too particular as to the price. 
 I have heard of heiresses with humps ; now Louisa has 
 not a hump, and when I married her she had a certain 
 coarse kind of beauty, which, however, has coarsened 
 considerably since we became man and wife. She makes 
 up very well, I must confess though as well as if she 
 had served an apprenticeship to the beautifying trade. 
 And she is no fool perhaps I could manage her better 
 if she were ! And yet I don't know ! John Talbot 
 married a fool, and though she never said a sensible thing, 
 he could do literally nothing with her. She could give 
 no reason for anything, but she was doggedly obstinate, 
 and would return again and again to the point, as stupidly 
 and illogically and perversely as possible, but still per- 
 sistently, till at length, out of utter weariness, poor John, 
 was fain to hold his peace. I might have done worse, I 
 suppose. Louisa gave me her fortune, and it set me free, 
 and afforded me the means wherewith to enjoy my life ; 
 and life without plenty of ready money is really not 
 vrorth having. In return I bestowed upon her a title and 
 a position, and just as much of myself as I could not well 
 withhold. But the real Francis Oakleigh Clarissa's 
 husband she has never possessed, and never will. She 
 knows no more of him than she knows of any other man 
 with whom she is on speaking terms. And perhaps I 
 don't know her ? Perhaps that old soap-boiler, her ' dear 
 old Peter,' as she perpetually calls him, knew her better ? 
 He said she was a good wife to him, and I dare say she 
 was ; they were to a great extent in harmony, and that, I 
 suppose, is the true desideratum of married life husband 
 and wife, if they are to find happiness in each other, 
 must harmonise, although of different temperaments and
 
 170 LADY CLAH1SS1. 
 
 tastes. Well ! I have had more diversity of matrimonial 
 experience than falls to the lot of most men. . I have 
 married, or rather was married, for family ; I have mar- 
 ried for love and beauty ; and, finally, I have married for 
 money. And God forgive me ! it was for nothing but 
 money. If the widow Shrosbery had only had a moderate 
 dower, or if it had been securely tied upon her, I should 
 no more have dreamed of marrying her than of taking to 
 my bosom a cinder-wench. In fact, I should never have 
 married again at all had it not been for those confounded 
 debts, and my inextricable embarrassments. I had to 
 choose between beggary and outlawry and the fair Louisa 
 with her golden charms, and she seemed to me by far the 
 lesser eviL Ah ! if only I could have secured the money- 
 bags without the widow! bat that, of course, was an 
 impossibility. I suppose the only thing that remains is 
 to make the best- of my sordid bargain. And I suppose 
 my lady must go np to town, and play the grande dame 
 to the extent of her ability." 
 
 Here he paused, and mused awhile still more sadly. 
 Then he unlocked a small writing-desk which was near 
 at- hand, and took from it the ivory miniature likeness of 
 his wife Clarissa^ which he had shown to Louisa on the 
 evening of their arrival at OrwelL It had long been 
 removed from the drawing-room ; though the oil painting 
 in the dining-room still kept its place, in spite of all the 
 Countess's attempts to banish it to her step-daughter's 
 rooms, or to any rooms which she herself seldom entered. 
 I think, if she could have had her will, the beautiful 
 picture would have found its place with the lumber and 
 dust of the deserted, haunted garrets. 
 
 Lord Orwell reverently opened the morocco case, and 
 from the faded satin lining looked forth upon him the 
 lovely youthful face, with its sweet pensive eyes, and its 
 perfect lineaments, and soft and tender smile. Long and 
 mournfully he contemplated the exquisite features. He 
 knew now how cruelly he had neglected this gentle, 
 sensitive creature, who had loved him with all the depths 
 of her true, pure, womanly nature. How unselfish had 
 been her affection, how patiently she had borne his cold* 
 ness, his caprice and desertion ; how bright was the smile
 
 LATE REPENTANCE. 171 
 
 that ever greeted him after his longest absences that 
 beautiful, radiant smile, so full of love and trust and 
 peace ! Scarcely had a word of even implied reproach 
 fallen from those tenderly-curved, rose-red lips, and never 
 had a murmur been uttered by them in his hearing. Those 
 glorious eyes had sometimes looked mournfully and 
 through tears into his, when they were parting for an in- 
 definite period ; but they shone with all the unutterable 
 joy of full content when, at last, they met again. Nemesis 
 comes slowly in many cases, but, sooner or later, is sure 
 to lay her heavy hand upon the guilty one, and arrest his 
 careless steps. 
 
 The Nemesis of a vain repentance struck now at Lord 
 Orwell's inmost heart. He was tired or, at that 
 moment, he/eZ tired of the world's empty, unsatisfying 
 pleasures ; a sense of utter desolation came suddenly upon 
 him. He was alone quite alone with the memory of 
 the wife whom he had loved passionately, but selfishly, 
 and whom, as conscience told him, he had cruelly de- 
 serted, even when lingering decay and the hand of death 
 itself was upon her. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, my dove !" he cried, as he gazed into 
 the pictured face ; " how cruel I was to yon ! But I 
 never thought indeed, I did not ! that you would really 
 go away and leave me. And yet yet I know that I 
 helped to lay you in the grave that hides you from my 
 sight. Selfish brute that I was ! Oh, if that time might 
 but come over again if I might have you once more, my 
 dear love, how I would cherish you ! how I would nurse 
 you myself ! how I would watch and tend you till the 
 bloom of health came once more to your wan cheeks! 
 Oh, you were so good, so sweet, my poor lost Clarissa! 
 You never vexed me with petty, vulgar jealousies, as she 
 does ! Foolish woman ! as if the man who had once loved 
 you, Clarissa, could ever have any other love, lawful OP 
 unlawful ! Not all the charms of Helen of Troy, not all 
 the radiant grace of Enphrosyne, not all the intellect of 
 Minerva, could rekindle the flame of love in my dead 
 heart ; but friendship is sweet and precious ; the true 
 friendship of such a woman as Marian Grahame is a 
 treasure indeed, and I will not, for fifty jealous, exacting
 
 172 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Louisas, give it tip. For, you know, Clarissa if the 
 dead know all, as I sometimes think and hope they do 
 those we call the dead, who are living on, blest and glori- 
 fied in other worlds ! yon know, my one love, that Marian 
 Grahame is my friend, my true and faithful friend, and 
 Ronald's faithful wife ; though he, too, has passed away to 
 that shadowy land beyond the grave." 
 
 And then he bethought himself suddenly of the Clarissa 
 who yet remained to him his lost Clarissa's child and his 
 own, and again conscience smote him sternly. As he had 
 neglected the mother, he had neglected the daughter ; ho 
 had listened to Louisa's representations of her character, 
 to her complaints of the girl's sullenness, and obstinacy, 
 and insolence, and haughty, rebellious pride. Of late for 
 some years, indeed he had thought little about her, he 
 had spent as little time as possible at Orwell, and he had 
 seldom visited the remote apartments in which Madame 
 Pierrot and her pupil lived. They never on any occasion 
 joined the family circle. Visitors at the Castle scarcely 
 knew that Lord Orwell had a daughter by his previous 
 marriage ; or, if they by accident discovered her existence, 
 they were generally called upon to condole with the 
 Countess in her misfortune in being burdened with a 
 totally unsatisfactory and unpresentable step-daughter. 
 
 " How old is Clarissa ? " Lord Orwell asked himself. 
 He had to count back the years before he could satisfy 
 himself on that point. " She is fifteen," he said at last ; 
 " growing up into a young woman ! How time runs 
 away ! This very evening I will go and see Clarissa ; I 
 will neglect my eldest daughter no longer. Now, then, 
 for those letters which must go by the next mail."
 
 tADT CLARISSA. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED, BUT DELIGHTFUL. 
 
 * Oil, that those lips had language ! Life has passed 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
 Those lips are thine thy own sweet smiles I see." 
 
 THE Earl had seen so little of his eldest daughter, that 
 now, when he contemplated paying her a visit in her own 
 apartments, she seemed to him almost a stranger. Clarissa 
 and her governess had lived their own life in the east wing 
 year after year ; Lord Orwell had himself on several oc- 
 casions requested Madame Pierrot to spend her evenings 
 in the drawing-room, and once once only she had com- 
 plied. The Countess manifested so much hauteur and ill- 
 temper, and was so evidently annoyed at the conversation 
 between herself and the Earl in French, that she resolved 
 never more to expose herself to similar unpleasantnesses. 
 Against Clarissa's appearance in public, her stepmother 
 had always strenuously protested ; girls were better kept 
 entirely in the background, she averred especially girls 
 who were naturally forward and disobedient, and given to 
 insolent self-assertion. Besides, Lady Clarissa was so very 
 strange that there was no saying what people might think 
 of her; in fact, there was no knowing what she might 
 deem proper to say or to do, if one of her wayward moods 
 came over her ! 
 
 It so happened that, beyond meeting his daughter acci- 
 dentally for a moment or so, he had not seen her for 
 nearly eighteen months. As he remembered this fact, he 
 could not but take shame to himself, and resolve that for 
 the future he would evince some interest in the child who 
 had Icen left to him by the wife he loved. The six- 
 o'clock-din ier being over, and the Countess having re- 
 tired with the "affronted" air, which was fast becoming 
 her ordinary expression, he left the table, and at once pro- 
 ceeded to the schoolroom, where Clarissa lived. For a 
 wonder he found her alone, Madame having gone early to
 
 }?4 LADY CLARIS SJI. 
 
 bed with a b&d headache. Clarissa looked up surprised 
 when he made his unexpected entry. 
 
 " Madame is gone to bed very poorly," she began to ex- 
 plain, as her father came up to the table where she was 
 seated, busy with her crayons and pencils. It never oc- 
 curred to her that his visit could be solely, or even chiefly, 
 to herself ; and she even felt a little frightened at the 
 idea of receiving him alone. But what was her astonish- 
 ment when he drew her towards him, and kissed her affec- 
 tionately, replying, " Never mind Madame ; I came to see 
 yon, Clarissa. How you are grown, and how much you 
 are improved ! H 
 
 Clarissa could scarcely believe that she was wide-awake. 
 Never, in all her life, had he kissed her but coldly, and 
 as a matter of form ; never had he spoken to her in that 
 kindly, familiar tone. What could it portend ? What 
 did it mean ? And was she not dreaming one of her 
 customary clay-dreams ? But the girl was too well-bred, 
 too thoroughly a patrician, to manifest openly her pro- 
 found astonishment. The Countess, under similar circum- 
 stances, would have freely expressed in word and gesture 
 her wild amazement, for she had entered upon polite life 
 too late to learn the sublime lessons of self-control which 
 came quite naturally to her despised step-daughter. The 
 Earl, however, noticed the inward agitation, and at the 
 same time admired the matchless self-possession of 
 Clarissa. He was glad to perceive that one woman of his 
 family would know now to behave herself, and still more 
 he rejoiced to discern in his daughter those innate signs 
 of self-government and reticence, without which Madame's 
 training would never have perfectly succeeded. " Come, 
 now ! " he said presently, "let us talk freely ! Tell me all 
 about yourself, Clarissa ! " 
 
 But that it was not in her power to do. Her whole life 
 long there had been a great gulf fixed between her sur- 
 viving parent and herself, and she could not at a 
 moment's notice overleap it, or even cross the bridge 
 which he so hastily and abruptly threw over it for her 
 benefit. She could not realise the truth of her present 
 position. Her words would not come ; her lips seemed 
 closed, her tongue fettered. Besides, what could she say
 
 about herself that he would care to know ? Nothing ever 
 happened; it was indeed with her, the "trivial round, 
 the common task." The rule of her life was unvarying ; 
 she rose at her appointed hour, she dressed, she walked, 
 she studied, she practised, she drew, she rendered unques- 
 tioning obedience to her governess. What was there in 
 all this to describe ? What was there that could possibly 
 interest any living creature ? He too well understood her 
 perplexity, and he chid himself, not her, that there should 
 be this icy barrier between them. He could only hopa 
 that it was not too late, that the barrier was not abso 
 lutely impenetrable. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " he asked, as the readiest way 
 of setting her, in some measure, free from the overpower- 
 ing restraint, at the same time stretching out his hand 
 towards her drawing-board. 
 
 " I am finishing a sketch I took at Barleswood, last 
 September," she replied. " I had prepared my lessons 
 for to-morrow, and Madame gave me permission to spend 
 my evening as I chose, provided I did not sit up after 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 " Is that your regular bedtime ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Madame insists particularly on early hours ; I 
 must retire at nine precisely, and be in bed at half-past, 
 when my candle is taken away. And nurse and Sweetie 
 both say this is good for me ; and they talk about ' beauty- 
 sleep ' only, I have not any beauty ; and I am afraid 
 never shall have any, even if I go to bed at eight o'clock 
 all my life, and rise soon enough in the morning to wash 
 my face with the dew, which they tell me is an infallible 
 cosmetic." 
 
 " You are very well," the Earl answered ; " you are 
 greatly improved in looks ! You will never, perhaps, be 
 an accredited beauty ; beauties are rare, and they grow 
 rarer every year. At this moment, I do not know any 
 woman, in any rank, one-half so lovely as your own 
 mother. No ! you will never be anything like her ; you 
 take after my family. But you have her eyes ! they are 
 just the same colour, and have just the same expression ! 
 Eyes such as yours would redeem far worse features 
 from anything like plainness. I wonder I never noticed
 
 3.76 LADY CLAEISSJL 
 
 them before ! And now I come to observe yon closely, 1 
 perceive that you have a look of her somewhere about the 
 mouth. I am glad that Madame is wise enough to insist 
 on early and regular hours. Now let me look at your 
 drawing. Did you do this yourself, Clarissa ? " 
 
 *' Certainly I did. Madame never touches my drawings. 
 But I can do far better than that ; I could not quite catch 
 the perspective, and I know this bit of foreground is 
 rather out of drawing. I should have laid it aside, only 
 Madame has made it a rule that I shall finish to the besfc 
 of my ability everything which I once commence." 
 
 " An excellent rale, child ! I wish someone had made 
 and enforced such a rule, for my benefit, when I was a 
 boy. I should have been less of a weathercock than I 
 have been, always to my own undoing. Bat I think I am 
 learning a little wisdom at last. It is never too late to 
 mend, you know. Now, then, as to this drawing. I am 
 not unacquainted with the rules of art, and I see at a glance 
 that it is faulty ; still, it is not a bad sketch. Nay ; it is 
 % very good one clear, spirited, and delicately touched, 
 such as very few girls at your age, and having had so few 
 advantages, would produce." 
 
 She looked pleased. A glow of satisfaction tinged her 
 generally colourless cheeks, her eyes brightened, her whole 
 face lightened up, so sweet were words of appreciation 
 from lips whence she least expected them. She looked 
 for the moment positively handsome. 
 
 " I had no idea you could draw like this," he continued. 
 " Will you let me look through, your portfolio ? " 
 
 She brought it silently, half pleased and half fright- 
 ened there were some things in it which Madame had 
 never seen, and of which she might, perhaps, have dis- 
 approved ; she watched her father, as one by one he 
 examined the drawings, some in pencil, some in v/ater- 
 colours, some in chalks, and some in simple sepia. She 
 need not have been afraid ; Lord Orwell was delighted, for 
 though no artist himself, he had the true artistic tastes 
 and instincts, and he knew the fine points of a drawing, 
 And could discern the blemishes at a glance. His criti- 
 cisms, equally with his praises, gave Clarissa confidence, 
 nnd soon she began to feel at her ease on this theme, which
 
 UNEXPECTED, BUT DELIGHTFUL, 177 
 
 was evidently one of mutual interest, and she talked fast 
 and intelligently. 
 
 " It seems to me, papa," she said, when her tongue was 
 quite unloosened, and she could express herself freely and 
 without reserve, "that there is a point at which drawing 
 painting, rather becomes poetry ; also there is a point 
 at which poetry becomes painting. Is it not so ? " 
 
 *' I suppose it is. I am sure it is ; though I believe I 
 have never fairly considered the subject. But what has 
 led you to this conclusion ? " 
 
 " Nothing in particular, only when I read some poetry, 
 I feel that I could put it upon canvas, if I had the power. 
 And I can put it upon drawing-paper, to please myself 
 and I am rather hard to please, I think ! And now and 
 then I look at paintings, and I feel as if I wanted to put 
 them into verse." 
 
 *' But you have seen no paintings, child ? " 
 
 " I have so 3n and studied our own. There is one in the 
 grand gallery that I have tried to copy in water-colours 
 Madame permitted me to try it she says it is a Claude ; 
 it is a vintage scene, and there is such a lovely purple and 
 golden haze over all but just the foreground. Madame 
 says that one often does see such beautiful distances in 
 Italy, and in the south of France, especially in the Vau- 
 clnse ; and I have myself seen something like it, only paler 
 and fainter, on our own river, in fine summer evenings. 
 Then there is that little Rembrandt in the octagon parlour j 
 I have copied that, too. Here it is. Oh ! if I had only 
 oils, instead of water-colours ! " 
 
 " You shall have them, and you shall have lessons ! Such 
 a talent as yours ought to be cultivated. It is time you cama 
 out of your shell a little; you are fifteen, are you not ? " 
 
 " In three weeks I shall be fifteen." 
 
 " I must have some talk with Madame Pierrot. She has 
 nothing further to teach you in the way of drawing, I am 
 sure. Ah ! what is this ? " 
 
 " Don't yon see, papa ? it is a copy of the portrait in the 
 great dining-room. I did so want to have a likeness of 
 mamma for my very own. So, when the Countess was at 
 the seaside last summer, I got Madame to let me copy it 
 Is it good ? " 
 
 12
 
 178 1ADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 "It ia excellent! You shall do one for me for my 
 dressing-room. You have caught the exact expression ! 
 That is just your mother's peculiarly sweet smile." 
 
 And Lord Orwell sighed as he thought how many of 
 those lovely smiles he had missed, and how often they must 
 have given place to tears tears of which he was the only 
 cause. Once more he turned to his daughter : " How 
 about your music ? do yon play as well as you draw ? " 
 
 " No, I do not," she answered, ingenuously. "I think 
 I have not the same insight into harmony that I have into 
 drawing. I feel lights, and shades, and colours more than 
 tones and semitones. But I practise regularly, and 
 Madame takes care that I shall only study the best com- 
 positions. I like sacred music best Haydn and Handel, 
 particularly the latter ; and Mozart, and Beethoven, and 
 Gluck. I am afraid I do not care for Corelli." 
 
 "And you speak French, of course ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I seldom speak anything else. And I have 
 been learning Italian for the last year ; it is extremely 
 easy. But Madame does not pretend to speak it fluently. 
 She translates, however, freely, and very soon we are 
 to read Tasso together." 
 
 " You ought to have masters ; yon are of an age now to 
 appreciate the best teaching." 
 
 " But there are none here, are there ? only the funny 
 little old Frenchman at Ipsley, who comes to see Madame 
 now and then. She always calls him Monsieur le Comte ; 
 and she says he was once lord of a fine old chateau, and 
 the owner of large estates on the Loire ; but the dreadful 
 Revolution came, and he saw his only son perish on the 
 scaffold, and his wife died of grief, and he himself with 
 difficulty escaped the vengeance of Robespierre. He saved 
 his life only, not any part of his large fortune, which was 
 all confiscated ; and ever since he came to England he has 
 maintained himself by teaching French, chiefly in ladies' 
 schools. And there are music-masters, too, at Ipsley, now 
 I think of it one of them comes once a week to teach 
 Miss Hammond to play the organ." 
 
 " I am not speaking of Ipsley masters, but of London 
 masters. I should like you to have the very best 
 ittsti'uction."
 
 UNEXPECTED, BUT DELIGHTFUL. 179 
 
 " London masters ! Oh, papa ! But then I should 
 nave to go to London. The masters could not spare the 
 time to come here." 
 
 " Certainly not ! I never thought of such a thing! It 
 is high time you saw something more of life than Orwell 
 affords. You have been shufc up too long." 
 
 " I have been to Ipsley, you know. And I have seen 
 the beautiful minster-church there. And Madame says 
 she thinks we might get as far as Oldcliff this summer. I 
 do so long to see the sea." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you^ have never yet beheld the 
 sea ? " 
 
 " I have seen where the river widens at Hnnsleigh, but 
 that is only the estuary. I want to see the real wide 
 German Ocean. Oh, I should like to see the Mediter- 
 ranean Sea, and foreigu countries ! But for the present 
 I should only think myself too happy to visit London." 
 
 " We will think about it. I should wish you to have 
 every possible advantage; I will talk to Madame Pierrot 
 to-morrow." 
 
 After some further conversation, the Earl rose to depart, 
 and as he took leave of Clarissa she suddenly grasped his 
 hand, and with a strange flutter at her heart, said, "Papa, 
 there is one thing I want to say to you. I have wanted 
 to say it for years." 
 
 Lord Orwell reseated himself. " Say it, then, my dear," 
 he responded encouragingly, expecting some simple, girlish 
 request. 
 
 "It is about poor Tartar, papa, who lost his life through 
 my naughtiness ; and it is about myself too. Do you 
 do yon still believe that I told you a lie when I said I did 
 not set the dog at the Countess ? I shall never be happy 
 till you do believe me." 
 
 The Earl's countenance changed ; the remembrance of 
 that day had always been to him peculiarly painful. The 
 woman Ruffles had been discharged long ago, for certain 
 malpractices, including a great deal of low cunning and 
 unscrupulous deceit ; and, worse still, he had discovered 
 that his wife, though not a deliberate falsifier, could not 
 always be trusted to speak unvarnished truth. She pro- 
 bably convinced herself that things really were as it suited 
 
 122
 
 180 LADY 
 
 her ends to represent them, but she was not particnlar-to 
 convey the exact impression which integrity and honour 
 demanded ; nor did she hesitate to keep silence when a few 
 words would have explained the mystery, and cleared the 
 character of one wrongfully accused. No one knew this 
 better than the Earl himself ; he knew now that Louisa 
 could, under certain circumstances, prevaricate to a con- 
 siderable extent, and that she could say a good deal which 
 would not bear investigation. His heart smote him and 
 it had smitten him many times before as he recalled hia 
 severity to Clarissa; he could only answer, "If yon say 
 so now, Clarissa, of course" I believe you ! I suppose I 
 ought to have taken your word in the first instance, but 
 children are not always to be trusted, you know." 
 
 " I was always to be trusted for speaking the truth. 
 We Oakleighs could not degrade ourselves by falsehood. 
 I tell you, once more, papa, on the word of an Oakleigh, 
 that I was as innocent of setting that dog on Lady Orwell 
 as you were ! Of course, it was very naughty of me to 
 take Tartar into mamma's room, well knowing, as I did, 
 how much she was afraid of him, and how thoroughly he 
 disliked her. I believe I meant to annoy her, and I was 
 not sorry to perceive that she was frightened ; but I had 
 such perfect confidence in my own power over the animal, 
 that I could not imagine any harm would happen. And if 
 she had not shaken me, and struck me, I feel sure that 
 nothing untoward would have occurred. It was madness 
 to touch me while Tartar was by. I confess that I was 
 disobedient in every way, for it was ordered that he 
 should be kept chained up, and, above all, that he never 
 should be suffered to come into Lady Orwell's presence. 
 I confess, too, that I was impertinent that altogether I 
 was in a very naughty frame of mind. But that was all ! 
 I spoke the truth then as now. I was innocent of the 
 crime for which I was punished." 
 
 "I believe you, my dear; and I wish I had believed 
 yon then. I wish I had not punished you." 
 
 " Oh, never mind that ; that was nothing compared with 
 the pain of being reproached as a liar and by you, papa ! 
 But it is all over now, and you trust my word. If only 
 poor Tartar were not dead ! "
 
 UNEXPECTED, BUT DELIGHTFUL. 181 
 
 " Suppose I should tell you lie was, as far as I know, 
 still alive ? " 
 
 " Oh, papa ! but it cannot be. You had him shot and 
 all through me." 
 
 " I gave orders for him to be shot ; but, luckily, the 
 groom could not find him anywhere. So when I inquired 
 if the execution had taken place, and found that it had 
 not, I resolved that he should be sent away to a distance ; 
 for I liked the animal myself, and wished to save his life. 
 Colin, who was one of the few persons he would follow, re- 
 ceived his instructions, and Tartar's sentence of death was 
 commuted to perpetual banishment. Ho went to some 
 one I knew in the north of England, and soon became a 
 great favourite with his new master." 
 
 " That is why I could never find out where he was 
 buried. My dear old dog ! I am so glad I did not kill 
 him ; I always felt as if I had been his murderer. But I 
 do wonder he never came back again." 
 
 " I was very much afraid he would ; in which case his 
 life might have been unavoidably forfeited. I saw the 
 poor fellow about two years ago, and he was ready to 
 devour me in his ecstasy of joy. He would not look at 
 his present owner as long as I remained in the house." 
 
 " Oh, if I could see him ! But no ; I think I would 
 rather not ; it would break my heart to leave him again, 
 and to know that he was another person's dog." 
 
 Clarissa had never felt so happy in her life as when her 
 father left her that evening. The interview had been so 
 unexpected, so sweet, so confidential, that she could hardly 
 persuade herself that she was not dreaming. For once 
 she was disobedient, and involuntarily broke rules, through 
 not hearing or not heeding the clock when it struck nine. 
 She lingered in the place where she had said " good- 
 night ; " she played abstractedly with her pencils, all 
 unconscious of the flight of time, and lost in a rapturous 
 reverie. It was almost ten when it occurred to her to 
 look at her watch, and then she hurried to her room, 
 anxious to infringe no longer than possible, but feeling 
 certain that Madame would willingly accept her apologies 
 in the morning. 
 
 Clarissa went to bed in the happiest frame of mind
 
 182 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 nay, she was so happy that she could not fall asleep 
 as usual, but lay thinking of her father's kindness, of hi? 
 promise of better instruction, of poor old Tartar, living 
 far away in some mysterious region in the North, and oi 
 her mother, whose eyes she had, and of whom her father 
 spoke so tenderly and reverently, till the grey dawn began 
 to creep in through the window-blinds, and the night 
 shadows fled away. And then she slept soundly, and awoke 
 to find that it Avas a brilliant spring morning, and to hear 
 nurse calling her, as she was already very late, and would 
 scarcely be dressed in time for breakfast. 
 
 An hour or two later, the Earl sent for Madame Pierrot, 
 and Clarissa took her morning walk on the terraces 
 alone. Lord Orwell begged Madame to excuse him, in- 
 asmuch as he had requested her attendance instead of 
 waiting on her in the east wing; but he particularly 
 wished to converse with her in his own sitting-room, 
 where they would be secure from interruption. 
 
 "For," he added, "I want to speak to you about my 
 daughter ; I have delayed too long. Is not the time come 
 for some kind of change ? Should she not have the best 
 masters, as other young ladies of her age and rank 
 generally have ? " 
 
 "Ycur lordship has simply forestalled me in this 
 matter," replied Madame Pierrot. " I have several times 
 wished to speak to you on the subject of Lady Clarissa's 
 future, but I was unwilling to intrude. In fact, I only 
 waited till she was fifteen, and then I meant to address 
 you, either personally or by letter." 
 
 " You are satisfied with her general conduct, and with 
 her progress in her studies ? " 
 
 " With both ; I have no fault to find with my pupil. 
 She is most obedient and conscientiously diligent. Her 
 nature is essentially reserved, but exceedingly truthful, 
 and she is the soul of honour. As to purely intel- 
 lectual characteristics, I must confess she has a grasp of 
 mind with which I can only partially deal. She wants 
 to learn a great many things of which I know little or 
 nothing. Mere surface knowledge does not satisfy her; 
 she is intensely thorough, and always in earnest. She 
 will despise the fair shams and specious shows that satisfy
 
 UNEXPECTED, BUT DELIGHTFUL. 183 
 
 most young ladies ; nothing but realities will serve Lady 
 Clarissa." 
 
 " That is as it should be. I am heartily sick myself of 
 make-believes. She speaks French quite fluently, she 
 tells me." 
 
 "As well as I speak it myself," answered Madame, 
 with evident pride. " We are now reading Racine 
 together. Her accent and intonation are perfect. I am 
 teaching her Italian, of which, however, I do not profess 
 to be mistress, though I can render Tasso very fairly into 
 French and English, and can do Dante, in the least diffi- 
 cult parts, tolerably. Lady Clarissa wishes to learn Latin, 
 and we are studying the Eton Grammar together. She 
 plays the piano well, but not brilliantly ; in fact, her 
 playing is more remarkable for its taste and correctness, 
 than for its execution. She ought to have a good music- 
 master, for I have taught her all that I know myself, and 
 my style and touch are, I am well aware, of a day gone 
 by. I think she spoke to yon about her drawing, for 
 which she has, I believe, something more than talent ? " 
 
 "I looked through her portfolio, which contains un- 
 doubted evidences of actual genius. For a mere girl in 
 the schoolroom, who has studied only nature, and two or 
 three good works of art, her productions are marvellous. 
 I have promised her every advantage in this respect." 
 
 " I am most happy to hear it, and Clarissa herself will 
 be delighted. She will amply repay any amount of cara 
 bestowed upon her." 
 
 " How soon can you be ready to go up to town ? " 
 
 " In a few days. I never make much difference in my 
 own toilet, and Lady Clarissa's dresses can be remodelled 
 in London. Indeed, if I may be pardoned for saying so, 
 I think her ladyship's wardrobe requires complete reno- 
 vation ; her attire is scarcely that which becomes the 
 eldest daughter of the Earl of Orwell, though she be a 
 girl still in the schoolroom. During the last two years 
 Lady Clarissa has grown rapidly, and the child's costume 
 scarcely befits the tall slim maiden of fifteen." 
 
 " It shall be attended to. In fact, Madame, I think you 
 had better attend to it yourself. Your judgment and taste 
 are alike unimpeachable ; therefore I shall thank you to
 
 184 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 give all necessary orders for your pupil, and send in 
 the bills to me. We shall, or rather, you will, if you 
 approve, remain in town till the autumn, and then I pro- 
 pose that you should go to Brighton. Clarissa tells me 
 that she has never seen the sea. I could hardly credit 
 my ears ; I thought you all went with the Countess to 
 Orsmonth, and to Scalby ?" 
 
 " All excepting Lady Clarissa and myself. We re- 
 mained at home ; but I took advantage of the beautiful 
 summer weather to accompany my pupil to Ipsley, and to 
 Hunsleigh Port. I could not well compass more, and I 
 feared lest I should be supposed to be taking too much on 
 my sole responsibility." 
 
 " In future we will try to understand each other better. 
 For the present, I shall feel obliged by your making all 
 requisite preparations for this day week." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE COUNTESS AT HOME. 
 
 ** If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 It were done quickly." 
 
 ALL this was very well, and the Earl experienced the 
 happy glow of feeling which ever attends virtuous re- 
 solves ; but the worst was yet to come. That Clarissa 
 should go to London, and receive the best instruction, 
 and enjoy such advantages as a nobleman's daughter may 
 reasonably expect to fall to her share, he was thoroughly 
 determined ; and Lord Orwell could upon occasion, as 
 those about him could scarcely fail to know, be very much 
 and persistently in earnest when he had once made up his 
 mind. But how would the Countess receive the informa- 
 tion, which he must perforce impart to her, and that with- 
 out any loss of time ? for in twenty-four hours they would 
 be on their way to the metropolis. For a moment he waa
 
 THE COUNTESS AT HOME. 185 
 
 half inclined to leave her to make the inevitable dis- 
 covery ; but it was only for a moment that the idea of 
 this craven policy prevailed. He was not at heart a 
 coward, though, like many other men who have placed 
 themselves in false positions, he was sometimes fain to 
 sacrifice a good deal for the sake of peace and quietness. 
 It would not be fair to Clarissa or to her governess to 
 leave either of them to make explanations, or to expose 
 them to that fire of questions and cross-questions to which 
 he had himself so decided an objection. For the first 
 time for many years the Earl resolved to lay aside all per- 
 sonal considerations, and to do his duty, however dis- 
 agreeable it might be. And that it would prove excessively 
 disagreeable he could not doubt. He had had many and 
 varied experiences of his lady's humours, when a stronger 
 will was opposed to hers ; and that she would be 
 " affronted " now, beyond all precedent, was no more 
 than he expected. 
 
 " I'll go and do it at once," he said to himself ; " I'll go 
 now while the mood is upon me, and before my courage 
 wanes. When a double tooth must come out, it is the 
 wisest plan to resort immediately to your dentist ; delay 
 only aggravates your pains, and heightens the horrors of 
 anticipation ; I'll get it over at once. A pretty sharp 
 fight we shall have ; but Clarissa shall enjoy her rights. 
 K"ow, then, to face the Gorgon ! " 
 
 And without further procrastination, the Earl set off 
 for the morning room, where he supposed his wife, at that 
 hour, might be found. As he approached this room, 
 which was at the end of a long corridor, his ears were 
 assailed by a most tremendous uproar, that grew louder 
 and louder as he advanced. When he reached the door, 
 he paused, and listened in dismay. Had "Bedlam" 
 broken loose ? Had a party of frantic lunatics invaded 
 the ancient domains of Orwell ? What was the matter ? 
 what could have occurred to cause such shrieks and 
 ^ells and horrid howls ? Another moment, however, 
 convinced him that " the children " were holding mad 
 carnival out of bounds, and that their mamma was sanc- 
 tioning by her presence their noisy demonstrations, 
 worthy of the infants of St. Giles' and Field Lane.
 
 186 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 He opened the door, but no one heard him enter. Hia 
 wife sat at her desk, writing an elaborate epistle on hot- 
 pressed, perfumed, rose-tinted paper, apparently insensible 
 to the wild clamour of her unruly flock. Lord Fordham, 
 and his brother Augustus were engaged in pugilistic en- 
 counter, and the Honourable Mr. Oakleigh was evidently 
 getting the worst of it ; the Honourable Sydney John was 
 vigorously thumping Lady Louisa Maria, who had gob- 
 bled up her brother's share of sweetmeats as well as her 
 own, and her small ladyship was defending herself as well 
 as she could with her finger-nails, and shrieking like an 
 excited Indian rushing on his foe, while the boy, between 
 the blows and scratches, called loudly on his mother to 
 interfere. Lady Selina sat on the floor crying over a 
 broken toy, as only spoiled children with strong Iung3 
 and acrid tempers can cry. The baby yelled in her cradle, 
 another child was playing with the fireirons, two small 
 dogs barked wildly, and a parrot in a gilded cage was 
 alternately inquiring, " Now, what's the row ? " and 
 adding to the concert by screaming at the top of her shrill 
 voice. 
 
 " Is this Bedlam or Babel, or both combined ? " asked 
 his lordship, in angry disgust. Lady Orwell saw her hus- 
 band, and dropped her gold pen upon the rose-hued page, 
 as she strove vainly to reduce her noisy brood to order. 
 
 " Now, Fordham, I won't have it ! " said her ladyship, 
 in the mildest of tones. " Augustus, I'm ashamed of you 
 fighting your elder brother. Have done, I say! " 
 
 Augustus, whose back was turned to his father, only 
 replied by a well-planted blow between the young 
 Viscount's eyes a blow well worthy of an embryo prize- 
 fighter! It has been rumoured that one or two of the 
 Sparks family in a former generation were celebrated for 
 their proficiency in " the noble art of self-defence ; " so 
 perhaps the young gentleman's prowess and talent were 
 ' an inheritance ! 
 
 " Oh, you wicked children! " screamed the Countess, a3 
 the blood flowed copiously from the swelled nose of the 
 young heir. " You shocking boys ! you are just like Cain 
 and Abel, and you'll come to the same bad end as Caiu, 
 Augustus ! You'll be hanged ! "
 
 THE COUNTESS AT HOM8. 187 
 
 " Cain wasn't hanged ! " shouted Augustus, scarcely 
 pausing, and collecting himself for a powerful back- 
 hander. But at that moment he was seized in the rear 
 by his father, who first shook him angrily, and then ad- 
 ministered a few smart cuffs that elicited from the sufferer 
 a succession of infuriated howls and kicks. At the same 
 instant Sydney John and Maria Louisa tumbled over into 
 the fender, Selina roared, the baby appeared to be going 
 into fits, the child at play with the fireirons fell over 
 Sydney John and Maria Louisa., Polly jumped into her 
 swing, and whistled a tune in her most piercing voice, 
 and the two dogs, coming somehow to grief, in the 
 melee, fell upon each other tooth and claw, and added 
 to the general chorus. 
 
 The Earl seized the bell-rope, and pulled it till it broke. 
 A footman hastily appeared, looking scared and irreso- 
 lute ; the man, hearing the clamour, and the prolonged 
 tintinnabulation, naturally imagined that the room was in 
 flames, and all the children burning. " Take these brats 
 away ! " shouted the Earl, trying to make himself heard 
 above the general uproar. " And send the nurses to carry 
 off these squalling babies." The servant picked up the 
 two youngest boys, and bore them away, struggling and 
 protesting, one under each arm. The two elder ones, 
 having received further paternal correction, set up a fear- 
 ful lamentation, and the baby became purple in the face. 
 The dogs were kicked out of the room, Polly got a smart 
 rap on her pate, which sent her down, in sullen silence, 
 to the bottom of her cage, and in a few minutes arrived 
 several women, headed by the paragon Morris, by whose 
 combined efforts the room was at last cleared the wail- 
 ings and shriekings becoming fainter and fainter as the 
 victims were borne towards their own quarters, till at last 
 they became wholly inaudible beyond the double baize- 
 covered doors, which shut in the nurseries. And then 
 Lord Orwell turned sternly to his wife " Louisa, I am 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 " What have I to do with it ? " exclaimed Louisa, with 
 an injured air. " Children will quarrel, and they will 
 make a noise ! It's their nature to, and it does them 
 good."
 
 188 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Does them good to indulge in savage tempers, to fight 
 like baby- champions of the ring ! You were wrong %vhen 
 you likened them to Cain and Abel they are just a 
 couple of young Cains ; and was there ever such a small 
 virago as that child, Maria Louisa ? I saw her dig her 
 nails into Sydney's cheeks. However, they shall have a 
 good whipping presently, all round, every Jack and Jill 
 of them, except the baby, and she shall have a double dose 
 of Dalby's, or whatever you call the narcotic." 
 
 " I am ashamed of you, Orwell," replied the Countess, 
 with a curious mixture of sulkiness and mock dignity. 
 44 You don't deserve to be the father of such fine, promis- 
 ing children, yon don't ; and you didn't ought to be a 
 father at all, you didn't ! " she continued, lapsing insen- 
 sibly into the genuine Sparks' vernacular, as she always 
 did when her anger was forcibly excited. "And I won't 
 have them whipped, poor dear lambs. I won't have them 
 touched, breaking their fine spirits and spoiling their 
 tempers." 
 
 " Judging from what I have just witnessed, I should 
 say their tempers are past spoiling. But seriously, Louisa, 
 can't you keep them in a little better order ? I never in 
 my life heard such a hullabaloo ! A regular Walpnrgis 
 Night ! A mother ought to have some control over her 
 children, surely ! " 
 
 " Pray don't suppose I cannot make them mind me if I 
 choose," returned the Countess, at once "affronted" at 
 the implied censure. It was a tender point with her, as 
 her people knew ; she always protested that she could and 
 would enforce obedience, and at the same time found her- 
 self systematically disobeyed by the young rebels, whom 
 she constantly apostrophised as her own "lambs." She 
 would have given a good deal that the Earl should not 
 have put in an appearance at that most unlucky moment, 
 for she was obliged to acknowledge to herself that the 
 ** lambs " were really behaving with most unlauiblikp, 
 ferocity, and that her " pretty dears " were neither look- 
 ing nor comporting themselves at all prettily ! Neverthe- 
 less, she continued to maintain her position, accusing her 
 husband of unnatural severity, and declaring that the 
 darlings, from Lord Fordham. down to the baby, were
 
 1HE COUNTESS AT HOME. 18? 
 
 terrified at the very sound of his voice, and that " I'll tell 
 papa of you ! " was the most effectual threat current in the 
 nurseries. 
 
 " 1 am quite content to be an ogre if my name has a 
 salutary effect," returned Lord Orwell. " Bat, Louisa, I 
 came here expecting to find you alone. I wanted to tell 
 you that I mean Clarissa to go to town this season ! " 
 
 " Clarissa go to town ! " almost shrieked her ladyship 
 incredulously. " That she shall not ! A child like her go 
 out, indeed ! People would think we were both crazed." 
 
 " I said nothing about her going out. I was not think- 
 ing of her introduction to society. I don't approve of 
 girls making their debut too early, and I intend that 
 Clarissa shall remain in the schoolroom until she is almost 
 eighteen." He spoke with so much quiet decision that 
 the Countess was involuntarily silenced. 
 
 " I don't understand you," she said at length. " What, 
 then, do you purpose by taking the girl to town ? " 
 
 " I propose to give her the best masters. I feel that I 
 have too long neglected my eldest daughter, who evidently 
 regards me with affection, and who gives promise of very 
 superior qualities of mind. She has talents that will 
 amply repay due cultivation." 
 
 The Countess was very angry ; but she had the good 
 sense to control herself, knowing that nothing was to be 
 gained by vituperation. She answered very coolly, " As 
 to talents, I never heard that she had any ; and you 
 acknowledge yourself that Madame Pierrot is an excellent 
 governess. Why make any change ? Is it not more 
 prudent to leave well alone ? " 
 
 " I do not contemplate any change as far as Madame is 
 concerned. I only wish to supplement her instructions by 
 those of masters. You ought to know by this time that 
 young ladies of family invariably complete their education 
 tinder competent professors. And Clarissa is no longer a 
 child, and is, moreover, as Madame Pierrot assures me, 
 well advanced in her studies." 
 
 " You have spoken to Madame Pierrot on the subject?'* 
 she asked hastily, changing colour as she spoke. Nothing 
 annoyed her more than to discover that any person was 
 consulted or informed before herself. She was possessed
 
 190 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 with, a very curious and troublesome jealousy on this 
 point ; and to find out that anything was going on which 
 had not been previously confided to her was to fill her 
 with, the most serious indignation and distress of mind. 
 To use her own phrase, she was sure to be affronted I And 
 when she was affronted she made herself disagreeable to 
 all about her, and peculiarly so to her husband, who in 
 nine cases out of ten was the offender. 
 
 "Naturally," replied Lord Orwell. "To whom else 
 could I have spoken ? Who else knows anything about 
 Clarissa ? " 
 
 " I think I might have been consulted ! It seems to me 
 that I am nobody and nothing in my own family. I am 
 continually being slighted in this way." 
 
 " Do be reasonable, Louisa ! Is it not in the very 
 fitness of things that I should take some small interest in 
 my eldest daughter's welfare ? Ought I not to acquaint 
 myself with her progress ? And have I not come straight 
 to you from Madame Pierrot ? " 
 
 " But you went first to her ! You should have men- 
 tioned your idea to me before yon spoke to her. It is not 
 for Madame Pierrot to decide what shall be, and what shall 
 not, under my roof ! " 
 
 " It was I, not Madame, who decided ; I merely wished 
 to ascertain from her whether Clarissa's education was 
 sufficiently advanced for her to profit by further advan- 
 tages. And I am satisfied that she has just reached that 
 point where a little change is highly desirable. It is, 
 therefore, une chose arranges that Clarissa goes to town." 
 
 " A shows what ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I forgot that your knowledge of 
 French was so limited. I meant to say that it was a 
 settled affair that " 
 
 " But it is not a settled affair ! " interrupted the 
 Countess angrily ; " and what is more, I will not have 
 that girl with me in town on a-ny terms." 
 
 " You need not see more of her than you do here. 
 There is the old schoolroom, which can be fitted up for 
 Madame and Clarissa. They will live there, of course ; 
 they will in no wise interfere with your arrangements. 
 Clarissa will be very busy with her masters, and I shall
 
 THE COUNTESS AT H03TS. 191 
 
 v?ish Madame to take her to different places of historical 
 note, and to show her some of the works of art which 
 abound in London." 
 
 "I don't see that girls require so much education. I 
 suppose you are anxious about Clarissa because she is so 
 very plain, and therefore not likely to marry. Your blue- 
 stockings are generally ugly enough." 
 
 " I do not wish her to become what is vulgarly called 
 a ' blue- stocking.' I only desire that she shall receive 
 the education to which by birth and position she is en- 
 titled ; it is positive cruelty and injustice to withhold 
 from a child any possible advantage in the way of in- 
 struction." 
 
 " Perhaps you intend her to go out as a governess ? " 
 
 " "What do you mean, madam ? No daughter of my 
 house ever yet worked for a living." 
 
 "Nevertheless, Clarissa may. Suppose you died to- 
 morrow ! Do you think I would keep her a girl who has 
 always treated me injuriously, and whose influence over 
 my own sweet children I dread beyond expression ? She 
 would have to turn out pretty quickly, I can tell you ; and, 
 as far as I can ascertain, her mother had not a brass penny 
 to her fortune ! I suppose it was a case of ' my face is 
 my fortune, sir, she said.' " 
 
 " I am glad your ladyship speaks so candidly. You 
 remind me of what I had almost forgotten. I will give 
 Mr. Hadfield instructions as soon as we arrive in town." 
 
 " Instructions about what ? " 
 
 "About a proper provision for Clarissa. Your own 
 children will be amply provided for. The title and es- 
 tates descend, of course, to Fordham. S waff dale, which 
 is your own dower-house, goes to Augustus, and the 
 marriage settlement takes care of the younger ones. 
 Clarissa alone is portionless." 
 
 " And so you will portion her with my money ? A verj 
 fair proceeding truly, when I have brought you seven 
 children, your lawful and natural heirs." 
 
 " Clarissa is as naturally and lawfully my heir as any of. 
 her brothers and sisters. Of course, in a legal point of 
 view, Fordham, as my eldest son, is my heir. But I was 
 using the word in its broadest sense ; I meant to observe
 
 12 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 that Clarissa's rights to a future Drovision were inalien- 
 able." 
 
 " Bat all the money yon have is mine." 
 
 " I beg yonr pardon ! All the money you have is mine ! 
 The husband holds his own ; the wife holds nothing, but 
 from her husband ! There is your settlement, of course, 
 with which I neither can nor will interfere. But you 
 must recollect that a very large sum was paid over to my 
 bankers, on the occasion of our marriage, and that part 
 of it went to redeem the encumbered estates, while the re- 
 mainder continued at my own disposal. On any other 
 terms, you had never been Countess of Orwell ! You 
 force me to say what is ungallant ; but truth is truth." 
 
 " I wonder you are not ashamed to make such admis- 
 sions." 
 
 " I am ashamed ! And yet, at this moment, I do not 
 see what else I could have done, situated as I was. And 
 I never supposed yon would display so much temper, and 
 turn out a jealous and exacting wife. However, I did 
 not deceive yon any more than yon deceived me. I never 
 pretended to be in love with you, and I knew that yon 
 were in love with my title and rank only. Why should 
 we reproach each other now ? Why should we not make 
 the best of what remains to ns ? I wish you to go your 
 own way, and do exactly as yon like ; and I claim for my- 
 self equal privileges. I never was, and never will be, a 
 hen-pecked husband." 
 
 " I don't want to hen-peck you ! Hen-pecking is shock- 
 ing bad taste. But I won't be a slighted, neglected 
 wife ; I have a spirit of my own, and I won't meekly sub- 
 mit to be ignored. And, to come to the point, I won't 
 have yonr termagant daughter, Clarissa, with me in town. 
 And if yon leave any of my money to her, I will dispute 
 it to the utmost farthing. And that's the long and short 
 of it! " 
 
 " Louisa, why will you provoke me beyond endurance ? 
 It seems to me yon are actually seeking a bitter quarrel. 
 Have a care ! If yon say much more I will leave yon, 
 never to return. I will take Clarissa with me, and you 
 shall not be troubled with either of ns any more." 
 
 At which threat, by no means a novel one only Clar'ssa'a
 
 THE COUVTESS AT HOME. 193 
 
 name had never before been involved the Conntess burst 
 into passionate tears, and bewailed her unhappy fate. 
 Doubtless she was pained, but one cannot feel much 
 sympathy with her distress, since all her vexations, all her 
 petty jealousies, all her matrimonial troubles of every 
 kind, arose not from wounded love, but from self-love ; 
 not from disappointed affection, but from bad temper and 
 a mean, exacting spirit. And she suffered far more from, 
 imaginary slights than from actual wrongs, as in the 
 present case her mind being chiefly disturbed by the fact 
 that Lord Orwell had consulted the governess before her- 
 self. If he had come to her in the first instance, he might 
 have won from her a reluctant consent to his project ; but 
 now she was firmly resolved that she would never yield 
 the point. If he persisted, there should be open war 
 between them. So far, she had disliked and despised 
 Clarissa purely on account of the old grudge, and because 
 she was her mother's daughter; but now that the Earl 
 gave evidence of his affection for her, she became suddenly 
 and unreasonably jealous ; and Clarissa was hated with a 
 double hatred. 
 
 Lord Orwell was extremely annoyed. He could not 
 bear to disappoint Clarissa by telling her that, after all her 
 expectations, she must remain as usual at the Castle. Also, 
 he winced under the sense of being conquered by his 
 wife ; also, his judgment told him that with such a woman 
 submission was fatal. If for peace' sake he yielded now 
 and then an inch, she would ever after demand, and 
 probably attain, an ell ! Of course he could set her at 
 defiance, but, to do him justice, he did not prefer that 
 course of action. And then she might, and certainly 
 would, revenge herself on the innocent cause of her dis- 
 pleasure. Clarissa, afber all, would be the victim, to say 
 nothing of Madame, who would probably not put up 
 with my lady's freaks of humour, if they assumed a, 
 serious shape. For Madame could be offended, though 
 not so easily as the Countess could be affronted. At 
 length a brilliant idea struck him, and once more he 
 hastened to his wife's boudoir, and found her, as sho 
 declared, extremely unwell from " violent nervous head- 
 ache." 
 
 13
 
 194 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " I am sorry to disturb you, then," lie said ; " but I 
 think I see a way to split the difference between us. I 
 wonder I did not think of it before. Of course, you will 
 go up to town to-morrow, with as many servants as you 
 require, and take the children with you, if you wish it. 
 I will remain here for a few days longer, and then go 
 direct to Paris with Clarissa and Madame. Paris will 
 do quite as well as London for Clarissa ; and Madame will 
 be delighted to revisit her native country. That will do 
 very nicely, will it not ? We shall each please ourselves, 
 and there will be no clashing anywhere ! " 
 
 But this was the crnelest wrong of all ! If he could 
 not feel the devotion he ought to feel towards his lady, at 
 least he need not publish his indifference to the world by 
 taking up his abode in Paris for the season, and leaving 
 her to go out alone in London, in the equivocal position 
 of a deserted wife ! It is needless to say another scene 
 ensued, and Lord Orwell quitted the apartment in deeper 
 disgrace than ever. 
 
 But the Countess, left to her own reflections, began to 
 fear that she had gone a little too far, and that she must 
 somehow come to a speedy compromise. She was no 
 favourite with her fashionable friends ; there were plenty 
 who would rejoice over her discomfiture, and talk scandal 
 about her and the Earl, if they spent the season apart in 
 different countries. And she was terribly afraid of the 
 071 dits of " Mrs. Grnndy." 
 
 Late that evening the Earl received a brief note from 
 his wife. If he would give up the Paris scheme, and go 
 with her on the morrow to town, in proper Darby-and- 
 Joaii fashion, she would consent to Clarissa and her 
 governess joining them at the time he had appointed. Ho 
 at once accepted terms, and went himself to the Countess 
 to express his satisfaction. And : so a treaty of peace, or 
 at least a truce, was concluded there and then between 
 them.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A MORNING OF SURPRISES. 
 
 " For this my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, 
 and is found." LUKE xv. 24. 
 
 CLARISSA lived a very secluded life in London. She 
 studied with Madame, she took lessons from several 
 masters, and she visited all the art galleries and exhibi- 
 tions of that day; bat she "never on any occasion joined 
 in the festivities in which her stepmother freely indulged ; 
 nor was she ever seen, except accidentally, by any of her 
 father's guests. Yet she was extremely happy, happier 
 than she had ever been in all her life, or so, at least, she 
 fancied. She saw beautiful pictures, which she was 
 permitted to examine at her leisure ; she was taken to the 
 Tower, to Westminster Abbey, to St. Paul's, and to all 
 such public buildings as were connected with national 
 history either past or present, and nearly every morning, 
 while all the fashionable world was asleep, she enjoyed her 
 walk in Kensington Gardens or the parks. Nor was that 
 all ; her father, though he did not often visit her apart- 
 ments, was invariably kind and even affectionate when 
 they did meet, and he showed by many trifling attentions 
 that she was by no means forgotten, and that he was 
 taking real interest in the progress of her education. 
 
 Madame Pierrot also enjoyed herself, and appreciated 
 to the full the change which she had long desired. Nor 
 was she insensible to the pleasure of superintending her 
 pupil's toilet, and she took great pains in order that 
 Clarissa should make a suitable appearance. For it was 
 quite time, as she told the girl, that she- learned how to 
 dress ; anybody could wear clothes, but there was a cer- 
 tain art in dressing which few Englishwomen ever under- 
 stood, and which could only be communicated by a 
 Frenchwoman of a certain rank. At the same time, 
 Madame had the discretion, as well as the good taste, to 
 
 13 2
 
 196 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 provide for her young lady only the simplest and plainest 
 of costumes ; she dressed her just as a girl in the school- 
 room should be dressed, partly because an elegant sim- 
 plicity was decidedly her forte, and partly because she 
 deprecated the interference and invidious criticisms of the 
 Countess if she should discern any startling alterations in 
 Clarissa's ontward arraying. 
 
 Nevertheless, her ladyship did greatly demur to the fact 
 that her step-daughter's dresses were new, and of excellent 
 material, and also of regulation length the truth being 
 that she greatly objected to Clarissa's aristocratic air and 
 style ; she could not disguise from herself that the girl, 
 though no beauty, was every inch an earl's daughter 
 " the daughter of a hundred earls," if it came to that ! 
 while she strove in vain to convince herself that she 
 looked a countess, " to the manner born." Alas ! when 
 she contemplated her own image in the glass, in spite of 
 all her goodly raiment, in spite of silks, and satins, and 
 costly lace, and jewels that were a fortune in themselves, 
 there was always the widow Shrosbery confronting her, 
 instead of Lady Orwell. Worse still, there were visions 
 now and then of Louisa Sparks, as she appeared in the 
 old Whitechapel days, only stouter, redder, and a thousand 
 times more self-confident \ 
 
 One morning Clarissa had quite a double adventure. 
 She had been with Madame to her dressmaker's, and 
 aftervvardsj remembering that there were some fresh 
 pictures of note being exhibited in a gallery close at hand, 
 she expressed her wish to see them. Madame had no 
 objection ; on the contrary, she was glad to give her pnpi! 
 every opportunity while the town sojourn lasted, for the 
 Earl had warned her that she must not rely upon its 
 speedy repetition. She therefore responded with alacrity, 
 and gave orders to drive to Hanover Square, where the 
 paintings were on private view ; they were already fur- 
 nished by the Earl himself with the requisite tickets of 
 admission. 
 
 There were many more pictures than they had expected, 
 but as they had dismissed the carriage, intending to walk 
 home, they were in no hurry to leave the rooms in which 
 they found so much well worthy of their attention. They
 
 A MORNING OF SURPRISES. 197 
 
 stayed, indeed, much longer than they had intended, the 
 time slipping by without their being at all aware of it, 
 and it was Clarissa who at length proposed that they should 
 take one last hasty survey, and then leave the place. This 
 final glance, however, occupied a full half -hour, and the 
 gallery for it was now the height of the season, and the 
 middle of the day had become tolerably crowded. 
 Clarissa was intently contemplating a beautiful landscape 
 of the Claude school, which reminded her of the river at 
 Orwell after a fine summer sunset, when she was startled 
 by a sudden grasp, or clutch rather, which Madame gave 
 at her arm, and turned to find her cTiaperone deadly pale, 
 and so agitated as to be unable to stand without support. 
 
 "Dear Madame, you are ill!" exclaimed Clarissa. 
 " How thoughtless I have been, dragging you about all the 
 morning ! and you said at breakfast time you were not 
 feeling very well. Let us go into the little room at the 
 end, while you recover yourself, and I will request one of 
 the porters downstairs to call a coach." 
 
 But Madame turned still paler, and trembled visibly, 
 while the only reply she gave was : " Mon Dieu ! mon 
 Dieu ! Est il possible ? " 
 
 " Is what possible ? " asked Clarissa, greatly frightened ; 
 for Madame, unlike the generality of her countrywomen, 
 was by no means prone to call lightly or casually on the 
 Holy Name. She would not say " Mon Dieu!" in that 
 tone, and with that look, without some very strong cause 
 for her emotion. " Dear Madame," again pleaded Clarissa, 
 " do tell me what distresses you ! " 
 
 " It is he ! it is he ! " she faintly mnrmnred, her head 
 sinking on Clarissa's shoulder ; "it is my husband! It is 
 his ghost ! for he, my beloved Henri, died years ago 
 upon the scaffold ! He comes to warn me that my days 
 on earth draw to their close." . 
 
 Really alarmed, Clarissa looked about her for some 
 assistance, but it so happened that all the company were 
 congregated at the other end of the long room, and no 
 one was near them except some gentlemen, to whom the. 
 girl hesitated to appeal. And yet, sustain Madame's 
 weight much longer she could not, and the poor old lady, 
 as it seemed to her, was talking quite deliriously. Though
 
 198 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 qnite contrary to the punctilious maxims of propriety with 
 which Clarissa had been carefully imbued, she was almost 
 constrained to speak to the gentleman nearest to her, when 
 she saw a young lady, with an elderly attendant, coming 
 rapidly towards the place where they were standing. 
 
 " Is the lady ill ? Can my maid and I be of any ser- 
 vice ?" asked the stranger, as soon as she perceived that 
 something unusual was occurring. 
 
 " Oil, yes ! thank you, yes ! " replied Lady Clarissa, 
 
 eagerly ; " if you only would if you would be so very 
 
 kind as to help me to get Madame to that little room 
 further on, where nobody scarcely comes." 
 
 " Certainly ! " said the young lady, promptly, offering 
 her arm ; "and you, Bridget, take the other side." Then 
 to Clarissa : " You are almost as pale as your friend, 
 madam ; it is enough that you support yourself." 
 
 This kindly young person was about twenty years of 
 age, but she did not look much older than Clarissa. One 
 could scarcely call her pretty, and yet she had a fair, 
 sweet face, full of benevolence and tender thought for 
 others. She was rather pale ; her features were regular 
 so regular that but for a certain animation which con- 
 tinually overspread them they might have been called 
 insipid; her manner was perfectly well-bred, and even 
 graceful ; her dress, though plain, was expensive and 
 becoming; and her voice at once reminded Clarissa of 
 strains of sweetest music. 
 
 By the united efforts of this good Samaritan and her 
 maid, Madame Pierrot was safely conveyed to the little 
 end room, where there was a sofa, and where she could re- 
 main quietly till she was equal to returning home. When 
 she was a little recovered, she began to apologise for tho 
 trouble she had given, and to thank the strange lady and 
 her servant,,who had shown her so much courtesy. While 
 she spoke, a gentleman appeared in the doorway, but he, 
 seeing the group about the sofa, immediately withdrew. 
 
 Not, however, before Madame Pierrot had perceived 
 him, and again she became rigid and incoherent. " There ! 
 there! "she cried, clasping convulsively her thin hands', 
 " oh, Lady Clarissa ! he comes again ! " 
 
 Clarissa had seen the unconscious cause of so much agi-
 
 A MORNING OF SURPRISES. 199 
 
 tation, and had at once decided that Madame was tmdet 
 some strange hallucination. The gentleman in question, 
 whom she had herself noticed more than once during the 
 morning, was evidently a foreigner, though elderly, cer- 
 tainly not nearly old enough to be the husband of 
 Madame Monsieur Pierrot having been, as she well 
 knew, at least a do/en years the senior of his wife, and 
 Madame was now on the shady side of sixty. But then, 
 it was not Monsieur, but his ghost, which Madame recog- 
 nised, and, thought Clarissa, " Perhaps they don't grow 
 older in the other world ! Monsieur Pierrot might have 
 been about five-and-forty when he was guillotined, and he 
 still remains the same. Ah ! but that is nonsense ; I don'fc 
 believe in ghosts that show themselves ; and W!K ^er 
 there be ghosts or not, that gentleman is undoubtedly a 
 flesh-and-blood mortal like ourselves. Why, he wore 
 spectacles ! " 
 
 And but that she was so truly concerned for her gover- 
 ness, Clarissa could have laughed outright at the notion 
 of a ghost in gold-rimmed spectacles, with short-cropped 
 grey hair, a waxed moustache, and a printed catalogue of 
 the exhibition in his hand. No ! the gentleman was cer- 
 tainly not M. Pierrot, and quite as certainly not his appa- 
 rition. " You are deceived, dear Madame," she said ; 
 " that gentleman is young enough to be your son. 
 Monsieur, your husband, would be so much older, you 
 know." 
 
 " My son ! Ah, Clarissa ! he, too, is dead ; he died long, 
 long ago, a mere boy, as I have often told you. He was 
 a lovely child w r hen I saw him last ! Mon petit Henri! 
 mon beau garqon ! No ! it was my husband ; did you see 
 him ? " 
 
 " Certainly I did, and quite as certainly I saw nothing 
 ghostlike in his appearance. It was just an elderly 
 French gentleman I saw ; I have seen several such while 
 I have been in town." 
 
 "I tell you it was Henri Pierrot, my murdered hus- 
 band. Child ! child ! do you think that a wife who has 
 truly loved, ever forgets the face and mien of the husband 
 of her youth ? But, ah ! you cannot tell, because you 
 are a child. No ! the lapse of years long, cruel years*
 
 200 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 is as the lapse of hours only when once more one sees the 
 well-remembered face. My Henri comes to call me 
 hence : God permits me this great grace." 
 
 " Can we not speak to this gentleman ? " said the 
 etrange lady. " It will never do to let the affair end here ; 
 Madame is so much affected, so deeply impressed, that 
 the consequences might be serious if she were left to the 
 belief that she had really seen her departed husband an 
 inhabitant of the world beyond the grave ! Come with 
 me, and point him out, Lady Clarissa that is the name 
 your frieud called you by, I think ? I did not myself 
 observe the person, though I perceived someone in the 
 doorway yonder. Bridget will take care of Madame." 
 
 Clarissa acquiesced: she felt that Madame must be 
 calmed and satisfied at any price. If the gentleman 
 would only come and speak a few words, the delusion 
 would at once be dissipated. Accompanied by her new 
 friend, she left the room, in search of the unconscious 
 cause of such singular distress. 
 
 As they passed along, she said, " I must tell you that 
 Madame Pierrot's husband would be between seventy and 
 eighty years of age if he were living. And you don't 
 believe in ghosts, I suppose ? " 
 
 " The popular and vulgar belief in ghosts I certainly 
 disown j I am far from superstitions, yet I do think that 
 one's eyes might, under certain circumstances, be opened 
 to behold that which is not mortal that which is com- 
 monly invisible to flesh and blood; but I have no hesitation 
 in saying that the gentleman in question is quite as much 
 an ordinary human being as anyone else in these rooms 
 at present." 
 
 "He wore spectacles, and his moustache was waxed, 
 French fashion," said Clarissa, impressively. 
 
 " Most unghostlike. Besides, a bond-fide ghost would 
 have appeared to Madame alone ; it would not have shown 
 itself to you, to me even, to all these good people saunter- 
 ing up and down." 
 
 " And to the officials downstairs, for I suppose he must 
 have bought and paid for the catalogue of the pictures 
 which he held in his hand. Bat I do not see him any- 
 where about."
 
 A MORNING OP SURPRISES. 201 
 
 " How is he dressed ? " 
 
 " In ordinary morning costume. His trousers are light, 
 his coat, I fancy, is bottle-green, and he is not very tall." 
 
 " There he is, then ! Look ! he is just beside that stoufc 
 lady in ths embroidered pelisse. I am sure it is he light 
 trousers, green coat, gold spectacles, waxed moustache, 
 and all ! even to the catalogue in hand, which, as you 
 truly remarked, must have been purchased of the officials 
 downstairs. Am I not right ? " 
 
 " Yon are, madam. Now what shall we do ? Will 
 you speak to him ? Yon are older than I is it not so ? 
 lam only a school-girl." 
 
 " I have ceased to be a school-girl for several years ; 
 nevertheless, as Madame is your friend, I think it would 
 be better if you spoke to him yourself." 
 
 " Very well," replied Clarissa; " I will accost this gen- 
 tleman, if yon think it is right that I should do so. But 
 I am very glad of your countenance at this crisis, and I 
 thank you heartily for your great courtesy and kindness." 
 
 At this moment the gentleman turned, and beheld the 
 two girls close to him, and evidently desirous to address 
 him. He immediately bowed as only a Frenchman can 
 bow, and with ths utmost respect said, in very bad Eng- 
 lish, " Is it that I can assist you, honoured meeses ? I 
 am your very humble servant." 
 
 Without the slightest embarrassment, Clarissa replied, 
 in the purest French accent " Sir, I entreat your pardon ; 
 but I should esteem it a great favour if you would accom- 
 pany this lady and myself into another room, where I 
 have left my governess, who has been deeply affected at 
 the sight of you. She is an old lady who has known 
 great and terrible afflictions, and she has suddenly taken 
 it into her head that you are one of her departed relatives." 
 
 The gentleman his face was as kind as his manner- 
 was polite smiled, and replied : " With pleasure will I 
 accompany you, dear mademoiselle ; but let mo assure you 
 that I am not yet ' departed.' As for relatives, alas ! 
 I have none, none, at least, who are near of kin. Tho 
 awful Revolution left me alone in my desolate childhood. 
 Your governess is French as well as yourself ? " 
 
 " I am not French, Monsieur j I was never in Franco ;
 
 202 IiADT CLARISSA. 
 
 but my governess is French, and she and I converse 
 always in her native language." 
 
 " May I ask your governess's name ? " 
 
 " She is Madame Pierrot, nee de Brecy, and she *' 
 
 And here Clarissa found herself reduced to sudden 
 silence, for the gentleman turned pale, even as Madame 
 had done at sight of him. He absolutely staggered as he 
 laid his hand upon his heart, and, singular to record, the 
 words he uttered were precisely those which bad fallen 
 from the lips of Madame not a quarter of an hour before : 
 *' Hon Dieu ! mon Dieu / Est il possible ? " 
 
 And again Clarissa asked tremblingly what was pos- 
 sible ! He rallied quickly, and replied, almost with a sob, 
 " My name is Pierrot ; my father was guillotined, and my 
 mother was Helene de Brecy. Can it be, can it be, that 
 I have found my mother, whom they declared was dead ?" 
 
 " I think it must be ! " replied Clarissa, excitedly. 
 " Madame' s name is Helene; I have seen Helene de 
 Brecy written in some old books of hers books of devo- 
 tion. Oh ! let us go to her." 
 
 "Will not the shock be too great? " asked the other 
 lady. " Madame seemed very weak." 
 
 " She will not be pacified till she has seen Monsieur," 
 returned Clarissa. " But if he will wait just one moment, 
 I will go and say that he is a friend of hers, and a friend 
 of her late husband, and that he begs to speak to her." 
 
 " That will do admirably. A few words by way of 
 preparation will suffice." 
 
 " One moment, I pray you," interrupted Monsieur 
 Pierrot, as Clarissa was about to depart on her embassy. 
 *' Has Madame Pierrot never spoken of her son ? " 
 
 " She supposes that he is dead. Those who had care of 
 the boy Henri was his name assured her that it was so. 
 She seldom speaks of the past, but she has told me how 
 she was imprisoned, and how her escape was contrived by 
 one of her gaolers, who happened to be an old and faithful 
 retainer of the de Brecy family. She took refuge in 
 England, and England has been her home ever since." 
 
 " Dear Madame," said Clarissa, when she returned to 
 her; "you need not distress yourself; indeed, you may 
 prepare to be very happy, for the gentleman whose like-
 
 A MORNING OP STTBPKISES. 203 
 
 ness to M. Pierrot so agitated you, is a relative of his. I 
 have spoken to him, and he knows all about you and 
 your family, and can give you good news oh ! such good 
 news of your son. He begs to speak to you immediately ; 
 may I bring him ? " 
 
 Madame was so bewildered, and withal so shaken, that 
 Clarissa found some difficulty in making her take in the 
 sense of what she was saying. She understood at last, 
 however, that the imaginary ghost was a real living 
 person, who claimed kindred, and wished to be introduced 
 to her. 
 
 " Who can he be ? " she said, with still the same dazed 
 look in her pale face. " I know of no one all of my own 
 blood perished ; all, or nearly all, my husband's people 
 are dead and gone. Still I must see him ; but, Lady 
 Clarissa, you ought not to have spoken to a strange 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Pray forgive me. It seemed to me that I must 
 speak to him, and I assure you he was excessively polite. 
 Besides, he is nearly as old as papa, I imagine." 
 
 And then Madame tried to compose herself, that she 
 might receive this mysterious stranger with all due cere- 
 mony. She sat upright, drew on her gloves, and smelled 
 at her vinaigrette, looking anxiously towards the door. 
 The two young ladies soon reappeared, bringing with them 
 M. Pierrot, who advanced formally, but evidently with 
 considerable trepidation. He could not remember that 
 he had ever seen that grey-haired, pallid, aged woman 
 before ; but she looked into his face with an indescribable 
 expression, which told him somewhat of her deep and 
 scarcely-subdued emotion. Then he recollected that he 
 had been assured often, on the best authority, that he 
 was the living image of his father and his father must 
 have been very nearly of his age when he died upon the 
 scaffold. 
 
 " Who are you ? " demanded Madame, in a hollow, 
 stifled voice. "Are you the dead come back to life ? " 
 
 " I never died ; but my father, whom I closely re- 
 semble, died a martyr to his king, his country, and his 
 religion many, many years ago." 
 
 " Where did he suffer ? "
 
 204 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " In Paris, on the Place de la GreVe." 
 
 " And his name his name ? Oh ! yon have not only 
 his very face, but his voice ! " 
 
 " His name, which is also mine, was Henri Pierrot, and 
 he married Helene de Brecy. Are you she ? " 
 
 But Madame had fainted ; the dawning joy was too 
 intense for her enfeebled frame. A physician, who was 
 happily in the room, hearing that a lady had swooned, 
 offered his services, and in a short time she was suffi- 
 ciently recovered to be led, or, rather, carried in her son's 
 arms, to the coach which had been called. For when she 
 opened her eyes, and knew that she had not dreamed, she 
 understood it all. Once again she was a mother, and this 
 grave, elderly gentleman was indeed the "petit Henri" 
 whom she had mourned so long as dead. Of course, such 
 a mistake could not easily occur in the present day ; but 
 similar cases were by no means uncommon in the earlier 
 decades of this our nineteenth century, when England and 
 France were at war, and poor France still topsy-turvy 
 in every point of view, from the effects of the shocks and 
 horrors it had sustained after the dethronement of Louis 
 XVI. and his unfortunate queen ; when there was little 
 communication with Continental countries that was not of 
 a belligerent character ; and last not least when there 
 were neither railways, electric telegraphs, nor a depend- 
 able foreign postage. 
 
 " May I not inquire your name ? " asked Clarissa of the 
 young lady who had befriended her, and towards whom 
 she felt herself most unaccountably drawn. "I should so 
 like to see you again. I feel as if we ought to be, at 
 the least, acquaintances." 
 
 "My name is Susan Shrosbery. And yours is Lady 
 Clarissa ? " 
 
 "Lady Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 It was to be a day of startling surprises. "Then," 
 said Miss Shrosbery, her face all aglow "then you must 
 be the eldest daughter of the Earl of Orwell ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am Lord Orwell's eldest daughter," replied 
 Clarissa, much puzzled at her companion's sudden excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " And you have a stepmother ? "
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 205 
 
 "Yes." And Clarissa sighed. She would not trust 
 herself to say another word. 
 
 "Who is also mine," continued Susan. "My father, 
 Peter Shrosbery, was the Countess of Orwell's firsts 
 husband. I am the only surviving child of his former 
 marriage." 
 
 " Why, we must be step-sisters, after a fashion," said 
 Clarissa. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 
 
 " For I'm a lady of high degree ! 
 A lady of fashion, as you may see ; 
 I never soil my milk-white hands, 
 For I've gold and silver, and house and lands, 
 And jewels that really are rich and rare, 
 And for common people I do not care ; 
 I hold my own, as grand as can be, 
 For I'm a lady of high degree ! " 
 
 How Madame Pierrot rejoiced over her long-lost sou 
 needs not to be told. The Earl sympathised with her most 
 entirely, and even the Countess expressed a certain kind 
 of satisfaction, and deigned to congratulate the happy 
 mother, who was almost too happy to bear with com- 
 posure the felicitations of people generally. But the 
 appearance of M. Pierrot led to consequences which no 
 one had foreseen. He was now comfortably settled in his 
 native country, which was restored once again to all the 
 blessings of peace ; he had formed an advantageous con- 
 nection with a silk merchant of Lyons, and ifc was a 
 matter of business that brought him to London, which he 
 was about to leave on the following day, when, in tho 
 picture gallery, the delightful encounter took place, which 
 changed all his plans, and overruled his immediate
 
 20G LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 engagements. M. Henri Pierrot was, as Clarissa had 
 remarked, quite an elderly personage ; he had married 
 rather late, and was now a widower, and the anxious 
 father of three young daughters, just growing out of 
 childhood. He regarded the thought of a second marriage 
 with extreme repugnance, and yet, for the sake of his 
 girls, he had begun though sorely against his inclina- 
 tions to contemplate the probability of another union, 
 which would secure to them the maternal supervision they 
 so greatly needed. It was therefore the mosfc natural 
 thing in the world that he should wish his mother to 
 become the mistress of his household. He was deter- 
 mined that she should not continue in her present 
 position, for though not actually wealthy, he was well to 
 do, and able to provide comfortably for all his women- 
 kind. And a grandmother would be far better than a 
 stepmother for his Cecile, and Adele, and Meranie to say 
 nothing of himself, relieved at once from the over- 
 solicitude of bringing up his daughters, and from, the 
 necessity of contracting an alliance against which his 
 heart protested. 
 
 It therefore came to pass, that very speedily Madame 
 Pierrot intimated to Lord Orwell her intention of return- 
 ing to her native country, and Clarissa learned, to her 
 dismay, that she was to be provided with another 
 governess. The Earl was seriously annoyed, for he was 
 not only well satisfied with Madame as an instructress, 
 but he liked her very much for herself, and knew that he 
 would miss her sensible and pleasant, though somewhat 
 formal conversation. And yet he could not oppose him- 
 self to her withdrawal ; she had done her duty by 
 Clarissa, and now she would, as was equally her duty, 
 transfer her services to her son and his young family. 
 Nevertheless, Lord Orwell could not help wishing that 
 Madame Pierrot had kept clear of the picture gallery on 
 that particular morning, or that he had refrained from 
 presenting his daughter with the tickets which led her 
 and her governess to the fateful scene of the adventure. 
 
 " I don't see what Clarissa wants with another 
 governess," said the Countess to her lord, in reference to 
 Madame'g denartnre. " She's turned of fifteen, and yon
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTEB. 207 
 
 say though I can't say I see any signs of it myself 
 that she knows more and is older in mind than many 
 women of twenty. What's the use of teaching girls so 
 much ? Clarissa has been kept quite long enough at her 
 lessons, and it is high time she began to make herself 
 useful." 
 
 "In what way do you propose that she should make 
 herself useful, Lady Orwell ? " 
 
 " She might help with the little ones. I can't get a 
 nurse that has any idea of keeping Fordham and 
 Augustus in order." 
 
 " I am not going to have my eldest daughter turned 
 into a nursemaid ; and I thought, too, you had secured 
 such a paragon in Morris ? " 
 
 " Morris is all very well to manage babies, and I can 
 trust her with the younger children ; but the elder ones 
 all, indeed, but Selina and the baby require something 
 which she has not. In fact, I have been seriously 
 thinking of inquiring for a nursery-governess." 
 
 " That is as you please, my lady; have ten nursery- 
 governesses, if they will only keep your unruly brats in 
 something like decent order, and teach them to behave 
 respectably. But I shall not allow Lady Clarissa Oakleigh 
 to go to service just yet, even though her own stepmother 
 wishes to engage her as upper-nurse. Clarissa will finish 
 her education, and then she will, of course, come out, like 
 other young ladies, at the proper age." 
 
 " Come out, indeed ! Such nonsense ! I wonder you 
 are not ashamed of _such an ordinary-looking girl. Why, 
 she gets sallower as she gets older ; I never saw such a 
 wretched complexion, as yellow as yello-w, and no more 
 colour than in my pocket-handkerchief. It's a pity she 
 isn't a Roman Catholic, because then she could go into a 
 convent and hide her plainness under a veil. I think it ia 
 a great mistake that there are no Protestant nunneries, 
 where ugly and portionless young women can be honour- 
 ably settled." 
 
 " Nevertheless, Clarissa will be presented in duo 
 season, and she will go into society like other young 
 Ja-dies of her rank, and I see no reason why she should 
 Dot marry. She has lovely eyes, and a sweet smile, and
 
 208 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 a soft, musical voice, and she will be a companion for any 
 man. As to hex- being portionless, I'll take care of that." 
 
 " Very well ! Take your own way, and see what will 
 come of it. Yon will have to introduce your beautiful 
 daughter yourself, remember, for I give you notice I won't 
 go out with such a fright, not if she were twenty Lady 
 Clarissa's ! As for another governess for her, yon must 
 please yourself ; but when I was a girl, fourteen was 
 thought a very outside age for the schoolroom." 
 
 " That is so many years ago ; and besides, you were 
 never Lord Orwell's daughter ! I suppose, in the sphere 
 in which you were brought up, fourteen was a very 
 outside age for the schoolroom; but then your sort of 
 people were supposed to be quite sufficiently educated, I 
 take it, if they could read, write, and cipher somehow, 
 and wonderfully accomplished if they could strum half-a- 
 dozen tunes on a jingling piano, or draw a tumble-down 
 cottage, or a tower that mocked the tower of Pisa, to say 
 nothing of ' manners,' for which they paid extra, of 
 course ! " 
 
 Now, Louisa had never learned to strum even one tune, 
 or to pencil the most impossible landscape, and her 
 acquaintance with schoolrooms of any sort was of very 
 humble, limited range. No extras of any kind had ever 
 been vouchsafed her, and her governess charged, and 
 rigidly exacted, sixpence per week, in return for the 
 instruction which she imparted ; and Louisa, like her 
 schoolfellows, had carried the hebdomadal sixpence with 
 her to school every Monday morning, as regularly as it 
 came. It struck her, therefore, that she had better say 
 nothing more on the subject of her own curriculum ; on 
 this, as on many more topics, she always got the worst of 
 it, if her husband were provoked to that plain speaking in 
 which, upon occasion, he certainly excelled. 
 
 But before this conversation took place Clarissa had 
 mentioned to her father the circumstance of her meeting 
 with Miss Shrosbery. " And I should so like to know 
 her, papa," she said, in conclusion. " We are all bat 
 related, you know ; why should we not be friends ? " 
 
 Lord Orwell demurred ; he loved not the name or 
 Shrosbery. " There is no reason why you should it.tr
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 have a friend, or several friends, if you wish it, of your 
 own age and sex but this yirl must be considerably your 
 senior, and, what is more, my dear, she is not of your own 
 order." 
 
 " Indeed, papa, she seemed quite a lady. Nay, I am 
 sure she is a lady. Ask Madame Pierrot." 
 
 " I can trust Madame's judgment, in such a case, im- 
 plicitly. But I may as well tell you, Clarissa, I don't 
 want to have anything more to do with these Shrosbery 
 folks. I married Mrs. Shrosbery, but she quite under- 
 stood that I did not marry her family ! " 
 
 " And this Susan Shrosbery is not of her family, papa. 
 She is no more to Susan than she is to me. In each case> 
 you know, she married a widower, with an only daughter. 
 It is curious that we should both be her step- daughters, 
 and yet not be acquainted." 
 
 " What has made you take to this girl ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you, papa, because really I did not know. 
 There was something in her that struck me the first 
 moment I saw her, and she has such a sweet face ! She 
 looks as if she were always happy and at peace ; as if 
 she knew something good that I did not know, and that I 
 should wish to learn. Her face is like a poem, papa, and 
 her voice is like a song." 
 
 " You make me curious to see her, Clarissa. But your 
 mamma, I fancy, objects to the whole Shrosbery connec- 
 tion. A young man, a Mr. Shrosbery, called soon after 
 we came up to town. He was a sort of half-nephew, or 
 cousin's son, of old Shrosbery, I believe, and as we were 
 all out, he left his card. Well ! when the Countess saw 
 it she immediately rang the bell, and informed Davis that 
 she should never, under any circumstances and she 
 spoke emphatically be ' at home ' to this person. My own 
 opinion is that she would not receive Miss Shrosbery." 
 
 " Perhaps she would object to receive me if you wero 
 dead." 
 
 " She probably would. Though she might not, as you 
 have the advantage of being Lady Clarissa." 
 
 " Then I am not to be friends with this nice, kind young 
 lady?" 
 
 '-' I do not see how you can be, Clarissa. I am not fit 
 
 14
 
 210 LADY CT,ABISSI. 
 
 all anxious to extend my acquaintance in the Shrosbery 
 direction ; and as to the Countess, I know that she would 
 like to forget that she ever was the wife of Peter Shros- 
 bery a man in business. And yet he -was a good old 
 fellow, too, and he made more of her little finger than I 
 do of her whole body and soul. However that may be, 
 the long and the short of it is, my dear, that you had 
 better put Susan Shrosbery out of your head." 
 
 And Clarissa obediently strove to forget the charming 
 stranger, who had turned out to be, if not a relation, cer- 
 tainly a connection. But she was not to forget. Just 
 before Madame Pierrot took her departure, and, to please 
 the Earl, she remained till the season was well over, and 
 town rapidly thinning, Mr. Hadfield arrived on a little 
 urgent business " private business " with my lady. 
 
 "I want to speak to you about Miss Shrosbery," he 
 said, as soon as he and the Countess were shut up together 
 " the late Mr. Shrosbery's daughter, I mean." 
 
 Now, though Lady Orwell was very fond of quoting her 
 dear Peter's superior excellences, and his devotion to her- 
 gelf, to her present lord, whenever he contradicted her or 
 slighted her, or did those things which, as an affectionate 
 husband, he should not have done, or left undone the 
 things which he had better have done, she had an insuper- 
 able objection to his being named by any other person. A 
 good many people knew that she was once a Mrs. Shrosbery, 
 and she had given a certain edition of her former married 
 life to those whom it might concern, which was, on the 
 whole, more plausible than veracious. If it were once 
 known that she had wedded a Bermondsey tallow- 
 chandler, her Whitechapel antecedents might be suspected, 
 and even Lord Orwell himself was blissfully ignorant of 
 them. He had judiciously refrained from inquiring who 
 Mrs. Peter Shrosbery was ; he had not put a single ques- 
 tion on this head to Mr. Hadfield, the only person who 
 could give him reliable information should he desire it ; 
 and, strange to say, he had never heard, or at least did 
 not remember, his lady's maiden name of Sparks. He 
 bad married Louisa Shrosbery, and that was enough for 
 him, and, what was much more to the point, he had 
 married Mrs. Shrosbery's money, and not Miss Sparks' ;
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 11 
 
 therefore, it was not essential that her patronymic should 
 occur in any of the legal documents and marriage settle- 
 ments with which Mr. Hadfield was charged, prior to her 
 becoming Lady Orwell. 
 
 Louisa always regretted that her first husband had 
 made so complete a confidant of Mr. Hadfield, and I am 
 afraid she would have seen his obituary in the public 
 papers with something like a thrill of satisfaction. And 
 yet he had served her faithfully, and he had made a 
 Countess of her, and he had never, as she felt assured, 
 breathed a word, even to the Earl, of that early history of 
 hers, which for years past she had vainly longed to obli- 
 terate from the tablets of her own tenacious memory. 
 So, when the old gentleman opened proceedings by re- 
 ferring to Miss Shrosbery, her ladyship answered tartly, 
 " I have nothing to do with that young person ; she was 
 not left to my guardianship, and I decline to be troubled 
 with any of her affairs." 
 
 "You seem to have forgotten the clause in Mr. Shros- 
 bery's will, by which you were appointed her guardian, 
 in case of the death of Mrs. Marriott, her mother's cousin, 
 before Miss Shrosbery attained her majority." 
 
 " And is she dead, this Mrs. Marriott, whose name I 
 don't at all remember ? " 
 
 " She died a few days ago ; and as the Bnttermeads 
 Farm now belongs to her son, a young, unmarried man, 
 of unsteady habits, and obnoxious, for several reasons, 
 to Miss Shrosbery, it can no longer be the home of the 
 young lady." 
 
 " Where is she now ? " 
 
 "In London, staying with an old schoolfellow, who, 
 being acquainted with the awkwardness of her position, 
 invited her for a few weeks, till she could make suitable 
 arrangements." 
 
 " Could not you and Mrs. Hadfield take the girl in ? " 
 
 " We could not, Lady Orwell. We are too old to re- 
 ceive so youthful an inmate. Besides, she is your ward, 
 not ours." 
 
 " I will not have her here, and so you needn't press it, Mr. 
 Hadfield. A girl from a farmhouse, indeed! a rough, 
 unpolished, milk-maid creature, with, red cheeks, and red 
 
 142
 
 212 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 hands, ar.d a taste for sweethearts and rustic finery ! Ncr, 
 thank you ! I wonder what my lord would say to such a 
 proposal ? It is enough, too, to have one step-daughter to 
 make your life a burden, and to come before your own 
 precious babes, without having another foisted upon you 
 just when you least expect it. Bat the long and short of 
 it is, Mr. Hadfield, that I won't have this Susan Shrosbery 
 under my roof." 
 
 "Very well, Lady Orwell. I am afraid, however, that 
 such a course of conduct will subject yon to a good deal 
 of injurious criticism. It will be widely known that you 
 positively refuse to receive the only child of the man who 
 acted so generously by you, and the world will not hesitate 
 to sit in judgment on the case." 
 
 " Judgment, or no judgment, can I, Countess of Orwell, 
 be expected to charge myself with a young person brought 
 up as she has been ? " 
 
 " How do you suppose she has been brought up ? " 
 
 " As farmers' daughters are commonly brought up, I 
 suppose to milk cows, to make butter, to feed calves, and 
 that sort of thing ; all excellent in their way, no doubt, and 
 quite praiseworthy, but not exactly what one desires for 
 girls of the upper classes." 
 
 Now Mr. Hadfield fairly lost his patience, and with it, 
 to a great extent, his temper. As he grew older, he 
 became less deferential to the ladies, and he could be if 
 greatly provoked, that is absolutely bearish. He cared 
 not a rush for the Countess of Orwell, and he had long 
 deplored, as one of the great mistakes of his life, the 
 share he had had in her second marriage. He felt in- 
 effably disgusted as she sat before him, " as proud as a 
 peacock, and quite as foolish," as he afterwards declared, 
 pouring contempt upon a class so infinitely superior to 
 that which had been her own in days gone by. 
 
 " Your ladyship does not seem to understand farmers," 
 he said, stiffly, and with a certain sternness of tone that 
 made his listener quake. " Of course, your "Whitechapel 
 training and surroundings would shut you out from any- 
 thing like society ; but I should have thought Lady 
 Orwell might have learned by this time that the 
 daughters of well-to-do farmers are generally well edu-
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 cated, not to say accomplished, and that they often find 
 husbands among the gentry ; though, of course, there 
 are many grades of farmers, just as there are all possible 
 grades of business men. I have known gentlemen 
 farmers and most ungeutlemanly farmers, well-born 
 farmers and low-born farmers, wealthy farmers and 
 poverty-stricken farmers, just as, in my long life, I have 
 known parsons, lawyers, and doctors of every description, 
 from men whom the world delights to honour down to 
 miserable scamps and rascals. To sum up : there are 
 farmers and farmers, butchers and butchers, grocers and 
 grocers, as well as greengrocers AND greengrocers ! as 
 your ladyship must know better than I can tell you." 
 
 Her ladyship turned scarlet, and then white, with 
 vexation and anger. So, then, he knew, as she had long 
 suspected, all about those Whitechapel antecedents of 
 which she was so bitterly ashamed. And yet she had no 
 just cause to be ashamed of them ; she was, as Louisa 
 Sparks, selling potatoes and cabbages in a dingy little 
 East End shop, far more respectable than the Countess 
 Louisa making a barter of herself and her wealth in 
 exchange for position and a title. She had never been so 
 truly pure and virtuous as when she loved that young 
 butcher to whom we have alluded, and she was a far 
 better woman as Mrs. Shrosbery than she had ever been 
 as Lady Orwell. She burst into tears as Mr. Hadfield 
 ceased speaking, and declared that he insulted her.' 
 
 And Mr. Hadfield, feeling that he had certainly done 
 something of the kind, was slightly ashamed of himself, 
 and hastened to make some sort of amende honorable. "I 
 am really sorry, very sorry, to have given pain to your 
 ladyship, and I trust, on the score of oar long intimacy, 
 you will forget and forgive my impertinence. We will 
 not quarrel about ranks ; let me only assure you that 
 Susan Shrosbery is as thorough a gentlewoman as ever 
 adorned the peerage. She is good and graceful, and I 
 think pretty, and her education, far from being neglected, 
 has been carefully attended to. She will more than pass 
 muster with the titled girls of your own circle, and I must 
 eay I think she would be a nice companion for Lady 
 Clarissa."
 
 214 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Yon are very unkind, Mr. Hadfield, and I ara sure I 
 don't know why you should put me in mind of what I 
 don't want to remember. I could not help being born 
 in Whitechapel, could I, now ? " 
 
 " Surely not. You might have been born in a far 
 worse place you might have been a felon's daughter, 
 and seen the light first in Newgate. I never heard a 
 word against your Whitechapel connections, Lady Orwell, 
 nor have you as far as I am aware any reason to be 
 ashamed of them. They were very poor people, and in 
 what is called ' low life,' but they were not to be despised 
 for that. Poverty and obscurity may be as respectable, 
 and, in its way, every whit as honourable, as wealth and 
 lofty station. My father began life as a very poor man, 
 and my mother was the daughter of a small farmer a 
 very small farmer, mind quite of a different class from 
 that to which the Marriotts and the first Mrs. Shrosbery 
 belonged. But I am not ashamed of them ; God forbid 
 that I ever should be ashamed of parents who did their 
 duty by me, and to all men, according to their lights. 
 And now to return to our muttons what is to be done 
 with Miss Shrosbery ? " 
 
 " Can't she go to school ? She has plenty of money, I 
 know." 
 
 " She is too old for the schoolroom ; she is twenty years 
 of age." 
 
 " Dear me ! And so she must be ! How time flies ! I 
 remember now, she was ten or eleven when her father 
 died. I thought she would stay with those Buttermeada 
 people till she married." 
 
 " So she would, I dare say, if Mrs. Marriott, whom she 
 always called 'Aunt,' had not died. And she might have 
 been mistress of Buttermeads and a fine place it is if 
 she had chosen, but she could not fancy her cousin ; and 
 email blame to her, I say, for she had better have gone to 
 her grave than marry such an utter scapegrace. In less 
 than twelve months she will be of age, and I strongly 
 recommend you, Lady Orwell, to grant her your pro- 
 tection till she is her own mistress, at least. It will 
 soon be known that she is your ladyship's step- 
 daughter."
 
 ANOTHER STEP-DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 "I wish there were no such things in the world as 
 step-daughters ! " 
 
 " And the step-daughters may possibly wish there were 
 no step-mothers ! Though it seems to me that the next 
 best blessing to a good mother is a good step-mother ; and 
 I have known step-mothers who have loved their step- 
 children as if they were their very own, and been loved 
 equally in return." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Hadfield, I will consider what you say. I 
 must confess that you always give me good advice. And 
 if you think she won't be too rustic " 
 
 " She is no more rustic than your own daughters will 
 be. She has been at good schools, and the Marriotts 
 always consorted with the county families. I believe she 
 can make butter ; she is rather proud of the accomplish- 
 ment ! But she need not make any while she is your 
 ward ; you can lock up the dairy if you choose, and put 
 a padlock on the gate of the field where the milking- cows 
 are kept." 
 
 " Of course I must consult my lord." 
 
 " Of course, of course ! I don't fancy he will object to 
 Miss Shrosbery ; he will like her when he knows her ; I 
 should not wonder if she became a favourite." 
 
 " Oh ! " replied the Countess, with a toss of her head, 
 " I don't approve of married men having favourites out 
 of their own family. If he makes any fuss with the girl, 
 I shall wish her at Hanover ; I hate flirting." 
 
 " I do not think Lord Orwell is at all given to that 
 folly, and I am sure Miss Shrosbery is not. Dismiss your 
 apprehensions on that score. When can yon decide so as 
 to let me know what I may say to the young lady ? " 
 
 " I'll let you know to-morrow, at the latest ; perhaps 
 to-night. I expect, after all, she'll have to come here. 
 We must make the best of it." 
 
 There was so much internal satisfaction in the tone in 
 which the Countess talked of making the best of it, that 
 Mr. Hadfield wondered what she meant ; the truth being 
 that she was saying to herself, " Perhaps, as it has come 
 about, it may turn out a good thing in more ways than 
 one. I? she is so well educated, she might do instead of 
 a governess for f hat Clarissa ; and as I am a lady of title*
 
 216 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 and she plain Susan Shrosbery, and my step-daughter, it 
 will be hard if I can't manage to keep her under, and get 
 some good out of her ! If she'll take to the sweet chil- 
 dren, she may make herself very useful with them. And 
 I'll take care she has no time to go talking to my lord, or 
 to go gallivanting here and there with him. He never 
 talks anything but mbbish to me, and he sha'n't amuse 
 himself with other -women, however educated they may 
 be ! As to that, I am determined." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A FRIEND AT LAST. 
 
 * One writes that ' Other friends remain/ 
 That ' Loss is common to the race ' 
 And common is the commonplace, 
 And vacant chaff well meant for grain. 
 
 * That loss is common would not make 
 My own less bitter, rather more ; 
 Too common ! Never morning wore 
 To evening, but some heart did break." 
 
 AND so, after all, Clarissa and Susan were to be near 
 friends. As for Lord Orwell, he was considerably startled 
 when, on the evening of the day of Mr. Hadfield's visit, 
 his lady said to him, " Orwell, I have heard a piece of 
 news to-day ! The relative that took charge of Susan 
 Shrosbery is dead, and she'll have to come here, I suppose. 
 It's rather a nuisance, but it can't be helped." 
 
 "Why can't it be helped?" he asked, feeling a good 
 deal mystified. 
 
 " It was in the will, in my poor, dear, blessed Peter's 
 will, only I had quite forgotten it, if indeed I ever knew 
 it, for I feel positive Mr. Hadfield never mentioned it ; 
 and when I read the will, or heard it read, rather, I took
 
 A FRIEND AT LAST. 217 
 
 very little note of what did not concern myself, and I 
 suppose I did not realise it. At least, it took me altogether 
 by surprise when he mentioned it this morning, and I have 
 not felt myself since, I can tell you. My poor nerves are 
 not what they were before our marriage." 
 
 " What does all this rigmarole mean ? And what was 
 in Mr. Shrosbery's will that you either forgot or failed to 
 realise ? I do wish you could manage to speak intelli- 
 gibly." 
 
 " Yon never give me time to speak intelligibly. You 
 snap me up, and look so contemptibly at me, that I forget 
 my words. Ah ! how different it was in my dear Peter's 
 time ! I wish he had lived ! " 
 
 " I wish with all my heart he had ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I know you mean to be contemptible." 
 
 " Don't you mean contemptuous ? I wish you would learn 
 to speak English, Louisa. But really and truly, I am 
 quite in a fog as to your real meaning. What about Mr. 
 Shrosbery's will ? " 
 
 " Only that it declares I am to take charge of his 
 daughter, in case of the relative with whom she lived 
 dying before she came of age. And she is dead the 
 relative, I mean, not Susan. There ! do you understand 
 now ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. But why should you regard Miss Shros- 
 bery's presence a nuisance ? " 
 
 " Step-children are always a nuisance. I declare, I am 
 very unlucky to have two" 
 
 "Be thankful you have not a dozen! However, you 
 have only yourself to blame, for you accepted both your 
 husbands with the full knowledge that they were widowers 
 and already fathers. But is it necessary that Miss 
 Shrosbery should reside with us ? Can you not take 
 charge of her by proxy she is not a child ? " 
 
 " Mr. Hadfield says the world will cry shame on me if 
 I don't receive her. And if you go and set your face against 
 the girl, I shall say you are behaving very badly, seeing 
 that you have spent thousands and thousands of the money 
 poor dear Peter left behind him." 
 
 " I shall not set my face against her. She will not be 
 much in my way, for I am going abroad for some months.
 
 213 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 If yon and Clarissa can put up with her, that is all that 
 need be considered." 
 
 " Clarissa indeed ! I shonld like to see her object to 
 any arrangement of mine ! I am not going to consult 
 Clarissa, I can tell you. She would have no right to speak 
 if I brought a lunatic into my own house." 
 
 " As the house happens to be mine also, I think I am not 
 in error when I say that my eldest daughter ouglit to have 
 a voice in many little matters that need not be specified. 
 Girls at her age are not usually so much overlooked as is 
 Clarissa. Not that I anticipate the slightest objection on 
 her part ; on the contrary, I have every reason to believe 
 that Miss Shrosbery's residence under the same roof will 
 be highly agreeable to her. She will need a companion 
 when Madame Pierrot has left us." 
 
 And so it was amicably settled. Mr. Hadfield received 
 due intimation that Susan Shrosbery might join the house- 
 hold as soon as convenient to herself. And Clarissa was 
 informed of what she was to expect. She had already 
 begged that no other governess might replace Madame ; 
 she promised to study steadily if left to her own resources, 
 and to get ready for her masters as punctually as though 
 still under schoolroom law and regulation. " And I dare 
 say, papa," she added, " Miss Shrosbery will like to take 
 some lessons ; it will be delightful to do things together. 
 Why, I shall have someone to practise duets with, and to 
 read with oh ! it will be altogether charming." 
 
 " You had better not say so in my lady's hearing, or she 
 will quickly blow up your castles in the air. Have you 
 ever mentioned to her your meeting with Miss Shrosbery 
 on that unlucky morning unlucky for us, that is when 
 M. Pierrot turned up ? " 
 
 " I have scai'cely spoken to the Countess since we came 
 to town. Indeed, I have seen very little of her for the last 
 few weeks ; she has been going out so much, I believe 
 making the best use of what remains of the season, I sap- 
 pose. And I am not sure that I shonld have mentioned 
 Miss Shrosbery's name had an opportunity occurred. She 
 might have been displeased, you know." 
 
 " Heaven knows she is displeased quickly enough," 
 muttered Lord Orwell. " One can never guess one hour
 
 A FRIEND AT LAST. 219 
 
 which way the wind will blow the next ; it's tropical heat 
 in the morning, and polar frost at night ; dead stagnant 
 calm at noon, and cyclones and tornadoes in the evening. 
 Take warning, Clarissa, and don't get into a habit of being 
 easily offended ; don't imagine slights when none are 
 meant, and don't fancy yourself 'affronted' when no 
 affront is intended. It is vanity and self-love that make 
 people captions and tonchy ; and I need not tell yon. that 
 such people miss the mark most completely, for they are 
 never admired or respected by those who know them 
 best." 
 
 " I will try not to be disagreeable, papa. I used to be 
 terribly exacting as a child, I remember ; but all that sort 
 of thing was driven oat of me long ago. And a good thing, 
 too ; for one mast be very unhappy oneself, I should say, 
 always suspecting some offence, or twisting careless words 
 into studied unkindness and disrespect. I am not so very 
 impatient now, I hope." 
 
 " Indeed you are not. Every time I see you, Clarissa, 
 you remind me more and more of your dear mother. And 
 she was the sweetest, meekest, most patient creature that 
 ever breathed." 
 
 " Oh, papa, tell me something of her ! I know so little 
 about my own mother, though I sometimes look at her 
 likeness till I fancy I remember her quite well ; it is but 
 fancy, for I have only a very dim recollection of our being 
 really together." 
 
 " My dear, your mother was too gentle, too patient for 
 one so selfish and heartless as I was in those days. I was 
 not worthy of her, Clarissa. I never meant to be unkind, 
 but I was yes ! I confess it I was little better than 
 brutal to her. She could not live without affection ; love 
 was as essential to her as the common food she ate. I 
 loved her I honestly think I did love her ; bat I loved 
 myself better, Clarissa ! I neglected her cruelly, while I 
 Bought my own pleasure too often it was a pleasure of 
 which she could not have approved. I left her to the care 
 of servants ; I knew she was sick and ailing, that she- 
 steadily declined in health, and yet, day after day, I post- 
 poned my return, and so she died alone, and I never had 
 any farewell from her dear lips, only a written good-bye, tho
 
 220 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 sweetness and meekness of which pierced me to the very 
 heart. She left a letter for me, and some day it shall be 
 yours. Do not judge me too hardly, my dear, and don't 
 forget that I learned, when too late, the full value of such 
 a, wife as she was ; that I appreciated, when lost to me for 
 ever, the intensity of the wedded happiness which I was 
 fool enough voluntarily to forego." 
 
 The Countess herself announced to Clarissa the advent 
 of her other step-daughter, desiring her to receive Miss 
 Shrosbery amiably, and not show any airs ; winding-up 
 with " Please to remember that if you have a title, she 
 has twenty thousand pounds ! So don't come the grand 
 * my lady ' over her, nor treat her as if she were dirt 
 under your feet." 
 
 Conscious that she never did treat anyone as "dirt 
 under her feet," though the Countess herself frequently 
 did so when brought into contact with those she esteemed 
 her inferiors, Clarissa did not resent the unjust imputa- 
 tion ; but she thought the time was come to speak openly 
 of her chance meeting with Miss Shrosbery, so she said, 
 not without some trepidation for she was nervously 
 afraid of her stepmother's tongue "I shall be very 
 much pleased to have Miss Shrosbery here ; I have seen 
 her once, and liked her more than I ever liked anyone at 
 first sight." 
 
 " You have seen Susan Shrosbery ! " 
 
 And the Countess, in her intense amazement, dropped 
 her words one by one, as if they were difficult of 
 utterance. 
 
 "Yes! She was the lady who was so kind when 
 Madame, was ill through agitation at meeting her son 
 whom she believed to be dead, and who was so strikingly 
 like his father." 
 
 *' Are you not mistaken ? " 
 
 " No ; she said her name was Susan Shrosbery, and 
 \_iat her relations to you were precisely the same as my 
 own." 
 
 " And yon never told me ! Never said one word about 
 it!" 
 
 " I think nay, I am sure we have not talked together, 
 yon and I, since that morning. If we had conversed at
 
 A FRIEND AT LAST. 221 
 
 all upon the subject, I should have mentioned this mutual 
 introduction, of course." 
 
 " There is no 'of course* in the business! It is just 
 like your sly, underhand ways, keeping it to yourself, fof 
 no earthly reason except that you can't be frank and open 
 as other young girls are. You are as deceitful as ever, 
 Clarissa ! My lord says how much you are improved, but 
 he is mistaken ; I suppose you find it easy to delude him 
 with your empty assurances of goodness and affection. 
 But this proves yon are just the same as ever; I shall put 
 Susan on her guard at once, and then if she is deceived 
 she will only have herself to thank." 
 
 " Indeed, I had no thought of being sly. It was only 
 that you never spoke to me about the events of that 
 morning. But no," she added, " that is perhaps not 
 quite the truth ; I did not know how you would take it ! 
 I thought you might object to Miss Shrosbery and myself 
 knowing each other, and as it could not then be helped, 
 and could make no difference unless we became further 
 acquainted, I kept silence till now. But I do not think it 
 was slyness." 
 
 " Oh, of course, it was all my fault ! Whatever 
 happens, J am to blame. Trust you and your father for 
 justifying yourselves at the expense of others. Never- 
 theless, I spurn the insinuation ; whatever faults I have, I 
 am not, and never was, ill-tempered. My poor, dear, 
 blessed Peter used often to tell me I was only too easy, 
 too mild, and too unsuspecting ; and that I should surely 
 reap ingratitude and treachery as the consequences of my 
 excessive amiability. And his words have proved too 
 true ! too true ! " 
 
 Whether " poor, dear, blessed Peter " had ever said 
 anything of the sort was rather more than doubtful. The 
 worthy chandler and soap-boiler would certainly have 
 been excessively astonished could he have heard all the 
 panegyrics he was supposed to have pronounced upon his 
 second wife. Though in his time she had been far other- 
 wise than now, she had steadily deteriorated in every 
 way since becoming Lady Orwell, and every successive 
 year found her more suspicions, more ungenerous, more 
 envious, and more uncharitable. Perhaps t li was nofc
 
 222 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 entirely lipr own fanlt perhaps tlie circumstances of her 
 lot were not in her favour ; perhaps Peter Shrosbery had 
 understood her better than did the Earl of Orwell ; and a 
 good understanding of each other's character goes a long 
 way towards the development of one's better self in ail 
 relations of life, but most particularly in the married 
 state. 
 
 A few weeks more, and Susan Shrosbery arrived. She 
 looked just as calm and sweet, though far less bright, 
 than when Clarissa had first seen her in the picture 
 gallery. She was also in deep mourning ; altogether, she- 
 was greatly changed in appearance since that eventful 
 morning, now two months ago. The Countess received 
 her coolly, though for her nob ungraciously. " Well ! yon. 
 are grown, Susan ! " she remarked. " I never thought 
 you would be so tall ; you promised to be quite a little 
 woman. How many years is it since we met ? " 
 
 "Nearly nine years ; I have not seen you since the day 
 after my father's funeral, when I returned with Aunt 
 Marriott to Buttermeads." 
 
 " She was your cousin, or your mother's cousin, was 
 she not ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I always called her 'Aunt ' ! She was quite as 
 old as my own mamma, and she took mamma's place with 
 me." 
 
 "She died rather suddenly, didn't she?" pursued tho 
 Countess, not seeing how the girl's lips quivered, nor how 
 the tears were ready to start forth. 
 
 " Bather suddenly at the last, but she knew herself 
 that there was no hope of recovery. For more than a 
 year she was ready and waiting, as she told me, when 
 she could no longer hide from me her precarious 
 condition." 
 
 " Ready and waiting for what ?" 
 
 " For death, or at least for what is called death." 
 
 " What can you mean, child ? She did die, did sho 
 not ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but she never spoke of it as dying ; she 
 always talked about ' the change.' She used to say the 
 true life was all to come, that it was beyond the grave. 
 Except for leaving me, she was looking forward to that
 
 A FBIEND AT LAST. 223 
 
 r the hour when God would call her home. She was 
 so happy, so very happy, and the last words we heard her 
 &ay " 
 
 Bat here poor Susan broke down. She perceived that 
 she was speaking, as it were, a strange language ; that 
 Lady Orwell neither understood nor cared to hear about 
 those things which were most sacred and precious to her- 
 self; and the cold, haughty bearing and unsympathetic 
 voice struck like an ice-bolt at the girl's sad heart. 
 
 " Pray don't cry ! " said the Countess hastily, as, in 
 spite of every effort, Susan sobbed almost hysterically. 
 " If there is one thing that annoys me more than another, 
 it is foolishly giving way to tears. Of course you felt 
 Mrs. Marriott's death, but it has happened, you see, and 
 not all the crying in the world will bring her back again. 
 Besides, you say that she made a good end, and is doubt- 
 less gone to heaven, where, of course, we all hope to go 
 when our time comes ! " And here the Countess stopped 
 and shivered, for her own words implied that for all there 
 was a time ! a time when medicine, and celebrated 
 doctors, and experienced nurses would be in vain ; when 
 gold and silver and goodly array would be of no more 
 account than sackcloth and ashes ; when even ranks and 
 honours would fade away into empty names ; when life 
 would be only a short, vain dream, and eternity close at 
 hand stretch on and on for ever and for ever, a dark, 
 rayless, hopeless, chill, unknown expanse ! And most 
 fervently she hoped that her time was not yet ; that many, 
 many years of this world's pleasures remained for her. 
 There was one clause in the Litany of the Church to 
 which she professed to belong in which she joined always 
 most fervently: "From lightning and tempest; from 
 plague, pestilence, and famine ; from battle and murder, 
 and from sudden death Good Lord, deliver us." 
 
 She soon recovered herself, however, and continued: 
 "And when that time does come in the course of Provi- 
 dence, naturally survivors ought to bo resigned. Dear 
 me, Susan, it is the common lot! "We all have to lose 
 relations at some time or other, and it they were prepared, 
 you know, and all that, we really ought not to mourn, for 
 they are better off, and this world is a place of care and
 
 CLARISSA. 
 
 trouble. There ! don't cry ! I do hope you are not of a 
 melancholy disposition ; your father used to get into the 
 damps sometimes, I remember, but not often. It's your 
 duty now to be as pleasant and cheerful as possible, and 
 pray don't wear that doleful black any longer ; it's enough 
 to give one the creeps only to look at yon ! a walking 
 funeral, I do declare ! Such deep mourning was quite 
 unnecessary for so distant a relative ; black silk, slightly, 
 very slightly, trimmed with crape, and jet ornaments, 
 might have been permitted, on account of your long resi- 
 dence with Mrs. Marriott ; but your present toilet, or wanfc 
 of toilet, rather, is most absurd. Pray let me see you 
 differently dressed ; pretty greys and violets, and white 
 muslin in the evening, will be quite enough. There ! wipe 
 your eyes ! It is the duty of young people to study the 
 wishes of their elders as regards personal appearance. I 
 am going to ring the boll for Coralie, and she will show 
 you the way to the schoolroom. I hope Clarissa and you 
 will not disagree, but Clarissa has a very unfortunate 
 temper of her own, and she is not, I am sorry to say, at 
 all sincere." 
 
 In spite of Clarissa's bad character, Susan found herself 
 very much comforted by the kind reception accorded her 
 in the schoolroom, where, in half an hour, she felt quite at 
 home, and had almost made up her mind to a certainty 
 that Lady Clarissa was neither cross nor insincere. 
 
 " We shall be left to do pretty much as we please," said 
 the latter, as they sat in the fading twilight, after their 
 tea. " No one, except servants, and now and then papa, 
 comes up here ; it is not generally supposed to be an 
 advantage to be lodged au quatrieme; but I like it. It is 
 airy, and it is quiet, and one escapes disturbing visits that 
 one might receive a floor or two lower down. Still, them 
 is this difference, I am in the schoolroom, and you are 
 already introduced." 
 
 "Indeed I am not. I never shall be, in your sense of 
 the word. I am not a schoolgirl, certainly, but I have no 
 idea of going into what is called ' society.' And as I wish 
 to remain quite in seclusion for the next few months till 
 I am of age, in fact I shall be so much obliged if you 
 will permit me to join you. in your studies. 1 suppose I
 
 A FRiEND AT LAST. 225 
 
 may have as many masters as I choose, provided I pay for 
 them?" 
 
 " I should think so ; but on this point you had better 
 consult Lady Orwell. She is rather tenacious I mean 
 particular about being consulted in such matters. It will 
 be most delightful to have a fellow-student ; you will go 
 into the drawing-room, though, every evening, I suppose 
 especially when we are back at Orwell ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know. I had much rather not. And 
 that reminds me, Lady Clarissa, your mamma said I was 
 immediately to change my mourning. Do you think she 
 really meant it ? " 
 
 " If she said so, she meant it, and she will expect to find 
 you in regulation demi deuil by the day after to-morrow, 
 at the latest. She does not like real mourning." 
 
 " I wonder whether I ought to change to please her ? 
 It is quite against my own feelings to do so, but perhaps 
 that is the very reason why I should yield the point. It 
 is, after all, only a matter of feeling ; if I wore colours 
 to-morrow I should still wear the same deep mourning in 
 my heart. And the outside show does not matter much, 
 does it, Lady Clarissa ? Only, I should have liked to con- 
 tinue my black dresses till after Christmas." 
 
 " And it is rather hard that you cannot. But please do 
 not call me ' Lady ' Clarissa. I shall be plain Clarissa to 
 you, and I should like to call you Susan, if I may." 
 
 " With all my heart ; I have never been Miss Shros- 
 bery among my friends. I am one of those persons to 
 whom it comes naturally to be called by their Christian 
 names. And you and I are to be friends, I hope." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed. And soon, I suppose, we shall re- 
 turn to Orwell. Do you like the country ? " 
 
 " I prefer it to the town, though hitherto I have always 
 enjoyed a few weeks in London every year. Still, a few 
 weeks was quite enough for me ; I never wanted to stay 
 longer when it came to the time fixed for going home. 
 Ah me! I shall never, never 6 home to dear old Butter 
 meads any more." 
 
 "You have been very happy there." And Clarissa 
 Bpoke tenderly, and slipped her hand into Susan's. The 
 very touch seemed to comfort the sorrowing girl, who had 
 
 lo
 
 226 LAPT CLAKISS1. 
 
 lost the only person in the world to -whom she really be- 
 longed her mother, companion, friend, and kinswoman, 
 all in one. 
 
 Clarissa knew that hot tears were coursinpr each other 
 down Susan's pale cheeks, and falling unheeded on the 
 folds of her black dress ; she neither spoke nor looked at 
 her ; she had too much reverence for so great and deep a 
 sorrow, and she knew instinctively that, for the present at 
 least, silence was the truest sympathy. It never occurred 
 to her to attempt to console her friend by informing her 
 that hers was " the common lot," and that she only suf- 
 fered what thousands of others suffered, and would suffer 
 till the end of time. She knew her Bible very thoroughly, 
 very much as she knew Racine, and Rollin, and Pope, and 
 the schoolroom edition of Shakespeare, which Madame 
 Pierrot had supplied. And only so, she knew it only as a 
 classic only as one of the standard books, with which it 
 behoved her to be intimately acquainted. But something 
 made her whisper presently to Susan, " They who sleep in 
 Jesus will God bring with Him." 
 
 She did not know why she repeated the words, nor was 
 it at all clear to her what it was to " sleep in Jesus." But 
 it sounded consoling, she thought, and her heart yearned 
 to comfort the bereaved one at her side. And Susan was 
 comforted, and thanked God, who, as she doubted not, had 
 provided for her the blessing of kind companionship and 
 gentle sympathy. "And I hope," she reflected, though 
 she did not say it, " that I am come here for good. I 
 hope we two, so strangely linked together, may be a mutual 
 help and comfort to each other." 
 
 At last, Nurse Barlow's prayers were answered ; at last, 
 " after many days," Clarissa's true friend had arrived 
 God had given her exactly what she needed most.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MOMENTO MORI. 
 
 * We see but dimly through, the mists and vapours 
 
 Amid these earthly damps. 
 What seem to us but sad funereal tapers. 
 May be heaven's distant lamps. 
 
 " There is no death ! What seems so is transition. 
 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, 
 Whose portal we call Death." 
 
 THE Countess was extremely surprised to find " poor, dear, 
 blessed Peter's" daughter a thorough gentlewoman; or, 
 to quote her own words, and to use one of her favourite 
 expressions, " quite the lady." She began gradually to 
 question the possibility of making an upper nursemaid of 
 her, and she even thought there could be no valid reason 
 why she should not take her out, and present her to her 
 fashionable friends as "My eldest step-daughter, Miss 
 Shrosbery." But Miss Shrosbery declined ; the kind of 
 life which Lady Orwell led had for her, literally, no attrac- 
 tions, for her ladyship's set was noted as being singularly 
 frivolous, affected, empty-headed, and what would now be 
 designated as " fast." When graciously requested " to go 
 a little into society," Susan was very glad of the excuse 
 furnished by her late bereavement, although, to please her 
 stepmother's fancy, she had changed her black array for 
 second mourning. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " was the Countess's reply. " You are 
 not in crape and bombazine, and there is no earthly reason 
 why yon should not at once wear light silks, and white 
 muslins trimmed with black ribbons indeed, I am sure 
 black and white will suit you very well. Of course you 
 have jet ornaments, and I can lend you a pearl necklace, 
 with a lovely enamelled locket, that my poor, dear I mean 
 your own blessed father gave me. Ah ! if ever there was 
 a saint on earth, Susan, it was Mm ! " 
 
 152
 
 228 LADY CLAEISS1. 
 
 Susan, though she had a very pleasant and kindly re- 
 membrance of her father, really knew very little about 
 him, for she had lived at Bnttermeads ever since her third 
 year since the arrival, in fact, of the second Mrs. Shros- 
 bery ; she was not, therefore, in a position to share the 
 Countess's reminiscences, or to echo the laudatory explo- 
 sions which any mention of his name provoked. She 
 could only say, " Yes, I always understood that my father 
 was a very good man. I have heard that he was a very 
 just man, and generous also, that he never was known 
 to speak uncharitably of anyone, and that he never per- 
 mitted scandal to be talked in his presence." 
 
 "He was all that, and more," sighed his quondam 
 widow, who had so long ago consoled herself. "Ah, 
 Susan, no one knows what I lost when I lost him the 
 'best husband that ever lived ! My dear ! he literally wor- 
 shipped the ground I trod upon ; nothing was good 
 enough for me. Ah ! I remember once, when we were 
 staying for my health at Hendon, he went all the way to 
 London to get me a partridge, because I fancied it. 
 He'd have gone to Russia and back rather than have dis- 
 appointed me. When yon are married, Susan, take care 
 you are not chosen either for your beauty or your 
 money." 
 
 " I am pretty safe on that score," replied Susan plea- 
 santly; "I have not enough money to attract regular 
 fortune-hunters, nor beauty enough to fear being loved 
 for my looks alone." 
 
 " Well ! I hope, I am sure, you'll do as well as your 
 mother did ! But take care, Susan, men are the deceit- 
 fulest creatures living ; there's no dependence on them ; 
 they are hot in the morning, and cold at night ; they are 
 all summer-sunshine one hour, and winter-frost the next. 
 They are basely selfish, and have no hearts ; those are 
 best off that have no husbands such husbands as there 
 are nowadays, I mean. Take my advice, Susan, and be 
 an old maid." 
 
 Susan made no reply. She was quite content to leave 
 her future in God's hands, only she was resolved that she 
 would not marry any man whom she could not truly love, 
 reverence, and trust. She felt very glad to think that
 
 MOMENTO MORI. 229 
 
 her stepmother had no real power over her, for the more> 
 she saw of her, and the more she talked with her, the less 
 became her esteem and her confidence. She made her 
 understand, however, that for some months to come she 
 must refuse all invitations, and that she was fully deter- 
 mined never to go into "society," in the fashionable 
 acceptation of the word. 
 
 " I hope you are not a Methodist ? " said the Countess, 
 nervously, when she had heard Susan's final decision. 
 
 " No, I am not. We had some Methodist friends at 
 Buttermeads friends whom I trust never to lose sight 
 of ; bat my aunt and I regularly attended the parisb 
 church." 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course ! I didn't suppose yo* 
 would be so vulgar as to go to chapel ! But there ar< 
 some people who keep their church, and yet are rank 
 Methodists, notwithstanding most objectionable people, 
 always saying some dreadful thing to make you think 
 about death and eternity ! " 
 
 " It is a pity they should say what is ' dreadful. 1 n 
 
 " Of course it is ; but you can't help it if you will get 
 upon such shocking subjects. It is such bad taste to refer 
 to such things, is it not ? " 
 
 " Excuse me, but I do not know exactly what things 
 you mean." 
 
 " Things that have to do with the next world death, 
 and all that. Of course, one has one's religions duties, 
 and one must attend to them. I go to church myself 
 once every Sunday, except when I am too tired with a 
 ball or the opera over night, and I am sure God Almighty 
 isn't so strict and unmerciful as to require an attendance 
 that would be downright distressing. Bat if I am not 
 tired, and feeling pretty well, and if it is fine, -I never 
 miss ; I make a point of going, either morning or after- 
 noon; and when I am at Orwell, I not unfrequently 
 attend Divine service timce. It sets a good example, and 
 we, who are of high degree, ought, you know, to be a pat- 
 tern to those beneath us. But to take one's religion into- 
 a week day, to mix it up with common things, is, I think, 
 impious! And that is just what the people I call ' Metho- 
 dists ' or I might say hypocrites continually do. Oh,
 
 230 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 dear! it's most revolting, and in the worst taste pt/ssiblo 
 I am sure you agree with me ? " 
 
 " No, I am obliged to say I do not. I cannot see any 
 use or any comfort in a religion that belongs only to Sun- 
 days. Nor do I believe that the religion, if yon can call 
 it so, which does not control all we commonly say and do, 
 is worth anything." 
 
 "I really don't know what you mean ; but it sounds 
 dreadfully like Methodism. It's my maxim that people 
 that pretend to be so extra good are just no better than 
 they ought to be, if all were known." 
 
 " Are any of us half as good as we ought to be, Lady 
 Orwell ? " said Susan, smiling. 
 
 "Well, no; perhaps not. I dare say we might all be 
 better; but I don't believe in too much religion. And 
 doesn't the Bible say we are all sinners ? and don't we 
 call ourselves ' miserable sinners ' and ' lost sheep ' every 
 Sunday of our lives ? " 
 
 " But are we not supposed to make confession with the 
 intent to mend our ways ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me. I never troubled myself about 
 doctrines, and never shall. Nor do I like this sort of 
 conversation, making one so nervous and fidgety, and 
 doing no manner of good in the world. There was a lady 
 I met the other day a very excellent sort of person, no 
 doubt, but without tlie smallest conception of what is due 
 to rank and position. If I had been the lowest, poorest 
 creature in all London, she could not hare behaved with 
 more effrontery. She actually gave me a tract ! She 
 presented me! the Countess of Orwell! with a vulgar 
 tract, entitled ' Prepare to meet thy God !' There ! What 
 do yon think of that, Susan Shrosbery ? " 
 
 " I think she was very courageous, and I dare say she 
 felt most kindly towards you ; and you know, Lady 
 Orwell, that we must all appear before God sooner or 
 later. We must meet our God, and He is no respecter of 
 persons. The king must be judged as well as the beggar. 
 And for you and for me the day of death will come " 
 
 "Be quiet! How dare you!" shrieked the Couutcss, 
 " Yon have made me feel very ill ; I never can bear to see 
 black, or to hear the bell toll, or to pass near an open
 
 MOMEXTO MOEI. 231 
 
 grave, just because it makes me think of death ; and hero 
 arc you sitting in my own boudoir on a sunshiny morning, 
 and the bells ringing for a wedding at least, they sound 
 merrily enough ! and talking about the day of my death, 
 as if I were going to die to-morrow ! " 
 
 " I am sorry if I have offended you, Lady Orwell ; but 
 please let me say one thing more. Since death must come 
 and it must, we do not know how soon would it not 
 be better and wiser, and should we not be far happier, 
 \ we could look upon death as a friend rather than an 
 enemy ? " 
 
 " Nobody dies while they can help it." 
 
 " But one cannot always help it. It is the one thing 
 from which there is no escape. And if death must come, 
 why not go to meet it calmly and joyfully, and ? " 
 
 " How can you ? How can one calmly think of being 
 snatched away from all one's enjoyment ? How can one 
 be joyful, thinking of the grave where one must lie in 
 cold, and darkness, and silence, and horrible decay ? " 
 
 " I never do think about it, because I shall never be 
 there. The poor, dead body they will bury, when I am 
 what is called dead, will be no more me than that dress 
 you wear is you. When your dress is worn out, you will 
 put it away it will concern you no more ; you will con- 
 tinue to exist just the same, even though the dress that 
 once covered you has become mere unsightly rags. And 
 so, when your flesh and blood are worn out, or fallen into 
 sudden ruin, your soul, which is yourself, will live for ever 
 and for ever." 
 
 "That is the worst part of it," replied the unhappy 
 woman, with a shudder. " We know nothing about the 
 other side of death ; we can't help giving a glance that 
 way sometimes, when something comes to startle us, and 
 we feel that life really is uncertain ; but it is all dark 
 dark, the very blackness of darkness ! " 
 
 " It need not be ! " said Susan, her eyes filling with 
 tears of infinite pity. " The world to come is light, not 
 darkness. Christ has gone before, you know, and tho 
 way has never since been dark. I don't believe it ever was 
 quite dark, even in the old times of the patriarchs and 
 prophets; God's saints must always have seen some light
 
 232 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 before them, though it was dim and faint, perhaps. 
 The dawn comes first, then sunrise, and then the perfect 
 day." 
 
 But the Countess would not listen. She was of the 
 earth, earthy, entirely so, and she could not grasp the 
 true thought of anything beyond. It was true in her 
 case, that the light was shining in darkness, and the 
 darkness comprehended it not. " There ! there ! " she 
 cried, at last; " don't say another word, I won't hear it. 
 You have upset me dreadfully, and given me those palpi- 
 tations that the doctor says are so bad for me. Go 
 away, and send Coralie to me ; I want my drops, and I 
 must lie down. And, remember, I strictly forbid you to 
 speak to me in this way again. Never, never introduce 
 the subject of religion, for I'm too sensitive to bear it, 
 and, what is more, I won't have it. Keep your Methodism 
 to yourself, or leave this house." 
 
 Sad and sorrowful, Susan went away. Had she been 
 too hasty ? she asked herself ; had she done harm while 
 striving to do good ? She could not think so ; she had 
 spoken with great caution and hesitation, for she was not 
 one of those persons who believe firmly in the efficacy of 
 their own appeals, and who, by reason of their own belief 
 and profession, feel themselves constrained, without any 
 regard to time, place, or circumstance, to utter their own 
 convictions. Unwise speech is sometimes more harmful 
 than a reverential silence ; and Susan feared lest she had 
 spoken unadvisedly on a subject of such transcending im- 
 portance. 
 
 She went to her own room, feeling utterly cast down, 
 and, oh ! so desolate ! She was so entirely alone in this 
 great god'ess household ; that which was best and dearest 
 in her own apprehension of life was nothing, and worse 
 than nothing, to those about her. Never before had she so 
 thoroughly realised what it meant to be a stranger and a 
 pilgrim upon earth. " And yet," she thought, " I could 
 not but speak of the hope that is in me. I am sure I 
 should have been faithless to Christ had I said nothing at 
 all. No ! the more I reflect, the more assured I am that 
 I did well to speak. It was not much of a testimony to 
 bear, yet I could not have withheld it. I am so afraid
 
 MOMENTO MOEI. 233 
 
 though, lest I spoke in my own strength. I never thought 
 till now how solemn a thing it is to bear witness to God's 
 truth to those who are opposed to it. May God give me 
 wisdom to act and to speak as for His glory, while I am. 
 in this place ! He sent me here, certainly. I did not 
 come of myself nay, I would not, had I followed my own 
 inclinations, have come here at all. I must be here for 
 some end for good to others, and for good to myself 
 as well. Only only that I knew how to set about doing 
 what good I can, in the best way. Surely God will show 
 me the best way, if I depend npon Him for help and 
 guidance. Yes ! I will put myself in His hands, and He 
 will tell me what to say, and what to leave unsaid. He 
 will give me such wisdom as I need, and keep me faithful, 
 too." 
 
 That very evening something occurred to make Susan 
 speak more plainly still. She and Clarissa had been prac- 
 tising their duets together, when a message arrived from 
 the Countess that she was very unwell, and should not ex- 
 pect Miss Shrosbery in the drawing-room. 
 
 It was a relief to Susan, for she did not at all wish to 
 go down she very much preferred to stay with Clarissa 
 in the schoolroom ; but quite understanding as the 
 Countess had intended she should that she was in dis- 
 grace, she could not help just changing countenance. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Clarissa, when the servant was. 
 gone. " Have yon displeased Lady Orwell ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I have ; indeed, I am sure of it." 
 
 " Don't be disturbed. The Countess is so easily dis- 
 pleased, that we should have to sit in perpetual sackcloth 
 and ashes if we did penance every time she was what she 
 calls ' affronted ' ! It is of no use trying to please her,, 
 for she never is pleased for more than half-an-honr to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I think I could not help displeasing her this morning. 
 I will tell you, and you shall judge." 
 
 And then Susan repeated, as exactly as she could re- 
 collect, what had passed between herself and Lady Or well. 
 
 " Oh, yes! " replied Lady Clarissa, when she had heard 
 all; "that would be quite sure to make her extremely 
 ftngry, unreasonably angry, of course ; but then a great
 
 234 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 many people are unreasonable. I suppose I ought to 
 Lave told you that mamma has the most insuperable objec- 
 tion to any sort of religious conversation. Nobody hero 
 ever talks about religion; only my old nurse at Orwell 
 ever says anything of the sort. But nothing offends 
 mamma like the merest mention of death. It is very weak 
 and foolish, is it not ? for one must die." 
 
 " Yes ; one must die." 
 
 " And one ought, therefore, to think of death ? " 
 
 " That depends upon how we think of it, it seems to 
 me. I have heard of monks sitting for hours contemplat- 
 ing a skull, by way of preparing themselves for death. 
 They had better have contemplated life." 
 
 " jfar better, I should say. And death is so ghastly. 
 Only fancy, the greatest beauty that ever lived comes to 
 bare, horrid bones at last. How true it is that beauty is 
 bat skin-deep ! " 
 
 " It is not true of all beauty ; the soul beauty does not 
 die, or grow unlovely in old age." 
 
 " Do you mean beauty of mind ? Madame Pierrot fre- 
 quently spoke of that." 
 
 " I do mean that, and something more than that. Just 
 as intellectual beauty is beyond mere physical beauty, is 
 the beauty of which I speak beyond that which is only 
 mental. But I must tell you I am only repeating my dear 
 aunt's words. It was she who first taught me to long for, 
 and seek for, a beautiful soul. If I say anything that 
 sounds very wise, Clarissa, it is she who is still speaking 
 through me, remember, not I myself ; I can but repeat 
 ivhat she has taught me." 
 
 " Did she teach yon not to be afraid of death ? " asked 
 Clarissa, in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes, she did, for she taught me not to be afraid of 
 God. No one who loves Grod truly can fear to go to Him." 
 
 " I suppose she was not afraid htrself when she felt that 
 she was going to die ? " 
 
 " Afraid ! Oh, no. I think she had had doubts of her- 
 self for a long time, but as soon as she knew for certain 
 that she could never recover from her malady, she began 
 making her preparations, just like a person who is going 
 into a far country, not intending to return."
 
 WOMENTO MOEI. 235 
 
 ** And the preparations were ? '* 
 
 " Entirely on account of those she had to leave behind 
 her. To use Scripture phrase, she set her house in order ; 
 she was anxious to leave nothing unsettled, to omit 
 nothing that could simplify matters, and save people 
 trouble. She always thought first of others." 
 
 " But did she make no preparations en her own ac- 
 count ? " 
 
 " She had none to make ; her life for years had been one 
 long, solemn preparation. She was ready and waiting her 
 Lord's call. As for death, she did not believe in it." 
 
 " What can you mean ? Is not death a reality a 
 dreadful reality ? " 
 
 " To those who remain it is, indeed, a most terrible 
 reality. But for the person who goes we cannot suppose 
 there is any cessation of existence ; we cannot even be sure 
 that there is any interval of unconsciousness. As the eyes 
 shut down on this world they open to worlds unknown ; 
 as the senses grow dulled to what is passing around here, 
 they are suddenly awakened to what is going on there ; 
 one life is indeed ended, but another has commenced. So 
 death is not death at all in the common and heathen sig- 
 nificance of the term. It is simply a change a change of 
 worlds, a change of conditions ; but the spirit itself is the 
 same it came from God, and to Him it has returned." 
 
 " And what do we really know of God ? " 
 
 " Very little, comparatively. But we know enough to 
 rid us of all our fears. God's love, as revealed in Christ, 
 is plainly set before us, and we need not be afraid of trust- 
 ing all to that great boundless love ; for it has never yet 
 failed anyone, and never will, for God is love." 
 
 " But can He love one who has forgotten Him, despised 
 Him, sinned against Him ? " 
 
 " God always loves, even when He punishes the sinner, 
 for sin must be punished. But there is pardon for sin 
 full and perfect pardon, pardon for all who truly seek it." 
 
 " And it is through Christ that we are pardoned ? " 
 
 " Through Christ. Through His death, and through 
 His life also." 
 
 " Yes ; but I cannot understand how it is. I once asked 
 Madame to explain it to me, but I think she had 110 very
 
 236 LADY CLARISSA, 
 
 clear ideas on the subject herself. And then, yoa know, 
 though she professed Lutheranism, she clung very much 
 to the creed of Rome. She did not believe in the media- 
 tion of the Virgin, or of the saints, but she did believe in 
 what the Church calls Transubstantiation. And she seemed 
 to imply that salvation had something to do with the 
 sacrament. How is it ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you how it is, for I do not know myself. 
 Mortal man cannot explain the great mystery of the Atone- 
 ment ; he thinks he can, and so makes up all kinds of plans 
 and schemes of redemption, as he audaciously calls them. 
 But, when all is said and done, we know nothing, for God has 
 told us nothing only that we have sinned, and that Christ 
 died for our sins, for the sin of the whole world ; that He 
 shed His blood for us ; that in Him is life eternal ; that 
 through Him and by Him we come to God, that is all, and 
 surely we need ask no more. Perhaps in another world 
 the Divine mysteries may be revealed to us ; perhaps then 
 we shall know what the Atonement really meant what 
 was the true mystery of the cross. Here we need not per- 
 plex ourselves with so-called ' schemes ' and ' plans.' We 
 only know that forgiveness is offered us a free pardon, 
 for Christ's sake. It is enough to take that pardon simply 
 as it is offered, to receive Christ into our hearts, and to 
 follow the example, as far as in us lies, of His pure and 
 perfect life." 
 
 " Then you do not think the sacrament has anything to 
 do with salvation ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all. In it we publicly testify our love to 
 Christ, our acceptance of Him, and our belief in His 
 everlasting kingdom. It is a means of grace, as people 
 say that is, a help ; but and aunt said it in one of the 
 very last talks we had together it is no greater means of 
 grace than any other. There is nothing more truly sacred 
 though it may have more tender significance in the 
 bread and wine that we eat in church than there is in 
 common prayer and praise. Christ may be, and often is, 
 quite as close to us, quite as present, in the silence of oar 
 own rooms, or in the singing of a hymn, as at His table, 
 where we simply show forth His death, and look for Ilia 
 eecond coming."
 
 A BLOOD RELATION. 237 
 
 " All ! that ' second coming.' How frightened I used 
 to be about it when I was a child ! For I heard someone 
 say it was very near at hand. I remember particularly one 
 gloomy Advent Sunday, and they sang, ' Lo ! He cornea 
 with clouds descending.' And I shook with terror, 
 scarcely daring to look up, lest I should see the Judge 
 descending." 
 
 " Ah! but you did not know who the Judge was, or yon 
 would not have feared. And you know, whether that 
 second coming be to-morrow, or a thousand or more years 
 hence, it does not matter in the least. The great thing, 
 the only thing, is to be found in Christ living a Christ- 
 like life. For no one can be ready for Him who does not 
 accept the gospel of His life as well as the gospel of His 
 death. And, being ready, what does it signify whether we 
 oieet Christ on earth or in heaven ? " 
 
 " I believe my own mamma was not afraid to die. I 
 will ask Nurse Barlow to tell me all about her when we go 
 back to Orwell. I am not sure that I should be afraid 
 myself now not so much afraid, certainly. Is there not 
 something in the Bible about sin being the sting of 
 death ? " 
 
 "Yes; and the next verse says, 'But thanks be to 
 God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A I? L D RELATION. 
 ** A little more than kin, and less than kiud." 
 
 FROM that day Susan and Clarissa talked freely 
 together, and Susan no longer felt herself alone. Lady 
 Orwell treated her with marked coldness, and informed 
 the Earl that she was a poor, vapourish, weak-spirited
 
 238 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Creature, only fit for tlie rustic, secluded life of Batter, 
 meads ; but that she did not see liow, as things were, she 
 could very well get rid of her, and she kept Clarissa com- 
 pany, and obviated the nuisance of another governess ! 
 To which Lord Orwell replied that he had seen very little 
 of Miss Shrosbery, but what he had seen pleased him ; 
 she must have shown her worst side to the Countess, for 
 she appeared to him quite a superior young woman, and 
 Clarissa found her all that she could wish. 
 
 And the Countess's answer was, "Clarissa! as if 
 Clarissa were any judge ! And as to yourself, my lord, 
 you are always finding out ' superior women.' It is a vast 
 pity you cannot give the palm to your own wife some- 
 times ! " 
 
 "A pity, indeed!" sighed the Earl, and he walked 
 away. He was getting tired of this petty warfare, these 
 ceaseless squabbles, these wearisome complainings. 
 When Lady Orwell took a certain tone, Lord Orwell 
 beat a retreat as speedily as possible, for he knew by sad 
 experience what it signified. He had begun to discover 
 that there really are cases in which discretion is the better 
 part of valour. 
 
 But her ladyship's horn had been exalted very high of 
 late, and she had grown more imperious, more arrogant 
 than ever. Did she not bethink herself how pride goeth 
 before destruction a haughty spirit before a fall ? 
 When she snubbed her lord, tyrannised over her ser- 
 vants, and insolently ignored her two step-daughters, 
 she little dreamed of the humiliation in store for her. 
 She little thought, as Mr. Hadfield would have said, of 
 " the rod in pickle" for her. She was getting ready 
 the season being entirely over for the seaside sojourn 
 which she had promised herself when her lord went as 
 usual into Scotland. She had determined to have her 
 children with her at Brighton, and as Susan and Clarissa 
 could not very well be left alone, they were permitted to 
 attend her. It was September; town was "empty," of 
 course, and the days were shortening rapidly. 
 
 One afternoon, Lady Orwell came in from a long course 
 of shopping, very tired and cross, and was just retiring to 
 aer own sitting-room, when the servant in attendance
 
 A BLOOD KEfcAriON. 
 
 said, rather hesitatingly, " There is someone waiting to 
 see }'ou, my lady." 
 
 " I am tired, and I don't see tradespeople at this nc.ur. 
 You know that as well as I do, Johnston." 
 
 " Certainly, your ladyship, and I told the fellow as ifc 
 were an ntter impossibility that your ladyship could see 
 him this afternoon. Says I, 'My lady is very metho- 
 dercal, and transacks all her business of a morning ; and 
 she never, by any chance, sees anybody of your sort after 
 three o'clock.' And says he, ' How do you know what 
 sort of body I am ? Anyways, I want to see yonr 
 lady.'" 
 
 " There ! there ! Johnston, that will do ! I don't wish 
 to hear any more * says I ' and ' says he.' Go and tell the 
 man he need not wait, and send Coralie to my room with 
 a cup of tea immediately." 
 
 Johnston obeyed, and Lady Orwell went to her boudoir, 
 where she threw herself on the sofa, and impatiently 
 awaited Coralie's appearance. But, instead of Coralie, 
 back came Johnston, looking much disturbed. " The man 
 won't go, my lady ; he says as he has come twenty-five 
 thousand miles ! or was it a hundred and twenty-five 
 thousand miles ? on purpose to see your ladyship, and 
 he don't mean to be baulked of the honour, he says." 
 
 " Bless me, Johnston, he must be a thief, and, perhaps, 
 a murderer ! What does he look like ? " 
 
 " Like a genteel scoundrel, my lady, and not so very 
 genteel, neither. He's as evil-looking a chap as ever I 
 set eyes on." 
 
 " And you let him in, and let him wait ! Oh, Johnston, 
 you old simpleton ! Why, he and his gang will rob the 
 house to-night as sure as you stand there ! I dare say 
 he's taking notes of the premises this very moment." 
 
 " No, he don't look like that, my lady," replied John- 
 ston, feeling much aggrieved. 
 
 " Where laave you left him ? " 
 
 " In the little library, where there isn't no valuables, 
 only old books, and some useless fishing-tackle of my 
 lord's. He can't do much harm there." 
 
 " Harm or no harm, he shall not stay there any longer. 
 Go back, Johnston, and tell him I won't see him for all
 
 240 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ills impudent. Show him. out, and if he won't go, tnr: 
 hvn oat." 
 
 " Yes, my lady," said Johnston, going softly from tho 
 room. Bat, in five minutes, he again returned. " It's of 
 no mortal nse, my lady ; he won't budge an inch till ha 
 gets speech of your ladyship. And when I tell him I'll 
 send for the constables, he says, ' Before you make a 
 row, my man for which nobody will thank you take 
 that to your lady ;' and he gives me this here scrap of 
 paper folded up. It's a dreadful dirty paper, my lady ; 
 perhaps you'd better put it on the fire, and send for the 
 constables." 
 
 But my lady's curiosity was awakened, and, perhaps, 
 something beside curiosity ! She took the dirty scrap of 
 paper, which appeared to have been torn from an old ac- 
 count-book, and carried it to the window the better to 
 examine it. For it was a dull afternoon, and the 
 light was failing, and, what was more, her ladyship's 
 eyes were failing also. She protested they were weak 
 from nervous headaches, to which she was subject ; but 
 the truth was, she really needed spectacles, and was much 
 too vain and foolish to put them on. People of the 
 Countess's stamp never do take kindly to spectacles, 
 though they will condescend to an eye-glass occasionally ; 
 shallow brains cannot consent to growing old, and the 
 growing-old process generally commences at forty, or 
 thereabouts. 
 
 Lady Orwell was now forty-five, and a pair of first- 
 sight glasses would have been most serviceable, only she 
 could not make up her mind to " disfigure herself," and, 
 as a rule, she contrived to do without looking into things 
 very closely. 
 
 At that moment, however, she would have been very 
 glad of any kind of optical assistance, for her heart mis- 
 gave her as she gazed at the rough scrawl before her. 
 There was something in the outline of the characters, and 
 even in the coarse, crumpled paper itself, that carried her 
 back to a day long past a day that she fondly hoped and 
 believed was dead and buried, without any possibility of 
 resurrection. The colour faded from her face as she at 
 last made out the words: "Lady Orwell ! I want to see
 
 A BLOOD EELA.TIOS. 241 
 
 you alone ; don't send your flankey to me with any more 
 messages, but come to me yourself. I've a lot to say to 
 yon, and I've come from over seas from yon know 
 where ! to see yon once again. My lord is ont o' town 
 the papers says so or I shouldn't have come. Yours, as 
 always, JACK SPARKS. P.S. You'd letter come, for I 
 won't take no denial." 
 
 3he turned hot and cold as she pored over this strange 
 epistle, so different from the smooth-pressed Bath post 
 and delicately-tinted and perfumed notes which she com- 
 monly received. She had grown used to crested seals, 
 and shapely-folded documents, and the scent of pot-pourri 
 and patchouli, and she shuddered at the sight of the 
 vulgar writing, and the rough, creased bill-et itself, care- 
 lessly crumpled like a bill, and smelling strongly of stale 
 tobacco. But all that would have been as nothing had 
 the detestable missive come to her from a stranger, from 
 any insolent beggar or audacious small tradesman whom 
 she could defy and order from her door. Alas ! " Jack 
 Sparks " was no unfamiliar name, and she did know- 
 where he came from, for Jack was the companion of her 
 early youth, her blood-relation, her sometime lover, and 
 the rival of the young butcher so often mentioned ; in 
 short, Jack Sparks v?as Louisa Sparks' first cousin, and 
 she had once appreciated his society, and played him off 
 against the amatory butcher as "a very nice young 
 man ! " But, in most families, there is one black sheep, 
 and Jack was the unsatisfactory mutton of the Sparkses. 
 He was " gay " and thoughtless, and would not settle to 
 any kind of occupation. He liked to play at being a gen- 
 tleman; he liked what he called "good company," and 
 plenty of it ; he liked pigeon-breeding and pigeon-flying ; 
 he liked tobacco, and pots of beer without stint ; indeed, 
 he liked everything that tends to the undoing of a young 
 man in his class of life, and disliked all that might have 
 conduced to his well-being and respectability. 
 
 The road to ruin is pretty much the same whoever 
 treads it. Idleness and vanity, dissipation and vice, self- 
 love and conscience paralysed, though varying in kind, 
 work precisely the same result, whether the deluded youth 
 De e peer's son or a costermonger's. Jack Sparks 
 
 16
 
 2-12 LAI/T C1AKIUSA. 
 
 whose early history was a caution, only we ha\e no time 
 to relate it went through the usual training with, won- 
 derful celerity. There was a time, doubtless, when he was 
 rather weak than wicked, when he was what is commonly 
 called " led astray," when people blamed his companions 
 rather than himself ; but there soon arrived a period when 
 he had to bear the burden of his own faults, and when no 
 one thought it necessary to make excuses for him. He 
 became a ringleader rather than a follower ; he got into 
 scrape after scrape, each one worse than the last, and, 
 finally, he " got into trouble," which meant that his 
 country had begun to take notice of his delinquencies, 
 and so constrained him to take a voyage to a certain 
 penal settlement at the public expense. 
 
 The Sparkses who were truly respectable in the com- 
 mon acceptation of the word, inasmuch as no member of 
 their family had ever before disgraced himself or herself ; 
 had. always paid their way, such as it was, and could 
 boast that their men were honest and their women vir- 
 tuons, which is a good deal to say of people brought up as 
 the Sparkses were felt themselves terribly aggrieved, 
 and they one and all, in solemn conclave, renounced Jack 
 Sparks for ever and ever, and agreed among themselves 
 hat he should be henceforth to them as dead and buried 
 as were any of their departed relatives now mouldering to 
 dust in "Whitechapel Churchyard. And, all things con- 
 sidered, they were by no means in the wrong. A whole 
 family is not to be ruined and disgraced for the sake of 
 one incorrigible, impracticable rascal, who refuses, upon 
 any terms, to be a brand plucked from the burning ; and 
 this the Sparkses felt, and they acted accordingly. Jack's 
 name was no more heard, his disreputable chums forgot 
 him, and his kindred did theii 1 best to forget him also, 
 finding, alas ! that it is extremely difficult not to remem- 
 ber what yon are always striving to forget. 
 
 But there had been passages between Jack and Louisa, 
 for whom Jack cared as much as one of his unhappy cha- 
 racter could care, and she, strangely enough out of sheer 
 perversity, some folks thought took his part, and de- 
 clared that he was shamefully wronged, that he had/been 
 made a cat's-paw of, that there was a conspiracy ajuinst
 
 A CLOOD RELATION. 24:3 
 
 him, aud that, in short, he was paying tli9 -penalty of tha 
 misdeeds of others rather than of his own. And Jack 
 was grateful to his " cousin Loo," and wrote to her occa- 
 sionally from the other side of the world, where they at3 
 their Christmas dinners in the clog-days and shivered with 
 cold at Midsummer, and always promised that he would 
 come back and marry her. 
 
 A most superfluous promise ! for Louisa had no inten- 
 tion of marrying him. She had " liked'' him well 
 enough, as a girl ; she was given to sundry likings of this 
 kind, and she always kept a good assortment of sweet- 
 hearts and followers. Bat Miss Sparks, from fourteen and 
 upwards, knew better than to throw herself away ; and 
 the older she grew, the more highly she appraised herself 
 the larger, in her own estimation, were her deserts, and the 
 more ambitious her designs. She had a soul above 
 Whitechapel, and her aspirations soared far above green- 
 grocery. She resolved "to marry a gentleman," which 
 resolve culminated in her becoming Mrs. Shrosbery and 
 cutting all her family dead, her own parents and cousin 
 Jack included. Henceforth, "Whitechapel was to her aa 
 the States of Barbary, and Spitalfields as Timbnctoo ; and 
 when people spoke of " the East," she immediately re- 
 ferred to Palestine, but thought she had once heard of an 
 out-of-the-way place called Mile End ! 
 
 As time passed on, Mr. and Mrs. Sparks paid the debt 
 of nature. Louisa's sisters, whom she had never recog- 
 nised since she left her old home, married badly, and went 
 down in the world ; her brother emigrated to one of the 
 colonies though not at his country's expense ; her cousins 
 there were plenty of them went hither and thither, and 
 she heard their names no more. 
 
 As for Jack, he was utterly forgotten ; even Mr. Had- 
 field, who made himself acquainted with most people's 
 private affairs, never discovered the fact of his existence, 
 nor dreamed of this one blot on the lowly, but honest, 
 escutcheon of the Whitechapel Sparkses. Years had 
 flown since any reference had been made to his sad his- 
 tory ; no news came from over seas ; his term of punish- 
 memt was ended ; and " doubtless," thought they who 
 thought at all, " Jack Sparks is dead 1 " 
 
 16-2
 
 4i LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 So successfully had Mrs. Shrosbfcry arranged her plans, 
 that she never, in any single instance, received a visit 
 from her own family, nor was she ever threatened with 
 any invasion of the Goths and Vandals that is to say, of 
 the despised Sparkses ! Between the Sparkses and the 
 Shrosberys there was a great gulf fixed ; and as Louisa 
 had prudently made a sort of elopement of her very 
 advantageous and auriferous marriage, the majority of her 
 kinsfolk did not even know her married name ; and when 
 the old people died, and the unlucky sisters sank into total 
 obscurity, no one remained who could give any clue to 
 Louisa's whereabouts, or even guess at her actual position. 
 As for the Countess of Orwell, no Whitechapel person ever 
 dreamed that she and Louisa Sparks were one ! 
 
 Terrible, therefore, was the blow now dealt by the unwel- 
 come returned prodigal. It is not too much to say that 
 her ladyship tottered and reeled as she received it. And 
 yet she contrived not to betray herself ; the dull afternoon 
 and the shadowy curtains were in her favour, and Johnston 
 happily was one of the densest of his species. 
 
 She took counsel with herself on the spot : " What 
 shall I do ? Suppose I say I never heard his name ? 
 Suppose I boldly send for the police, and denounce him 
 as an impostor, or a madman ? That would rid me of him 
 for the present ; but Jack if he is the Jack of old times 
 will not be nonplussed in that cool fashion. I know 
 what he would do : he. would revenge himself by telling 
 the truth publicly ! and it would be in vain that I denied 
 his statements. It's a very hard thing to fight the naked 
 truth ! In less than a week all the world would know that 
 the fashionable, haughty yes ! I know I'm haughty ! 
 Countess of Orwell the wealthy, and presumably well- 
 born, Mrs. Shrosbery was once a poor, humble nobody, 
 the daughter of nobodies, and brought up among vulgar 
 nobodies, at the East End of London ! There will be 
 plenty of people glad enough to hunt the secret down ; 
 plenty who will rejoice over my discomfiture ; plenty who 
 will be delighted to flourish my Whitechapel pedigree iu 
 my very face ! Tes ! I know ; but it sha'n't be. I will see 
 him I must act cautiously." 
 
 Then, again, she questioned when and how the interview
 
 A BLOOD EELATION. 245 
 
 should take place. Should she go to him? It would 
 seem better, since she always saw tradespeople, and peti- 
 tioners, and her inferiors generally, in the little library 
 downstairs, which had long since been devoted to business 
 purposes as a waiting-room. Then, on the other hand, 
 might she not dazzle him if she received him in her own 
 elegant, brilliant boudoir? might he not feel "dashed," 
 and cowed, and generally subdued, at the mere sight of 
 the state and splendour of her surroundings ? Her reso- 
 lution was taken, and she turned to Johnston, who stood 
 patiently awaiting orders. " Light the lamps, and show 
 the man up here. I see, now, who it is one of my 
 very oldest pensioners ! Why did he not send up his 
 name before ? He left the country, and I quite thought 
 he was dead. Poor fellow ! he has been most unfortunate. 
 Speak gently to him, Johnston ; he is rather rough s6me- 
 times ; but I fancy he is not quite right here," and the 
 Countess significantly touched her forehead; "not mad, 
 you know ; only just a little queer." 
 
 Greatly astonished at the unusual tone of his imperious 
 mistress, Johnston went to do her bidding, and in a few 
 minutes returned, bringing with him the unfortunate 
 pensioner, whose looks belied him, if he were not a verit- 
 able mauvais sujet. 
 
 Jack made a low bow to his supposed lady-patroness, 
 who recoiled with horror on perceiving his appearance. 
 He was shabby almost to squalidness, and yet there was 
 a jaunty, pseudo-genteel air about him, which might 
 account for Johnston's impression of mingled sconndrelism 
 and gentility. His face, which had lost every trace of 
 good looks, wore a determined and desperate expression 
 that made Louisa shudder. Hig gait was slouching, his 
 manner at once cringing and insolent, and he brought into 
 the room with him a strong odour of the unpopular scent 
 which had characterised his written message. 
 
 The Countess saw that the door was quite closed, and 
 also satisfied herself that no one was within earshot, 
 before she spoke. 
 
 " Now, then ! " she said, coldly, " what is it ? I am 
 greatly pressed for time, and will thank you to be brief." 
 
 " That's a good 'un ! " returned Jack, look ; ng cruelly
 
 243 LADY CLAEISSA 
 
 injured. " And I've come all the 'way, over seas, from 
 that cursed place over there, on purpose to set eyes on 
 you, Cousin Loo ! I didn't quite expect as you'd ask mo 
 to dinner, and introduce me to your dukes and duchesses, 
 so I didn't come in evening toggery ha ! ha ! But I did 
 look for a little kindness after all these years of absence ; 
 I did think as you'd be glad to see me." 
 
 " How can I be glad to see you, remembering how you 
 went away the first that ever brought disgrace upon an 
 honest name ? " 
 
 " Follies of youth, my lass ; follies of youth ! " cried 
 Jack, with a diabolical leer, and a motion of his jaws, as 
 though he were chewing tobacco. " That's all forgiven 
 and forgotten now, old scores wiped out, and a new leaf 
 turned over. Let bygones be bygones ; I'm agreeable." 
 
 " And I am not, Mr. Sparks. Once more, I ask you, 
 What do you want ? If a trifle would be of any service to 
 you " 
 
 "No, it wouldn't; I never held with trifling of any 
 sort. But I do want something of yon, Loo, my dear. 
 First of all, I want a kiss, for the sake of old times." 
 
 " A kiss ! How dare you ? Don't offer to touch me, or 
 I'll " 
 
 " Hoighty-toighty ! don't disturb yourself ! I can do 
 without the kiss very well ; I only meant it as a compli- 
 ment and a token of cousinly affection nothing more, I 
 vow ! I am too old for spooning now, and so are you, I 
 should say. Why. you've growcd into quite an elderly, 
 stout party ! Not/ but what you and I have had many a 
 kiss before now, haven't we ? I remember, as if it was 
 yesterday, the last time ; it was just afore I got nabbed ; 
 and I come in towards dark as it might be now and 
 found you a-selling half a bunch of carrots to the milk- 
 man ; and you had red beads round your neck, and you 
 looked ever so handsome ! and you was a bit slimmer 
 than you are now eh, Loo ? Well, yon won't kiss me 
 again? Never mind! it's quite as well; my wife might 
 be jealous women mostly are jealous, you know ; I'll go 
 1 ail yon keep your lordly husband to his cake and milk ! 
 So let's come to business. I expects to find you generous 
 and open-handed, for you always was, and I hear you are
 
 A KLOOD RELA110.V. 247 
 
 stunning rich curls your hair every night with bank-notes, 
 and gives the beggars sovereigns wrapped up like coppers !" 
 
 " Someone has told yon. most absurd stories. How- 
 ever, I am not poor ; and, as I said before, if a trifle will 
 be acceptable " 
 
 " I say, Loo, what's your notion of a trifle, now ? 
 Some folks call half- a-crown, or even a sixpence, a trifle ! 
 I call that mean, I do. And I've known jolly fellows fling 
 you their purse, and tell you to help yourself, and I call 
 that handsome, I do ! But what do you call a trifle ? " 
 
 "A sovereign; or, if I could be quite sure that you 
 would not come here any more, I would not mind going to 
 a 5 note." 
 
 " I say, Loo, I never were a flat." 
 
 "On the contrary, you were always too sharp to do 
 yourself any good." 
 
 " Sharp or flat, I'm not going to be pnt off in that 
 way, my lady. What's the use of 5 ? I want a cool 
 hundred there." 
 
 l ' And you may want it, as far as I am concerned. Take 
 5, or nothing." 
 
 " But I won't take 5 ; I'll take, at least, ten times 
 five, on account say, and the rest another time. Come 
 now, Loo, be generous. Look at this fine house, and 
 this snug room that's fit for a crowned queen ; and look 
 at you with your diamonds, and your gold chain, and 
 heaps of money at the banker's, and everything about you 
 like a noble lacly." 
 
 " What has that to do with you ?" 
 
 " Just this : that I mean to be the better for your good 
 luck, Loo ! There ! that's plain English. And you may 
 as well let me have it agreeably as disagreeably." 
 
 " Do you know that I have only to ring the bell, and 
 give you into charge, Mr. Sparks ? " 
 
 " I know that you ivon't, my lady ! You'd get the better 
 of me for the hour, Loo, but you'd pay too dearly for yonr 
 little game. I should go before the magistrate as a 
 natural consequence, and equally as a natural consequence 
 I should say, ' My lord, the Countess of Orwell, as was old 
 Shrosbery's wife, as was Loo Sparks, of Whitechapel, is 
 my own cousin ; my father and her father was brothers.
 
 24? LADY CLABISSA. 
 
 which she herself won't deny. And I only went to pay 
 her a friendly visit and ask a favour, for we were sweet- 
 hearts before I went out to the Floral Creelc that's the 
 fashionable name for Botany Bay and she cut up rough, 
 and didn't receive me as a kinswoman should.' I'd give 
 more particulars if they wanted 'em, and I dare say they 
 would, and then it would be all printed in the papers, 
 Loo, my dear, and wouldn't there be what the French call 
 an exposy ! There 1 don't turn pale ; I won't hurt you if 
 1 can help it. I am sure the way you've played your cards 
 does yon infinite credit, and I don't envy you your luck, 
 only I want to profit by it just a little. You give me 50 
 down on account and another 50 in six weeks' time, 
 and you shall have no unpleasantness through me. I'll 
 keep dark, and never let out nothing. From what I can 
 learn, nobody knows as you once was Louisa Sparks, as 
 worked hard for her living, and was a good girl, though 
 poor and lowly." 
 
 " No one knows it," sobbed Louisa, now fairly beaten. 
 "And I'd rather die, Jack" the familiar name slipped 
 , eut unawares " than let anybody know it. If my lord 
 found it out, I should be ready to kill myself." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! he'll never find it out through me, if only 
 you'll be just a little kind, and own me for your cousin on 
 the quiet. Then you'll let me have the 50 ?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose you must have it. But mind, I make 
 no further promises." 
 
 *' No more don't I, then ! What's sauce for the goose 
 is sauce for the gander, you'll find, my lady. Thank 
 you ; I do love the feel of new bank-notes. I'll write to 
 you, so that nobody will understand my letter but your- 
 self, wheu I want more money, and I'll sign myself 
 * Percy Howard,' or something aristocratic. And I shall 
 keep my eye on yon. Good-bye, Loo ! we are going to 
 be friends, that I can see." 
 
 And at last he was gone, and poor " Loo " had palpita- 
 tions now in sad earnest. She was equally angry, 
 mortified, and frightened, for he had no sooner left her 
 than she began to ask herself, "How did he find me 
 .out? Someone must have given him the clue! Some- 
 one knows who I really am ! "
 
 CU^TSSJL 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 01? THE SODTHBOUEJfE SHOKB. 
 
 ** GKxi moves in a mysterious way 
 
 His wonders to perform ; 
 He plants His footsteps in the sea, 
 And rides upon the storm. 
 
 * Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
 
 But trust Him for His grace ; 
 Behind a frowning Providence 
 He hides a smiling face." 
 
 THAT autumn passed pleasantly to Susan and to Clarissa. 
 They were allowed to do pretty much as they liked, and as 
 the weather was generally fine and warm, they spent a 
 great part of every day out of doors, rambling on the 
 beach, exploring the wild glens and ravines which here 
 and there divide the hoary cliffs, or inhaling the fragrant 
 salt-breeze on the upland downs which stretched for many 
 i mile above the rocky coast. It was in every way a health- 
 ful life that the two girls led, though surrounded on every 
 side by vain and frivolous people, whose only anxiety was 
 "to kill time " in the way most agreeable to themselves. 
 
 Lady Orwell treated Susan coldly and distantly. She 
 observed towards her a certain courtesy, and she was not 
 obviously unkind ; but she avoided her as much as pos- 
 sible, and if by any chance they were thrown together 
 when other persons were not present, the Countess took 
 great pains to speak only on subjects which could not, or 
 ought not naturally, as she imagined, to drift into a reli- 
 gious channel. At the same time, she admitted to herself 
 that Miss Shrosbery was a very pleasant young person, by 
 no means the gloomy ascetic she was quite prepared to find 
 her ; and she might have proved an entertaining companion, 
 had it not been for her obvious proclivities in certain direc- 
 tions. " I really should like to talk to her sometimes," 
 she said to her intimate friend and ally, Mrs. Grandison, 
 at whose instance it was that she had condescended to
 
 250 11I)T 
 
 patronise Soutlibourne, then an obscure and comparatively 
 unfrequented watering-place ; thus traversing some of her 
 own schemes, which had all been laid for Brighton, where 
 gaiety and fashion, though of a slightly different order, 
 abounded then as now. The human machineiy winch, sets 
 in motion and keeps going that wonderful invention called 
 "fashionable society," is complex in the extreme, and 
 mysterious as it is complex. There are wheels within 
 wheels, and curious unseen springs, and hidden pulleys, 
 all rising and falling, and winding and rotating in a mar- 
 vellous manner, which very few can comprehend. 
 
 Mrs. Grandison was not rich, for she had a speculating 
 huslrand, who made ducks and drakes of the very hand- 
 some fortune she had brought him. He was always 
 making some wonderful discovery, or inventing some out- 
 of-the-way scheme, which only needed the outlay of a few 
 hundreds to insure a vast return of wealth. But of all 
 heathen gods whom nominal Christians worship, Plutus is 
 perhaps the shyest, the most capricious, and the hardest 
 to be propitiated. He has his favonrities, of course, who 
 sow sparingly and reap bountifully, and who get somehow 
 cent, per cent, for all their money ! But for one such 
 darling of fortune, there are scores towards whom he turns 
 a deaf ear and a frowning aspect, and out of every hundred 
 who seek his dazzling shrine, very, very few can find him. 
 He is a partial and fickle deity. Pity that so many men 
 and women of this world should break the first command- 
 ment for the sake of such a sorry, arbitrary King Log. 
 
 And Mr. Grandison was not beloved of Plntns ; what 
 he gained by one " splendid investment " he lost by an- 
 other, and too often his losses were without any corre- 
 sponding gains the consequences being that he grew 
 poorer and poorer, to the intense annoyance of his bit- 
 terly-disappointed wife, who was ambitious,, and loved 
 money for the sake of what it bought. Within the last 
 year or two, it bad come to pass that Mr. Grandison 
 found himself the owner of some hundreds of waste acres, 
 allotted to him, as shares, in a company just started for 
 the building and establishing of new cities particularly 
 eea-ports all over England, and, if the plan succeeded, all 
 over Scotland too. Land was to bs bought cheap " dirt
 
 ON THE SOUTUBOURNE SHORE. 251 
 
 cbcap ** m certain remote districts, and rendered valu- 
 able by the nses to which it should be put Sonthbonrne 
 was a fishing village, and not much, of that, bat it was 
 on the coast, there was a fine open sea, and the scenery 
 round about was beautiful. 
 
 It was resolved that Southbourne should be trans- 
 formed into a fashionable watering-place, and Mr. 
 Grandison was one of the unfortunate promoters of a 
 scheme which ruined all who put their hands to it at the 
 outset, and made the fortunes of a few as yet unborn, 
 who came to the rescue long years afterwards. Mrs. 
 Grandison persuaded Lady Orwell to patronise South- 
 bourne ; and her ladyship, who was delighted to play the 
 leader under any circumstances, after a very little en- 
 treaty allowed herself to be persuaded. " For yon must 
 know, dearest Louisa," said Julia they called each other 
 by their Christian names " that if you take a thing up, 
 all the rest will follow. Let it be known that the Coun- 
 tess of Orwell and family have arrived at Southbourne, 
 and people of every degree will be anxious to try the 
 air; your name will be the making of the place! And 
 really it is a sweet spot, and so salubrious, or else I 
 would not for worlds have recommended it ; and I know 
 what good it did me, after I recovered from that typhus 
 fever three years ago, and it quite set up Miss Arabella 
 Bnnter, when she had danced herself one foot into the 
 grave in her first season. And there are boats and an 
 esplanade, and a band and a circulating library ; and there 
 will be, very soon, a pier and baths, and everything else 
 which one expects to find at a favourite watering-place. 
 We must get up a charity ball there are no assembly 
 rooms yet ; but I am sure, with your co-operation and 
 with the prestige of your name, it can be carried out most 
 charmingly." 
 
 And so Louisa was won ; but I very much doubfe 
 whether she would have thrown Brighton over quite so 
 easily, had the audacious Jack Sparks, of " Floral Creek," 
 never put in an appearance. However that might be, a 
 place Avas taken at Southbourne, the children and their 
 nurses were summonjd from Orwell, and by the middle of 
 September they were all comfortably settled in a comino-
 
 252 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 dions Louse ; and the Countess, tired out with a succession 
 of gaieties, and secretly harassed and perturbed in mind, 
 in consequence of her cousin's recent visit, was con- 
 tent for awhile to bury herself in seclusion, and enact the 
 part of grande dame for the benefit of all the professionals 
 and tradesmen's wives, who, tempted by alluring reports 
 of salubrity and cheapness, were spending their autumn 
 holiday at Southbonrne. 
 
 "Yes, I should like to talk to her sometimes," said the 
 Countess, " for she can really be extremely entertaining. 
 She is clever undoubtedly, and, on the whole, not nnami- 
 able ; and though one cannot exactly call her pretty, for 
 she has no complexion, she has a very distinguished air 
 don't you think so ? " 
 
 "Very distinguished!" replied Mrs. Grandison. "I 
 noticed her patrician style the first time I saw her. But 
 why do you not talk to her, Louisa dear ? " 
 
 " Because she shocks me so ! she talks on subjects 
 which I really do not know how to explain to you " 
 
 " Surely she does not converse on improper subjects, so 
 refined a creature ? Thongh, after all, appearances are 
 deceitful, and yon have had nothing to do with her educa- 
 tion, you tell me," said Julia, very much amazed. 
 
 " Well ! I suppose the subject which I mean would not 
 be classed as ' improper ; ' a thing may be quite proper, 
 you know, and yet entirely out of order, in bad taste, and 
 therefore undesirable.' ' 
 
 " Of course it may ; very much which may be purely 
 right in itself is often inexpedient. But do tell me what 
 it is of which you disapprove. I am quite curious." 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, she is as arrant a Methodist as 
 overlived! " 
 
 "A Methodist! How dreadful! What low company 
 she must have kept ! No wonder you are distressed ! And 
 yet, was not the Countess of Huntingdon a sort of Metho- 
 dist ? And there was Lady Gleiiorchy, and some other 
 ladies, all of high birth and position, who made the 
 greatest fuss in the world about religion ! " 
 
 " That is just it ! Susan is not a real Methodist, for 
 she goes to church ; but she is what yon would call pious, 
 insists that religion was intended for week-days as
 
 ON THE SOUTHBOURNB SHORE. 253 
 
 well as Sundays. I could put up with that if it were not 
 for the dreadful way in which she speaks about death, and 
 eternity, and the world to come. One might as well set 
 up cross-bones and a skull, as I have heard the monks do, 
 to remind themselves that they must die, as enter into or- 
 dinary conversation with Susan Shrosbery. Something 
 dismal is sure to pop out, and it hurts my feelings." 
 
 " So very inconsiderate ! I wonder so modest looking 
 a girl should presume to obtrude her sentiments, especially 
 when she perceives they are far from acceptable." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, young people are not what they were 
 in our time. Reverence and filial respect were the rule 
 when I was young, and now they are the exception. 
 Young people, now-a-days, think, and even assert, that 
 they have as good a right to their own opinions as their 
 elders have to theirs. It's a revolutionary age." 
 
 And the Countess shook her head, and so did her friend, 
 and they sighed together over the degeneracy of the times, 
 just as elderly people sigh and make their moans to-day 
 over the changes that have taken place in society since 
 they were young ; extolling the golden days, which were 
 no other than those of which these two ladies so bitterly 
 complained. So it ever has been, is now, and ever will 
 be, till the end of time. 
 
 "And yet," continued Mrs. Grandison, when Lady 
 Orwell had recited a whole new chapter of " Lamenta- 
 tions " " yet, do you know, my dear Louisa, I should 
 have said the girl was of a very cheerful disposition. 
 There is something something I cannot describe a sort 
 of quiet brightness in her face, that almost fascinates one. 
 I saw her the other day, sitting on the rocks at low tide ; 
 she had a book on her knee, and she was talking to Lady 
 Clarissa, and I looked at her face, and wondered what it 
 was that made her almost lovely ! Such a bright, sweet 
 face it was, looking out to sea, as if it saw something at 
 the very farthest verge of the horizon something it loved 
 and watched for." 
 
 " Well ! I must confess that puzzles me. She is, as you 
 say, cheerful, even bright. And yet I am positive she is 
 always thinking about dying. Coralie tells me she and 
 Lady Clarissa talk about little else."
 
 254 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " That must be bad for Lady Clarissa. She should not 
 be encouraged in morbid reflections." 
 
 " As for that, Clarissa is so peculiar that she is 
 essentially morbid in herself. I do not think Methodism 
 itself could make her more morose and gloomy than she 
 has been ever since I came to Orwell. I wish she would 
 turn Methodist, if it would cure her of her ill-temper, and 
 her proud, disdainful ways. She was always a source of 
 trouble, and lately since my lord has most unaccount- 
 ably taken to making a fuss with her she has become 
 unbearable. Ah ! a woman little guesses what she takes 
 upon herself when she consents to be a stepmother ! " 
 
 It was a week after this conversation that Mrs. 
 Grandison, taking her walks abroad early one morning, 
 came suddenly upon Susan Shrosbery, seated under the 
 cliff, and without her usual companion. " Where is Lady 
 Clarissa ? " asked Mrs. Grandison. " I thought you and 
 she were inseparable, Miss Shrosbery. I have not seen 
 you apart since you came with your mamma to South- 
 bourne." 
 
 " Lady Clarissa is not quite well," replied Susan, "and 
 she would not hear of my remaining at home on her 
 account. Indeed, silence and sleep are the only cure for 
 her complaint." 
 
 " What is it ails her ? " 
 
 " She has one of her bad nervous headaches. She is 
 subject to nervous headaches, and while they last she 
 suffers much pain and distress. They leave her, too, in a 
 state of extreme prostration." 
 
 " Does she have them often ? " 
 
 " That depends, I believe. She had several in London 
 before we came here. But this place has done her has 
 done us both an infinitude of good. Lady Orwell says 
 you persuaded her to come ; I am sure Clarissa and I owe 
 you our sincerest thanks." 
 
 This was the way to Mrs. Grandison's heart, though 
 Susan did not know that. And as she went on to 
 enumerate the advantages of Southbourne, as compared 
 with other marine and far more popular resorts, the good 
 lady thought her one of the most intelligent and charming 
 girls she had ever encountered.
 
 ON TUB SOCTHBOUilNE SIIOEE. Sfi-J 
 
 lw was still quite early, and they had the shore almost 
 to themselves. The boasted " esplanade," which, from 
 end to end, was not so long as many a modern railway 
 platform, was fall half-a-mile away. Some children with 
 their attendants were busy gathering shells and pebbles ; 
 a fisherman was spreading his nets upon some stakes that 
 would soon be covered with the tide ; and one solitary 
 figure paced a dark, diminishing speck to the head- 
 land which shut in the bay. Mrs. Grandison thought she 
 could not do better than improve the occasion by having 
 a little chat with Miss Shrosbery. The Countess had 
 rather excited her curiosity, and she was naturally of 
 an inquiring disposition. Also she wanted to divert 
 her mind from certain painful reflections, which had 
 possessed it for the last few days. Her husband had 
 gone up to town " on important business ;" the truth 
 being that more than one bubble had burst, more than 
 one endeavour to make haste to be rich had suddenly 
 come to naught, the consequences being present incon- 
 venience and possible disaster of no limited extent if the 
 worst should come to the worst. So the speculator had 
 flown to the scene of action, to find, at least, a stop-gap, 
 if not a remedy ; and his wife remained at Southbourne in 
 a state of painful and hourly increasing anxiety. Never 
 before had the issues been so tremendous, never before 
 had the danger been so imminent ! 
 
 In a mood of extreme despondency, Mrs. Grandison had 
 risen betimes from her sleepless bed, and gone out to try 
 if the fresh air, and the sunshine of a lovely autumn morn- 
 ing, would exorcise the demons that possessed her. The 
 pleasant breezes cooled her aching, burning forehead ; the 
 sight and sound of the waves, rising and falling monoto- 
 nously, soothed her restless spirit, and the soft voice of 
 Susan seemed to have a strangely calming effect. " Shall 
 I disturb you, if I sit here for a little while ? " she said, as 
 Rhe seated herself on the ledge of a rock at Susan's side. 
 
 " Not at all ; I am afraid my reading is only a pretence 
 there is so much to attract one in the open book of 
 nature. Is it not a lovely morning ? " 
 
 " Very much so. I never remember so fine an October." 
 
 5< Summer is bestowing upon us her latest smiles ere she
 
 LADY CLARISSA, 
 
 departs to other climes. This is a sort of English-Indi'vn 
 summer, I suppose." 
 
 " I suppose so ; they would call it that in America. We 
 sometimes speak of it as ' St. Luke's little summer.' " 
 
 " That is because St. Luke's Day occurs about this time, 
 I imagine. We must make the best of the fine weather 
 while it lasts ; any morning we may wake up to storm and 
 rain, and blasts that chill one like winter winds. This 
 autumnal loveliness is always brief and uncertain, I think." 
 
 " That may be said of all kinds of loveliness, Miss 
 Shrosbery. At least, that is my sad experience. I never 
 set my heart upon anything, bat I fail to win it, or, winning 
 it, keep it but a little space. Whatever I rejoice in passes 
 away ; that which I hold most closely slips from my grasp ; 
 it is always the same ' all that's bright must fade ! ' It is 
 a sad world a world of shadows, and disappointments, 
 and loss, and miserable delusions ! " 
 
 " But it is a world of hope, and a world of much happi- 
 ness, too." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, you are young ; you have never known 
 care, and worry, and despondency. Wait twenty years, 
 till you have fought the battle of life, and feel that the 
 day is going against yon, that the evening is coming fast, 
 that all will soon be lost, that the hopes and promises of 
 the morning were but mocking and deceitful voices. Then 
 tell me, or rather tell those who are round about yon, that 
 it is a world of happiness ! " 
 
 She spoke with so much fervour, and with so much sad- 
 ness, her voice faltering, and the tears gathering in her 
 eyes, that Susan at once felt that this was no mere vain 
 talk, no peevish and conventional abuse of a world too 
 fondly worshipped, too often unsatisfactory. There was 
 deep and bitter sorrow in Mrs. Grandison's lament ; it was 
 evident that in life's weary conflict she was getting the 
 worst of it, and that she was very, very tired, and longing 
 for rest, on almost any terms. 
 
 Susan was thoughtful for a moment or two. She covered 
 her face with her hands, and Mrs. Grandison fancied she 
 must be saying a little prayer. What a very strange girl 
 ehe really was ! No wonder that she should be called < 
 Methodist ! And you must remember that, in those days,
 
 OX THE SOUT.lBniTUNE SHORB. 257 
 
 it was, indeed, a term of reproach. No one that is, no 
 truly religions person now minds being called a Methodist, 
 for Methodism holds it own, and is in good repute, all the 
 world over. Indeed, Religion generally goes in silk attire 
 and silver slippers. But it was far otherwise in the days 
 of which I am writing. 
 
 "Well!" said Mrs. Grandison, as Susan's quiet face 
 was once more visible, " are you going to tell me that this 
 is a world of content and happiness ? that this human life 
 of ours is sweet and glad ? that, in short, we live in con- 
 tinual sunshine in Arcadia ? " 
 
 "About Arcadia, I do nob know," said Susan, with her 
 peaceful smile ; " but I do know that there is mnch happi- 
 ness in the world ; that it is a very good world, and that 
 God meant it to be so ; that every bitter has its sweet, and 
 every sadness its gladness, too. I know, also, that the 
 sunshine is continuous, although clouds come between it 
 and us very dark clouds, sometimes ; but the sunshine 
 the pure, glorious sunshine of our God's eternal love and 
 mercy is still there, as it has been from all eternity, as it 
 will be for ever and ever." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! but that sunshine is not for all it is only for 
 those who are extremely pious and devout ; for those who 
 have given up the world, as the phrase goes." 
 
 " It is a phrase I excessively dislike. We have no right 
 to ' give up ' the world in any sense. God has put us here 
 to do good and to receive good ; and it is ours to choose 
 the good and reject the evil that is in the world in God's 
 world, for it is His world, not the devil's, as many people 
 seem to think. That is what my aunt always said. If 
 anything could make her angry, it was to hear this world 
 abused; it seemed to her like charging God with blunders. 
 *Dear me,' I have heard her say to a dismal Christian we 
 used to know, ' if I make you a handsome present, and you 
 spoil it, is it any fault of mine, or is the present in itself 
 less worthy ? Do yon come and tell me it is good fep 
 nothing a marred, fouled, useless piece of workmanship, 
 only fit to be burned ? If you did, I should tell you that 
 you were foolish and ungrateful, that the gift was no more 
 to be blamed than the giver, and that the fault lay entirely 
 with yourself alone.' No, Mrs Grandison, I cannot say 
 
 JL7
 
 258 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 that the world is a bad world nor a wretched world. 
 People talk about 'a howling wilderness,' you know, and 
 they seem to think they are talking in a very Christian- 
 like way ; but it is they who howl to please themselves, 
 while they ought to be making the best of the wilderness 
 till it flourishes and blossoms like the rose." 
 
 " But that sunshine yon spoke of is it for all ? " 
 
 "For all who will lift up their eyes. Faith will pierce 
 hhe darkest cloud that ever hid that sun. It is only to 
 look and be saved." 
 
 " Look u-here at what ? " 
 
 " At God our Father, the Giver of all good gifts. At 
 God, as we see Him in His Son, Jesus Christ, by whom we 
 come to God, in whom we find pardon, and peace, and rest 
 to our souls." 
 
 " Rest and peace ! Ah, Miss Shrosbery, those are sweet 
 words. Shall I ever find them, do you think ? " 
 
 " You certainly will, if you seek for them. Nay, they 
 will come to yon, unsought, if only you seek Christ. For 
 with pardon come rest and peace, as surely as water comes 
 with the advancing tide. And something more than this 
 joy ! the joy that cometh with the morning, when the 
 soul awakes to find itself at one with God, through Jesus 
 Christ, the only Way, the eternal Truth, the Life ever- 
 lasting." 
 
 " Miss Shrosbery, I think yon must be very happy." 
 
 "Yes, I am," replied Susan, simply. "Even when 
 I am unhappy, I am still happy, if you know what I 
 mean." 
 
 " I think I do. When the trials of life come and bow 
 you down, and make your heart ache, you are still happy 
 m something within and beyond." 
 
 "Ah, that is just it! I expressed myself so stupidly, 
 "\>ut yon quite understand. There is still, in all sorrow, the 
 joy ' that no man taketh from you.' There is the peace 
 4 which passcth all understanding.' There is the hope 
 ' which inakcth not ashamed.' Don't you know those 
 beautiful words : ' Although the fig-tree shall not 
 blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of 
 the olive sluill fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the 
 flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no
 
 ON THE SODTHBOURNE SHORE. 259 
 
 herd in the stalls ; yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy 
 in the God of my salvation ' ? " 
 
 " I am ashamed to say I do not know them. Are they 
 in the Bible?" 
 
 "They are in the Old Testament. They were uttered 
 by one of the saints of old time, when God had not yet 
 spoken by His Son. And David, in the same Psalm in 
 which he says, ' Vain is the help of man,' cries exultingly, 
 ' O God ! my heart is fixed : I will sing, and give praise, 
 even with my glory ! ' ' 
 
 'It must be something worth having, that inward 
 sense of calm and settled happiness, which the world oat- 
 side can never touch. How shall I gain it ? " 
 
 " Yon have but to desire it truly, and it is yours. You 
 have only to ask, and it will be given, for God waits to be 
 gracious." 
 
 " I will ask I do ask Him. Bat is there nothing to 
 do nothing to yield ? " 
 
 " There is a great deal both to do and to yield ; but 
 it comes quite easily when the heart is once given to God. 
 You can't help doing, if you love ; and it costs little, com- 
 paratively, to give up what displeases a dear and honoured 
 friend. Love is such a conqueror ! And the service that 
 is forced, that is not the service of love ; the obedience that 
 is rendered only because one is afraid of consequences, 
 and seeks to be delivered from them, is all in vain. God 
 makes no sordid bargain with the repentant sinner, but 
 He says, ' Give Me thine heart ; ' and when that is given, 
 all is given. All the rest light, and joy, and peace, and 
 obedience, and all good works follow as naturally as day- 
 light follows dawn." 
 
 They parted, these two, who had never met in speech 
 before, who met but a very few times more on earth. 
 But the great work was done the cloud of unbelief, of 
 foolish pride and vain ambition, was fast melting in the 
 blessed, life-giving sunshine ; for Mrs. Grandison walked 
 home with this prayer on her lips, and in her heart of 
 hearts : " Oh, my God, make me to love Thee ! Make 
 me to serve Thee, as Thy loving child. Make me happy, 
 and let me find my rest, now and for evermore, in Thee.'* 
 
 172
 
 260 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ON THE MERE-SIDE. 
 
 Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 
 Our wills are ours to make them Thine." 
 
 IT was almost winter when, at last, Clarissa went back to 
 Orwell, and Snsan, for the first time, saw the splendid 
 home of her stepmother. To the gi-eat joy of Clarissa, 
 her father returned from Scotland as soon as the first 
 snow was on the ground. It was an unusually severe 
 season ; the lake in the park, the river, and the ponds were 
 all well frozen over, and everywhere skating was the order 
 of the day. The Countess had assembled a large party in 
 honour of Christmas, but the two girls remained, as before, 
 very much in retirement ; and the Earl, though perfectly 
 courteous to his guests, joined but little in the festivities 
 which were going on, and spent a good deal of time in the 
 seclusion of his own library, or in his daughter's apart- 
 ments. The more he saw of Susan Shrosbery, the more 
 he appreciated the sweetness and sincerity of her character. 
 He was very glad that his little Clarissa should have 
 secured so close and dear a friend, and he hoped most 
 ardently that Susan would not, at the close of her 
 minority, which was very near at hand, make any arrange- 
 ments for a speedy change of residence. 
 
 One bitter afternoon in January all the world went 
 (skating, and Susan, and, for a wonder, Clarissa, were 
 included in the party. Clarissa, accustomed from early 
 childhood to the exercise, glided over the ice as easily 
 and swiftly as a bird moves through the air, very much to 
 the envy of some of the Countess's young-lady visitors, 
 who were feebly trusting to chairs, and hanging on to coat 
 skirts, and coming perpetually to grief, in spite of every 
 precaution. 
 
 " How do you manage it ? " said one and another, as
 
 ON THE MERE-SIDE. 261 
 
 Lady Clarissa paused at last to take breath. " Do tell us 
 how you balance yourself so nicely." 
 
 " I really cannot," said Clarissa, smiling, her eyes 
 sparkling, and her cheeks all a- glow ; "it came to me 
 when I was quite a child : don't be dreadfully shocked, 
 but the gardener's boy gave me my first lessons ! And I 
 was such a mite, and so fearless, and so fond of outdoor 
 exercise, that I took to it as a duck takes to swimming. 
 I never had any difficulty, and then, for many years, I had 
 the water all to myself, so I had every chance of growing 
 perfect from practice." 
 
 " And perfect yon are ! I wish I could imitate your 
 motion," said a tall girl, who was only two or three years 
 older than Clarissa, and of whom she knew very little, 
 owing to the strict rule of seclusion imposed by Lady 
 Orwell. "Do you know," she resumed, "I fancied you 
 were quite a child, not much the elder of Lord Ford- 
 ham ? " 
 
 " I am the elder by more than eight years." 
 
 ;< Then you must be fifteen or sixteen ? " 
 
 " I shall be sixteen next birthday. Do I look such a 
 child ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I should have taken you for a girl in the- 
 schoolroom, just beginning to contemplate your debut. 
 But how is it you never come down to dinner, or at least 
 appear in the drawing-room during the evening ? " 
 
 " School-girls always dine in the schoolroom, do they 
 not ? " 
 
 " Not invariably, when they are your age. And they 
 generally spend their evenings in the drawing-room. I 
 always did, from the time I was twelve years old. Mamma 
 Bttid it would give me confidence ; she had no notion of 
 mewing me up with a cross old governess. Girls are so 
 shy and awkward, if they are kept quite in the back- 
 ground till they actually come out. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I am sure I cannot tell ; I am no judge, for I know 
 no girls. Lady Orwell does not approve of school-girl 
 friendships ; they interfere with one's studies, she believes 
 and then she says they are sure to chatter so much non- 
 sense." 
 
 *' I dare say she is right ; all girls talk nonsense in their
 
 262 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 turn I am sure my sisters and I talked plenty, and wj 
 are none the worse for it." 
 
 " I suppose it depends upon the sort of nonsense a 
 little fun cannot possibly be wrong, but downright foolish- 
 ness must always be amiss. My late governess used to 
 say that only clever people are capable of talking good 
 nonsense. And I have heard, too, that les sots ne savent 
 pas rire." 
 
 " What a pleasant, ladylike person your present gover- 
 ness seems to be, and on what excellent terms you arc 
 with her ! She is rather young, though, for the situation." 
 
 " My governess ! I have none. Madame Pierrot, who 
 was with me I forget how many years, went away last 
 summer. I am studying now by myself, or, rather, with 
 Miss Shrosbery." 
 
 " That young lady in mourning, whom Lord Orwell is 
 taking in hand ? Ah ! I thought she was your governess, 
 as she did not come to din er, and you always seemed to 
 be with her. But, of course, yjnr papa would not pay so 
 much attention to a mere governess." 
 
 " Papa would pay attention to anyone whom he 
 thought needed it. He was always most kind and polite 
 to Madame Pierrot. But Miss Shrosbery and I are half- 
 sisters at least, that is what we call ourselves. Really 
 and truly, I suppose, we are no more related than you and 
 I are ; and yet we have one stepmother." 
 
 " How curious ! I never can understand the complica- 
 tions of relationships. When I get beyond first cousins, 
 I am always puzzled. I quite thought my uncle's wife's 
 brother was legally my uncle, till the other day, when he 
 wished to marry me, and then I found out that he was no 
 manner of kinsman to me, and no more within the pro- 
 hibited degrees, than the Khan of Tartai-y, or any other 
 gentleman who is not conscious of my existence." 
 
 " And shall yon marry him ? " asked Clarissa, with the 
 utmost simplicity. 
 
 " No ; because I do not care for him. And I am in no 
 hurry to be married ; my home-life is very happy. Papa 
 
 is the dearest old dad, and mamma is well ! just thf 
 
 very best mamma in the world ! We girls can only hav6 
 oui girlhood once, and for a short time; married life,
 
 ON' THE MERE-SIDE. 263 
 
 once commenced, goes on to the end of the chapter. But 
 tell me now, Lady Clarissa, do you ever think of being 
 married ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do," replied Clarissa gravely. "As it is the 
 fate of most girls to marry, I suppose all girls do think 
 of marriage, when they are beginning to feel themselves 
 grown up. Bat I never talked about it till I had Susan. 
 Madame Pierrot says young ladies in France never speak 
 or even think of marriage till they are introduced to the 
 future husband as his fiancee, everything being already 
 arranged by the parents or, rather, by the two mammas ; 
 for it seems that if you have no voice in your own 
 marriage, you have unlimited sway over your sons and 
 daughters, when their time arrives." 
 
 "It is quite true. To our English notions it seems 
 detestable. There is the question of the dot and the 
 settlement, and all is concluded ; it is dreadfully like 
 being sold ! But who is Susan ? " 
 
 " Miss Shrosbery. Mamma, yon know, was Mrs. Shros- 
 bery before she became Lady Orwell, and Susan was Mr. 
 Shrosbery 's only child. Her own mother died when she 
 was quite a little thing ; she does not even remember so 
 much of her as I do of mine. An aunt in the South of 
 England brought her up ; she is lately dead, and Sasan 
 lives with us ; so now you understand." 
 
 " Thank yon, I do. I hope you do not think me very 
 inquisitive, but I always like to know who people are 
 when I am staying in the house with them. Pray do nofe 
 toll Miss Shrosbery I took her for the governess." 
 
 " She would not be in the least offended. She would 
 turn governess to-morrow, if need were, and not be 
 ashamed ; and so would I. Why should anyone be 
 ashamed of working honestly and honourably for a 
 living ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose one need not be ashamed. But a 
 woman -who does anything to gain a living loses caste, 
 you know." 
 
 " Then I should lose it with a great deal of pleasure. 
 There must be many things in life far worse than work- 
 ing for one's living, and I should ima.gine very few 
 things better than working for those one loved. And T
 
 264 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 do not think God intends any person, man or woman, 
 to lead a useless life." 
 
 " You have very singular notions for so young a girl. 
 I feel as if I were talking to a person much older than 
 myself. But you said you talked to Susan I beg 
 pardon ; Miss Shrosbery about being married. Would 
 you mind telling me her views on the subject ? " 
 
 " I hardly know what her ' views ' are. But we were 
 talking about our future, and naturally enough into 
 that future came the thought of marriage ; and I, 
 rather foolishly, I must own, asked her if she meant to 
 marry." 
 
 " Of course she does ; every girl does, unless she is a 
 Roman Catholic, destined to take the veil. What did she 
 answer ? " 
 
 " She said she would marry, if it were God's good will ; 
 if it were not, she would be quite content to lead a single 
 life, and expend upon many the affection which might 
 have been concentrated on a few." 
 
 " What a curious answer ! To think of putting it in 
 that way ! ' If it were God's good will ! ' ' 
 
 " Bat if it were not God's good will, it could not be, 
 you know. Everything is as God wills it, and God knows 
 best what will make us happy. All married people are 
 not happy." And Clarissa sighed, thinking of her own 
 father. 
 
 " But that is illogical, is it not ? You say God knows 
 what will make us happy, and yet He lets people marry, 
 knowing it will be for their unhappiness. I do not 
 understand." 
 
 " Nor I, either. I suppose it is always difficult to 
 understand God's Providence. Indeed, I suppose we 
 never shall understand it in this wor,ld ; we mast wait 
 till life is done. But do you not think people sometimes 
 take their affairs in their own hands, and so rash wilfully 
 upon their own unhappiness ? And then God lets them 
 >io it, that they may learn the secret of true happiness 
 Is not that it, Miss Dennis ? " 
 
 "I dare say it is; bat I never thought. Of course I 
 believe in Providence, like any other person brought up 
 in a Christian way. Still I do not know that I ever
 
 ON THE MERE-SIDE. 265 
 
 looked upon my own life as being settled for me ; and yet 
 I suppose it is." 
 
 " It is surely, and yet it would seem that a great deal 
 is left to ourselves. It is a great mystery ! I suppose 
 the right \vay is to do always what our conscience tells us 
 is the right thing, and when the way is doubtful to ask 
 God to guide us and lead us, and always take what comes 
 from His hand cheerfully." 
 
 " Do you know, Lady Clarissa, I never had such a 
 grave conversation with anyone before ? And yet, w r hen 
 I stopped yon, you seemed to be skating as merrily as a 
 child." 
 
 " I was in a very merry mood, for I had just cut such a 
 funny figure on the ice. There is no harm in being merry, 
 is there ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear, no ; I should say not. Only I cannot re- 
 concile your air of simple amusement Avith your serious 
 discourse. You seem to me at once so much younger 
 and so much older than myself, and I may say so much 
 wiser." 
 
 " I am wise, then, with Susan's wisdom, for I think I 
 have been quoting her all along. And all her wisdom she 
 declares is second-hand, for she got it from the aunt who 
 is lately dead, and who was just as good as she was 
 wise." 
 
 " I must get yon to introduce me to Susan ; I shall be 
 all the better for a little of her second-hand wisdom and 
 for a little more of yours, which, according to your own 
 account, is but third-hand. And now, will you not give 
 me a skating lesson ? We shall be scolded if we stand 
 here any longer " 
 
 " While we are talking wisdom, we are acting un- 
 wisdom, I am afraid," said Clarissa with a laugh, as she 
 sped to the other end of the pool. When she came back 
 again she began to teach Miss Dennis, but that young 
 lady made slow progress, and could scarcely manage to 
 keep her feet at all. It was not her fault, for she tried 
 hard to imitate the movements of her teacher ; but in 
 order to be a good skater one must be perfectly well made, 
 and naturally lithi- and supple, which Miss Dennis, poor 
 young woman, was not. All the dancing-masters in the
 
 266 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 world would never have made her dance gracefully ; all 
 her attempts to skate like Lady Clarissa were sure to end 
 in failure. Dancers and skaters, like poets, are born, not 
 made. 
 
 Meanwhile, another conversation was going on on the 
 opposite bank of the Mere. Susan's skating, thougl 1 
 better than Miss Dennis's, was by no means a snccess, 
 and very soon she was tired, and felt a pain in her side, 
 which warned her to take rest. Though far from un- 
 healthy, Susan was not strong ; she had an idea that she 
 inherited her mother's tendency to consumption, and she 
 thought it a duty to be careful, and try to preserve -the 
 life and strength which God had given her. Her aunt 
 had always taught her that the health of the body is by 
 no means to be disregarded, and that common sanitary 
 laws are never with impunity to be set at nought ; neither 
 would she ever permit her, as a child, to gratify her in- 
 clinations at the expense of prudence. 
 
 "You are pale," said Lord Orwell, as he assisted her up 
 the bank ; " is it the cold, or are you tired ? " 
 
 " I am tired, I think ; the air, though so cold, is clear 
 and dry, and my furs are very warm. Skating is such 
 hard work, when yon are continually tumbling down and 
 getting up again. Look at Clarissa ! She is like a bii'd 
 on the wing." 
 
 " I do not remember the time when she did not skate 
 quite as well as she does now. Skating is either very 
 hard work, or else no work at all. Let us walk up and 
 down by the rushes ; it is too cold for standing still, and 
 the sun is setting." 
 
 They walked a little while in silence, or simply making 
 remarks upon the skaters, till at length the Earl said, 
 somewhat abruptly, " Susan, do yon believe in presenti- 
 ments ? " 
 
 " I am not sure," she replied, thoughtfully. " They 
 often come to nothing, you know ; and then we forget 
 them. It is only when our forebodings are accomplished 
 that we dwell upon them, or connect them with events." 
 
 "True; quite true! But sometimes one has impres- 
 aions which it is impossible to shake off. Do you not 
 know what I mean P "
 
 ON THE MERE-SIDE. 267 
 
 " I know very well, for ifc was about this time last year 
 that there fell upon me a sort of shadow an undefined 
 fear a dim sense of something impending. I felt that 
 some change was coming and it came /" 
 
 " But was there nothing to indicate the nature of the 
 change? Were there not appearances which justified 
 your vague apprehensions ? " 
 
 " I suppose there were, though I was not conscious of it 
 at the time. Something seemed to say that my life at 
 Bnttermeads which was all the life I could remember 
 was drawing to a close. I feared, without quite knowing 
 why, that my dear, happy home would soon be broken 
 up." 
 
 " Still your fears would have some grounds ? " 
 
 " Probably they had. My dear aunt seemed no more 
 delicate than she had been for years, and yet yefc I did 
 not feel satisfied about her. And I could not help think- 
 ing, as I looked at her, Suppose she should be taken 
 away ? suppose God should call her very soon to Him- 
 self ? " 
 
 " There were probably some signs of decay which in- 
 sensibly alarmed you ; illness especially final illness 
 sometimes steals most insidiously on those who have been 
 merely delicate for years. It was so in the case of 
 Clarissa's mother. You will wonder why I talk in this 
 strain. I will tell you, only it must be a profound secret 
 between us, for I do not wish to be laughed at, even 
 though I may choose to laugh a little at myself. I have 
 a presentiment ! I feel as if I had got to the end of 
 everything ; and I have been dreaming strangely and so 
 vividly of my wife Clarissa ! Do you think I am too 
 foolish ? " 
 
 " By no means ; one cannot help a presentiment of this 
 sort ; though, at the same time, I think one ought not to 
 yield to it. Bat now I shall turn the tables upon you, 
 and ask if nothing has occurred to cause the apprehen- 
 sion ; do you find your health at all failing ? " 
 
 " Not in the least ! I never felt better in my life ; I 
 have not an ache or a pain, and I am less fatigued after a 
 hard day's hunting than any man of my years whom I 
 know ; I am not intemperate, and I always keep clear of
 
 268 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 infections disorders. I am not quite fifty, as I think yon 
 know ; and a man of sound constitution ought to be in his 
 prime at fifty. No, I am not conscious of any weakness. 
 I sleep as well, eat as well, and exercise as well as ever I 
 did. I scarcely know what indisposition means. I sup- 
 pose I ought to add thank God ! But for all that, and 
 in spite of every effort to fling off the idea, it haunts 
 me like a spectre. As I stand here, I think, Another 
 winter will come ; the Mere will be fro/en over as it is 
 now ; the snow will lie white and deep on the ploughed 
 fields as it lies now see! the skaters will come here 
 again, and there will be the same glee and merriment as 
 now I hear around me ; and the old church clock will 
 strike the hour, as it strikes it now listen ! one, two, 
 three, four ! but I shall not be here ! Long ere another 
 winter steals upon another fading autumn I shall be gone 
 I know not where ! to that mysterious world into 
 which mortals travel when body and soul part company. 
 In short, Susan, it is a case of 
 
 " ' I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
 Which says I must not stay ; 
 I see a hand you cannot see, 
 Which beckons me away ! ' " 
 
 " My dear lord, you. are nervous. Something has un 
 hinged yon." 
 
 " I am not nervous ; and if I am nnhinged, as yon say, 
 I am not aware of it. And I never had a fit of the blue.s 
 in nay life before ! But you will not mention this confes- 
 sion of mine to any living creature ? " 
 
 " Surely not, I promise yon." 
 
 " Above all, not to Clarissa ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, poor child ! Were your sad forebodings 
 to be realised, it would be trouble enough for her without 
 any suffering from previous disquietude." 
 
 *'' Clarissa is my greatest anxiety my only one, I may 
 safely say. My life has not been so happy of lato years 
 that I should care greatly to prolong it. As soon as ever 
 the weather changes I shall go up to town." 
 
 "Yon will consult a physician ? I think it is only wisa 
 to do so." 
 
 " I think it would be only foolish to do so, knowing
 
 ON THE MERE-SIDE. 2Gi) 
 
 and feeling, as I do, that I am in perfect health ! No, I 
 shall consult my lawyer. Do you know, Susan, I have 
 made no will ? " 
 
 " Then I think, my lord, you ought to make one with- 
 out delay. It is a duty we owe to those who come after 
 us, to leave things straight and clear. And, presentiment 
 or no presentiment, life is uncertain ! " 
 
 " ' Here to-day, and gone to-morrow,' as my ' uncle 
 Toby' said. Yes! life is uncertain! The best life is 
 of doubtful tenure. We don't want the parsons nor the 
 moralists to tell us that! One does not live to be fifty 
 without beholding many of one's compeers cut down like 
 the flower when the mower's scythe goes through the 
 grass. I ought to have made my will long ere this. I 
 had fully purposed doing it when I was in London last 
 year ; but partly by mischance, and partly through care- 
 lessness, the good intention was frustrated. It is all of a 
 piece with the rest of my thoughtless, selfish, inconsequent 
 career." 
 
 " I wonder Mr. Hadfield never urged it upon you. He 
 insists upon my making a proper will as soon as I shall be 
 of age." 
 
 " And quite right, too ; you will not die a day the 
 sooner because yon dispose of your property in due legal 
 form, instead of leaving it to be squabbled and fought 
 for by distant heirs-at-law, and wasted on inevitable legal 
 expenses. But Hadfield is not to blame. He has pressed 
 upon me again and again the absolute necessity of my 
 making some provision for Clarissa." 
 
 "You do not mean to tell me that at this moment 
 there is no provision for Clarissa ? " 
 
 "Absolutely none! If I were to die to-day, Clarissa 
 would be as penniless as the daughter of a workhouse 
 pauper. She would be dependent on the charity of her 
 stepmother." 
 
 " But excuse me, Lord Orwell how can that be ? " 
 
 " Don't you know, child ? I was ruined ; I made ducks 
 and drakes of my goodly inheritance somehow ! For the 
 life of me I cannot exactly tell how I managed it But I 
 did manage it, and the result was I married money ! 
 Yes ! I know I was a scamp ! 1 had 110 business to collar
 
 270 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 your father's rich hoards, though I did it legally enough ; 
 and if I had not married his widow, someone else lesa 
 scrupulous, perhaps, than myself would have done it. 
 After all, it was a tolerably fair exchange ; she got the 
 title she pined for I got the money I required ; I fancy 
 she had the best of the bargain, after all ! Well, Susan, 
 the first thing I did was to put myself straight, to redeem 
 my estates, to pay off my creditors, &c., &c. Then there 
 remained a certain sum which I could appropriate as I 
 pleased. Some of it is lying now at my banker's, and I 
 want to settle it securely on my eldest daughter. It is all 
 I can leave her. Orwell and other estates go with the 
 title ; Fordham must take them they are his indubitably ; 
 certain properties and funds are entailed on our second 
 son, and the rest are splendidly provided for by the terms 
 of the marriage settlement. Clarissa can only take what 
 I leave her the residue of certain moneys which I have 
 saved, for I have not been personally extravagant of late 
 years." 
 
 " Why delay the business a day longer ? It doss not 
 need a lawyer to draw up a will." 
 
 " It does not generally, I own. But in this case I can 
 do nothing without Hadfield, for I really do not know 
 precisely what is mine to bequeath to whom I will, irre- 
 spective of the marriage settlement. As I told you, I 
 quite meant to do all that was necessary while I was in 
 town, and Hadfield at my service. But, somehow, I put 
 ifc off from day to day every now and then I forgot all 
 about it ; and when, at last, I did go to Hadfield's office 
 to give him the necessary instructions, and to make needful 
 inquiries, he had just left with Mrs. Hadfield for the sea- 
 side. It was all my own fault. I knew he would leave 
 London at a certain date, but it slipped my memory. So 
 once more the arrangement of poor Clarissa's fortunes was 
 deferred, and, till the other day, I do declare, I thought 
 no more about it. Now, it strikes me, suppose only 
 suppose, you know that anything should happen, that 
 these presentiments of mine should mean anything, 
 Clarissa would be a beggar! She cor Id not claim one 
 penny of mine, nor anything at all, except a few jewels 
 that belonged to her own mother."
 
 THE HUNTSMAN'S LEAP. 271 
 
 " I do not. believe in your presentiment ; but I shall be 
 nneasy till yon tell me the will is properly executed, 
 mid safe in Mr. Hadfield's keeping. I hope you will not 
 delay." 
 
 " Not an hour longer than I can help. As soon as ever 
 the snow is off the ground, I will advise Hadfield of my 
 coming, and bid him prepare a draft of some kiad. Now- 
 let us go in ; my teeth chatter, and your cheeks are blue, 
 instead of red." 
 
 " They never are red ; I am constitutionally pale, which 
 makes strangers fancy I am delicate." 
 
 " I should say you were not over-strong." 
 
 *' No, I am not. I often think my life will not be a 
 long one ; my mother died at thirty, and I am like her in 
 every respect." 
 
 " Do you not wish for a long life ? " 
 
 " No ! not in the sense you mean. Why should I when 
 I know that mine is the life everlasting ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE HUNTSMAN'S LEAP. 
 
 "... they are all tlie meanest things that are 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 
 As God was free to form them at the first, 
 Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all. 
 Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 To love it, too." 
 
 IT was some days before the frost broke up, and then 
 followed a heavy fall of snow, which lay deep and un- 
 sullied on the face of the East Anglian country. It was 
 quite the middle of February when a thaw at last set in, 
 and something like a flattering promise of spring waa 
 breathed in the pleasant sunshine, and the comparatively
 
 2j'2 LAUY CLARISSA. 
 
 warm South wind. The party at the Castle, long de- 
 tained by stress of weather, separated, all but two or 
 three who were particular friends of the Countess, and 
 who, moreover, had not received other or more eligible 
 invitations ; the children all had dreadful coughs and 
 colds, and their lady-mother herself fell a victim to the 
 fashionable malady influenza. And last, not least, Lord 
 Orwell prepared for his journey to town, and the day was 
 fixed, a later one than was at first intended, in order that he 
 might not miss a certain run across country, in his capa- 
 city of Master of the Eastshire Hounds. The Countess 
 being invalided, and out of the way, his lordship insisted 
 on both Susan and Clarissa riding to the meet, together 
 with other ladies of the county, who would be present. 
 
 It was a splendid morning mild, but fresh ; the sky 
 was dappled over here and there with light, fleecy cloud- 
 lets, which betokened wind ere long ; and that, several 
 people remarked, would not be unwelcome, provided it 
 did not blow great guns ; for the ground, after the long, 
 intense frost, was uncomfortably soft, and there was more 
 mud than was at all agreeable either to walkers or to 
 riders. 
 
 " We shall have nicely splashed habits by the time we 
 get back home," said Susan, as she and Clarissa cantered 
 briskly along a lane, where the mire was wonderfully 
 plentiful, even for miry February. 
 
 " Yes ; but how delicious it is to be on horseback again ! 
 And after that bitter cold that pinched our fingers, and 
 turned our noses blue, it feels quite summer-like. A little 
 later we shall find violets under that hedge I am not 
 sure that we should not find a few now, if we were to 
 search ; and that bank yonder, under the great oak, is all 
 starred over with primroses in the month of April. And 
 lower down there are ferns, delicate spleemvorts, and 
 the finest lady-ferns I ever found anywhere." 
 
 * ; I know so little of wild flowers ! When I listen to you 
 I am ashamed to think how ignorant I am for a country- 
 bred maiden ; and I have often heard botanists extolling 
 the flora of the district about Buttermeads. You shall 
 teach me botany ; I am fast catching the enthusiasm." 
 
 " That will be delightful, though I must warn you that
 
 THE HUNTSMAN'S LEAP' 273 
 
 I am not far advanced in the science. Madame cared 
 little about it, but she got me some good books to study. 
 I am principally self-taught. However, all I know you 
 shall know, if you choose. We will begin on a snowdrop 
 directly we get home." 
 
 " If we are not too tired ! I am afraid I shall not be 
 good for much save lounging, by the time the ride is over. 
 It is a long way, I heard Lord Orwell say, to Packer's 
 Green, where the hounds meet." 
 
 " We can turn back, if you are really tired; we need 
 not go all the way. Some of the ladies follaw the hunts- 
 men for a few fields, but papa would never allow us to do 
 so, even if we wished it. He thinks it is neither safe nor 
 feminine for a lady to ride across country, like a man." 
 
 " And I agree with him. I am not quite sure I like the 
 sport, Clarissa; it is called 'manly,' but I doubt whether 
 it truly deserves the epithet. It seems to me that the 
 odds are too great against a defenceless animal. There 
 are those men, and their horses and the dogs, all bent on 
 the torture and destruction of a single creature, who has 
 no chance of ultimate escape. I always honour that boy 
 in the story, who braved the squire's horsewhip, rather 
 than betray the hare, who was being coursed to death." 
 
 " You do not think hunting is wrong ? " 
 
 " I should not like to say it was, because I am not a 
 judge, and there are a great many excellent men, I know, 
 who enjoy a good day's sport with the harriers or the fox- 
 hounds. But I could not do it myself, if I were a man 
 at least, I think not. I cannot see that, as Christian people, 
 we have any right to amuse ourselves with the sufferings 
 of any of Grod's creatures ; we have no more right to per- 
 secute hares and foxes than dogs and horses." 
 
 "But, my dear Susan, the game must be kept down. 
 If all the hares lived unmolested, what would become of 
 the farmers ? And foxes are most mischievous animals." 
 
 " Foxes and hares must die, like sheep and oxen, bub 
 they need not be hunted to death. What would be thought 
 of a butcher who ran his lambs down with dogs ? I da 
 not see much difference, except that it is prescriptive so 
 to kill timid hares, and it is against all precedent solo 
 destroy innocent lambs." 
 
 18
 
 271 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " And perhaps hunted lambs would not be very good to 
 eat ? " 
 
 " I dare say not ; it is bad policy, as well as cruelty, to 
 over-drive animals that are for the meat-mai'ket ; but I 
 believe a hare that is coursed is said to be superior in 
 flavour to one that is simply shot." 
 
 " Yes, and venison, too, is always the tenderer and 
 nicer for being run down, keepers and sportsmen tell us." 
 
 " It may be so, but it is certainly most ifltmerciful. 
 And w hat right have we to make any creature suffer for 
 the whims of epicures ? No, I cannot think that Chris- 
 tian people ought to encourage it." 
 
 " And yet we are here, riding to the meet giving at 
 least a tacit approval by our presence." 
 
 " I did not think of it when we started ; I only thought 
 of the ride, and of seeing the hunters in their red coats, 
 and the beautiful horses, and the dogs I forgot the fox, 
 poor wretch ! I will not do it again. For, you see, when 
 a thing seems wrong to oneself, it is wrong, though it 
 does not follow that it is wrong in those who really hold 
 the opposite opinion. It is just a case, I think, in which 
 one must follow the dictates of conscience, and obey the 
 precept of the Master ' Judge not, that ye be not 
 judged.' " 
 
 " See, Susan ! there is papa beckoning us on ; we are 
 falling too far behind. Let us have a brisk canter we 
 are out of the lane now, and the high road is dry and 
 firm, comparatively. Oh ! I do enjoy this bright sunshine 
 and the breeze. I don't know when I have felt in such 
 spirits. I am always happy on horseback, but it is so 
 much nicer to have a companion. I hope papa will not 
 stay long in London. Orwell will seem so dull when he 
 is gone. Oh dear! what a difference it has made to me, 
 since I knew that papa loved me ! of course, he loved me 
 before, but I did not know it, you see. It was about this 
 time last year, a little later, that I found it out ; then we 
 went to town, and I saw and heard all sorts of delightful 
 things, and then you came to be my sister, and then 
 there was that pleasant time at Sonthbourne. Oh, Susan 
 jlear ! it has been a most happy year, the happiest in all 
 my life 1 Ah, forgive me ! I forgot that my happy year
 
 THE HUNTSMAN'S LEAP. 275 
 
 brought you your great sorrow ! How easy it is to be 
 selfish, even towards those we love ! " 
 
 ' Very easy, but I do not think you were selfish in 
 speaking as you did. And I hope, dear, that the year 
 that is gone may be the earnesb of many happy years yet 
 to come. Hark ! "What is that noise ? " 
 
 "They are off ! The fox is fonnd ; don't yon hear the 
 dogs give tongue ? And that is the huntsman's cry I 
 We are too late. Yes ! there they go, right over hedge 
 and ditch ; the fox will run into Pulham Spinney. No \ 
 he is taking to Rushmeads side ; he will give the gentle- 
 men some stiff riding, if he goes in that direction ; there 
 are some of the awkwardest leaps, papa says, in the lands 
 beyond the brook." 
 
 They rested awhile, watching the hunt as it swept over 
 hill and dale, till the last patch of scarlet was lost in the 
 far sunshiny distance, and then the two girls turned their 
 horses' heads, and rode leisurely home to Orwell Castle. 
 They lunched downstairs by themselves, for all the visitors 
 were in the field, and the Countess, whose influenza was 
 at its height, kept her room. Only Lord Fordham and 
 the Honourable Augustus disturbed them, from time to 
 time, by their abrupt incursions and raids upon the table, 
 although the nursery dinner was only just concluded. 
 Neither Susan nor Clarissa ventured more than a mild re- 
 proof ; the Countess had published an edict, that no one 
 save herself should ever scold, threaten, or reprimand her 
 " lambs " the consequence being that they were univer- 
 sally pronounced " unbearable" by servants, visitors, and 
 members of the family. 
 
 The boys had to be bribed at last by their nurse, who 
 was afraid they would do some terrible mischief, for which 
 she would be blamed ; and when they had left the room, 
 Susan said, gravely, "I could not have imagined that 
 children would behave so ill so very ill ! If one could 
 only get some sort of hold upon them! there must be 
 some way of influencing them, surely ? " 
 
 " I am afraid there is not ; or, if there were, their 
 mamma would quickly denounce it. I have tried so 
 often with Fordham, and Augustus, and Sydney, and I 
 have fonnd that neither patience r.or petting is of any 
 
 182
 
 276 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 avail. The others are mere babies, bat they are as unruly 
 and defiant as the elder ones. Oh ! what would it be to 
 lire continually with them ! " 
 
 " As they are now, a veritable purgatory ! How is it 
 the servants will bear it ? " 
 
 " They do not for any length of time ; we are always 
 changing servants, who ' can't put up ' with one or another 
 or all of them. For, you see, they do not, even when the 
 house is full of company, live in the nursery-quarters 
 as children in their class of life usually do. When papa 
 is at home, there is something like order, for he will 
 not have the whole house overrun and turned topsy- 
 turvy. They are going to have a governess. How I pify 
 her ! " 
 
 "So do I ! But no governess will stay at Orwell ; 
 one had better do rough house-work, or stand at the wash- 
 tub, than take charge of unruly children, over whom one 
 has not, and cannot have, the least control." 
 
 "If a governess did succeed in gaining any control, 
 she would not be suffered to keep it. The Countess is 
 extremely jealous of any influence exceeding her own. 
 But papa says Fordham shall have a tutor." 
 
 The afternoon passed quickly away ; Susan was obliged 
 to rest, but Clarissa busied herself with her painting. 
 Both the young ladies were commanded by the Earl to 
 appear at dinner that day ; the guests were few, and the 
 Countess would not be present. I am afraid he rather 
 enjoyed the prospect of her absence from the head of the 
 table, and he would scarcely have been distressed had 
 perpetual influenza detained her in her own apartments. 
 When the daylight failed, Clarissa threw down her 
 brushes, and went to dress for the first time in her life for 
 the late dinner. Her intuitive good sense, as well as her 
 taste, led her to make a very simple toilet, but she was 
 some time in deciding which of her dresses " would please 
 papa the best." The lamps were lighted everywhere, 
 when at last she came down into the large, empty draw- 
 ing-room to watch for the return of the hunters. 
 
 When Susan made her appeararce, she said, " I went 
 to your room, but yon were gone ; I was so tired and 
 lazy, that my sirsta extended itself into the dressing-hour,
 
 THE HUNTSMAN'S LEAP. 277 
 
 and so I was rather late. But I am quite in time, I find ; 
 the gentlemen are not returned." 
 
 " No ! I suppose they have had an extra long run. 
 Dinner will have to be put back, if they do not soon 
 arrive. I knew there would be stiff work, if the fox once 
 got into that broken ground beyond the brook." 
 
 " Poor animal ! It is my low birth and breeding, I am 
 afraid, Clarissa ; but I should be delighted to hear that the 
 fox had won the day." 
 
 " If he escaped now, his sentence would not be the less 
 certain. He would only be reprieved till the next oppor- 
 tunity ! Reynard must die, and the hounds must be in 
 at the death, Susan. It is written in the huntsman's book 
 of Fate." 
 
 " I suppose so. But all the same my sympathies go 
 with Reynard, in spite of his undue affection for the good- 
 wife's grey goose. What beautiful coral ornaments you 
 are wearing ! " 
 
 " They were my own mamma's ! Papa gave them to 
 me on my last birthday. I have never worn them before. 
 You don't think I am at all over-dressed, Susan ? " 
 
 " Not in the least. You would be rather dowdy but for 
 your necklace and pendant. The rich crimson suits your 
 dark hair and eyes, and your olive skin ; but you have lost 
 the glow yon had after your ride ; I fancy you were rather 
 over-tired too, and yon ought not to have painted so long." 
 
 "It is not that; I am not tired, but I am chilly this 
 dress is so much thinner than the merino I wear in morn- 
 ings. And I believe don't betray me, Susan; but I 
 want my dinner." 
 
 " I do, most certainly, for I was too tired to make a 
 good luncheon. Hark ! do I not hear horses' feet- ? " 
 
 " It is too dark to see anything," said Clarissa, looking 
 out behind the heavy window-curtain ; " but I hear them, 
 certainly. Yes! the tramp comes nearer, and here they 
 are ; they are crossing the carriage-sweep, and the grooms 
 are coming out to take the horses round. When papa is 
 alone, he generally goes round to the stables himself." 
 
 A few minutes more, and there was a good deal of noiso 
 in the hall ; then all was still again, and the girls sup- 
 posed that the gentlemen had gone to dress.
 
 278 1ADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Papa always takes a warm bath after hunting," said 
 Clarissa. " It will be a good half -hour before they ring 
 the second bell." 
 
 " Someone is coming now," said Susan. 
 
 And the next moment someone opened the door, and in 
 came Colonel Fellowes, one of their nearest neighbours. 
 He was just as he had dismounted, apparently ; still in 
 Ms hunting costume, and splashed from head to foot. 
 For one instant the girls stood amazed ; the next, it flashed 
 upon them that there had been an accident ; the Colonel 
 did not appear before them in that plight without reason ; 
 besides, he was pale, and he looked strangely grave and 
 sad. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Clarissa, bravely, though she 
 shivered as she spoke. " You bring us bad news, Colonel 
 Fellowes ? " 
 
 "I am sorry to say I do. We have had an accident. 
 Lord Orwell, for the first time in his hunting career, has 
 come to grief. He has been thrown." 
 
 " How was it ? " 
 
 " Cannot be sure. The animal must have caught his 
 hind feet in the top rail of that awkward fence that divides 
 the common from Allen's field. It is a rough sort of fence, 
 half -hedge and half-rail, and it is a very nasty leap, and 
 has been the downfall of many a bold huntsman. And 
 to make matters worse, the ground to-day was rotten, 
 and it gave way under the horse's hoofs. Poor Campo 
 took the leap with his usual courage, but not with his 
 usual address. Or perhaps your father, seeing the dan- 
 gerous state of the bank on the other side, involuntarily 
 tightened his curb-rein though that is scarcely likely in 
 so thorough and experienced a horseman. Anyhow, 
 Carnpo faltered, cleared the ditch, and came down on the 
 sloping ground beyond. The poor beast tried hard to 
 right himself, but in yaiu ; down he fell, and flung his 
 rider, and, I am afraid, partly rolled over him." 
 
 " Is papa much hurt ? " 
 
 " I hope not ! I hope not ! " replied Colonel Fellowes, 
 in that peculiar tone which convinces the listener that the 
 speaker distrusts his words. " It was an ugly tumble, 
 Ihongh, Farmer Harris and I picked him up. As for
 
 THK HUNTSMAN'S LEAP. 279 
 
 poor Campo, all one could do for him was to put him out 
 of his misery as fast as possible. We were going to take 
 the Earl to Harris's farm; but while we debated the 
 question, and tried to revive him, we luckily saw Dr. 
 Hammond riding along the Cliffstone-road, and he, per- 
 ceiving that he was wanted, came at once to offer his 
 services, and he said it would be better that his lordship 
 should be conveyed to the Castle. So we improvised a 
 sort of litter, and brought him with all care." 
 
 "He is not dead?" 
 
 And Lady Clarissa turned ashen pale, looking into th* 
 Colonel's white and solemn face. 
 
 " No, no ! Do not think of such a thing, Lady Clarissa. 
 And I do trust the injury is not so great as we feared ifc 
 might be. He has broken his arm, and Dr. Hammond 
 thinks a rib or two ; but arms and ribs can be mended, 
 you know. The ugliest hurt, I am afraid, is that which 
 shows least it is on the head ! The Doctor is with him 
 now. He was carried straight to his own room." 
 
 " Can I go to him ? " 
 
 " I think you had b3tter not. You would only disturb 
 Dr. Hammond in the examination which he must make. 
 But there is the Countess to be considered ; someone must 
 tell her what has happened. Your ladyship would be the 
 best person to convey the painful tidings." 
 
 " Oh no, not I ! " replied Clarissa, shrinking as it were 
 within herself. " Susan will do it so much better." 
 
 Susan acquiesced, glad to spare Clarissa a task which 
 could not fail to add to her distress. There was no know- 
 ing in what spirit Lady Orwell might receive the mourn- 
 ful news ; only, she would be sure, in some way, to wound 
 her step-daughter's feeling.?. 
 
 Susan went to her at once, and fonnd that she had 
 already begun to wonder why the second bell did not ring, 
 and to inquire if something unusual was not going on, for 
 sounds of muffled feet had penetrated to her end of the 
 corridor. To Susan's amazement she never seemed to 
 imagine that any actual danger could be the result of the 
 accident. Hei' husband had been reckless, as usual ; she 
 had warned him times without number of what would 
 happen some day if he persisted in flying across country
 
 280 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 like a jockey at a steeplechase, or a madman ! And he, 
 the father of a family, too ! and fifty years of age, and 
 riding over twelve stone ! And now, what she predicted 
 had come to pass, and she hoped it would be a lesson to 
 him ! He might break his neck next time ! Finally, she 
 supposed she was not wanted in the invalid's chamber, for 
 the sight of blood and bruises always turned her sick and 
 faint, and she was very ill as it was. She was pretty sure 
 Dr. Hammond did not understand her case ; it was some- 
 thing far worse than mere influenza that ailed her. And 
 what was my lord's hurt after all ? 
 
 Susan replied that she did not know particulars, but 
 Colonel Fellowes had said an arm was broken, and several 
 ribs fractured, and there was a bad bruise on the head. 
 
 " Serve him right ! " exclaimed the affectionate wife. 
 " A man of his age and weight, and the father of a young 
 family, ought not to behave himself like a random lad 
 without responsibilities ! I hope after this he'll leave the 
 hunt alone ; or if he must go into the field, follow the 
 hounds at a safe and rational pace. Well, I suppose you 
 must say I am sorry and so I am, of course ; and tell him 
 I will come and see him in the morning, if this hateful 
 influenza will let me." 
 
 " I do not know that I shall be allowed to see his lord- 
 ship, and at present no message can reach him, for he has 
 not yet recovered consciousness." 
 
 " Is it so bad as that ? " asked the Countess in a more 
 subdued tone, and feeling a little stricken, as well she 
 might. " Did you say Dr. Hammond was in attendance ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he was close to the hunt when the accident hap- 
 pened, and he came home with Lord Orwell." 
 
 " Tell him that I must see him before he leaves the 
 house. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how nervous I feel! In- 
 sensible, is he ? I don't like people to be insensible after 
 a fall ; I knew a man who fell from a scaffold, and he was 
 insensible when they picked him up, and he never spoke 
 again, but died the same day. And he left a wife and 
 half-a-dozen little children, without bread to eat. Really, 
 I have no patience with people exposing themselves to 
 Buch dangers it is inconsiderate, to say the least of it." 
 
 Whether Lady Orwell was blaming the man who fell
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 281 
 
 from the scaffold, or the Earl who was thrown from his 
 hunter, Snsan did not know. It was a comfort, however, 
 to reflect that in any case Fordham and his brothers and 
 sisters would have not only bread, but plenty of butter to 
 it. And then she suddenly remembered the conversation 
 she had had with the Earl by the Mere-side a fortnight 
 ago. Should the nobleman fare no better than the hapless 
 bricklayer, it might follow that Lady Clarissa would be 
 left " without bread to eat," or at best with no other de- 
 pendence than the bitter bread of charity ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 
 
 IT was many honrs before Lord Orwell regained con- 
 sciousness, and even then he seemed scarcely to have the 
 full command of his faculties. He spoke little, and that 
 confusedly, and ho dozed continually ; he took what nou- 
 rishment was offered, but asked no question concerning 
 his present circumstances. The broken arm and ribs were 
 set, and were going on well ; there was surprisingly little 
 pain, considering the nature of the injuries, and yet it 
 was very evident that Dr. Hammond was far from satis- 
 fied, inasmuch as he suddenly despatched a special mes- 
 senger to town, requiring the presence of that celebrated 
 physician, Sir Samuel Sawyer, at Orwell Castle, that a 
 consultation might be held on the state of the noble 
 patient. It was what Colonel Fellowes called " that ugly 
 hurt on the head," which caused the Doctor's anxiety. 
 Susan, without saying anything, wrote to Mr. Had field, 
 gimply detailing the accident. That he would consider it 
 necessary to come down immediately to Orwell, she felt 
 tolerably sure. No one, unless it were Dr. Hammond, 
 seemed to imagine the possibility of actual danger. 
 
 On the third day, both Susan and Clarissa were sitting
 
 282 LADY CLAlilSSA. 
 
 in the invalid's chamber. He took little notice of them, 
 though he evidently recognised their presence, and once 
 he asked for a cooling drink which had been ordered. 
 Susan, who gave it to him, thought he was more flashed 
 and feverish than she had seen him yet, and she asked 
 Clarissa at what time Dr. Hammond might be expected. 
 
 "Not till evening," replied Clarissa. "He was sum- 
 moned to Southfield this morning ; but he will certainly 
 be here as soon as Sir Samuel arrives. What is the 
 matter, Susan ? " 
 
 " I am afraid there is an access of fever, that is all." 
 
 Clarissa approached her father, and felt his hands and 
 his head. Yes ! there was certainly more fever ; and 
 when he opened his eyes, there was in them an unnatural 
 lustre, which, even to his daughter's inexperience, seemed 
 symptomatic of evil. All she could do was to put fresh 
 ice to his head, and watch him anxiously, as apparently he 
 dozed off again. While she sat motionless by the bedside, 
 and Susan netted silently by the fire, there was a sudden 
 clamour about the door ; the handle was violently turned, 
 and Lord Fordham burst noisily into the room, followed 
 by his lady-mother. Clarissa started in dismay, for the 
 most perfect quietude had been very emphatically en- 
 joined ; and Susan, without more ado, seized the young 
 intruder, placed her hand on his mouth, and, with a 
 gesture of command, was leading him back to the door, 
 when the Countess, in her naturally high-pitched tones, 
 exclaimed, " What are you doing ? Leave my boy alone ! 
 A pretty thing if he cannot come and see his own papa !" 
 And she took the child's arm, intending to free him from 
 Susan's grasp. 
 
 But Miss Shrosbery was not so easily foiled, when she 
 felt that her duty was clear before her. " He canuot, 
 must not, stay here," she said, still keeping her hold on 
 the boy-viscount, and speaking under her breath. " All 
 depends upon my lord being undisturbed ; Dr. Hammond 
 forbids any needless sound. See ! we have even laid 
 down soft mould on the hearthstone, that the falling 
 cinders may not be heard, and Clarissa and I replenish 
 the fire with our own hands. He the Doctor said he 
 would not answer for the consequences if there was the
 
 MEDICINE AND TAW. 283 
 
 slightest jar upon the nerves. Please let Lord Fordham 
 
 go." 
 
 " No ; I will not ! Fordham has as good a right here 
 
 as anybody ; and better than most, I should say. You 
 forget that he is the son and heir." 
 
 " Indeed, I do not ; and if he were older and could re 
 strain himself, his proper place would be here, undoubt- 
 edly. Dear Lady Orwel!, don't you see that already my 
 lord is disturbed and agitated ? " 
 
 And, in fact, the invalid was beginning to mutter, and 
 to turn and toss in his bed. Dr. Hammond had said that 
 restlessness would be a bad, probably a fatal, sign ! Sud- 
 denly, he opened wide his eyes, and fixed them on the 
 Countess with such a vacant stare, that she was, in spito 
 of herself, alarmed, and she lowered her voice instinc- 
 tively, as she said, " Go now, my darling ; I think perhaps 
 you are better away ; you shall come again when your 
 poor pa is a little better." 
 
 " I won't go ! I won't ! " shouted Lord Fordham, at the 
 top of his shrill childish voice. "You said I should see 
 where he'd broke his head, and where they had tried to 
 mend it ! I will stay ! I'm the son and heir, aren't I ? " 
 
 " Yes, my own pet," replied his mother ; "and you are 
 ma's dear, sweet lamb, too ; so you will go away when 
 you're asked to, as good as gold, won't you, now ? " 
 
 " No ! I won't ! " was the sturdy response. And when 
 Lady Orwell laid her hand again upon him, he looked as 
 vicious as a training colt that means to measure tho 
 strength of his rider. A disturbance in the sick-room 
 appeared to be inevitable, and the Countess was fairly 
 frightened at the storm she had provoked by her own folly 
 and inconsideration. She had plenty of good sense, when 
 she chose to give it play ; and she quickly perceived that 
 Snsan was right, and that it was not a case that permitted 
 trifling, or even indulgence of her own petty jealousies. 
 But while she hesitated, not knowing how to take the next 
 step safely, Susan walked into the dressing-room, where 
 Alexander, my lord's "own man," was in attendance. Ho 
 had heard the noise, and was utterly dismayed ; for ho 
 had gone about like a passy-cat for the last two days, and 
 never raised his voice above a whisper. He, too, had
 
 284 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 heard Dr. Hammond's injunctions, had done his best to 
 obey them, even to stopping all the clocks in the corridor, 
 and it needed now but a single word to bring him to 
 action, coute qui coute, I So, when Susan's hurried whisper 
 reached his ear, he came to the rescue with all promptness. 
 Before Lady Orwell knew what he purposed, and before 
 the young heir had realised the possibility of his being 
 routed from the position he had chosen to occupy, a 
 strong arm had lifted him from the ground, a heavy hand 
 was laid upon his mouth, and fierce, determined looks met 
 his, as he was borne out of the room, along the grand cor- 
 ridor, and to the very threshold of his own domains, 
 where he was received with acclamation by the smaller 
 fry. The Countess was inwardly thankful, though out- 
 wardly angry and defiant. Susan wished it had been only 
 possible to carry her off also, for it was scarcely to be 
 hoped that her continued presence could be otherwise 
 than hurtful. 
 
 But the child gone, she drew a long breath of relief, 
 and, turning to Susan, said, " Now, I hope you are satis- 
 fied ; but yon don't banish me so easily, let me tell you ! 
 A wife's place is by her husband's side." 
 
 " Unquestionably," thought Susan ; " but that can be 
 said only of a wife who is a wife indeed ! " She knew 
 not what to reply to Lady Orwell ; she would certainly do 
 more harm than good if she remained, and yet who could 
 dare banish the wife from her husband's chamber ! And 
 any word of caution would be sure to be misunderstood, as 
 well as warmly resented. While she sadly pondered, the 
 Countess had advanced to the bedside, and Clarissa 
 trembled at her approach. She came quietly enough, and 
 yet there was a certain rustle of garments which at once 
 made the invalid turn round and fix his eyes upon her. 
 Whether he recognised her or not, Clarissa could not at first 
 determine ; the Countess assumed that he did, and imme- 
 diately commenced, "How are you, my dear lord? I am 
 pleased to see you looking so much better than I expected ! 
 so very much better! You have quite a healthy colour, and 
 you are not nearly so weak as was reported to me. Poor 
 little Fordham ! he pleaded so hard to come and see 'poor 
 dear pa' that I could not find it in my heart to shut him out ;
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 285 
 
 but he is rather too young for a sick-room, and he might 
 not be able to control his feelings ; lie is sach a sensitive 
 child. How do you feel, my dear ? " 
 
 The Earl still regarded her, bat he did not speak. 
 
 Her ladyship went on. " I should have come to you before, 
 but I was so ill myself worse, I really believe, than you 
 are at the present moment ! However, I am feeling quite 
 convalescent this morning, and I am going to be your 
 nurse. Clarissa, you had better return to your studies ; I 
 will take yonr place beside my lord." 
 
 And she beckoned to Clarissa to rise from the seat which 
 she occupied by the bed. Remembering what her claims 
 were, the girl, however reluctant, would have obeyed her, 
 had not the sick man himself interposed. *' Stay where 
 you are, Clarissa," he said, excitedly. " I command you 
 to stay. I will not have this woman at my elbow. What 
 is she doing here ? Tell Alexander to show her tho 
 door." 
 
 " It is Lady Orwell, papa," replied Clarissa, tremblingly. 
 
 " What Lady Orwell ? " he cried, vehemently, sup- 
 porting himself on his uninjnred arm, while his cheeks 
 burned and his eyes glittered with fever. " Who says 
 she is Lady Orwell? I will not marry her, I tell you! 
 She is the widow Shrosbery a vulgar, scheming, 
 designing woman. I hate widows, and this one worst, of 
 all. Clarissa, tell Hadfield I'll be a bankrupt rather than 
 put that loud-voiced, affected, over-dressed widow-woman 
 in yonr sainted mother's place ! Go away, Mrs. Shros- 
 bery ! look out for some other poor ruined fool ; I won't 
 have your money bags the old soap-boiler's hoards and 
 you shall not be Countess of Orwell ! " 
 
 " He has gone out of his mind ! He is raving mad ! '* 
 exclaimed the Countess, turning first to Clarissa and then 
 to Susan. " He forgets we were ever married." 
 
 "It is delirium," whispered Susan. "Had you not 
 better leave him till he is calmer, till the fever subsides ? " 
 
 "No! " returned the Countess, angrily. "You are all 
 in a plot against me. You want to keep me from my 
 rights. I shall stay here and do my duty. I think it 
 would be better, though, if you retired, and took that silly 
 child with you ; she is shaking all over."
 
 83 LADY CLARISSA- 
 
 Expostulation was clearly useless ; but Clarissa did not 
 move, for her father had clutched her wrist, and held her 
 fast with all the force of delirium. " She shall not stir ! " 
 he shouted to his wife, becoming more and more excited, 
 as she foolishly stood her ground, and, as it were, defied 
 his wishes. "Who are you, to come between me and my 
 daughter ? Treat Lady Clarissa Oakleigh with the respect 
 due to her rank, I command you ! Go away ! Gro away, 
 I tell yon ! you make my head ache ! How it throbs ! 
 Put on another cold bandage, Clarissa; yon dipped the 
 last in boiling water. And ring for Alexander to take 
 that woman away. She has no business here." 
 
 "My lord! my lord!" pleaded the Countess, half- 
 frightened and half-enraged. " No business ! Am I not 
 your lawful wife ? Who has so much right as I have ? 
 Let me change the bandage," and as she spoke she took it 
 from Clarissa's hand. 
 
 " Dare to touch me ! " cried the Earl, growing furious. 
 " Clarissa ! Susan ! why don't you ring for Alexander ? 
 Ah ! here he comes ! " as that staid personage, hearing 
 loud voices and his own name spoken, made his appeai*- 
 ance, quite as willing to carry off her ladyship as he had 
 been to bear away her son, if only it were at all feasible. 
 
 " If she would but faint now ! " he said to himself, " or 
 make the least show of fainting, or go into hysterics, I'd 
 make short work of it, and get her on the other side of the 
 door in a twinkling ! She'll kill my lord outright if she 
 goes on aggravating of him in this way." What he said 
 aloud was " My lady, if I may be allowed to speak, 
 perhaps yon don't know that people when they are delirious, 
 or any ways off their heads, always hates, and can't abide, 
 the sight of them they loves best in their proper senses ! 
 And if they are opposed, it makes them ton times worse, 
 and does a lot of mischief. If I might make so bold, my 
 lady, I should advise your ladyship to go quietly away 
 now, or else keep out of sight behind the curtain till my 
 lord's feverish fancy is over, and he asks for yon, which, 
 of course, he'll do the moment the delirium leaves him." 
 
 The Countess burst into a flood of tears, and submitted 
 to be led away, observing that everybody was in league 
 against her, and that it was a cruel thing for a wife to be
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 2S? 
 
 di'ivcu from her husband's dying bed. Bat she went, 
 nevertheless, and there was silence one more in the dark- 
 ened room, broken only by the sick man's ravings. Hia 
 delirium increased every moment, and he talked rapidly 
 about days long past, when the Countess Clarissa reigned 
 at Orwell. Naturally enough, he addressed his daughter as 
 his late wife. " Yes, my dear, I'm come back again ! " he 
 said, with a composure that was reassuring after his pre- 
 vious excitement. " Oh, why did I ever leave you, my 
 love ? I have been a cruel, neglectful husband to you, 
 ray sweet Clara ; and you are the meekest and gentlest, 
 the most patient of women ! They said you were dying, 
 but they were wrong. Doctors and nurses always predict 
 the worst, don't they. Ah, the croakers ! we will have 
 our laugh at them yet. But I am glad I came, dear. 
 Why, now I remember, they said you were dead ! dead ! 
 As if you would die and leave me ! I knew it was false 
 all a mistake. What a strange mistake to make ! And 
 as I hurried on my journey, I heard people crying, ' The 
 Countess of Orwell is dead.' And they have put up the 
 hatchment. Bat you are not dead, are you ? Speak to 
 me, darling ! Kiss me, and I will never leave you again 
 never! I will be your loving husband always now. 
 Oh, my God, she is alive ! and I thought I had come too 
 late!" 
 
 Clarissa tenderly kissed her father, and then he seemed 
 content. He settled down again, and said he was tired 
 and sleepy, he would have a nap " only," urged he, 
 "yon must not go away, my Clara ; if I awake and find 
 you gone, I shall think I have dreamed ; I shall feel as if, 
 after all, you were in your grave out yonder ! What 
 lovely eyes yon have, my wife ! but you have lost your 
 beautiful rose and lily complexion. Was it because you 
 prieved so much, dear ? Ah ! you shall never grieve again ! 
 We are going to be very happy now, Clarissa mia happier 
 even than we were when we first were married." 
 
 And with that, still holding his daughter's hand fondly 
 within his own, he closed his eyes, and fell off into a sort 
 of doze, or stupor his nurses could not determine which. 
 But they longed ardently for Dr. Hammond's return to 
 /ie Castle, and for the arrival of the London physician.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 They had their desire before very long. The Countess, 
 however, waylaid Dr. Hammond as he was on his road to 
 the Earl's chamber, and gave him a rather incoherent 
 account of what had transpired in his absence. One thing 
 he perceived, that there had been some sort of scene at 
 his patient's bedside, and he could have shaken her lady- 
 ship for having occasioned it. Arrived in the sick-room, 
 he was shocked and grieved to find how much harm had 
 been done while he was unavoidably detained by another 
 patient. He looked grave and even stern as he watched 
 by the invalid, and listened for the sound of the wheels of 
 Sir Samuel's carriage. 
 
 Then he beckoned Snsan into the dressing-room, and 
 required from her an exact account of all that had hap- 
 pened ; for the Earl, when he left him in the morning, 
 had been going on tolerably well, was certainly not de- 
 lirious, and seemed likely to pass a tranquil day. Susan 
 repeated what had passed, observing, however, that the 
 invalid had become feverish even before the disturbance 
 occasioned by the Countess and Lord Fordham. What- 
 ever might result, she was not entirely accountable for 
 the serious change which had taken place. 
 
 " Perhaps not ! " replied the Doctor. " But that little 
 ruffian, Fordham, ought never to have been permitted to 
 enter the room nay ! he ought not to have set foot in the 
 corridor. And when the Countess perceived that her 
 presence excited my lord, she ought to have withdrawn 
 immediately. The scuffle with the boy, and her subse- 
 quent persistency, fanned the smouldering spark of fever 
 into a fierce flame, which I am greatly afraid " and ho 
 lowered his tones, lest haply poor Clarissa should hear 
 *' will only be extinguished with life itself. I would give 
 twenty pounds if Sir Samuel were here at this moment." 
 
 In less than half-an-honr the great man arrived, having 
 come post-haste from London. He and Dr. Hammond 
 held a private consultation. Then they adjourned to the- 
 patient's bedside, making all such examinations as were 
 needful, and afterwards they dined together, and had a 
 further consultation. 
 
 " You had better tell them ! " said Sir Samuel, at lasr., 
 to the family friend and doctor. " And you ought to
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 239 
 
 break it to the poor Countess without loss of time ; the 
 noble lord, her husband, has not many hours to live. If 
 he survive to-morrow, I shall be much surprised, though 
 there is just a chance of his lingering on for another day. 
 He has an excellent constitution, and had the blow been 
 anywhere but just in that exact spot, I should still have 
 hopes. But fever and delirium are fatal signs in such a 
 case, as you know well. No ! there is nothing to be done. 
 I am very sorry for the Countess and her young family." 
 
 " Her ladyship will not long be inconsolable," returned 
 Dr. Hammond, drily ; " but Lady Clarissa, her step- 
 daughter, will be greatly afflicted. I do wonder if that 
 poor girl is properly provided for ! I shall pity her indeed 
 if she be left to the tender mercies of the Countess." 
 
 " Is there ill-blood between the two ? " 
 
 "Yes, and has been from the very first. Who was 
 originally most to blame, I cannot say; but the Lady 
 Clarissa was a mere child of eight, or thereabouts, and had 
 been shamefully neglected left entirely to servants after 
 her mother's death. And she was an odd child too I 
 may say the very oddest child I ever encountered ; so 
 quaint and old-fashioned, saying and doing the strangest 
 things that could be imagined. She and her stepmother 
 fell out at the very commencement of their association, 
 and there was a report more than a report, indeed that 
 Lady Clarissa set her savage dog on Lady Orwell, and 
 nearly frightened her to death, only a few days before the 
 birth of the heir, Lord Fordham." 
 
 " What a horrible child ! No wonder the Countess 
 took a dislike to her. Are you pretty sure the story was 
 true?" 
 
 " I am so far sure, inasmuch as I was hurriedly called 
 in to attend the Countess, who remained in hysterics for 
 half a day or more. My lord himself informed me that 
 she had had a fright the great dog Tartar had terrified 
 her, he said. Lady Clarissa's name was not mentioned 
 by him ; but all the village heard afterwards how it befell. 
 Still, the Countess is far from a pleasant person to deal 
 with, and I should say she was capable of goading a high- 
 spirited, undisciplined child to desperation." 
 
 " How old is the young lady ? " 
 
 19
 
 290 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 "Let me sec ! Nearly sixteen she nmst be ; and she 
 has grown up as nice and good a girl as ever lived. The 
 servants, only they dare not show it, half worship her ; 
 the tenants and the poor people sing her praises ; and I 
 have found her, whenever circumstances threw us together, 
 a most charming and amiable young person. The only 
 fault I have to find with her is her too great gravity ; she 
 gives you the idea of six-and-twenty rather than of gay 
 sixteen. But she is invaluable in the sick-room ; she has 
 scarcely left her father's side since his accident. In fact, 
 she and Miss Shrosbery, with Alexander, my lord's own 
 man, have done all the nursing." 
 
 "And the Countess?" 
 
 " Well, the Countess has been suffering from an attack 
 of influenza, and when she felt herself able to visit her 
 noble husband she found him delirious, or nearly so. She 
 appears to be as injudicious a person with invalids as with 
 children ; and, therefore, I felt it my duty to request her 
 to absent herself from my lord's chamber at present." 
 
 " It was rather a mesalliance, was it not the Earl's 
 marriage with this lady ? " 
 
 " Very much so. Of course it was a marriage of con- 
 venience ; my lord wanted money, and she wanted rank 
 and a title. It has not turned out so badly as was ex- 
 pected. I believe the Earl treats her with all outward 
 respect, and she, though uneducated, is naturally a clever 
 woman, albeit an imperious and selfish one ; and she has 
 managed to play her part with tolerable good effect. She 
 is much improved since she first came to Orwell as a 
 
 bride ; still well, the long and the short of it is, no 
 
 one could accuse her of being a gentlewoman as you will 
 confess, if she accords you an interview." 
 
 " She was a Mrs. Shrosbery, I believe ? " 
 
 " Exactly, and Mr. Shrosbery was a good, honest, 
 highly-respectable man, who had amassed immense wealth 
 by tanning, or soap-boiling, or candle-making, or some- 
 thing of that sort, on the South side of the Thames. But 
 who Mrs. Shrosbery was, no one knows ! She does not 
 appear to have a single blood relation, and she is perfectly 
 silent as regards her early life. Her antecedents were all 
 right, I have no doubt, only not aristocratic."
 
 MEDICINE AND LAW. 291 
 
 " Was that tall girl in a grey dress Lady Clarissa ? " 
 
 " No, that was Miss Shrosbery, her ladyship's other 
 step-daughter, who was brought up by her mother's family, 
 and who has an independent fortune of her own. You 
 have not seen Lady Clarissa, I think." 
 
 " Is she pretty ? " 
 
 " Not at all. And yet her mother was a perfect beauty, 
 the loveliest woman I ever looked upon. But Lady 
 Clarissa will be handsomer at thirty than at twenty, and 
 I should not wonder if she were still handsomer at forty. 
 In the meantime, she is not plain, decidedly. I should 
 call her interesting looking, graceful in her movements, 
 with shy yet pleasing manners, and a certain high-bred 
 patrician air, for which, if I am not greatly mistaken, her 
 plebeian stepmother hates her." 
 
 "I am interested in Lady Clarissa. I must see her 
 before I leave the Castle." 
 
 " You will find her in her father's room when you re- 
 visit it. You remain here for the night, I understand ?" 
 
 " Yes. I am getting too old to drive up and down the 
 country, as I used to do. Bat I must be off to-morrow 
 morning, soon after daylight comes. I wish I could be of 
 service to my lord, but there is really nothing to be done, 
 and your treatment has been the exact thing from the very 
 first. Had I been on the spot, I should have done all 
 that you have done nothing more, nothing less." 
 
 " It will always be my consolation, Sir Samuel, that 
 you so thoroughly endorse my diagnosis." 
 
 Two hours later there was another arrival. All aghast 
 and travel-worn, Mr. Hadfield burst upon the scene. He 
 had heard at the lodge that my lord was not expected to 
 survive. Susan's letter had been delayed ; and, of course, 
 the post was not swift and sure as it is in these days of 
 steam and electric telegraphs ; but he set off, without loss 
 of time, as soon as he received the mournful tidings. He, 
 too, was filled with solicitude on Clarissa's account. 
 Surely, surely the Earl, knowing the disposition of his 
 Countess, and her strong aversion to her step-daughter, 
 had not put off to the eleventh hour such settlement as it 
 was in his power to make. Bat he felt, nevertheless, that 
 he was hoping against hope. 
 
 192
 
 292 I-ADY CLARISSA, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 " All was done : 
 The niouth that kissed last, kissed alont." 
 
 "Your* Letter brought me, you see, Miss Shrosbery,** 
 said Mr. Hadfield, when he saw Susan, for whom he at 
 once inquired. 
 
 "I intended that it should," she returned, gravely; 
 " though far from apprehending the course things have 
 taken, I felt that on every account your presence here was 
 desirable. And there was no one likely to communicate 
 with you save myself." 
 
 "You acted quite wisely. But is the case really so 
 desperate as is reported ? At the lodge gates I was posi- 
 tively told that my lord was dying." 
 
 " He is not exactly in the article of death, but I fear 
 the end is not far off ; it is rather a question of hours 
 than of days, I gather, from what the doctors say." 
 
 " One of the saddest things I ever met with ! Why, the 
 Earl had a constitution of iron ; he is barely fifty, and he 
 might have lived to be ninety ! And cut off thus suddenly ! 
 Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! mysterious are the ways of Provi- 
 dence ; truly, as the Bible says ' in the midst of life we 
 are in death.' " 
 
 " I think it is the Prayer Book that says so ; it is true 
 enough, however." 
 
 " In the Prayer Book, is it ? I fancied it was in Pro- 
 verbs, or in Job ! I could have sworn it was in Job. 
 Never mind ! But is it possible to say anything to Lord 
 Orwell ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not ; he is still delirous, though not 
 nearly so violent as he was several hours ago. He knowa 
 ns all, except Clarissa, whom he takes for her mother. The 
 Countess he recognises, but he persists in addressing her 
 as Mrs. Shrosbery. He seems entirely to have forgotten
 
 PASSING AWAY. 293 
 
 his last marriage, nor does he mention Lord Fordham and 
 his sisters and brothers. He appears to me to have gone 
 back to the time of his return from the Continent, after 
 the death of the Countess Clarissa." 
 
 " A good thing for him if he have ! the last few years 
 cannot afford many pleasant reminiscences. Miss Shros- 
 bery, take an old man's advice, and never, under any 
 circumstances, be tempted to involve yourself in the 
 matrimonial arrangements of others. I have tried match- 
 making once, and once only, in my long life. Most 
 bitterly do I repent it, and confess my error. Take 
 warning by me, and don't do evil that good may come ; if 
 yon do, you will be sorry for it, in the end ! " 
 
 " I quite believe it. I quite feel that half-a-dozen, 
 wrongs can never make one right ! " 
 
 " No more than two and two can make five, argue how 
 you will ! Poor Lady Clarissa ! When all is over, there- 
 will be nothing she can call her own, save a few jewels- 
 and her clothes. She will be no better off than the 
 daughter of a petty tradesman, who dies, leaving only 
 liabilities behind him." 
 
 " I have money, Mr. Hadfield ; I shall be of age in 
 July, and Clarissa shall live with me. We are sisters in 
 all but blood ; we shall be very happy together." 
 
 " That is very kind of you, but yon may marry, and a 
 man does not like to marry his wife's relations, real or 
 assumed." 
 
 " I am not likely to marry just yet ! I am not engaged ; 
 I have not even the shadow of an attachment. So that 
 probability may safely be left out of our calculations for 
 the present, and as to the future, we need not concern, 
 oarseives about it. Only, if I live till St. S\vithin's-day x 
 Clarissa and I can go at once into housekeeping." 
 
 " It is a great consolation to me to hear you say so: 
 Nevertheless, Lady Clarissa is hardly dealt with in having 
 no income of her own. And though I can say honestly 
 that the situation is no fault of mine, I cannot help feeling 
 as though I were to blame in not worrying and pestering 
 my lord till the proposed deed was duly executed. But 
 though yon coax or whip and spur a horse into a stream, 
 you cannot make him drink unless he chooses, and a
 
 294 LADY CLAIUSSA. 
 
 lawyer is puzzled sometimes to know how best to deal 
 with careless and procrastinating clients, upon whose 
 actions the interests of other persons depend. When can 
 I see the Earl ? " 
 
 " As soon as yon like ; Dr. Hammond, I know, will not 
 object to your admittance. And the Countess will scarcely 
 interfere. Indeed, it is jnst possible that she has not 
 heard of yonr arrival." 
 
 " So mnch the better ; her presence can do no one any 
 good, and may do mnch harm. Where is Lady Clarissa ? " 
 
 " At her father's bedside ; she has not left her post 
 to-day." 
 
 " I should like to speak to the Earl privately. If it is 
 possible to do anything at all, you must get Lady Clarissa 
 out of the room." 
 
 " That would be easily managed. But I am afraid it 
 is too late for business of any kind. You would never 
 make Lord Orwell understand what was required of him ; 
 nor would the signature of a delirious man be valid, I 
 should say." 
 
 " Yon are right enough there. Bu*,, under the circum- 
 stances, who would be so base and cruel as to contest it ? 
 Her ladyship, as Lord Fordham's guardian, might dispute 
 the will ; but even she would scarcely behave with so much 
 malignity, surely ! A decent provision for her step- 
 daughter will take nothing appreciable from the rich 
 inheritance of her own children." 
 
 " If even a small sum could be secured to Clarissa, it 
 would be such a comfort. She thinks nothing of her own 
 future, poor girl ; she is too intent upon her father's state 
 to give any thought to her own affairs." 
 
 " The more reason why we should care for her the 
 more especially as both you. and I, and possibly Lady 
 Orwell herself, know perfectly well that my lord contem- 
 plated a certain settlement." 
 
 " I can bear witness to that ; he gave me his confidence 
 on that point most fully. He told me that you had pressed 
 on him, again and again, the absolute necessity of at once 
 completing the arrangements already debated on behalf of 
 Lady Clarissa ; and he was most anxious to follow your 
 advice."
 
 PASSING AWAY. 205 
 
 ** If it is possible to get a signature to the will I have 
 here prepared, I will run the risk of being prosecuted for 
 conspiracy. Such an action would not easily lie at all, and 
 it would speak volumes for the greed and wicked malice of 
 those who brought it." 
 
 " I quite agree with you. But we waste precious time ; 
 will you not come at once to the sick chamber ? If you 
 perceive a chance the slightest chance say that you 
 must speak with my ^ord alone, and Clarissa and I will at 
 once withdraw." 
 
 In another minute the lawyer was at the bedside of 
 his dying client. Clarissa sat motionless, holding his 
 hand, and watching, with large melancholy eyes, every 
 change of countenance. She did not speak when Mr. 
 Hadfield approached, but she looked at him with an ex- 
 pression so pathetically sad and hopeless that it went to 
 his heart. He drew near, and gently accosted the in- 
 valid : "My lord, I am concerned to find you in this 
 state. As soon as I heard of your illness I hastened 
 down, feeling sure that you would require my services." 
 
 " Is it you, Hadfield ? " asked the Earl, quite rationally. 
 And the lawyer began at once to hope that, after all, he 
 had not taken his long journey in vain. The next moment 
 his hopes were dashed, for Lord Orwell said : " There 
 will be some pretty coursing in a day or two, and we are 
 going out with the dogs to-morrow ; but only into the 
 near spinneys. There is a cunning old fox somewhere in 
 the depths of Dagenham Wood, and we have made up 
 our minds to have him this season. We have lost him 
 six times, but the seventh will pay for all. The people 
 hereabouts call the fellow ' Beelzebub ' he has done such 
 havoc in the poultry yards ! It is time the hounds got 
 him ; will you be in at the death, Hadfield ? " 
 
 Now, though the Earl spoke as calmly as possible, his 
 words filled Mr. Hadfield with consternation. That very 
 fox, yclept Beelzebub, had paid the forfeit of his crimes 
 at least fourteen years ago ! And Mr. Hadfield, though 
 no huntsman, had, as the Earl's guest, followed the hounds 
 at a safe distance, and was, as it befell, through a curious 
 chance, in at the death. The brash had been presented 
 to him the brush of this very fox, which the Earl pro-
 
 296 LADY CLARISSA, 
 
 posed to hunt down without more ado ! The trophy had 
 adorned the lawyer's en trance- hall for years, and was 
 there at this moment. It -was bat too true, the invalid 
 had lost all count of time ; he had gone back to the days 
 of the Countess Clarissa. 
 
 " Do not contradict him," whispered Clarissa, who had 
 heard many a time of the famous run, in which the cele- 
 brated fox returned almost to his covert, to be torn to 
 pieces just as Mr. Hadfield rode up. Mr. Hadfield's 
 prowess as a huntsman had been a standing joke ever 
 since she could remember. " Please humour him," she 
 added ; "he gets excited if we do not seem to understand 
 him." 
 
 "All right," he replied quietly; "I will be on my 
 guard ; but, meanwhile, I want to say a private word to 
 my lord. Will you and Miss Shrosbery do me the favour 
 to leave us alone for a little while ? " 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish it," said Clarissa; "but I am 
 afraid any reference to business will only worry papa, and 
 be useless, besides ; but if you think " 
 
 " I do think it my duty to mention one or two things 
 to the Earl, Lady Clarissa ; should he appear at all 
 harassed by the conversation, I promise you that I will 
 at once relinquish it." 
 
 " Very well you must know best ; and please let me 
 be summoned the moment I may come back again." And 
 Lady Clarissa, with Susan, left the room, and Mr. Had- 
 field at once went back to his client's side. 
 
 " Would it not be well, my lord," he said, " to conclude 
 that little business we talked about the settlement in 
 favour of Lady Clarissa, I mean without any further 
 delay ? " 
 
 " What settlement ? " asked the Earl, frowning. " I 
 tell you I have not sixpence in the world to settle upon 
 anybody, and no one knows that better than yourself. 
 Now, don't bother, Hadfield ; let us enjoy ourselves during 
 the visit. And why did you not bring Mrs. Hadfield 
 down with you ? The Countess expected her, I know." 
 
 Again the Earl had wandered back to that old visit paid 
 by Mr. Hadfield and his wife in the time of the former 
 Countess the visit already referred to, when accidentally
 
 PASSING AWAY. 207 
 
 he had won poor Reynard's brash. Bat the lawyer per- 
 sisted. " N"o time like the present, my lord. You just 
 sign the deed 1 have drawn up, and I promise yoa that all 
 will be right. Your servant Alexander and Dr. Hammond 
 will act as witnesses." 
 
 " I will sign nothing that I do not understand ; I have 
 signed too often, to my own great injary." 
 
 " Bat this is only what you have proposed yourself the 
 mere settlement of certain funds at your own disposal on 
 your daughter, Lady Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " Clarissa has been a disappointment to me from the 
 hour of her birth. She ought to have been a boy. It 
 would have made all the difference in the world to me. My 
 son would have joined with me in cutting off the entail ; 
 but this poor, puny, ill-favoured girl is of no use at all, 
 and the title must go to my uncle Geoffrey, whom I hate 
 like poison. Don't talk about Clarissa. And why have 
 you sent my wife away ? " 
 
 A dreary sense of defeat stole over Mr. Hadfield as he 
 listened to these wild words ; it was even as he feared 
 the Earl could not be awakened to any sense of present 
 requirements ; he was living, or dying, rather, in the past. 
 The Countess Louisa and her unruly brood were nowhere ; 
 Lady Clarissa was once more a sickly, fractious, unwelcome 
 babe ; and the girl herself, now almost grown into woman- 
 hood, was the wife of other days ! Nor was this all ; the 
 difficulties which had been so insurmountable, before the 
 match with Mrs. Shrosbery was decided upon, were again 
 existent and urgent in the Earl's delirious brain ; he was 
 no longer Louisa's wealthy husband, but the ruined and 
 miserably impecunious husband of the lovely, undowered 
 Clarissa Grey ! He could not even understand that he 
 had anything to bequeath ; and it was evident that to con- 
 tinue to press the matter would, under present circum- 
 stances, be as injurious as unavailing. 
 
 Mr. Hadfield, therefore, desisted, trusting to the forlorn 
 hope that there might be an interval of consciousness and 
 restored memory bsfore death; but he felt greatly de- 
 pressed as, sitting silently at the bedside, he watched the 
 man whom he had known from a boy passing thus sadly 
 from a life which had once been of such fair promise
 
 298 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 which, had proved so great a failure ! He remembered the 
 young Lord Fordham of forty years ago the bright, care- 
 less, pleasure-loving lad, whose tutor constantly lamented 
 that his noble pupil would not do justice to his own 
 excellent abilities ; he thought of the gay youth, fast 
 approaching man's estate, so negligent of all impending 
 responsibilities, so bent on the gratification of the passing 
 whim ; he recalled the young Earl, making excellent reso- 
 lutions at the grave of his father, whose honours and 
 duties were now his own ; the fading away of those good 
 and wholesome impressions, and then their sudden but 
 brief revival when sweet Clarissa Grey became his bride. 
 And then the lawyer dwelt on the period most painful of 
 all the months and years which succeeded the birth of 
 Lady Clarissa ; the fair young wife drooping under neglect 
 and solitude; the thoughtless husband squandering his 
 goodly patrimony, in spite of every remonstrance ; the 
 mad career in London, at Newmarket, at Homburg, and 
 elsewhere ; the crash ; the utter ruin and disgrace which 
 at last impended ! 
 
 And then came reflections on the marriage, in which he 
 himself had had so large a share. ?ir> was true that the 
 crooked was put straight, that debla were paid, honour 
 saved, and an ancient inheritance rescued from the fangs 
 of unprincipled creditors, chiefly of the Hebrew persua- 
 sion ; but, after all, it was a question whether more was 
 not lost than was ever gained. For the Countess had 
 sorely disappointed Mr. Hadfield, and he felt more than 
 -ever that she was not the right woman in the right place, 
 but exactly the reverse, and he was the person chiefly to 
 blame in the whole matter. 
 
 While he thus mused, the sick man fell asleep, and tho 
 lawyer remembered that Lady Clarissa had desired to be 
 recalled as soon as the private interview was over. Ho 
 went in search of her, and found her and Sasan together 
 in the old schoolroom. Susan lingered to hear how ho 
 had sped, but his face told her at once that ho had been 
 unsuccessful. " It was of no use," he said, when Clarissa 
 had left them, " no use at all ! the last few years of hia 
 life seem to be blotted out. A most singular case, but not, 
 I believe, a solitary one."
 
 PASSING AWAY. 299 
 
 " No ; both Dr. Hammond and Sir Samuel have been 
 called in to similar 1 cases before. There is some injury to 
 the brain ; it seems as if a partial darkness had fallen on 
 the memory. It is very strange that the mischief should 
 extend so far and no farther, and yet be irremediable." 
 
 " Ought he not to see a clergyman, Miss Shrosbery ? " 
 
 " I cannot see of what use a clergyman would be, and 
 my lord does not like the rector here ; there has been 
 some misunderstanding between them for a long time, I 
 believe." 
 
 " But some clergyman ought to pray with him." 
 
 " Why a clergyman ? Any Christian person's prayers 
 are as acceptable as a clergyman's, and there are several, 
 besides Clarissa and myself, who are earnestly praying 
 for him. Will not you, too, pray for him ? " 
 
 " I am not much of a hand at praying, Miss Shrosbery. 
 I am not exactly a religions man, I am afraid ; though I 
 would not do anything directly against my conscience. I 
 say my prayers in church, of course ; in the morning I 
 am too eager to begin the day, and in the evening I am 
 too tired for praying. Besides, my wife does my share 
 and her own too ; women, you know, are naturally more 
 devotional than men." 
 
 "And yet men have to endure pain and grief, and to 
 die; a man's nearest and dearest cannot go with him 
 beyond the brink of the dark river." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Hadfield, slowly shaking his head ; 
 "one ought to think of such things, I am aware, espe- 
 cially at my age. I can't expect to be much longer here, 
 though my father did live to be eighty-five, and I very 
 much resemble him ; and what is more, I have a fine con- 
 stitution, and, old as I am, I have never had a serious ill- 
 ness, nor anything like poor health. Still, one must die, 
 sooner or later; and of all the friends with whom I 
 started on life's journey, not one remains. Is it Pascal 
 who says we must die alone ? " 
 
 " Whoever said it, it is only a half-truth, for God is 
 always with the dying, as with the living, and where He 
 is, there need be no solitude or dread." 
 
 " But if one has been a great sinner ? " 
 
 " There is forgiveness with Him ; there is a Saviour for
 
 300 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 all. Christ came to call the guilty to repentance. Only- 
 only Mr. Hadfield, don't yon think it is a terrible mistake 
 to pnt off repenting to the last hours of one's life ? " 
 
 Snsan could not trust herself to say more, for Lord 
 Orwell's spiritual state was a deep source of anxiety to 
 herself and to Clarissa. From the moment when he had 
 fallen from his horse, he had been either unconscious or 
 deliriona ; and had the great question of questions ever 
 been settled ? Had he ever thought of going to meet his 
 God ? of being called to a reckoning for all the wrong 
 committed in the flesh ? of giving an account of his 
 stewardship ? The girls could not tell, they could only 
 hope ; for he had been so very different, so kind, for the 
 last year ; he had even been patient and gentle with his 
 uncongenial, exasperating wife. Surely the change must 
 have had some good source ; surely it must have been 
 God's voice, speaking in the soul so long dead in tres- 
 passes and sins ! They could only hope and pray. And 
 Susan knew that there had been hours when Clarissa's 
 every breath was prayer ; and remembering who it was 
 that said, " If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do 
 it. Verily, verily, I say unto yon, whatsoever ye shall ask 
 the Father in My name, He will give it to yon," she was 
 greatly comforted. 
 
 It was late before Mr. Hadfield went to bed ; tired 
 as he was, he sat over the fire, lost in mournful reflec- 
 tions. It seemed but the other day that he had come 
 down to Orwell, sent by his own father, to the dying 
 father of this man, who was even now come to the end 
 of his earthly career. Only the other day ! and yet 
 many years had glided by since he, in all the glow and 
 strength of early manhood, rode up the great avenue, won- 
 dering whether the old Earl who was not so very old, 
 either yet breathed. Only the other day ! But he had 
 lived his life since then ; he had married and brought up 
 children, who had all left him for homes of their own; 
 the bride of his youth, the proud young mother of his 
 firstborn, was a feeble old woman now, with silver hair 
 and bowed form. Yes, he had lived his life his busy, 
 toiling, prosperous life, and God had blessed him in his 
 store and in his family, and in the partner of his joys and
 
 PASSING AWAY. 301 
 
 sorrows ! Health, strength, mental vigour, success in Ids 
 profession all had been his happy portion. And what 
 had he rendered to the gracious Giver for all these 
 blessings? Little, very little next to nothing! Ah, 
 worse than nothing ! Ingratitude, forgetfnlness, abuse of 
 many gifts, was the verdict he felt compelled to pass upon 
 himself ; and ere long, death would knock at his door, and 
 he, too, would be gathered to his fathers ; his sons would 
 fill his place as he had filled their grandfather's ; the world 
 would go on just the same ; client would come and go ; all 
 would be as it had been for so many years, only he would 
 be absent cold and silent in the grave. And yet, not he 
 not the creature that thought, and felt, and hoped, and 
 feared not the spirit that had been breathed by God 
 Himself into that mortal frame, the never-dying spirit ; 
 where would that be when those eyes that gazed now on 
 the smouldering embers were shut down for ever, when the 
 feet had taken their last step, and the tongue spoken its 
 last words, and the whole corporeal system was mouldering 
 in the tomb ? 
 
 Swiftly came what seemed to be the answer to these 
 solemn queries "Then shall the dnst return to the earth 
 as it was : and the spirit shall return unto God who 
 gave it." 
 
 "Ah, but," questioned the lawyer once more, "what 
 will my spirit have to say to God, and what will God say 
 to me ? Will He not say to me, ' Thou wicked and sloth- 
 ful servant ' ? Will not the sentence go forth ' Cast ye 
 the unprofitable servant into outer darkness : there shall 
 be weeping and gnashing of teeth ' ? " And then uprose 
 the prayer, " Let it not be so, oh, my God ! Of Thy great 
 mercy forgive the past, and take what remains of my fast 
 waning life, and let me live the residue of my days unto 
 Thee." 
 
 Meanwhile, all was silence in the sick-chamber. The 
 dying man slept peacefully ; the night deepened, and grew 
 again to early morning ; and then came the change. 
 They who watched scarcely perceived it, but they saw 
 that there were reason and memory in the dying eyes, and 
 that the invalid himself was conscious of the awful 
 presence that men call death. "Clarissa," he feebly
 
 302 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 whispered, "I am going, I hope, where your dear mother 
 is gone. God help yon, my child. God forgive me my 
 many sins, for Jesus' sake.. Oh, my God, I commit my 
 soul to Thee I " 
 
 And then, before she could realise that the moment of 
 departure had come, he was gone. And Clarissa was an 
 orphan. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A LEGAL INTERVIEW. 
 " Where shall I find an honest lawyer ? " 
 
 THERE was a splendid funeral at Orwell. That is to say, 
 there was a vast expenditure of superfine black cloth, 
 waving plumes, heavy crape, and all the trappings of 
 wealthy, ostentatious sorrow. Everybody in the Castle, 
 and most people in the village, were attired in decent sable 
 raiment. Mourning coaches I could not venture to say 
 how many followed the slowly-moving hearse, which 
 was drawn by four of the blackest, sleekest horses, with 
 the longest manes and tails, that money and diligence 
 could procure. The housings of these animals were 
 superb the pall was of the richest Genoa velvet; the 
 coffin also was covered with velvet, and the handles and 
 the plate which declared the name and age of the deceased 
 peer were, of course, of solid silver, to say nothing of the 
 massive coronet and armorial bearings. The bells of 
 Orwell Church, that had rung so merrily at the late Earl's 
 marriages, tolled solemnly now, and rang out their muffled 
 peals ; the Castle pews, the churchwardens' pew, the 
 pulpit and reading-desk, and even the communion table, 
 were put into mourning ; and once more the hatchments 
 were up, the family vault was opened, and another Earl 
 of Orwell was gathered to his fathers, to mingle his bones 
 with their ancestral dust.
 
 A LEGAL INTERVIEW. 303 
 
 The Countess remained secluded in her own apartments, 
 and saw no one, save the children and her attendants. 
 Even the Rector, who desired to administer religious 
 consolation, was refused admittance. All orders were 
 issued through the new house-steward a certain per- 
 sonage who had been lately preferred to the office by my 
 lady herself, and the undertaker's men and the servants 
 generally kept solemn cheer and festival. And Lord 
 Fordham was Earl of Orwell, and, child as he was, recog- 
 nised the increased importance of his position, and gave 
 himself airs that amused all beholders, in spite of the 
 melancholy cause of his infantile arrogance. Clarissa and 
 Susan remained together, and were little seen till after 
 the funeral nor did the Countess once inquire for them ; 
 and if it had not been for old nurse's pertinacity, Clarissa 
 would scarcely have had her black dress ready on the 
 appointed day. 
 
 But the sad ceremony once over, Lady Orwell made 
 her appearance, looking very imposing in her sweeping 
 widow's robes, and pronounced herself " equal to neces- 
 sary business." And Mr. Hadfield was accordingly sum- 
 moned to a private interview. He found her ladyship 
 quite composed, and sitting in state before an escritoire, 
 which contained, as the lawyer well knew, many of her 
 late husband's most important papers. She put her 
 handkerchief her new cambric, deeply-hemmed, black- 
 bordered handkerchief to her eyes as he entered, and 
 kept it there, till he began to wonder whether she had 
 sent for him for any other purpose than that of exhi- 
 biting her imaginary emotion. Meanwhile, however, he 
 seated himself, and waited till she should be pleased to 
 address him. He felt little inclined to humour her pre- 
 tences, or listen to the false lamentations which were 
 probably impending. 
 
 But for once Mr. Hadfield was deceived in her lady- 
 ship. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, and 
 just as he was about to inquire for what purpose his 
 presence was requested, she withdrew the handkerchief, 
 wiped her tearless eyes, and in the calmest voice com- 
 menced : " I have sent for you, Mr. Hadfield, because there 
 are several things that I wish to understand. There id
 
 304 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 nothing of any consequence to sottle, but there are just a 
 few points to which I wish to make reference before you 
 return to town. In the first place, there is no will." 
 
 " There is not ! I am sorry to be able to say with the 
 utmost certainty that your ladyship is right. I would 
 have given much had my late lord been able to sign the 
 document which I, at his express desire, prepared." 
 
 " I do not see what my lord had to will away, Mr. 
 Hadfield ! My marriage settlements, as you are perfectly 
 aware, made all requisite provision for the future. What 
 my eldest son, the present Earl, does not inherit naturally, 
 and what is not secured to the elder children, is mine, and 
 was always mine exclusively. No one knows better than 
 yourself that the late Lord Orwell was a beggar when I 
 married him, that he had considerably less than nothing 
 when I agreed to wed him, redeem his encumbered estates, 
 and free him from all difficulties. It was my money that 
 paid off the mortgages, that satisfied the money-lenders, 
 who had gathered about him like sharks in the wake of a 
 drifting vessel ; my money that freed him from bonds and 
 liabilities ; my money that once more placed his various 
 establishments on a proper footing ; my money that he 
 spent so lavishly on pleasures in which I had not and could 
 not possibly have any share ! My lord had, therefore, 
 absolutely nothing to bequeath ; and he had more sense 
 than to make a will which must perforce be nothing 
 better than mere waste paper ! Of course, we need not 
 say so much to all the world ; but we know of how much 
 worth any last will and testament of the late Earl of 
 Orwell would have been ! There is no such useless docu- 
 ment, however ; so we need not concern ourselves about 
 what might have been." 
 
 " Pardon me, Lady Orwell ; but I must concern myself 
 about what might have been about what would certainly 
 have come to pass had not this lamentable accident cut 
 short his lordship's life. You ought to know your late 
 husband's intentions, which he freely expressed to others as 
 well as to myself. My lord, by dint of personal economy, 
 had raised a few thousands only a few ! a mere bagatelle 
 to a wealthy woman like your ladyship, which he was 
 tooat anxious to invest for the benefit of Lady Clarissa/'
 
 A LEGAL INTERVIEW. 305 
 
 11 What lias Lady Clarissa to do with my money ? " re- 
 plied the Countess, sharply. "The money, whether it be 
 much or little, came out of the fortune which I brought 
 him, and he had no power to will it away." 
 
 "Yes, he had! Do you not see that the revenues of 
 his ancestral estates were his own, and inalienable, as they 
 are now your son's ? I grant that you enabled him to 
 redeem them from the various sequestrations which made 
 him a titled pauper ; but, being redeemed, no matter how 
 or by whom, they became his own again, and he had full 
 right to dispose of them as he pleased. That is to say, if 
 anything remained which neither Lord Fordham nor his 
 brothers and sisters could legally claim, it was the Earl's, 
 to hoard or speculate with, or bequeath, exactly as he 
 chose. And the sum of eight or nine thousand pounds I 
 am not certain which is at this moment lying in the 
 late Earl's name at his banker's, and they know per- 
 fectly for what purpose the money was allowed to accu- 
 mulate." 
 
 " What was the late Earl's is now the present Earl's. I 
 shall take every care of my son's interests." 
 
 " I doubt it not. But surely one owes something to the 
 dead ! It seems to me that my lord's earnest wishes on. 
 this head should be sacred, and as implicitly obeyed as 
 though they had been duly signified by legal instrument, 
 which your ladyship would have been compelled to respect 
 nolens-volens." 
 
 " I don't know what * nolens-volens ' means ! Some- 
 fine French phrase, I suppose ! But this I know, Mr. 
 Hadfield : had any such ' legal instrument ' been pro- 
 duced by you, or any other person, I should have disputed 
 its valuation ; no ! I mean its its " 
 
 " Its validity your ladyship probably means ? but you 
 would have disputed in vain. You would never have 
 received a verdict had you carried your cause into every 
 court of law, from the lowest to the highest ; nor when 
 once thrown, with heavy costs, would you have been per- 
 mitted to make any further appeal. A man's will, 
 duly signed and properly witnessed, is not to be upset 
 by senseless litigation which has not a foot to stand 
 upon." 
 
 20
 
 306 LADY CLAEISSA, 
 
 "And yet wills have been upset, and will be npset, as 
 long as there are legal deeds and lawyers in the world." 
 
 " Granted. But not such a will as my Lord Orwell's 
 wpnld have been. You would not have had an inch of 
 ground to go npon. This is idle talk, however, as, unfor- 
 tunately, there is no will in the case ; only his lordship's 
 expressed desire." 
 
 " What is it you wish me to do ? " 
 
 " Make the same provision for Lady Clarissa as would 
 have been made ere this had her father not been thrown 
 in the hunting-field." 
 
 "How can I? I know enough of law the law of 
 inheritance to perceive that the spare thousands which 
 you say are lying at the bank in my late lord's name, 
 belong legally to the present Earl, who is a minor, and 
 can therefore do nothing in the matter." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield could scarcely keep back a smile at this 
 exhibition of shrewdness. " Ah ! what a clever woman ! " 
 lie thought ; "if only she would use her talents in the 
 right direction!" What he said was, "I congratulate 
 your ladyship on your legal knowledge. It is quite true 
 that we cannot appropriate those exact funds I named for 
 the purpose for which they were designed. They are, as 
 yon say, the young Earl's, and must remain in trust for 
 him, with other properties which descend to him by law 
 of primogeniture. But there is nothing to prevent your 
 ladyship carrying out your husband's cherished desire. 
 You are richly dowered, even when your children's claims 
 are fully met ; and I ask you, therefore, in the name of 
 the dead man, who was the father of your children who 
 gave you his rank and title the man whom you once 
 professed to regard with some degree of affection to do 
 what is simply right and just, and make such provision 
 for Lady Clarissa Oakleigh as shall render her inde- 
 pendent and " 
 
 But here the Countess abruptly interposed. 
 
 " Stay ! that will do ! You are wasting breath, Mr. 
 Hadfield, and you do not seem to have much of it to 
 spare ! Under no pretence can I be called upon to provide 
 for my step-daughter Clarissa, who has always behaved 
 herself with the utmost ingratitude, and during the last
 
 A LEGAL INTERVIEW. 307 
 
 few months lias clone her best to deprive me of my hus- 
 band's regard and confidence. I will do nothing nothing, 
 for that girl ! " 
 
 " Think well, Lady Orwell, before you pledge yourself to 
 an unworthy course of conduct ! If your own sense of 
 right, if your womanly heart cannot prevail, if your con- 
 science says nothing, if your respect for the dead has no 
 power over you still I conjure yon, for your own sake, 
 not to act in such a way as will ensure you the contempt 
 and avoidance of all good people. Let it be once known 
 that you condemn Lady Clarissa to poverty utter poverty 
 and the world will cry shame upon you ! And of the 
 world's dictum I am sure yon stand in awe." 
 
 " Not in this case. Once for all, Mr. Hadfield, under- 
 stand that my mind is made up, and that neither threats, 
 entreaties, nor arguments can avail to change it. I will 
 not make the smallest settlement on Lady Clarissa, whom 
 I do not like, whom I can barely tolerate ; but because 
 she is who she is my late lord's lawful daughter, I will 
 give her a home while I live ; I will clothe her decently; and 
 what is more, I may, if she behave herself properly and do 
 my bidding I don't promise, mind ! but I may, if I find 
 her at all deserving, leave her a few hundreds in my will. 
 Or, should she marry to my satisfaction which is very 
 unlikely I might interpose to prevent her going quite 
 empty-handed into another family. But all depends on 
 her own behaviour. She must treat me as she has never 
 treated me yet, if she means to find any favour at my 
 hands. I won't even harbour her under my roof under 
 my son's roof, I ought to say if she don't treat me with 
 all possible respect and deference, and obey me as if she 
 were my hired servant." 
 
 " Perhaps you intend to make her your servant without 
 any hire ? " said Mr. Hadfield, thoroughly offended. 
 " Lady Orwell, I deeply deplore the mistake I made when 
 I induced the late Earl to place yon in the position of 
 stepmother to his daughter. I am deeply sorry for Lady 
 Clarissa, the more so that I cannot yet see how I am to 
 serve her." a 
 
 " You will serve her best if you advise her to be humble 
 and submissive to the only person in the world who will 
 
 202
 
 308 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 do anything for her. We will drop the subject, if you 
 please ; indeed, I feel so annoyed, and my nerves are so 
 weak from my recent bereavement, that I cannob even 
 discuss- those points which remain to be settled between 
 us." 
 
 " All that it is my duty to do, Lady Orwell, I will do, 
 as I have always done, for the family. I leave the Castle 
 to-day " 
 
 " Indeed ! you will do nothing of the sort," she inter- 
 rupted. " There are a great many things I want you to 
 explain, and you must go over some of these papers witb 
 me, and tell me what I am to do." 
 
 " I must leave the Castle to-day," he resumed, as if she- 
 had not spoken ; " I shall at once proceed to take thoso 
 steps which, as your late husband's man of business, I am 
 bound to take. I will also take care that every legal 
 form is duly observed. I will act as your ladyship's ad- 
 viser till your son's affairs and your own are in completest 
 order ; and then I shall at once surrender the charge of 
 them to whomsoever your ladyship may be pleased to 
 appoint." 
 
 " Do you mean that you refuse to be what you always 
 have been to the reigning Earl of Orwell ? 'Legal friend, 
 and man of business,' my lord used to call you." 
 
 " Legal friend I can never be to you or yours, Lady 
 Orwell ; therefore, I will not be your man of business. I 
 will do the duty which yet remains to me, and do it con- 
 scientiously to the very best of my ability. That being 
 done, I wash my hands of your affairs, and hand over to 
 any solicitor whom you may prefer all the Orwell deeds, 
 documents, memoranda, &c., &c., which are now in my 
 possession." 
 
 " I never knew anyone behave so abominably," replied 
 the Countess, who was both angry and nonplussed. She 
 felt that she could not afford to quarrel with Mr. Had- 
 field ; no one else knew her affairs so thoroughly how 
 thoroughly she did not like to remember. It might be alj 
 very well to have a lawyer whom she could instruct as 
 she liked, and browbeat at pleasure. She had not the 
 smallest regard for Mr. Hadfield, though he had faithfully 
 served her interests, and had been the confidential lawyer
 
 A LEG1S INTERVIEW. 309 
 
 of both her husbands ; bat she had all the wisdom which 
 is common to sharp wits and narrow souls, and she 
 shrank from the risk of actually offending him ; for retalia- 
 tion was within his grasp, and, judging him by herself, 
 she scarcely doubted but that he would speedily avenge 
 his wrongs. So she tried to soothe him ; but in vain. He 
 had long wished to relinquish his position in this family, 
 and his sons, into whose hands his practice had by this 
 time pretty well fallen, were like-minded with himself. 
 He was, therefore, not to be moved by the widow's 
 apologies and blandishments ; he would wind-up the late 
 Earl's affairs, he again asseverated, and place all things 
 in perfect order, and then the Countess must be so good 
 as to accept his resignation. 
 
 " But yon are Susan's lawyer," observed her ladyship. 
 " Do you throw her over ? " 
 
 " By no means. "While I live, I hope to manage Miss 
 Shrosbery's affairs. After my death, perhaps before, for 
 my health is fast failing, my sons will undertake them. 
 They are, either of them, old enough to be Miss Shros- 
 bery's father, and will be pleased to act for her, under any 
 circumstances." 
 
 " And you will not act for me ?" 
 
 " I cannot ! And your ladyship knows why." 
 
 Then she burst out into unreasonable anger, and 
 threatened that it should be all the worse for Clarissa, in 
 consequence of what had passed that morning. 
 
 " You are not Lady Clarissa's guardian, you must 
 understand," he coolly replied. " Unless she choose, yon 
 cannot control her." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " she answered. " A girl like that, not 
 aixteen till next month, must have a guardian, and the 
 law would naturally declare me to be the fittest and only 
 person." 
 
 " As there is no will, no guardian has been appointed. 
 Indeed, a penniless young person needs rather a generous 
 friend and protector than a legal guardian. At the 
 present moment, Lady Clarissa is her own mistress." 
 
 " I shall take steps ! The law will give me )<** 
 father's widow the necessary authority, I am sure. I 
 shall appeal."
 
 310 LADY CLAKISSA. 
 
 " To whom, may I ask ? " 
 
 " To the Lord Chancellor, of course." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield langhed. " Your ladyship is far tod clever 
 a person to expose yourself to certain failure and ridicule, 
 I think you will not trouble the Lord Chancellor, nor 
 provoke the sort oi : comment which would infallibly result. 
 And now I really "must say ' good morning.' " 
 
 " One word ! I am, past doubt, the guardian of Susan 
 Shrosbery ? " 
 
 " You are, until -July ! It is scarcely worth while 
 asserting any right fo:- so short a period as four months ! 
 As soon as Miss Shrosbery is of age she will have her own 
 establishment, unless I am very much mistaken." 
 
 "A girl of one-and-twenty cannot live by herself." 
 
 " Respectable chapei*ones are easily to be procui-ed." 
 
 " She will never leave Clarissa ; the two have sworn 
 eternal friendship." 
 
 "Lady Clarissa can accompany her friend. Such an 
 arrangement would be most suitable. Of course, some 
 elderly lady must reside with them, and I think I know 
 one who would be delighted to undertake the situation." 
 
 " I shall certainly not permit it." 
 
 " You can only hinder it by locking up your step- 
 daughter, and if you do that the law will interfere, and 
 compel you to release your prisoner." 
 
 " I do not choose it to be said that Lady Clarissa Oak- 
 leigh is under any other guardianship than my own ! And 
 if the girl has any pride any proper pride in her, sho 
 will scarcely consent to be dependent on a person who 
 is not even remotely connected with her. Then Susan 
 will marry if she do not die. She inherits her mother's 
 delicacy without a doubt, and she has looked very poorly 
 all through the winter. By the way, what becomes of her 
 fortune after her death ? " 
 
 " She can dispose of it as she pleases, as soon as she 
 attains her majority. Should she unfortunately die be- 
 fore the 15th of July next, the Shrosbery money reverts 
 to the Shrosbery family to some distant cousins, whom 
 I only know by repute. The fortune which came to her 
 from her own mother goes, I believe, in case of her dying 
 childless, to that good-for-nothing fellow atButtenneads."
 
 A LEGAL INTERVIEW. 311 
 
 " The Shrosbery money ought to revert to me. I cannot 
 think why my poor dear Peter did not so order it." 
 
 " Mr. Shrosbery probably thought he had behaved 
 handsomely enough when he left you, unconditionally, all 
 his wealth, save only that twenty thousand pounds which 
 he devised to his daughter. But some people are never 
 satisfied. And now I will take leave of your ladyship, 
 and prepare for my journey home. I shall have to trouble 
 yon once or twice, I am afraid, before your affairs can be 
 in a fit state to be formally transferred ; and, in the mean- 
 time, perhaps yon will take counsel of your friends, and 
 select someone who will undertake the charge which has 
 been mine so many years." 
 
 " Since you are so ill-natured as to throw me over in 
 this miserable emergency, just as I am for the second 
 time deprived of a husband's care and guidance, perhaps 
 you will recommend a suitable person. I must have a 
 lawyer, a family lawyer, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I think yon must. Both as Dowager-Countess and 
 the young Earl's guardian, you will continually require 
 legal action and advice. But I must decline the responsi- 
 bility of naming, or even suggesting, any person whatever. 
 Your ladyship must confer with yonr own friends ; they 
 will doubtless be happy to give you the benefit of their 
 counsel. Or, if yon know enough of the profession, make 
 your own unbiassed choice ; that, I think, would be the 
 most satisfactory way of proceeding." 
 
 "You are a good-for-nothing, spiteful old man, Mr. 
 Hadfield, adding to my heavy affliction as you do ! And 
 to think that I should live to be called a dowager ! " 
 
 " You are as unfortunate as Lydia Languish, who wept 
 at being called ' a spinster.' I dare say you will soon 
 find a legal gentleman entirely to your mind. I promise 
 one thing, however : if you should select an unreliable, 
 unworthy person for there are scamps, and very specious 
 scamps too, in our profession, as in every other I will 
 give you a word of warning." 
 
 " And you ought also to promise that you will hold 
 sacred all confidences with which you have been favoured 
 from the very commencement of our acquaintance." 
 
 " For what do you take me, Lady Orwell ? Such a
 
 312 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 promise is entirely needless. I have no more riglit to 
 divulge your secrets when I cease to be your lawyer than 
 I have had ever since I knew yon and them. However, if 
 it be any comfort to yon, understand most distinctly that 
 I shall still keep that silence which I have preserved so 
 long, nnless, indeed, yon compel me to speak ! Your late 
 lusband knew nothing of yonr family connections ; I 
 .introduced yon to him as Mrs. Shrosbery, and I assured 
 ,him that yon came of a respectable, though humble, stock. 
 .More he did not inquire ; more I did not communicate. 
 Is it likely that I shall now divnlge what I then concealed ? 
 J3e happy, so far as I am concerned ; Miss Sparks, of 
 Whitechapel, is dead and buried, and her memory has 
 perished with her. My first relations were with Mrs. 
 Peter Shrcsbery, with whose antecedents I never had any 
 concern, though for certain reasons I was fully informed 
 of them. And just one more ' last word ! ' Yon have a 
 strange house-steward who takes a great deal upon him- 
 self, and altogether comports himself in a singular and 
 jnost nngentlemanly manner. Take care how you trust 
 ihat man, or he will work you some grievous harm ! I 
 suppose you know who he really is ? He looks to me 
 something between a ruined adventurer and a returned 
 ^convict a compound of both, perhaps. Good morning." 
 Lady Orwell sank back on her chair pale and faint. 
 'The unexpected warning touched her all too closely, for 
 the new house-steward was no other than her redoubtable 
 cousin, Mr. Jack Sparks, who had insisted on being 
 elected to the post he now filled in the Orwell household. 
 On no other terms would he consent to keep her ladyship's 
 counsel, and he at last succeeded in persuading " cousin 
 Loo " that his residence in the family would be immensely 
 to her interest, as he was fully resolved it should be to 
 his own.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SUSAN A X D CLARISSA. 
 
 * That God, which ever lives and loves. 
 One God, one law, one element, 
 And one far-off Divine event, 
 To which the whole creation moves." 
 
 YES ! Jack Sparks, or, as he was now called, Mr. Thomp- 
 son, was really a person of authority in the household of 
 the widowed Countess ! How it had all come about needs 
 not to be recorded ; only Jack, being undoubtedly a person 
 of genius, and having everything to gain and nothing to lose, 
 and being moreover remarkable for persistency of cha- 
 racter, had so worked his schemes, that Louisa succumbed, 
 after a brief and ineffectual struggle, to the inevitable, 
 and accepted the proposed alternative. 
 
 " Can't you see," said Jack, " that the arrangement is 
 good for all of us ? I'll take care of your interests " 
 this, it must be remembered, was in the Earl's lifetime 
 " I'll see that you are first ; I'll take excellent care that 
 whoever goes to the wall, you don't ! And I shall keep 
 my eyes wide open, and I won't have you cheated." 
 
 " Except by yourself ! " remarked the Countess, quietly. 
 
 " Except by myself, as you say," resumed Cousin Jack 
 in the coolest manner ; " of course, I shall take all possible 
 care of number one, Loo, my dear! It's our duty as 
 Christians, you know, to do the best we can for ourselves ; 
 therefore, you may be sure I shall make hay while the 
 sun shines, and feather my nest while I've the opportunity. 
 But if I am number one, yon are number two; and if I 
 am very much the better, you'll be none the worse, but 
 just contrariwise ; and so it's settled." 
 
 And so it was ! The Countess would have resisted had 
 she dared, but a good deal had happened of late which 
 seemed to demonstrate that Cousin Jack might be more 
 useful to her as a friend and ally than as an enemy. So, 
 a sort of conspiracy was hatched between the two, and
 
 f>14 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Jack Sparks was presented to the Earl as a gentleman of 
 respectable family, who had been unfortunate, and was 
 anxious to gain an honest livelihood as genteelly as pos- 
 sible ; and somehow he managed to produce excellent testi- 
 monials, and to convince Lord Orwell that he would be, in 
 the capacity of house-steward, exactly the right man in the 
 right place. 
 
 "And, of course, I'm always 'Mr. Thompson,' and you 
 are always my lady-Countess," said Jack, when the treaty 
 was concluded. "And you never need be afraid I shall 
 forget myself, so long as you keep faith ; and I'll do my 
 best for you and yours I swear I will ! and I've got 
 sharp eyes, and quick ears, and no wool in my brains, and 
 they will be clever folk that gets over me, or hoodwinks 
 me in any way." 
 
 Susan Shrosbery distrusted this man greatly; as for 
 Clarissa, she had the worst opinion of him ; and we have 
 seen in what light he was regarded by that experienced 
 and astute veteran, Mr. Hadfield. Lady Orwell, when 
 she recovered from the shock of that gentleman's unex- 
 pected warning on the subject of the new house-steward, 
 took counsel with herself, and came to the conclusion that 
 perhaps, after all, it was a good thing "a real Provi- 
 dence " that he retired from his ancient post as family 
 solicitor ; he knew too much ; he was too keen an ob- 
 server ; he spoke his mind with a candour amounting to 
 insolence, and she could never feel quite free and unre- 
 strained when she transacted business with him, or under 
 his instructions. And as she had perfect confidence in his 
 honour, and was quite sure that he would still preserve 
 that secrecy on certain points which was so essential to 
 her own success in life and peace of mind, she arrived at 
 last at the certainty that all was just as it should be ; that 
 it was the best thing in the world that Mr. Hadfield 
 voluntarily withdrew, and that it was also the second best 
 thing that Jack Sparks, or, as we must call him now, 
 Mr. Thompson, was formally inducted as house-steward 
 before the Earl's decease. For it had been contrived 
 somehow that with my lord, and not with my lady, 
 should rest the entire responsibility of engaging this new 
 and confidential servant.
 
 SUSAN AND CLARISSA. 315 
 
 When Mr. Hadfield left the Countess, he went straight- 
 way in search of the young ladies. He found Clarissa, 
 but not Susan ; Miss Shrosbery was lying down, feeling 
 by no means well. 
 
 " Lady Clarissa," said the lawyer, " I am returning 
 to town this afternoon, and I have if you will kindly 
 listen to me a few words to say which relate to your 
 own priva'"> interests." 
 
 " I shall listen with gratitude," said Clarissa, in her 
 sad, quiet voice; "I know well that you are my friend ; 
 and I am sure my dear father placed the most pei'fecb 
 confidence in your truth and judgment. On several 
 accounts I need your advice." 
 
 " And you shall have the best it is in my power to give- 
 you, Lady Clarissa. First, may I ask what are your 
 plans ? " 
 
 " I have none," she replied, her colour rising, and her 
 voice trembling as she spoke. " Is there no will, no paper 
 of any kind, that has reference to my future ? Am I en- 
 tirely dependent on the Countess's bounty ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I must say that for the present it is so. I 
 have just come from Lady Orwell, and she refuses in 
 short, I cannot bring her to see that it is at all her duty 
 or her privilege to abide by the Earl's unwritten, but ver- 
 bally expressed, intentions. It is best to be plain. As far 
 as the Countess is concerned, you are without the merest 
 trifle of an income." 
 
 "My own mother had nothing, I think I have heard 
 you say ? " 
 
 " Nothing in the way of gold or silver ; her only dower 
 was her goodness and her beauty, which I have never seen 
 equalled. Your father, however, fully intended making a 
 small settlement upon you. Had the arrangements been 
 fully completed, you would have had from three to four 
 hundred pounds a year secured to you for life." 
 
 " And as those arrangements remained uncompleted 
 can never, indeed, be completed I have no income at 
 all ? " 
 
 " None whatever ! Yon have your mother's jewels ? " 
 
 " Yes ; my father gave them to me some months ago. 
 A-S hers, they are most precious; but actually, I am
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 afraid, they are nob worth, much the setting is old- 
 fashioned, and the gems themselves are of no great value. 
 Bnt, such as they are, I believe they are my own." 
 
 " They are yours, and yours only, without the shadow 
 of a doubt. As far as 1 know, Lady Orwell is not even 
 aware of their existence, and you had better not inform 
 her, for she might I do not say she would but she 
 might, if cantankerously minded, dispute even so paltry 
 an inheritance. She is not, I am sorry to perceive, 
 favonrably disposed towards your ladyship." 
 
 " She never was ; but that is partly my own fault, Mr. 
 Hadfield. From the beginning she misunderstood me ; 
 she forced upon me a discipline which I could not endure, 
 for I was a strange, wayward child, utterly untrained, 
 naturally proud and independent, and till she came, I had 
 always contrived to hold my own, and, to a great extent, 
 follow my own inclinations. That I needed discipline I 
 am quite sure ; but, somehow, we were perpetually at 
 issues, and what seems to me now very strange, our 
 antagonism was always that of two grown persons, rather 
 than of a woman and a child. I must confess to a 
 good deal of very bad behaviour, but not without provoca- 
 tion. And then, I quickly learned to estimate her lady- 
 ship's character in its due proportions ; her follies and her 
 vulgarities were all patent to my observation, and I was 
 o unwise as to let her know it. Again, when dear papa 
 and I became friends, she was displeased ; she was 
 jealous of every attention, of every little kindness he 
 bestowed upon me. She declared that I made a breach 
 between them, but that was not true ; they were, to a 
 certain extent, estranged long before papa and I came to 
 understand each other, and I can say with a clear con- 
 science that I never tried, even remotely, to foster theif 
 unhappy differences. Indeed, I kept many things from 
 papa things which would have amazed him because I 
 would not provoke his displeasure against his wife, and 
 also because I knew that such revelations as I might 
 have made to him would have vexed and pained him in 
 no small degree. And I am most thankful now that on 
 anany occasions when I was tempted to complain I held 
 Tuy peace. Still, Mr. Hadfield, I wish you to comprehend
 
 SUSAN AND CLARISSA. 317 
 
 that the Countess is not wholly to blame ; fov if, in the 
 beginning of our intercourse, she wished me well, and 
 felt for me any kind of affection, I did my best to repel 
 and alienate it. I wish I had known Snsan earlier ! " 
 
 " I wish with all my heart you had, and that on several 
 accounts. But I doubt if even her influence would have 
 mended matters between Lady Orwell and yourself." 
 
 " I think it would, because Susan has taught me what I 
 never guessed at before the truth and happiness of real 
 Christianity. Do you know, Mr. Hadfield, till she came, 
 I was little more than a baptized heathen ? " 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that, I am sure. Madame Pierrofc 
 would certainly not neglect your religions education, 
 and I know you attended to what are called * religious 
 duties.' " 
 
 " My Christianity was not worthy of the name ; I read 
 the Bible as a task as a 'religious duty,' perhaps; I 
 went to church, of course, and as I grew past childhood, I 
 tried to follow the prayers and listen to the sermon the 
 more especially as Madame used to require a slight resume 
 of the morning's discourse ; and I learnt my Catechism, in 
 which, however, I never believed, for I knew in my heart 
 that I was not ' a member of Christ, a child of God, and 
 an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.' Then I was con- 
 firmed, because it was proper, and I had to study the 
 Thirty-nine Articles, and to read-up on the subject of 
 General Councils. In fact, I became quite a theologian. 
 But my religion was a mere skeleton of dry bones ; my 
 faith was blind credulity ; I knew no more than a baba 
 what a blessed thing it was to feel that God was my 
 Father and my Friend to lay all my cares and troubles 
 at His feet, and for Christ's dear sake to strive and live % 
 Christ-like life." 
 
 " And yon know it, noio ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I know it truly. God sent Snsan to teach me ; 
 to awake me out of my deep sleep of sin and stupid 
 security. Whatever trouble is in store for me, nothing 
 can ever take away the blessed peace and joy which I 
 have found." 
 
 " I suppose you were what is called converted, then ? " 
 
 *' I suppose so. And yet if I were, conversion is a very
 
 318 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 different thing from what it is commonly represented 
 to be." 
 
 " Can yon tell me at all what sort of experience it is ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that I can. I went through no sort of 
 process or crisis, such as I read about in good books. I 
 only know that np to last August my soul was asleep, 
 and now it is awake ; that the eyes of my mind were 
 closed, now they are open and I see ! Christ was a mere 
 historical personage, now He is a living power in my heart 
 my Lord and Master, whom I love, and whom it is my 
 happiness to serve ! I can hardly tell when this new life 
 actually commenced ; it grew upon me till I felt that I 
 lived." 
 
 " Ministers of religion teach us that we must be born 
 again ; the Bible says so, too. What you describe must 
 surely be this new and second birth ! Lady Clarissa, do 
 you think a man could be born again, and not know it ? " 
 
 " I think any man or woman who was really born again 
 could not fail to know it. I think indeed, I feel sure a 
 person may be ignorant that he is not born again ! 
 He may be misled by the Church Catechism one part 
 of which, I do think, Satan must have invented, to cheat 
 souls into a false peace and rest ; that part, I mean, which 
 makes baptism our salvation ! But to be indeed ' born 
 again,' and not know it ! I think that cannot be ; not for 
 any length of time, however. A child soon finds out that 
 it is alive ; a corpse or a statue can never make such a 
 discovery. But I believe I know what you mean." 
 
 " I am not quite sure what I mean myself, Lady Clarissa ; 
 but it is time I knew whether I am dead or alive ; whether, 
 if my mortal part died to-night and I am an old man, 
 and I have had many warnings of late whether it would 
 be all right with me." 
 
 " I felt one day just like that I was not sure about 
 myself ; I thought, ' Suppose I have deceived myself ! 
 suppose I heard no voice ! suppose it was all a fancy a 
 delusion ! ' And for a little while I felt most miserable." 
 
 " Only for a little while ? " 
 
 " Only for a very little while. Susan said, * If you 
 tvere not changed, yon would not care. Which way is 
 your face turned ? ' And then I knew that my face wa
 
 SUSAN AND CLARISSA. 319 
 
 turned Godwards, that I had turned right round, so lo 
 speak, and that I would not for worlds look the other way 
 again. I was like a person in a straight high road, who 
 must needs go forward or backward, and there was no 
 question in my heart as to which it should be ; for my soul 
 went out to God the living God. And I felt that in God 
 only could I live, and move, and do the work I had to do. 
 I knew then I know it more surely now that I have a 
 great deal to learn, a great deal to conquer in myself, a 
 great deal to attain to ; but I was, and I am, quite sure, 
 that my face is turned to the Lord my God" 
 
 11 And your back is turned upon the world ? " 
 
 " I would not say that ! It sounds fine ; but I don'fc 
 believe in it. After all, it is God's world, and it is full of 
 beauty, and goodness, and sweetness. I do so dislike to 
 read lives of pious people, who are always reviling the 
 world. All the while they mean the sin that is in the 
 Avorld ! Why can't they say so ? " 
 
 "But is there not a text which says, 'Love not the 
 world ' ? Are we not told ' the whole world lieth in 
 wickedness,' or something of that sort ? " 
 
 w And so the whole world, with here and there solitary 
 exceptions, did lie in wickedness, when the apostle wrote 
 that. The world of Sfc. Paul and St. Peter was the 
 Roman world which must have been little better than 
 hell." 
 
 "And since that day the world is better, you would 
 say?" 
 
 " Better a thousand times ! If it were not, then Christ 
 would have lived and died in vain. And He who said, 'I, 
 if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto Me,' would be a 
 mere boaster and impostor." 
 
 " And yet all the world has not come to Christ ? " 
 
 " No ; the world is slow to know its best Friend, to 
 find out its greatest joy ! But as Christ said it, it must 
 be true. And He must reign till He has put all His 
 enemies under His feet. No, Mr. Hadfield, I will not say 
 I have turned my back on the world how can I when 
 there is so much to be done in it for God ? when the 
 world is so fall of our brothers and sisters who need help 
 and sympathy, and all that we can give for Christ's
 
 3:20 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 dear Sake ? Bat I hope I have turned my back on sin, 
 inasmuch, as I love it no longer and, above all, turned 
 my back on self, which too often makes one's world. 
 Self was my world once, I know." 
 
 " I should like to talk to yon longer on these snbjectfl, 
 Lady Clarissa ; perhaps, when next I see you, I may be 
 able to say truly that my face also is turned in the right 
 direction. But my time here is short, and business must 
 not be neglected. Yon have not formed any plans, you 
 say ? " 
 
 " None precisely for the present. But Susan will be of 
 age in July, and then she thinks we may live together in 
 a quiet way. I am not sure that I should like to be 
 dependent, even upon her, and I see no disgrace in honest 
 work ; still, she will give me a home for awhile for my 
 whole life if I wish it ! I think I see dimly what I can 
 do I have a project." 
 
 "Am I impertinent when I ask what that may be ? " 
 
 *' I will tell you right willingly, only at present it must 
 be entirely between ourselves. I think I may make some- 
 thing of my painting. Dear papa used to say that if ever 
 there were a Revolution, such as they had in France, which 
 compelled the nobility to earn a living, I might certainly 
 keep myself from want. And my master in London said 
 more than once, 'It is a thousand pities yon are Lady 
 Clarissa Oakleigh ; you might be a great artist if you 
 were a poor, struggling woman, compelled to use your 
 fingers in order to gain your daily bread.' At any rate, 
 I think I shall try." 
 
 " And I feel sure you will succeed, though I do not like 
 the notion of Lord Orwell's daughter toiling for this same 
 daily bread which is so essential. However, I commend 
 your spirit ; earned bread is always sweeter, ay, and 
 wholesomer, than the bread of dependence. But, how- 
 ever you may eventually settle it with Miss Shrosbery, 
 who, I feel sure, will gladly share her income with you, 
 do not hesitate to accept her offer of a home at once." 
 
 " I shall not ; Susan and I quite understand each other. 
 But I want to know, can Lady Orwell keep me till I am 
 twenty-one ? I mean, can she insist upon my remaining 
 under her protection ? "
 
 SUSAN AND CLARISSA. 321 
 
 "She cannot. As things are, you are quite free of Lady 
 Orwell. She has no right over you, save that right which 
 is accorded to every lady of the house over her own 
 family, and that right, such as it is, ceases the moment 
 you quit the shelter of her roof, under which she cannot 
 force you to remain. You are, I regret to say, all but 
 penniless, but you are your own mistress. At the same 
 time, I would advise you not to quarrel with my lady more 
 than you can help, and to do everything quietly, lei- 
 surely, and moderately. She cannot really injure you, I 
 think, but she can make yon extremely uncomfortable, not 
 only while you are here, but when you and Miss Shrosbery 
 leave together. By the way, I wished very much to 
 speak to Miss Shrosbery ; I hope she is not seriously in- 
 disposed." 
 
 "I hardly know what to say, for though she makes 
 light of her ailments, I am recretly uneasy on her account. 
 Dr. Hammond told me she suffers from indigestion, and 
 that the food she takes does not properly nourish her. 
 Her mother died early of decline, you know ! " 
 
 " Yes, I remember her mother well, but I should not 
 say Miss Shrosbery was consumptive ; and yet she seems a 
 good deal out of health for so young a person. And Dr. 
 Hammond calls it indigestion, does he ? " 
 
 "I am not sure that he does not suspect something 
 more. I do not think indigestion makes people faint." 
 
 " Does Miss Shrosbery faint ? " 
 
 *' Yes, every now and then. And she is so easily tired ; 
 I can do three times as much as she can, and not be 
 fatigued. But all that has happened lately has exhausted 
 her strength ; and then there was her aunt's death, which, 
 as you know, was a great grief to her, and the breaking 
 up of her happy home. Her coming here was the best 
 thing that could have been, for me, but it was the greatest 
 trouble she ever had. And though she did not give way 
 and fret because she always carried with her a talisman 
 that kept her quietly happy and contented still the wrench 
 was a severe one, and I do not think she has ever been 
 quite well since she came to us." 
 
 " What sort of fainting is it ? " 
 
 " A very deathly sort ! She is not merely faint, but 
 
 21
 
 322 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 she goes ' right off,' as old nurse says. I asked her what 
 it felt like, this ' going right off,' and she replied that ifc 
 was so sudden she could not tell, only all in a moment her 
 heart seemed to stop beating. We never leave her alone 
 now, except when she is lying down, and even then I 
 manage to look in about every half hour without disturb- 
 ing her." 
 
 " Miss Shrosbery must see a London physician. I ought 
 to have known of this before. Here she comes. Don't 
 say a word about what you have just told me." 
 
 Susan came in with her usual cheerful countenance, but 
 looking, nevertheless, pallid, worn, and languid. There 
 was something curious about her complexion, Mr. Hadfield 
 thought, and he remembered noticing it before, but it had 
 been driven from his mind by reason of his anxiety for the 
 Earl while he yet lingered, and by the grief which almost 
 overwhelmed him when all was over. He simply said 
 he was sorry to hear she was so poorly, and that he 
 thought she ought to have other advice. Dr. Hammond 
 was an excellent man, and clever, but still a mere country 
 practitioner, with comparatively limited experience. Then 
 the two talked business for a little while, and then Mr. 
 Hadfield lunched alone, and afterwards the carriage came 
 round which was to convey him the first stage on his 
 journey. He turned into the schoolroom, as it was still 
 called, to say farewell to the young ladies, and found 
 Susan there alone ; Clarissa had just been summoned to 
 the presence of the Countess. 
 
 As they were parting, Susan said, " Suppose I do not 
 live till my birthday ? " 
 
 " Suppose nothing of the sort ! " he replied, with an 
 affectation of lightness he did not feel. " We must get you 
 away from Orwell as soon as possible ; in the meantime, 
 give my lady-countess a tolerably wide berth ; have as 
 little to say to her as may be, and don't let her whims and 
 oddities trouble you. It is not worth while, when it is 
 for so short a time ; and I will undertake that when you 
 go Lady Clarissa goes with you." 
 
 " But if I do not live till St. Swithiu's Day and you 
 know life is uncertain in every case ; have we not jnst had 
 ft sad proof of it ? it would make so much difference to
 
 SUSAN AND CLAEISSA. 323 
 
 Clarissa. Could I do nothing beforehand ? It is for her 
 eake I ask." 
 
 " Nothing whatever ! Pray don't worry yourself, Miss 
 Shrosbery. There shall be no procrastination in this case, 
 I promise you ! I will obey your instructions, and the 
 will shall be in readiness for you to sign the moment the 
 clock has struck twelve on the fifteenth of July." 
 
 " But I have some money which I have saved out of my 
 annual allowance you know where it is ; could not that 
 be, in case of the worst, secured to Clarissa ? " 
 
 " It might be managed, I dare say. I will think about 
 it. Good-bye." 
 
 When just out of the village the lawyer met Dr. Ham- 
 mond driving home to dinner. They stopped to exchange 
 adieux, and then Mr. Hadfield said, " By the way, Doctor, 
 I am concerned about Susan Shrosbsry ; what is the 
 meaning of these fainting fits ? " 
 
 " They mean heart disease, and, I am afraid, of a very 
 bad type." 
 
 '* Is there any any immediate danger ? " 
 
 " Without a closer examination I should not like to say ; 
 hut my own opinion is, her life cannot be a long one, 
 though by taking care and avoiding hurry and excitement 
 she may live for many years. A sudden shock would 
 almost certainly prove fatal." 
 
 Mr. Hadfield was so moved that he could not reply, and 
 Dr. Hammond drove on. The lawyer went on his waj 
 with a saddened heart, filled with the worst appre- 
 hensions. 
 
 212
 
 324 LADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE YOUNG EARL. 
 
 * Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old 
 fee will not depart from it." " A foolish son is the heaviness of 
 his mother." " It is good for a man that he should bear the yoke 
 in his youth." 
 
 " ORWELL," said the Countess to her son, a few days after 
 Mr. Hadfield's departure, " go and tell Clarissa I want 
 her." 
 
 The boy-earl was so busily engaged in spinning his top 
 that it is to be presumed he did not hear his mother's 
 command, for he went on with his play just as if she had 
 not spoken. 
 
 " Do you hear me ? " continued her ladyship, sharply. 
 " When I speak I am to be attended to ! " 
 
 Lord Orwell stopped playing, for his top had run down 
 and rolled away among the curtain-folds. He was a 
 vulgar-looking boy, with small, dark eyes, a coarse month, 
 and a general expression of cunning. He was not in the 
 least like the Countess, who had undoubtedly been in her 
 time a fine, handsome woman of a certain type. Her 
 son resembled neither of his parents, but he was the living 
 image of his grandfather Sparks, who had never been 
 remarkable for anything except a curious self-complacency 
 and a strong appreciation of his own virtues, which no 
 one save himself could ever be persuaded to acknowledge. 
 Also, as might have been expected, he was an out-and-out 
 plebeian, which in his case did not much matter, since in 
 & great nation there must be pawns as well as kings and 
 <jueens, and the pawns, numerically speaking, must be 
 always in the ascendancy. But in tne case of his grand- 
 son it did matter, and his mother, in her most secret 
 thoughts, sometimes feared that he would never be the 
 pride and ornament of the British peerage, as she had 
 once hoped and believed he w>nld be. She shuddered 
 as she gazed upon his large flaps of ears, on his broad,
 
 THE YOUNG EARL. 325 
 
 unshapely hands, on his coarse, lank hair, and on his 
 freckles ; which might all, you know, have been redeemed 
 from actual ugliness or vulgarity by an ingenuous, amiable 
 countenance, and a kindly, generous nature, shining out 
 through homely features and unwholesome complexion 
 only they were not. And at this moment the lad, as he 
 looked up defiantly, and even contemptuously, at the 
 parent who, in spite of her many faults, loved Mm dearly, 
 with all a mother's passion of devotion, seemed abso- 
 lutely repulsive. 
 
 "Ring the bell, and send a servant," he replied j 
 " noblemen don't run on errands ; I'm the Earl now, and 
 I'm master of you all Chatters says so ! " Mr. Chatters- 
 being a showy, weak-brained young man, engaged as the 
 young Earl's attendant and companion, and also as part 
 instructor. He was, in short, the masculine equivalent to- 
 a nursery- governess, and though he called himself " my 
 lord's tutor," Le was besides my lord's valet, playfellow, 
 slave, and abject flatterer. 
 
 " I'll thank Chatters to hold his foolish tongue," returned 
 the Countess. " If he can't talk more sense than that to 
 you, I'll send him off pretty quickly, with a flea in his 
 ear ! " 
 
 " No, yon won't ! " was young hopeful's answer. " He 
 is my servant, not yours. I'm Earl of Orwell now pa's 
 dead ; and the Castle is mine, and the house in London,, 
 and all the estates are mine, and I know what's what ! 
 There, now ! " And my lord, having recovered his top, 
 began spinning it again, as if to make up for wasted- 
 time. 
 
 " Oh ! you wicked, naughty, bad, ungrateful boy ! " ex- 
 claimed the unhappy Countess. " How dare you speak 
 to your poor widowed mother like that ? Don't you know, 
 sir, what the Bible says will happen to those sinful chil- 
 dren that disobey and despise their mothers ? "Why ! the 
 ravens will pick out their eyes, and the young eagles shall 
 eat them ! Think of that ! " 
 
 " There are no eagles in this country," replied Lord 
 Orwell, decisively, " nor ravens either, except those two 
 tame ones that Bobby Binns has got. And if the ravens 
 did get eyes or anything else to eat, they'd never be such
 
 326 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 fools as to let the eagles get it ! And there are no eagles 
 except in the Zoo pa told me so ! " 
 
 " Yon dreadful little infidel ! Something will happen 
 to yon if yon go on like that. If there are no eagles and 
 ravens there are plenty of hawks ! and they will do quite 
 as well." 
 
 " No, they won't ! Hawks steal chickens, but they 
 don't tonch boys ; they are afraid of them. Why, I'd 
 shoot them if they came pecking at me ! I've fired a gun 
 twice." 
 
 " You haven't ; yon never have !" cried the mother, 
 sorely disturbed. " Oh, Orwell, my darling, tell me you 
 only said so to frighten me ! " 
 
 " Fact, ma ! And, what's more, I shall do it again and 
 again. Don't all gentlemen shoot ? Didn't papa go out 
 with his gun and the keepers ever so often ? But women 
 don't understand ! They are all muffs I Chatters says so." 
 
 " Chatters deserves to be hanged. I shall have a few 
 words with him, and let him know what I think of his 
 improving conversation." 
 
 " Oh, very well ! I don't suppose he'll mind. Old 
 women must mag, he says, and hard words don't hurt 
 anybody. But I won't be magged at ! I'm Earl of 
 Orwell, and I'm going to keep ferrets." 
 
 The poor Countess was quite overcome. If the boy 
 was like this now, what would he be at eighteen or twenty ? 
 Blinded as she was concerning her " lambs," she had 
 qnite sense enough to perceive ere long, and that before 
 the child became a youth, there would be a fierce struggle 
 for the mastery. Nor could she fail to remark that she 
 was beginning to reap a harvest of her own sowing. Her 
 husband had often said to her, " Yon are ruining that 
 child ! Of all the pampered, selfish, greedy, saucy boys 
 in the world, Fordham is the worst ! And instead of 
 curbing his evil propensities, you encourage him in them 
 by indulging him in all his whims, even those which are 
 most injurious, by praising him to his face, and never 
 permitting any inferior person to reprove him, let his 
 offence be what it may, and so fostering his natural 
 selfishness, insolence, and vulgar arrogance. I must take 
 him in hand myself, I see ! "
 
 THE YOUNG EARL. 327 
 
 And take him in hand he did, on several most memor- 
 able occasions, producing an astonishing hubbub in the 
 family circle the son and heir screaming and kicking, the 
 Countess shrieking in hysterics ! And that was pretty 
 nearly all the result effected ; the Earl had very little idea 
 of what parental correction ought to be, his one remedy 
 for all outbreaks being "a good sound thrashing !" And 
 if that did not avail, he could not imagine what else 
 would. And, indeed, his son was one of those miserable 
 creatures whom it seems impossible to guide or govern by 
 love. Here and there a boy does exist to whom an occa- 
 sional flogging is a positive benefit one who is not to be' 
 swayed by affection ; who is, or appears to be, insensible 
 to kindness, and who mistakes gentleness for cowardice, 
 and patience for weakness. Such an one certainly requires 
 strong measures, or else he becomes intolerable, the dread 
 of the whole household, and the terror of his younger 
 brothers and sisters, to whom his example must necessarily 
 be most hurtful. 
 
 The half-dozen chastisements which the youthful Earl 
 had received had certainly not improved his behaviour. 
 Still, his father had been some check upon him, and he 
 was afraid in his lifetime to give himself full fling to play 
 the nursery-tyrant, to kick the servants, and to use lan- 
 guage which he had learned no one could guess how ! 
 He was neither afraid of, nor subject to, his mother. In 
 spite of her passionate regard for him, in spite of the 
 many indulgences he received, in spite of every favour, he 
 did not love her in the least. His was essentially a low- 
 nature, and he had that instinctive contempt for his 
 mother's sex which seems peculiar to a certain low and 
 degraded type of character. It had boen the Countess's 
 express provision, whenever new attendants were required 
 in the nursery department and that was pretty often, as 
 you may well suppose her sine qua non, so to speak, that 
 her eldest son should never be chidden, reproved, scolded, 
 contradicted, or found fault with by anyone but herself. 
 And as, in her too partial eyes, he never did anything 
 really worthy of blame, and as she implicitly believed his 
 bare word against any collected amount of testimony, ifc 
 came to pass that he was never reprimanded, or corrected,
 
 328 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 or set right, even when plainly in the wrong. A fine- 
 natured, good-hearted boy must have suffered under such 
 treatment at the best he would have become a self- 
 centred, self-conceited autocrat ; but this boy became, as 
 was inevitable, simply intolerable, and the prey of flatterers 
 and toadies of both sexes almost from his cradle. His 
 father's death was a greater misfortune to him, poor boy ! 
 than it was to his desolate, unprovided-for sister, Clarissa. 
 
 Lady Orwell was really so much affected that she with- 
 drew to the solitude of her own chamber, there to take 
 counsel with herself on the important subject of her son's 
 education. As usual, her cogitations ended in a mere 
 shadowy resolve to exercise a sterner discipline by-and-by. 
 After all, she told herself, he was but a boy of high spirit ; 
 he had nothing of the milksop about him ; his inclinations 
 must not be unduly repressed or thwarted which really 
 meant that he must have his own way in everything ; and 
 when he was a little older he would know better, and 
 perceive that his behaviour required to be amended. And 
 so the foolish woman laid the flattering unction to her 
 soul, thus providing for her declining years an endless- 
 source of misery, and shame, and tardy, vain repentance. 
 
 She felt, however, too weary, "too much upset," to con- 
 verse, as she had intended, with Clarissa ; so the girl had 
 a respite, of which she was utterly unconscious. But on 
 the third day after this scene she took courage, and 
 decided that the interview should immediately take place. 
 It was quite time, she thought, that she and Clarissa cama. 
 to an understanding, and the sooner that young lady com- 
 prehended her situation, or, as the Countess put it, " kneio 
 her place," the better for both parties. And she must 
 have a little private conversation also with Chatters, and 
 caution him against putting naughty, rebellions notions, 
 into the young Earl's head. Altogether she felt quite 
 valiant that morning, and was no sooner dressed than she 
 despatched Mdlle. Coralie for Clarissa. 
 
 The Frenchwoman found the young ladies comfortably 
 seated in their own sitting-room, Miss Shrosbery reading 
 aloud, and Lady Clarissa busy on a painting, which waa 
 nothing less than a portrait of Susan herself. " Madame 
 la Comtesse command jour attendance in her own chamber^
 
 THE YOUNG EAKL. 329 
 
 miladi Clarissa," said the waiting- woman ; " and I would 
 say to you, that you should not keep her one instant 
 waiting." There was an insolence in her tone that 
 brought the hot colour into Clarissa's face ; but she 
 answered quietly, " I will be with her ladyship imme- 
 diately, Coralie. I must finish laying on this colour." 
 
 When Coralie was gone, the girls looked at each other, 
 and Clarissa said nervously, " Now comes the struggle f 
 Susan, I wish I knew how far I ought to submit myself 
 to my stepmother." 
 
 " That depends so much on what she requires," replied 
 Susan. *' I think, if I were you, I would give way as far 
 as possible, seeing it is but for a very short time. She 
 will not send you among the scullery-maids, I suppose." 
 
 "I should hope not; but that she has some great 
 humiliation in store for me I cannot doubt. Well, one 
 might do worse things than wash dishes. Scullery work 
 is honest, at least. Still, I fancy she will not relegate me 
 to the back-kitchen it would be too much talked about. 
 But what I want chiefly to know is, what I shall say about 
 our future plans." 
 
 " Say nothing, unless you are distinctly asked; and if 
 questioned, give short, respectful answers, and make no 
 explanations. It is useless to rouse her hostility on that 
 point. If she insists upon a general confession of purpose, 
 refer her to me." 
 
 " Very well. I must not linger, or I shall find her 
 affronted at the outset. Now, Susan, pray that I may keep 
 my temper, and be able to reply prudently ! I am not 
 afraid of her, I think ; but I am a little afraid of myself, 
 lest the old pride and resentful aversion get the mastery 
 again." 
 
 " I shall not forget yon, my dear. Come back to mo as 
 soon as it is over." 
 
 " You speak as though I were going to have a few teeth 
 extracted ! Well, I am quite sure that at this moment I 
 should prefer the dentist to the Countess." And then 
 Lady Clarissa put aside her canvas to dry, and prepared 
 to obey the unwelcome summons. When she entered her 
 stepmother's room, it was barely five minutes from the 
 moment when Coralie had delivered her message ; never-
 
 330 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 theless, her greeting was: "Next time 1 send for you, 
 Clarissa, I will thank you not to delay. Please to under- 
 stand that I exact, and that I will have, prompt 
 obedience from all my dependents." Clarissa was silent. 
 
 " Why don't you speak ? Sullenness is insolence, 
 remember." 
 
 " I am not sullen, Lady Orwell. I did not think yon 
 required an answer. I will come more quickly next 
 time." 
 
 " So far so good," thought the Countess. "She knows 
 she must keep to her cake and milk now ! She has plenty 
 of sense, though she is such a proud, aggravating little 
 vixen." And at that moment her ladyship hated Clarissa 
 most cordially. In spite of the childish awkwardness, 
 and the peculiarity of looks on which the Countess had 
 so often dilated to her lord, the girl was growing up, or, 
 rather, had grown up, a veritable patrician. There was 
 an unmistakable grace about her slight, insignificant 
 figure, and a refinement in that sallow, sharp-featured face 
 which was not to be found in the countenance of any one 
 of her own unruly, ill-bred children. She saw the supe- 
 riority, and detested her accordingly. She did not ask 
 her step-daughter to sit down, but kept her standing, as if 
 she were giving orders to a domestic. 
 
 " Now, then, Clarissa," she began, " let yon and me 
 understand each other ! I suppose you know your poor pa 
 has died, and left you not a penny in the world ? And 
 your own ma, yon know, came to Orwell as empty-handed 
 as a beggar-woman ! She was only a governess, I'm told ! 
 So, of course, you have nothing absolutely nothing ! 
 Now, how do you propose to live ? " 
 
 " It was not poor papa's fault he did mean to leave me 
 just a little fortune of my own. The very deed was drawn 
 up according to his instructions, and it only wanted 
 signing." 
 
 The Countess burst out laughing, as if Clarissa had said 
 something extremely droll. " Only wanted signing ! " she 
 repeated. " Yon are quite amusing, my dear, -with your 
 cnlies ! Well, you see that small want of a signature just 
 made all the difference. Though, by the way, I should 
 have disputed any such document signed or not ; for my
 
 THE TOUNG EAEL. 331 
 
 lord had no right to will away to yon, or to anyone, the 
 money that I brought him. However, he did not do it, so 
 it does not matter." 
 
 Clarissa had her own opinion on the subject of her 
 father's rights, bnt she had the discretion to refrain her 
 lips ; it could do no good now to argue the point, and it 
 might nay ! probably would do harm. 
 
 Lady Orwell resumed : " Well ! yon don't answer my 
 plain question How do you propose to maintain yourself?" 
 
 ' ; If your ladyship will give me a little time to think 
 about it, I may be able to answer your question satisfac- 
 torily. At present, I do not quite see my way to earning 
 a livelihood, though I think " 
 
 " You think what ? Go on, and be explicit. As I said, 
 you and me have got to understand each other." 
 
 " I think, if it were necessary, I could teach. I learned 
 a great deal with Madame, and more, perhaps, since I 
 have studied alone with Susan. It is quite true that my 
 mother was a governess : I should not be lowered by fol- 
 lowing her example." 
 
 " Well, Clarissa, I think you could teach ! It would be 
 a monstrous shame if yon could not, after all the money 
 that has been spent upon your education. Why, Madame 
 Pierrot, what with her salary, her keep, her expenses paid 
 here . and there and everywhere, and the presents my 
 prodigal lord thought fit to give her, never cost me less 
 than 200 per annum. I should think you could teach, 
 indeed ! " 
 
 " I will try at once, if your ladyship wishes." 
 
 " So you shall ! You shall begin to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ? Do you, then, know of anyone who 
 at once requires a governess ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ! I want one myself, and your pnpils will 
 be your younger brothers and sisters." 
 
 Clarissa started in dismay. The scullery, she thought, 
 would be a far happier sphere of duty than the nurseiy 
 *' I am afraid I should never keep them in order," sho 
 replied, gravely; " they are very difficult to manage." 
 
 " They are no worse than other children, only nobody 
 has any tact with them. If you cannot manage children 
 and keep them in order, you are not fit to be a governess.
 
 332 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Of course, you'll be what they call a nursery-governess 
 yon are quite too young and inexperienced for anything 
 else. Besides, you cannot suppose that I should permit 
 yon to go out into a situation ! What would the world say 
 of me, I wonder ? No ! no ! I keep you under my own 
 wing. I am quite ready to give you a home for any 
 length of time. Your proper place is undoubtedly where 
 I am, and your proper guardian is your father's widow. 
 But you cannot expect me to keep you, and clothe you, 
 and pay your doctor's bills, and provide you with pocket- 
 money all for nothing ! If you have any spirit, or any 
 proper pride in you, you will not wish for it, you will not 
 even submit to it. Besides, it is very bad for young people 
 to be idle, and have no settled duties. It will do you 
 good in every way to have regular work. So you will 
 move to the nurseries to-morrow. You will live there 
 entirely, you understand ; for children need incessant care 
 and supervision. You will also superintend the nurses, 
 for they want looking after. I am persuaded those sweet 
 lambs are often shamefully ill-treated by those plausible 
 women. In short, you will be responsible for every- 
 thing." 
 
 A charming prospect, truly ! Clarissa thought she 
 would rather be made responsible for a herd of wild cattle 
 on the moors. " I must consider," was all she said ; and 
 as Lady Orwell nodded a dismissal, she returned to the 
 schoolroom, to discuss the matter with Susan Shrosbery. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 And so that castle vanished in thin air, 
 And all the joy they looked for might not be." 
 
 "MY dear, it is not to be thought of! " said Susan, that 
 same evening, when she and Clarissa had quietly talked 
 over the Countess's new arrangements. " In the first
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 333 
 
 place, yon would do no good in that nursery ; and in the 
 next, that nursery would be to you, in every sense of the 
 term, injurious ! Nothing would be gained by your yield- 
 ing to Lady Orwell's proposition." 
 
 " Except that I should feel I had done my duty or, at 
 least, tried to do it." 
 
 " Your duty does not call you in that direction. If the 
 Countess were a poor, overworked woman, or if the chil- 
 dren were to be influenced by you, I should be the last to 
 deter you. As matters are, I am sure you ought not to 
 undertake so hopeless and painful a task. Did yon make 
 any promise ? " 
 
 " None ! I objected, of course, and was scarcely listened 
 to. I said I would think about it I think I said I would 
 consult you, but I am not certain. Perhaps I only 
 thought it, for I did not want to compromise you in any 
 way." 
 
 " You need not have feared, Clarissa, for I intend to 
 compromise myself. I am not afraid of her ladyship; 
 and I mean to speak faithfully to her." 
 
 " That means yon are going to be very disagreeable." 
 
 " I dare say it does ! People who speak faithfully are 
 horrible nuisances, I know ; but there are cases in which 
 one cannot help being a nuisance. I will not be uncharit- 
 able if I can help it ; but, for once, I will speak the truth 
 to one who has little chance of hearing it from anybody 
 else. I will not have you sacrificed ; I promised your 
 father that I would stand your friend." 
 
 " Dear Susan, you are the best friend a poor girl ever 
 had ! What do I not owe to you ? " 
 
 " Where there is real affection, there cannot be obliga- 
 tion. What yon owe me, however if you will put it that 
 way pay me back in love and in confidence, and leave 
 your affairs for the present entirely in my hands." 
 
 " Only do not talk too much to Lady Orwell and make 
 yourself ill again. Yon know excitement generally ends in 
 faintness." 
 
 " I shall be as calm as the Mere oat yonder when not a 
 breath of air is stirring. All that she may say concerning 
 myself cannot hurt me ; her taunts will not make me 
 angry, and her savagery, if she sb w any well ! it will
 
 334 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 glide off my mind like water off a duck's back ; or, to use 
 a prettier simile, like the crystal drops we saw this morn- 
 ing gliding down those crinkled, bloomy cabbage- leaves. 
 Do not be afraid for me." 
 
 " Shall yon tell her what we have agreed upon ? " 
 
 "That depends. I did not intend to do so, and Mr. 
 Hadfield thought that, in her present frame of mind, it 
 would be wiser to go on quietly till the time arrived for 
 action. It is absolutely useless to talk to some people. 
 But circumstances alter cases ; and I am sure Air. Hadfield 
 would be the last person to wish me to keep silence when 
 speech became imperative. This arrangement of hers 
 shall not be carried out if I can help it, Clarissa; you. 
 shall not go into the nursery." 
 
 " She cannot exactly force me there," said Clarissa 
 musingly; "the question is whether I ouglit to refuse? 
 After all, she only bids me not to eat the bread of idle- 
 ness. Shall yon see her to-night ? " 
 
 " No time like the present. I will go at once, and un- 
 announced, or she may decline seeing me." 
 
 In accordance with this resolution, Susan sought the 
 Countess in her boudoir, where she had spent a great part 
 of the day dining alone with the little Earl and the 
 Honourable Augustus, both of whom fed like young cubs, 
 and fought vigorously over a piece of raspberry turnover, 
 the elder brother asserting his rights as lord and master 
 of the Castle, the younger asserting his by sheer brute 
 force, as being possessed of superior muscular Mu-Chris- 
 tianity. Neither of them heeded his mother's remon- 
 strances and reproofs, and when the fray was over she 
 congratulated herself that table-cloth, plates, dishes, &c., 
 had not been swept to the ground in the shameful contest. 
 
 When Susan knocked at the door she imagined it was 
 Coralie, whom she had despatched on some errand to the 
 housekeeper's room, and she at once replied, " Come in." 
 
 She looked surprised at Susan's appearance, and 
 greeted her with an abrupt " Oh ! it's you, is it ? " 
 
 " I hope you are feeling better to-night, Lady Orwell," 
 returned Miss Shrosbery, seating herself on a low rocking- 
 chair, and drawing up to the fire, evidently prepared for 
 conversation.
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 335 
 
 "I am feeling very loiv very low, indeed, Susan,'* 
 replied the Countess, with an orthodox application of the 
 broad-hemmed cambric. " Some people go through life 
 without so much as a vexation they don't even lose a 
 pet spaniel ; while others have no end of trouble. Hero 
 am I, in widow's-weeds for the second time, and I am 
 only forty-five ! Even if my duty to my sweet lambs did 
 not forbid it, I would not marry again ; a third bereave* 
 ment would be the death of me." 
 
 Susan felt that to such a mourner she had really no 
 consolation to offer. The Countess seemed tolerably com- 
 fortable under her "bereavement," although she never 
 looked well in deep mourning, and she was quite aware of 
 it. It gave her, in spite of all its richness and style, a 
 common appearance the air of a respectable, well-dressed 
 Mrs. Gamp. She had been nearly all day packing away 
 her jewels, which would not see the daylight again for an 
 indefinite period. She sighed pathetically over an 
 emerald parure her last purchase in Bond Street ; and 
 she nearly shed tears over a pearl and ruby necklace that 
 all her female friends secretly envied or so she dreamed, 
 for she had a most barbaric love for gold and precious 
 stones. 
 
 "You look dreadfully pale, Susan," began the Countess 
 presently, while her visitor was hesitating as to her open- 
 ing speech, relative to the business on which she came. 
 "But I suppose it's that horrid black ! I wish one might 
 mourn in crimson or purple ; no one looks their best in 
 black." 
 
 "I dare say not," replied Susan, looking down at her 
 crape-covered skirts ; " and I do believe it is a very foolish 
 and troublesome custom. It does not matter to us, who 
 have a goodly share of this world's pelf ; but I am sure ifc 
 must be sadly inconvenient, not to say burdensome, to 
 those who are badly off. We order our mourning, regard- 
 less of expense, and it comes ; they must scheme and 
 bargain, and perhaps go in debt, in order to put on the 
 regulation costume. If I were a great lady a princess, 
 for instance I would try to change, or at least to modify, 
 the fashion in that respect." 
 
 " Ah ! one must conform to the custom of our class.
 
 536 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 It does not matter about poor people so much. they can 
 afford to please themselves in snch things ; bat we of the 
 aristocracy must consider what is dne to society, and per- 
 sonal inclination ought always to give way to duty." 
 
 Susan, remembering how she had been scolded into 
 grey and lavender a few weeks after the death of her who 
 had been as a mother to her, could scarcely forbear 
 smiling. The Countess, however, was too intent upon the 
 embroidered coronet and cypher on her handkerchief to 
 notice it ; and she continued : " It must be, as you say, 
 a terrible tax on people who are left with little or nothing 
 to pay drapers and undertakers' bills with. I could not 
 say what all the mourning for the household will come to. 
 A pretty penny, certainly. Such hosts of servants and 
 Clarissa ; and of course, I could not do less than let her 
 have bombazine, and crape up to her knees." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Susan eagerly, " that reminds me. I in- 
 tend, if you do not object, to pay for Clarissa's mourning 
 myself. Indeed, as I have no sister, and as I shall be my 
 own mistress so soon, I wish to be held responsible for 
 all her expenses." 
 
 Her ladyship's countenance changed. " You are very 
 generous, no doubt," she replied sharply, " but I cannot 
 permit it ; it is not to be thought of." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Susan quietly, but emphatically. 
 Now nothing put the Countess out sooner than being 
 asked to render a reason for any statement she advanced. 
 It was one of her late husband's sins against her, that 
 he occasionally wanted to know wliy ! It was a mis- 
 demeanour, too, which she invariably resented. 
 
 " I don't know that I am obliged to answer that ques- 
 tion," she returned, putting on her most affronted air. " I 
 suppose I am old enough and experienced enough to do as 
 I choose, and speak as I choose, without being called to 
 account for it. Young people nowadays have so much 
 presumption, and think they must know better than those 
 who knew the world before they were born." 
 
 "Indeed, I beg your pardon," said Susan, gently; "I 
 had no thought of calling you to account ; I only wished 
 to know why I could not spend some of my income on 
 Clarissa as well as on myself. Mr. Had field says I have
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 337 
 
 complete control over my property after the fifteenth of 
 July next, only the principal of that which I inherit from 
 my own mother mast go back to the Marriotts, should I 
 die unmarried, or, being married, without children. But 
 the twenty thousard pjunds my father left me I may 
 bequeath to anyone I like." 
 
 "I feel sure your father never meant that! That 
 money ought to come to me, or to my sweet babes, in case 
 of your death without issue, which I think is likely 
 enough ; you don't look to me as if you would ever make 
 old bones. As to Mr. Hadfield, he is an ill-tempered r 
 cantankerous, spiteful old man. I forgive him his inso- 
 lence and bad treatment of myself on account of his years. 
 But I have given him his dismissal ! I have taken my 
 affairs, and the Earl's, entirely out of his hands and if 
 you have any prudence you will do the same, for I am 
 sure he is in his dotage, and not fit for important busi- 
 ness ; and I think nothing of those sons of his, who may 
 be honest, but most likely are not ! All lawyers are 
 rogues ! " 
 
 " Nay ! that is too much to say of any class, I think* 
 Surely there are good as well as bad in all professions andi 
 in all conditions of life ? I have no doubt that Mr. Had- 
 field's sons ar eas honourable as their father, whose cha- 
 racter is, as we all know, above suspicion. And they must 
 have plenty of experience ; though called young, they are 
 grey-headed men, and enjoy a high renutation in the legal < 
 world." 
 
 " That is neither here nor there ! I said they might be 
 honest ! And perhaps they are ! I am sure I hope they 
 are for their own sakes, for we all know that 'honesty is..- 
 the best policy,' and roguery is sure to beggar itself in the 
 end. But I am sick and tired of the very name of Had- 
 field, which has been thrust at me ever since I married 
 your poor, dear, blessed father, Susan. One may keep one's 
 servants till they become one's masters and mistresses ; 
 and one may also stick to one's lawyer till he talks more like 
 your enemy than your friend, and dares to take you to 
 task when your plans are not exactly in accordance with 
 his own. Mr. Hadfield forgets himself, and he forgets, 
 who I am ; I am well quit of him." 
 
 22 i
 
 338 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " I am sorry you misunderstand him though, of course, 
 you must act as seems best to yourself. Bat it is of 
 Clarissa I wish to speak at present. It is so sad that Lord 
 Orwell did not live to sign that settlement." 
 
 " Not at all sad ! He had no right to leave my money 
 to another woman's child. Mr. Hadfield says it was not 
 my money; that by virtue of my marriage- settlement 
 it was his to do with as he liked. But it was no such 
 thing." 
 
 "I will not argue the point; the proposed settlement 
 might have been legal or illegal, I cannot tell. Though I 
 must say I have all confidence in Mr. Hadfield's opinion. 
 He is too cautious a man to risk his own credit as a 
 lawyer, or to get his client into trouble ; and too experienced 
 to make a mistake in matters so important. The fact, 
 however, remains the same ; Clarissa has absolutely 
 nothing of her own." 
 
 "Who is to blame for that ? Why didn't her mother 
 demand some settlement on her marriage ? Some people 
 have no more caution than a baby. If something had 
 been settled on that poor but weak-minded lady, it would 
 be, past dispute, her daughter's now! Some folks think 
 when the sun shines that it's never going to rain any 
 more. I am a woman of business." 
 
 " And in that character, I wish to speak to you of 
 certain arrangements, which I hope will be carried out, 
 between Clarissa and myself." 
 
 " Clarissa is not of an age to make arrangements ; girls 
 of sixteen can scarcely be expected to have much judg- 
 ment. You can please yourself if you like. Being so 
 close upon your outcome, it's no use putting obstacles in 
 your way, I know." The Countess spoke as if Susan were 
 an apprentice, and just out of her time. Probably no 
 Countess of Orwell had ever before referred to an heiress's 
 majority as her " outcome ! " 
 
 "First of all," continued Susan, "you will allow 
 Clarissa's bills to be sent in to me ? " 
 
 " I don't mind paying them for once ! Of course, in 
 /uture, she mustn't expect to employ Madame Mathilde, who 
 is my own dressmaker. And if she makes herself useful 
 and she may be very useful to me, if she chooses of
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 339 
 
 course she'll have a right to her board and lodging ; and 
 I'll take care she is dressed as becomes her position." 
 
 " But will her position be that of Lady Clarissa Oak- 
 leigh, the late Earl's daughter or that of nursery-gover- 
 ness in your ladyship's service ? " 
 
 " She need not call herself ' nursery-governess,' but it 
 will be very good for her to be employed. You know, as 
 well as I do, that one of the poets said 
 
 " ' Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do ! ' " 
 
 " Clarissa is never idle. She is the most industrious 
 person I ever met with. Her hands are never idle, her 
 thoughts are never fixed on vacancy. She is so busy, 
 that she often makes me feel ashamed of myself though 
 I believe a good deal of my laziness really is indispo- 
 sition ! " 
 
 " We can't all be made of leather and cast-iron, like 
 Clarissa. What a mercy it must be to have no nerves, no 
 sensitiveness, never to feel tired ! " 
 
 " It must, indeed ! " And Susan could not prevent a 
 slight inflection of satire as she spoke. " Still, granting 
 that her health is excellent, and her spirits good, it is no 
 less her merit that she is continuously industrious. But, 
 to come to the point, will it not be a sad waste of time and 
 energies to devote hers to nursery services, which may just 
 as well, and better, be performed by other and more com- 
 petent persons ? " 
 
 "A waste of time tc take charge of my sweet, father- 
 less babes ? Can any occupation be more honourable 
 than that of training the young to paths of virtue and 
 renown ? Can anything be sweeter than to devote one's 
 self to the welfare of helpless, innocent childhood ? " 
 
 " I wonder your ladyship does not undertake the pleasing 
 task yourself. Who can be so fitted as a mother to be 
 the guide and ruler of her little ones ? " 
 
 " If my health would permit, my responsible duties 
 would not. And I do not care to trust my lambs to mere 
 hirelings. Clarissa may be busy with her books, and her 
 painting, and her Dorcas work, but nothing comes of it. 
 That sort of occupation don't pay. And if your dear 
 
 222
 
 340 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 father, Snsan, hadn't studied the main chance, and stnck 
 to what did pay, you would be out in the world, getting 
 your own living at this moment, and I ! well, I don't sup- 
 pose I should be Countess of Orwell, widow of one, and 
 mother of another, peer of the realm ! What's the good 
 of sewing your fingers to the bone for people who can't 
 give you more than a ' thank you ' ? Or wearing out your 
 eyes reading small print, and drawing roses and daisies, 
 and sleek cows feeding in a meadow ? " 
 
 Susan did not attempt to argue the question ; she knew 
 it would be useless, and she also perceived that Lady 
 Orwell would talk discursively on any subject rather than 
 the one to which she wished to lead her. It was necessary 
 to be firm, and to come to the point without delay. So 
 she said gravely, with the air of one who will not be trifled 
 with, and yet quite respectfully " Let us understand 
 each other, if you please, Lady Orwell. Pray forgive me, 
 if I speak too bluntly, but a little plainness of speech is 
 sometimes worth a good deal. Do you really purpose 
 sending Lady Clarissa Oakleigh into your nursery to wash, 
 and dress, and keep in order those unruly children, with 
 whom you cannot cope yourself ? '' 
 
 " I really do, Miss Shrosbery, since you must know. 
 And when I purpose anything, it is generally done. Pray, 
 what are your objections ? Though it does not much 
 matter what they are, since I am Clarissa's lawful guar- 
 dian." 
 
 " There, I think, your ladyship deceives yourself. At 
 any rate, it would cost you much trouble and expense to 
 prove her your ward. A stepmother is not necessarily 
 the guardian of her stepchildren. If Clarissa were an 
 heiress, with ever so small a fortune, she would be a ward 
 in Chancery. Listen, Lady Orwell : Mr. Hadfield has ifc 
 in charge for me to secure some pretty little villa, a few 
 miles out of town somewhere in Surrey, I should like ifc 
 to be. It shall be simply but elegantly furnished my 
 income will not suffice for anything like extravagant ex- 
 penditure ; and I shall keep two respectable women ser- 
 vants, and a boy who can make himself useful in the 
 house and garden, and groom the pony I mean to keep for 
 driving about the lanes."
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 341 
 
 " Quite a pretty little picture of rural life ! And, of 
 course, you'll make clothes for the poor, and teach in the 
 school, and play the Lady Bountiful according to your 
 means ? Very well ! I wish you success with all my 
 heart ! I don't think it is quite decent for so young a 
 person to go to housekeeping, for the world is censorious, 
 3'ou know, and it will talk ; but that will not hinder you 
 from carrying out your schemes, I suppose. My word 
 has no great weight with you, I am well aware. And 
 what has all this to do with Clarissa ? " 
 
 " Everything, because my home will be her home. 
 And it will be quite ready for us on St. Swithin's Day." 
 
 " It may be ready; but Clarissa will by no means be 
 ready. I cannot answer to my conscience if I let my late 
 dear lord's daughter outrage the commonest proprieties. 
 If she were an obscure person, it would not matter so 
 much ; but fancy what society will say, when it finds out 
 that Lady Clarissa Oakleigh is living without proper pro- 
 tection ! For a girl of twenty-one needs protection her- 
 self, Susan, whatever you may think of it ! But I suppose 
 people brought up to farming-life, as you were, don'fc 
 know much about the rules of the elite." 
 
 Lady Orwell pronounced it alleet. Susan replied, "I 
 do not profess to belong to this world's elite, certainly ; 
 but your ladyship, I hope, may trust me not to disgrace 
 my father's name or my mother's memory. I trust I shall 
 do nothing and allow nothing to be done under my roof 
 of which a cultured, high-principled Christian person 
 could disapprove. However, as I believe it to be my duty 
 both to God and to man to abstain from all appearance of 
 evil, I have determined on securing the companionship of 
 eorae elderly lady of education and good social position ; 
 I have already heard of an officer's widow she is fifty 
 years of age who will be glad to add something to a very 
 limited income. I think she will be an excellent and irre- 
 proachable chaperone, and I shall endeavour, and so will 
 Clarissa, to treat her kindly, and even affectionately. So 
 on the score of the proprieties, your ladyship may be 
 quite contented." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it on your own account ; it will 
 make all the difference in the world when you come to
 
 342 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 settle in life. But as for Clarissa, it matters not at all, 
 chaperone or no chaperone, I cannot and will not allow 
 her to quit my protection till she is of age. What will the 
 world think of me if my lord's eldest daughter goes to find 
 a shelter in the home of a person who is not even distantly 
 related to her ? It will be sure to declare that she was 
 driven away ; I know how people talk." 
 
 " And what will people say, if you detain her against 
 her will, and give her menial work to do, when she might 
 live comfortably as a lady, under proper protection ? Will 
 they not say you keep her to serve your own ends ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, Susan Shrosbery, for a mild-spoken, 
 meek-faced young woman and I'm sure a stranger 
 would think butter wouldn't melt in your month ! you're 
 uncommonly cheeky." 
 
 " Does that mean impertinent ? " 
 
 " It means worse ! It means downright impudent and 
 shameless ! I've been told it's a vulgar word, but it is 
 expressive, at any rate." 
 
 " Extremely so ! I am sorry such is your opinion of me, 
 but I cannot help it, and you must know, if you will only 
 give the subject grave and calm consideration, that I 
 speak the simple truth." 
 
 " I hate the simple truth ; it is always so unpleasant. 
 But don't expect that you'll take Clarissa away with you 
 when you go, for I shall never no, never permit it." 
 
 " Very well ; then I have no more to say." 
 
 " Bat you'll act ? I see it in your face. Ah ! I was 
 always famous for reading countenances ; long ago I was 
 complimented on being a second Lavinia I " She meant 
 Lavater. 
 
 "You ask rae what I will do in case you forbid 
 Clarissa to join me in my proposed housekeeping ? " 
 
 "There is no 'TO case,' because I have already forbid- 
 den anything of the sort, and shall keep to my text. But 
 tell me, if you please, Miss Shrosbery, in what way yon 
 contemplate setting me at defiance, and encouraging that 
 girl in her self-willed, rebellious opposition to those who 
 have the care of her ? " 
 
 " Yon must excuse my answering yon at present, Lady 
 Orwell; I must reflect a little before I decide on my
 
 SUMMER-HOUSE. 343 
 
 mode of action. One thing I am resolved on if you 
 send Clarissa into the nursery, I go too ! " 
 
 "But I don't want you to go, Miss Shrosbery." 
 " I promised Lord Orwell never to desert Clarissa, and 
 I never will. I quite understand yon, then ; the nurse- 
 maid or nursery-governess scheme is to be carried out, 
 and the plan of our living together quietly in some country 
 place you refuse to sanction ? " 
 
 " To both questions yes, Miss Shrosbery. And I 
 think I am more than considerate in giving you any 
 answer at all. Very few people in my position would put 
 up with such a catechising. However, this much I'll 
 concede I won't insist on Clarissa's duties being com- 
 menced to-morrow ; I'll give her to this day week to make 
 up her mind to it and not an hour longer, remember. 
 And whatever you and she may think, I shall keep a 
 tight hand over her till she is one-and-twenty. Some 
 girls want keeping under, and she's one of them. 
 Humble pie is good, wholesome food for such as her, and 
 the more she quarrels with it the more she'll have. And, 
 further still, Susan Shrosbery, if you give your dear 
 Clarissa such advice as leads her to open disobedience, the 
 worse it will be for her, that's all ! And now you know 
 all about it, and the sooner you and the officer's Widow 
 are settled in your villa, the better I shall be pleased ! I 
 wish to be alone." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE SUMMEK-HOUSE. 
 
 " Why doth this sweet maid lie 
 Pale and still, under the sky ? 
 She will not speak nor lift her hand- 
 This fairest lady of the land. 
 Cold and mute she droops her head ! 
 Is the gentle maiden dead ? 
 
 Alack ! alack ! " 
 
 THE Countess, however, was very much dismayed, when, 
 in touching upon the vexed question of Clarissa's future,
 
 344 LADY CLAEISSA. 
 
 in conversation with several of her own friends, she found 
 that the public verdict was not altogether in her favour. 
 She had certainly no lawful authority over her step- 
 daughter though, as all agreed, it was quite in the 
 fitness of things that she should continue to reside with 
 Lady Orwell while unmarried. A few, however, of the 
 Countess's intimates shrugged their shoulders, and told 
 each other, in strict confidence, that though Lady Clarissa 
 might be an exceedingly troublesome and unpleasant young 
 person, she was heartily to be pitied if delivered over to 
 the tender mercies of her stepmother, whose aversion was 
 but too manifest. 
 
 For reasons which she did not choose to explain, Lady 
 Orwell did not insist on Clarissa's services in the nursery 
 at the stipulated time ; she told her rather abruptly that 
 for the present she might please herself, only, as she now 
 professed to be so very good and religious, it would be 
 worse than inconsistent if she studied nothing but her own 
 .ease and her own slothful inclinations. And for awhile, 
 .^events progressed more calmly than the girls had ven- 
 tured to expect. Clarissa and Susan remained together for 
 the most part unmolested, the former working industriously 
 .at her painting ; Susan's likeness was finished, and pro- 
 nounced " excellent !" The Countess, though she criti- 
 ' cised it very freely, could not but admit that the artist had 
 caught the exact expression of her sitter, and one morning 
 she considerably astonished Clarissa by requesting her to 
 ^paint her brother the young Earl. Of course Clarissa 
 could do no less than assent, but she felt anything rather 
 vthan pleasure in the prospect of the task she must under- 
 take. 
 
 " Now, be sure and do him justice," was the Countess's 
 emphatic adjuration, when the young gentleman, duly 
 posed, was ready for his first sitting. And Clarissa 
 glanced with dismay at the coarse features and low cun- 
 ning of the countenance she was expected to transfer to 
 canvas. 
 
 "What does justice mean ? " she said to Susan, when 
 
 she had completed, with much success, the rough charcoal 
 
 outline. " Am I to be faithful, or am I to flatter ? The 
 
 c^r child will look hideous if I do not idealise a little
 
 THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 345 
 
 and yet, it is shameful to make one's pencil and brush un- 
 trnthf nl. What sliall I do, Susan ? I foresee that this 
 portrait will get me into trouble." 
 
 " I think I should make a faithful likeness, if I were 
 you," replied Scisan. " You owe it to yourself, and to 
 your art. At the same time, you might try to give him 
 the very best expression of which he is capable. There 
 are moments when his mood is not quite so bad as at 
 others ; let us tell him that he must really be very good 
 all the time his likeness is being taken, and then he will 
 look good ; but that if he gives w T ay to his naughty 
 passions, he will look as he feels, and generations to come 
 will know that he was of an evil disposition." 
 
 " I am afraid he has not sufficient regard for the opinion 
 of the present generation to make him care for the verdict 
 of the future. And his moral obtnseness is so great, that 
 I am pretty sure he has no notion of what 'being very 
 good ' really is." 
 
 "Nevertheless, we can try." 
 
 And try they did ! but not at all successfully. At first, 
 allured by the novelty of the thing, and duly impressed 
 with his own immense importance, my lord submitted to 
 be posed, and obeyed orders, or rather yielded to requests, 
 with the best air imaginable. But as time passed on, he 
 grew weary of the restraint, and could only be brought to 
 sit by dint of bribes, entreaties, and promises. Occasion- 
 ally, he behaved so perversely, that his attendance was 
 useless, for, in spite of every effort, Clarissa found that 
 ehe must wash out nearly as often as she put on a colour. 
 She became quite as tired of her work as was her trouble- 
 some subject, and but for the Countess it would have been 
 speedily abandoned. And there was another thing, too, 
 that annoyed the artist exceedingly. Mr. Chatters always 
 accompanied his hopeful pupil when he came to her studio 
 for a sitting, and there was something in this young man 
 which at once alarmed and repelled her. To his patroness 
 he was fawningly cringing and subservient ; to Miss 
 Shrosbery he was coldly polite ; but towards Lady Clarissa 
 he affected a familiar and even confidential manner, which 
 filled her with secret terror and intensest repulsion. And 
 the worst of it was that he did not by any means restrain
 
 346 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 himself in the presence of Lady Orwell on the contrary, 
 he would venture upon broader jokes and more appalling 
 familiarities when she was by ; while, instead of resent- 
 ing, she appeared rather to encourage his impertinence. 
 Clarissa's cheeks wonld burn, and her fingers tremble with 
 indignation, when the yonng man came alone into the 
 room, exclaiming, " Well, Lady Clarissa, ma belle, and how 
 goes the painting this morning ? What a shame it is to 
 keep you standing at that easel ! I assure yon I'd put an. 
 end to it, if I could, for you will never paint that fellow's 
 mug ugly enough to make a real portrait. Shall yon put 
 in all his freckles eh ? " 
 
 It was the tone, even more than the words, that galled 
 Clarissa ; and as the weeks passed on, it grew worse and 
 worse, till at length the girl made up her mind to appeal 
 to the Countess, although some instinct told her before- 
 hand that she would fail to find redress. 
 
 Accordingly, when her ladyship lingered one day to 
 criticise the work, after the Earl and his obnoxious at- 
 tendant had departed, Clarissa ventured to say, " Should 
 you mind dispensing with Mr. Chatters' attendance, Lady 
 Orwell ? I find I cannot get on while he is here." 
 
 " What nonsense ! What affectation ! " exclaimed the 
 Countess, still closely examining the picture. " I dare say 
 now you think poor Chatters has quite lost his heart to 
 
 you ? " 
 
 " He would never cZare," burst out Clarissa; "insolent 
 and vain as he is, he wonld scarcely have the presumption 
 to lift his eyes to the Earl's daughter! No, indeed! I 
 complain of him as I should complain of any other ser- 
 vant who failed in the respect due to the ladies of the 
 family." 
 
 " Oh, don't suppose I don't know ! " replied her lady- 
 ghip, with the most exasperating tone of leniency. " Young 
 men will be young men, and girls will be girls ; though, 
 let me tell you, Clarissa, I think you are quite too young 
 for anything of this sort. Bat I am not going to play the 
 cruel stepmother." 
 
 " Anything of this sort ! I protest I do not in the least 
 understand your ladyship ! If you mean that I am too 
 young to be insulted, I quite agree with you and I do
 
 THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 347 
 
 not know when I shall be old enough ; perhaps, tLongh, 
 in years to come, I may be better able to crush imperti- 
 nence." 
 
 " Clarissa, don't be a fool ! If you go on like this, 
 turning up your nose at every decent young man who is 
 ridiculous enough to fancy you, when do yon think yoa 
 will get married ? " 
 
 " I do not want to be married ; certainly not at present. 
 But Mr. Chatters can have no possible connection with 
 that subject, and it is of him I wish to speak just now. 
 He is too familiar ; his tone, his manner displeases me." 
 
 "It is always a girl's own fault if a young man is too 
 familiar. You should not have encouraged Chatters if 
 you did not mean to meet him half way." 
 
 " J encourage him ! " cried Clarissa, flaming out with 
 scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes. 
 
 Lady Orwell had not seen her thus for years ; indeed, 
 she had never seen her thus, for this was not the passion- 
 ate anger of the child, but the outraged dignity of the 
 woman. 
 
 " Now, pray don't give way to temper," she interrupted, 
 feeling just a little scared at this unexpected demonstra- 
 tion. " Nothing is gained by going into tantrums, as I 
 have told you often enough before. I repeat it, that 
 young men never take liberties if young ladies behave 
 themselves modestly, and " 
 
 Bat Clarissa was past all patience, and she haughtily, 
 demanded, " Do you then accuse me of forwardness, of 
 want of modesty ? " 
 
 " Don't try to pick a quarrel, Clarissa; let your own 
 conscience tell you how yon have behaved." 
 
 " As God is my witness, madam, my conscience acquits 
 me. I only wish I were as guiltless on every other point 
 as on this. You must have seen that Chatters has treated 
 me with the greatest insolence, and that I have shown my 
 displeasure in every way I could think of. Please to 
 understand I complain only of the insolence of a servant, 
 of an inferior." 
 
 " I don't know that Chatters is your inferior. He is a 
 very respectable young man ; his mother, he tells me, was 
 Cousin, but twice removed, to a bishop, and sister-in-law
 
 348 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 to a certain person about the Court. And ho gets his 
 own living, which you don't ; and he is not dependent 
 upon anyone for his meat and drink, which you are. I 
 don't see, young lady, in what your mighty superiority 
 consists." 
 
 " I am my father's daughter, Lady Orwell ; I am Lady 
 Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " Worse luck ! Titles don't sit well upon paupers. If 
 you were Miss Oakleigh, it would be all the better for 
 you ; you might go out governessing then. But who 
 would engage a ' my lady ' to teach their children, or to 
 undertake the duties of companion ? so don't, pray 
 don't make a boast of your inconvenient title, which you 
 owe to the mere accident of birth, and which you will find 
 very much in your way, if I mistake not, seeing it goes 
 along with an empty purse, and a face that will never 
 make its owner's fortune ! " 
 
 " I do not boast I have had serious thoughts of laying 
 down the empty, useless appellation. But, Lady Orwell, 
 will you not protect me from Mr. Chatters ? " 
 
 "I will protect you, if he presumes, certainly; but I 
 have never yet seen anything in him which calls for 
 rebuke. If he likes to talk to you, why should he not ? 
 Dear me ! you must have a wonderfully high opinion of 
 yourself, Clarissa. But remember 
 
 " ' The real worth of anything, 
 Is just as much as it will bring.* 
 
 And now let us end this silly discourse. Give me that 
 glass. I want to examine your work. Why, what have 
 yon been about ! My darling boy's mouth is not like 
 that, so straight and so hard ! and his poor nose ! Dear 
 me, Clarissa ! it is more like a snout than a nose so 
 broad and flat ! I could pinch out a better nose with a 
 lump of putty." 
 
 Clarissa was silent, for the mouth and nose were to the 
 life. And Lady Orwell went on " His hair, too, is not 
 that colour ! You have made it whitey-brown." 
 
 "It is not finished ; I shall lay on a warmer tint pre- 
 eently." 
 
 " And I hope the complexion is not finished either P
 
 THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 3.19 
 
 That skin looks as if it wanted washing ! " which indeed 
 was the normal aspect of his small lordship's countenance : 
 none of the Countess's children had inherited her bright 
 complexion any more than the pale olive tints of their 
 patrician father. The little ladies Louisa and Adeline 
 alone had a touch of the brunette in their swarthy baby- 
 faces. Again Clarissa was able to reply with truth that 
 several flesh colours had yet to be laid on, and the 
 Countess, in a tone of relief, observed, "Be sure, then, 
 you choose the right colours ; I won't allow my beautiful 
 boy to go down to posterity with a complexion like an 
 overboiled dumpling, or a bad tallow candle. And yon 
 must make more haste, for the dear child is tired of 
 sitting, and I want the picture framed and hung early 
 next month. And then, if you don't displease me with 
 your whims and airs, I'll perhaps sit to you myself ! I 
 think I'll be taken in character ; Cleopatra or Helen of 
 Troy. Yes, I decide on Cleopatra, only I'll be properly 
 dressed ; I will wear that crimson velvet robe I had for the 
 fancy ball last season. And it will ba a good opportunity 
 for airing my jewels. But I make no promises ; I must see 
 what sort of picture you make of Lord Orwell before I 
 quite make up my mind." 
 
 Later in the day Clarissa and Susan went to walk in the 
 gardens. It was a beautiful April afternoon, warm and 
 sunny, and the air was fragrant with the scent of 
 hyacinths. They sat down, at last, in a remote summer- 
 house, where they were little likely to be disturbed. 
 Susan was very tired; the sudden heat which had 
 set in a day or two before made her more languid than 
 usual; and Clarissa was ill at ease, for the conduct of 
 Mr. Chatters annoyed her, and the Countess's indifference 
 perplexed her, and filled her with undefined and serious 
 apprehensions. 
 
 " I really do not think Orwell suits me," said Susan, 
 after they had rested for a few minutes in silence ; " I 
 wonder if it is too damp, or too relaxing, or what ! I 
 always feel so indescribably weary, after the least exertion ; 
 my limbs are so heavy I have to drag them, and my heart 
 scarcely seems to beat at all sometimes. Tonics don't do 
 ine any good either ; I must get into a more bracing air.
 
 350 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 or else I shall die and I do not want to do that just jet, 
 for your sake, my pet." 
 
 " If yon were to die, Susan which God]forbid ! Ishonld 
 be the most desolate creature in the world. What did 
 Dr. Hammond say, after he had pounded you about so, 
 yesterday? " 
 
 " He solemnly assured me that my lungs were quite 
 sound ! a fact which I never doubted, for I have no cough, 
 and no pain in my chest. But he admitted that the action 
 of the heart was feeble, too feeble for good health, and that 
 I must avoid shocks as if one could avoid a shock, if it 
 comes in one's way ! I told him I thought Orwell air did 
 not suit me ; and he replied that perhaps it did not it 
 particularly disagreed with some people ! He advised 
 me to go back to Surrey as fast as possible, and I told 
 him I would; for though never strong, even as a child, I 
 was always in very fair health at Bnttermeads, and I 
 love the Surrey hills. And, Clarissa, I heard from Mr. 
 Hadfield this morning he is very unwell, poor old man, 
 and writes despondingly ; he is breaking up, he says, and 
 I am inclined to believe it ; he is over seventy, you know : 
 I am not sure but that he is well on for eighty. But he 
 tells me that he has almost concluded terms for a charming 
 cottage residence, about two miles from Deepfields on the 
 Northdowns, you know ! The house is small, but con- 
 venient, and very pretty ; the grounds extensive, compa- 
 ratively, beautifully laid-out, and in first-rate order ! 
 There is good stabling for the useful cob we mean to drive, 
 and a small paddock, where we can pasture a nice little 
 cow; a hen-house, and piggery ornee; a productive 
 kitchen-garden, bee-hives, and everything else even a tiny 
 hot-house, and a good-sized conservatory, opening from, 
 the drawing-room. I suppose I ought to go and see it ! 
 Mr. Hadfield urges me to come up to town for a few days 
 to survey my proposed estate, for I can either buy it out- 
 right, or have it at a fixed rent, on a long lease ; and also 
 to consult a London physician, for Mr. Hadfield seems to 
 imagine I am very much out of health. Moreover, he 
 thinks yon had better accompany me, if practicable ! " 
 
 " You may well emphasize the ' if ! ' I am afraid it is 
 altogether impracticable. Lady Orwell will never cuusent.'"
 
 THE SUMMEtt-HOTJSE. ?fl 
 
 " I must try my powers of oratory and persuasion, for 
 I do want you to go with me. I should like you so much, 
 to pass your opinion on the house. I will buy it at once 
 if you really approve it." 
 
 " Better take it on a short lease, with power to purchase 
 within a limited period. I have heard Madame Pierrot 
 say and she was such a shrewd woman of business that 
 no one should buy a house until lie had lived in it through 
 all the four seasons of the year." 
 
 " Yon prudent little thing ! You do justice to Madame'a 
 excellent training. Your speech convinces me that I 
 ought, in mere justice to myself, to take you up with me, 
 for the benefit of your good advice and far-seeing judg- 
 ment. By hook or by crook, I must get the better of my 
 lady." 
 
 " It would be charming! It would do my very heart 
 good to feel the London pavement under my feet again ! 
 And you may prevail with the Countess ; if anyone on 
 earth can do it, it is yourself. It would be delightful to 
 get away just now quite a relief." 
 
 " I think I know what you mean ! " 
 
 " You have witnessed the insolence the intolerable 
 forwardness of that young man Chatters ? " 
 
 " My dear Clarissa, without, I hope, being of a very 
 malicious and unwomanly tnrn of mind, and without 
 being, as I do think, really un- Christian, I have felt once 
 or twice that I could give that most insufferable young 
 fellow a ducking in the horsepond opposite the black- 
 smith's, with all possible satisfaction ! It would not 
 drown him, or even injure him ; and such a shock as 
 sousing him for half a minute in muddy water might bring 
 him to his senses ! " 
 
 " How dare he behave as he does ? " 
 
 " I cannot imagine. In your dear father's lifetime he 
 would not have dared." 
 
 "I don't like to think so, Susan, but I cannot help 
 fancying that he is, in some sort, encouraged by Lady 
 Orwell." 
 
 " At any rate, she does not give him a regular ' setting- 
 down,' such as would effectually silence a mere arrogant, 
 pretender, as he evidently is. I hare seen
 
 LADY CLiRISSA. 
 
 much and said little, Clarissa ; but I mean, God willing-, 
 to carry yon off with me next week. We will stay a full 
 fortnight in London ; Mrs. Hadfield will provide for the 
 proprieties, &c. That will bring us well on into May ; 
 and then only two months remain to be disposed of ! 
 And during that period, we must do the best we can. I 
 must try my hand at bringing the miserable Chatters into 
 subjection, if the Countess refuse to do her part, and if 
 your haughty coldness have no effect. There are some 
 men whom an Arctic winter could not freeze ; the Deluge 
 itself could not wash out their intolerable self-conceit and 
 presumption! and, if I mistake not, ' Alf Chatters,' as he 
 calls himself, is a person of that stamp." 
 
 " I think so, too, and I am sure he is the very worst 
 tutor that poor little Orwell could possibly have. Do you 
 know I cannot help fancying that Lady Orwell would 
 really countenance him if if he pretended " 
 
 " If he made love to you ! I am afraid she might act so 
 unworthily ! But sooner than it shall come to that, Clavy 
 darling, sooner than you shall be exposed to such an in- 
 dignity, we will elope together! The world cannot be 
 very hard upon an elopement when both the runaways are 
 women, and one of them flying from insult and injustice." 
 
 "I hope you do not think I despise Chatters simply 
 because he is a tutor, Susan ? " 
 
 " Clary dear, yon would despise him if he were heir to a 
 dukedom. Neither you nor I, I hope, would ever despise 
 a man because he was obliged to earn money for his own 
 or for others' support. But there are tutors and tutors ! 
 a soi-disant tutor may be a gentleman, or he may not ! 
 One thing is certain Chatters is no more a gentleman 
 than that Mr. Thompson, the new steward, whose every 
 look and word I cannot help distrusting. Nor is he a 
 tutor, in reality he is only a masculine nursery- gover- 
 ness, with a great deal more of the stable-yard about him 
 than the library. Little Orwell is badly disposed enough, 
 poor child ! but this man will make bad worse ; and what 
 worse will come to, unless speedy measures are taken, I 
 dare not contemplate." 
 
 " Poor little Orwell ! He is a most unlovable child ; 
 one does not know how to get a hold on him. To think
 
 THE SUMMER-HOUSE. o3 
 
 that he really is my dear father's son ! N"or does ho much 
 resemble his mother. It is very curious." 
 
 " You may depend upon it, he is the exact reproduction 
 of some vulgar maternal relative, grandfather or uncle, 
 perhaps! I cannot bear to think that he is Earl of 
 Orwell ! " 
 
 Clarissa sighed, and they sat for several minutes with- 
 out speaking; then Sasau said, "I am getting a little 
 chilly ; I was so very warm when we came in. Shall we 
 have a look at the new auriculas, and then walk quietly 
 home ? " 
 
 Clarissa assented, and they strolled quietly round the 
 plot where the best auriculas were just coming into 
 liower, and then turned into a shaded walk that wound 
 Tound to the back of the summer-house, where they had 
 been sitting. It was growing dark, very dark, under the 
 shadows of the thick, tall evergreens, but they were not 
 far from the house, and the path was a familiar one. 
 Suddenly, just as they reached an opening in the laurels, 
 close behind the summer-house, someone, with a stento- 
 rian shout, leaped from among the bushes, and seized 
 upon Susan, almost jumping on her back. The shock 
 threw her down. It happened in a second or two, the 
 roar like that of an angry bull, and the attack ; and 
 neither of the girls had imagined that any living creature 
 was near them. The next moment Clarissa recognised 
 her brother ; she was trembling from head to foot, and 
 could scarcely command her voice. "You bad, naughty 
 boy ! " she exclaimed in the passion of the moment. 
 " You have nearly frightened us to death ! Look at poor 
 Susan help me to pick her up." 
 
 "I sha'n't! I've only startled her! what chicken- 
 hearted fools girls are ! I heard her call me names, and 
 I heard what yon said, too, miss ; and I shall tell ma, and 
 won't yon catch it just, that's all ! I hope I have fright- 
 ened you both ; I meant to ; I wanted to punish you." 
 And with a whoop that woke all the echoes of the place, 
 he was off. 
 
 But Susan still lay motionless, and evidently insensible, 
 for when Clarissa piteously begged her to speak, she made 
 no sign. To lift her unaided from the damp ground was 
 
 23
 
 S54 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 impossible ; the utmost she conld do was to raise her into 
 sitting postnre. She tried and tried again, and then set 
 off, as fast as she conld rnn, to the stable-yard, where she 
 wonld be pretty sure to find assistance. Crossing one of 
 the kitchen-gardens, she encountered the head-nurse, who 
 was looking everywhere for Lord Orwell. He had run 
 away when he was told that it was nearly bedtime. 
 
 Clarissa breathlessly explained, and both hurried to the 
 spot where Susan was. She was still insensible, and two 
 of the men-servants had to be summoned before she could 
 be conveyed to her own room. And when they laid her 
 down on the sofa she showed no sign of returning con- 
 sciousness. Her face was deadly white, her hands were 
 cold ; Clarissa could not detect the faintest pulse ; and 
 turning to the housekeeper, she said, " That wicked boy 
 has killed Miss Shrosbery." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 
 
 * Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is only 
 More austere to behold. "With a kiss upon lips that are fading 
 Takes he the soul, and departs ; and, rocked in the arms of 
 
 affection, 
 Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its 
 
 Father ; 
 
 Sounds of his coming already I hear see dimly his pinions, 
 Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them I fear nc t 
 
 before him. 
 Death is only release, and in mercy it; mute." 
 
 " Death cannot come to him untimely, who is fit to die." 
 
 " WHAT is all this I hear ? " presently exclaimed tie 
 Countess, as she bustled into the room. " What is iue 
 matter with Miss Shrosbery, and what has Lord Or \\tAl /o 
 oo with it ? "
 
 LIGHT AT EVEN1NQ TIME. 355 
 
 Very briefly Clarissa explained ; she was too anxious 
 about Susan to give much attention to anyone else just 
 then. The Countess, however, strongly resented the 
 blame imputed to her spoiled darling ; she was quite sure 
 that it was no fault of his, whatever had transpired. 
 " Such nonsense ! " she observed, when the story had been 
 told ; " as if a child's play could make anyone so ill ! All 
 the world might have shouted in my ears when I was- 
 young, and I should not have cared ; but then, we did not 
 trouble ourselves about nervous systems in those days ! I 
 should have been ashamed to faint because I was a little- 
 Btartled!" 
 
 " A liiile startled ! " replied Clarissa, indignantly % 
 " nerves of iron might have been shaken by such a sudden,, 
 hideous uproar. My first notion was that some wild beast 
 had broken loose and sprung out upon us. I am by no- 
 means a nervous person, but my heart beat violently with 
 the shock. I could not scream for want of breath." 
 
 " Such foolishness ! " again remarked the Countess. 
 " You must have recognised Orwell's voice, and you know 
 what high spirits the dear boy has. Really, these con- 
 tinual fainting fits are extremely inconvenient and dis- 
 agreeable ! I shall not be sorry when Susan is safely 
 established in a home of her own. A person who swoon* 
 at every trifle is not fit to form one of a large family, and 
 children will be children bless the dear lambs ! " 
 
 Clarissa was too angry to trust herself to make further 
 rejoinder, only she wondered what young lions and tiger- 
 cubs were like, if her brothers and sisters were lambs. 
 Susan at length drew a deep breath, and opened her eyes, 
 and at the same moment Dr. Hammond entered. One of 
 the upper servants had, on her own responsibility, de- 
 spatched a swift messenger to him. The Countess, care- 
 less as she seemed, was really relieved by his appearance ;. 
 she did not like the peculiar, death-like tint on Snsan's- 
 face, and even while she delivered her objurgations against 
 fainting, she was thinking how very awkward it would be 
 if this attack should prove anything worse than a common 
 swoon. The Doctor looked very grave as he felt his- 
 patient's pulse, and laid his hand npon the region of the 
 heart. Then he took from his pocket a small phial, let 
 
 232
 
 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 fall several drops into a teaspoon, and } laced it between 
 the colourless cold lips. Afterwards he watched the effect 
 with so much intentness, that the Countess was surprised, 
 and again she asked herself was there really anything to 
 be apprehended. 
 
 More than an hour elapsed before the Doctor permitted 
 "Susan to be moved, nor would he allow her to speak, even 
 in a whisper. 
 
 " Not a word," he said, imperatively, as she tried to say 
 
 omething to Clarissa. " I shall prepare a cordial, after 
 
 taking which you must go to sleep all depends upon 
 
 perfect quietude. I will be with you again early in the 
 
 morning." 
 
 And when he left the invalid's chamber he did not quit 
 the Castle, but requested a private interview with Lady 
 Orwell. 
 
 " It's nothing very much, I suppose ? " said her lady- 
 ship, who by this time was taking a little light refresh- 
 ment in her boudoir, intending speedily to retire. 
 
 "Nothing!" repeated the Doctor severely. "It has 
 been one of the narrowest escapes from sudden death ! I 
 would not have had this happen for any money nothing 1 
 could have been worse for Miss Shrosbery than a violent 
 and sudden shock." 
 
 " The child only jumped out upon her and shouted for 
 fun, as children will, yon know. It was all done in play." 
 
 " If a child of mine indulged in such play, I would soon 
 thrash it out of him. Such shocks are most injurious to 
 .persons in ordinary health, but to anyone who has the 
 smallest tendency to heart disease they may be fatal ! It 
 "might have been my painful duty to communicate with 
 the coroner, Lady Orwell. I have known death result 
 from less disturbance of the pulses." 
 
 " "What ails Susan Shrosbery ?" asked the Countess, all 
 aghast. " You don't mean seriously to say that a mere 
 jar of the nerves could have killed her ? " 
 
 " But I do say so, and most seriously, too ! Such a 
 jar ! I don't know anything more calculated to shake 
 one to the life's core than a sudden fright, such as Lord 
 Orwell gave Miss Shrosbery. Let me beg yon to puiiish 
 as he deserves ; let him receive a lesson which he will
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 357 
 
 not easily forget ; let him understand clearly how terribly 
 near he has been to committing a murder ! You ask what 
 Miss Shrtfsbery's malady is ? I have already told your 
 ladyship that she has incurable heart disease." 
 
 "Ah! bat many a person who is said to have heart 
 disease lives to old age, or dies of something else." 
 
 " And Miss Shrosbery may live for some years. She* 
 may even attain to middle life, though I think it un- 
 likely. But a shock such as she has now received does 
 the work of years in a few minutes ; I greatly fear that 
 it may hasten the end." 
 
 " Send off for Sir Samuel immediately ! " responded 
 the now alarmed lady. " Oh, dear ! I would not have 
 anything happen through the dear innocent child's frolic 
 for a million of money ! Think how people cruel people 
 would cast it up to him all his life long ! Of course he 
 would not be to blame, but there would be the slur it 
 would be a sort of reflection on him always." 
 
 "No doubt. But Sir Samuel could do nothing that is 
 not already done ; and I know what his opinion would be. 
 Indeed, he told me when he was down here that Miss- 
 Shrosbery's state of health was most precarious. He 
 Bpoke to me privately, and I am sure I repeated to your 
 ladyship what passed between us." 
 
 " I know yon did ; but I could not believe it to be the 
 truth. Those great physicians are always such alarmists. 
 Besides, he made no examination he only judged by- 
 looks, and she was naturally a good deal out of sorts, 
 since she persisted in acting as nurse to my poor dear 
 lord." 
 
 " There is no doubt that the Earl's illness and death, 
 tended to the development of Miss Shrosbery's malady ; 
 anything causing fatigue and a-nxiety would do that ; and 
 I am greatly afraid lest this sad affair should bring to 
 light fresh symptoms with which it will be very difficult 
 to cope." 
 
 "I insist on Sir Samuel being consulted." 
 
 " I will write to him to-morrow, if you wish, it ; though 
 he is not at aii celebrated for cardiac diseases, and I 
 ehocxld not be at ail surprised if he sent some other leading 
 physician in his stead someone who has particularly
 
 358 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 studied this phase of malady. Dr. John Lot-ton would 
 be the man whom I should wish to consult. He has mads 
 cardiac disease his special study, and he knows more 
 about aneurism, than any man alive." 
 
 " Very well ! Send for him, then. That girl must not 
 die of her fright. You must get her over this, Dr. Ham- 
 mond, or it will be on my poor, sweet boy's hapless head 
 for ever." 
 
 " I will do all I can. In the meantime, let me impress 
 upon you tho absolute necessity of perfect quiet. Lady 
 Clarissa and old nurse will take charge of my patient, 
 and I shall leave all orders with the former. I shall be 
 here before breakfast-time to-morrow morning." 
 
 " And there is no immediate danger ? " 
 
 "Not now, I trust, or I would not leave Miss Shros- 
 bery. I only fear lest latent mischief should be suddenly 
 called into activity ; my dread is lest evils which might 
 have been staved off indefinitely should speedily super- 
 vene. To-night's work is dismally like putting the slow 
 match to the train which shall presently explode the 
 mine." 
 
 Next day Susan was decidedly better. She would even 
 liave got up and gone about her usual occupations had 
 she been permitted, but Dr. Hammond insisted that she 
 should not even attempt to rise, assuring her that she did 
 now know how much she was shaken, and that she was 
 weaker than she supposed. So she lay quite still on her 
 bed for several days, while Clarissa remained in close 
 attendance ; and as she locked not much the worse, Lady 
 Orwell's fears were once more allayed, and she began to 
 flatter herself that she had been unnecessarily frightened. 
 Of course the author of the mischief received no punish- 
 ment ; indeed, he was but slightly reprimanded, and he 
 coolly justified his conduct, on the vulgar plea of " serve 
 'em right ! " 
 
 "But do you know what would have happened if Susan 
 had died ? " asked the mother, with a serious air. 
 
 "No ! nor I don't care ! " was the insolent reply. 
 
 " Those who kill other people are hanged ! " pursued 
 her ladyship with awful gravity. " Think what it would 
 be to be hung up by your neck till you were dead ! "
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 359 
 
 His lordship burst into a derisive langli. " What a 
 crammer ! " he cried oat. "Why, I know they wouldn't 
 hang me if I didn't kill her on purpose, for I asked Chatters. 
 And I did not mean to kill her- I only meant to frighten 
 her almost to death ! It was such fun ; I heard them 
 coming, and I hid myself among those great laurels, jusfc 
 where it was darkest, and when they were right opposite 
 I leaped out oh ! with such a roar and a lelloiv, like 
 Farmer Simkin's bull when he is ever so mad and I 
 jumped right on Miss Susan's back and knocked her over ! 
 Down she came all in a lump. And wasn't Clary 
 frightened, too ! Didn't she sob and scold, and shake all 
 over ! Oh my ! wasn't it fun ! I should like to do it 
 over again." 
 
 " You naughty, bad boy ! If ever you do such a thing 
 again, you shall be shut up in the dark room for days and 
 days, and kept on dry bread and water. I've a great mind 
 to make you beg Susan Shrosbery's pardon ! " 
 
 "Oh, yes! I dare say! I'm not going to beg any- 
 body's pardon I'm the Earl of Orwell ! And Chatters 
 says noblemen are never hanged ; whatever they do, they 
 are not treated like common people. Only if they are 
 guilty of high treason they have their heads chopped off ; 
 and high treason is killing, or trying to kill, the king, and 
 I shall never do that. So I am all safe." 
 
 " Not half so safe as you fancy. And now go away, 
 and don't play such pranks again. You'll find out some 
 day you cannot murder people, even though you are a 
 nobleman." 
 
 And thus reprimanded, his lordship departed, to con- 
 verse further with Mr. Chatters on the important subject 
 of capital punishment, as applied to the British peerage, 
 and to himself especially. 
 
 At the end of a week, Susan was up and about again. 
 But she was strangely altered. The slightest exertion 
 made her breathless ; if she moved too quickly, even from 
 one side of the room to the other, she turned pale, and 
 panted ; and she could only ascend the broad, easy staircase 
 a step or two at a time. Dr. John Lorton came, but ho 
 made only a very cursory examination ; the slightest pos- 
 sible auscultation was sufficient to reveal the truth. He
 
 3GO LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 quietly told the Countess that no medical science conl i 
 possibly avail ; that Miss Shrosbery's days were numbered, 
 and that it was only a case of time, perhaps of months, 
 bnt certainly not of years ; perhaps of weeks it might 
 even be of days ! And there could not be the slightest 
 doubt that serious access of disease had been produced by 
 the shock of that unfortunate evening. In the meantime,, 
 the patient must be kept very quiet and undisturbed, live 
 by rule, take certain medicine which was really disguised 
 alcohol and, above all else, remain in ignorance of her 
 precarious situation. But, notwithstanding all precau- 
 tions, the end might probably would come suddenly. 
 
 As for Susan herself, she was blandly told that she was 
 in a delicate and even dangerous state of health, that her 
 heart was certainly " affected," and that she must take 
 every care and observe most strictly the regimen prescribed. 
 And then, Dr. Lorton trusted that when he paid his nexb 
 visit he should find her much improved, and on the way to 
 a perfect recovery ! Susan did not reply, and the physi- 
 cian silently wondered whether she distrusted his dictum 
 though on the whole he rather thought she accepted it, 
 as most women do accept the judgment of their doctor,. 
 for she seemed so calm, so self-possessed, so free from, 
 anything approaching to agitation. If he had spoken the 
 naked truth, he would have told his patient that she was. 
 as literally under sentence of death as any criminal in 
 Newgate, and that at any moment might arrive the. 
 warrant for instant execution. 
 
 A day or two afterwards Susan asked Dr. Hammond to- 
 tell her exactly what she might expect. " Dr. Lorton 
 flattered me with the hope of ultimate recovery ; but I 
 knew it was only flattery," she pursued; "he kindly 
 wished to raise my spirits, that was all." 
 
 "And that was much," replied Dr. Hammond. "You 
 know the estrange power of imagination. If a man makes> 
 up his mind that he is going to die, he immediately 
 changes a mere possibility into a probability more or lesa 
 defined. People may actually worry themselves into fatal 
 illness. I heard the other day of a curioas case,* on the 
 Continent. An experiment was made upon a criminal 
 * A fact.
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 361 
 
 under sentence of death ; lie was offered his life if he 
 would consent to sleep in a bed in which a cholera patient 
 had just died. He accepted, underwent the ordeal, and died 
 in a few hours after, in all the agonies of Asiatic cholera. 
 Now, the bed in which he lay was not at all infected ; nc* 
 one had died in it ; no cholera patient had ever approached, 
 it ! In fact, he was its first occupant ; it was simply the 
 terrible power, the tyranny of the imagination." 
 
 " It was curious," returned Susan, "but I doubt not, 
 quite true. My own case, however, is quite different. I 
 know that I am what people would call dying ! I know 
 that no power on earth can save me ; but as I have 
 several things to do, important business to transact, I 
 should wish to have some idea of the time that may bo 
 granted." 
 
 " My dear Miss Shrosbery, now yon are seeing ghosts 
 in broad daylight." 
 
 " Will you be so good as to tell me the truth, the whole 
 truth, about myself ? It will not hurt me ; it will comfort 
 me in every way. If one must go on a long journey, it is 
 well to make all needful preparations at once." 
 
 " My dear young lady, I am sure such preparation in 
 your case cannot be necessary. So good, so pious as yon 
 are, you need not be afraid of death." 
 
 "You are right. I am no more afraid of death than 
 I am of my own shadow ; but not because of my own 
 goodness. It is that I know in whom I have trusted, 
 and that He is as strong and as loving in all worlds as 
 in this. Death does not, cannot, divide us from God ; 
 therefore, why should we fear it ? And what we call 
 death is in reality only the short passage between this 
 poor life and a better the threshold of another and more 
 glorious state of being. One should wait for death as 
 for a kind friend, whom God will one day send to us ti> 
 lead us into His presence." 
 
 "Is it possible that you can so calmly contemplate 
 dissolntion ? Do you not fear the grave at all ? " 
 
 "Why should I ? What is the grave to me ? J my- 
 Belf, my ego, will not be there, any more than it is at 
 this very moment. Let the worn-out garment of the 
 flesh perish, when the soul has for ever left it; the sooner
 
 362 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 it moulders into earth the better. But I ! I shall be 
 with God." 
 
 " It is to me utterly incomprehensible ! I am no coward, 
 I believe, and I hope, when my hour comes, I shall meet 
 my fate like a man." 
 
 " Better meet it like a Christian ! The mere manhood 
 that is in us must shrink from death ; it is the Christianity 
 which Christ has taught us that gives us the triumph over 
 it. It is through Jesus Christ that God gives us the 
 victory, and teaches us to say : ' death, where is thy 
 sting ? O grave, where is thy victory ? ' Now, will you 
 not tell me the truth ? How long have I, as far as you 
 know, to lire in this world ? " 
 
 Dr. Hammond was silent, partly because he could 
 scarcely speak from emotion. The calm composure with 
 which, this young girl faced the spectre he so dreaded 
 struck him profoundly ; and he longed to know, to share, 
 the secret of her peace. " That is a question I scarcely 
 know how to answer," he at length replied, "because 
 because life, which is at the best uncertain, is peculiarly so 
 in cardiac in this kind of heart affection." 
 
 " You mean that death may come at any moment ? It 
 may not be just yet it may be some months hence, or it 
 may be to-day now ! " 
 
 "Just so. Only, let me tell you that I do sincerely believe 
 that, unless you have some sudden shock, you will live 
 through the summer, perhaps to the very close of autumn." 
 
 "Thank yon! I am so glad I know. I shall take 
 every care, every precaution, because I do want to live 
 several months longer, till I have passed my twenty-first 
 birthday. I want very much to make my will, which I 
 cannot do till I attain my majority. Bat that I must leave 
 in God's hands ; He knows best. It is on Lady Clarissa's 
 account that I am anxious. I wish her to have the 
 20,000 that I inherit by my father's will. If I die before 
 the fifteenth of July little more than two months hence 
 the money goes to distant members of the family, 
 whom I have never seen, and who, as I believe, aro 
 already wealthy. After or on my birthday, I can will ifc 
 to whomsoever I wish. So do all yon can, please, to pro- 
 long my life till then."
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 363 
 
 " I will. Bat you can do more for yourself than I can ! 
 Be more than prudent; be self-indulgent even. Let 
 nothing tempt you to exertion ; eat moderately of nourish- 
 ing food ; lie down a good deal, but not continuously ; take 
 the air when you feel disposed, but never walk for more 
 than a few minutes at a time ; and, finally, keep your 
 medicine, or else a little finest Cognac brandy it does not 
 matter which close at hand, and take some the moment 
 you feel ever so little faint." 
 
 " Thank yon. I will remember." 
 
 This was early in May, when the hawthorns and lilacs 
 were in full beauty. A few days later came the tidings 
 that Mr. Hadfield had " had a stroke " news which sur- 
 prised nobody. " It is only what I quite expected," said 
 Susan to Clarissa ; " the poor old man was sadly changed 
 when he was here last. I wondered once or twice which 
 of us would be the first to go. In a business point of 
 view, it will make no difference to us, for the sons are 
 fully instructed, and, as partners or successors, can carry 
 out all arrangements. But you will lose a friend, Clary." 
 
 "A very true friend. Susan, it seems as if I were to be 
 left desolate. I heard only this morning that dear old 
 Sweetie cannot last long. This world seems like one vast 
 graveyard." 
 
 " What is the matter with Mrs. Sweetapple?" 
 
 " Nothing but old age, I believe. A general decay, 
 Dr. Hammond says. I do not think she has ever been 
 quite the same since she was deposed from office, and 
 certainly she has been more or less an invalid ever since 
 she went to live at the Woodland Lodge. She has had 
 trouble in her family, too one of her grandsons has turned 
 out wild, and got into sad disgrace. He very narrowly 
 escaped transportation, I heard papa say. Poor old 
 Sweetie ! " 
 
 " God will send yon new friends, dear take my word 
 for it ! He has love and friendship in His inexhaustible 
 stores of blessing, just as He has everything else. All 
 that is empty He will replenish ; all that is lacking He 
 will give ; all that seems lost He will restore for God 13 
 good, beyond all that we can possibly conceive. I feel it 
 cow more than ever. Yes ! God i-s love."
 
 361 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 And eo, peacefully and calmly, tho flowery spring 
 deepened into the full sweet summer-time, the May 
 blossoms faded, and the June roses came in all their 
 fragrant beauty, the earth was once more " apparelled 
 in celestial light." It was one of those rare, warm, genial 
 summers which visit us now and then, as if from happier 
 climes. The gardens and the woods were glorious ; never 
 were such lilies and roses, such luscious honeysuckle, 
 such perfume of carnations, such delicate scent of eglan- 
 tine. Never were such lovely mornings, such golden after- 
 noons, such balmy crimson evenings, such wondrous sun- 
 sets ! And Susan, who knew that these were for her the 
 last fair flowers of earth, that it was for the last time she 
 inhaled the fragrance of the blossoming limes, of the new- 
 mown hay, and of the clustering acacias, said, " Oh ! is it not 
 kind of God to let me have such a beautiful summer for 
 my last ? I feel like a poor, sick, tired child, whose 
 indulgent father gives it not only all it wants, but all 
 that it can wish for ! And if this world be so lovely, 
 what has my Father not laid up for me in the many 
 mansions ? It makes me think of the hymn my dear 
 aunt was so fond of quoting on splendid summer even- 
 ings : 
 
 " ' Oh God, oh good beyond compare, 
 If thus Thy meaner works are fair, 
 If thus Thy bounties gild the span 
 Of ruined earth and sinful man, 
 How glorious must the mansions be, 
 When Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee 1 * 
 
 Only, Clary, I do not like the expression ruined earth ! 
 the earth itself is so sweet, and pure, and good it is man 
 that makes the ruin. I love the earth, because God's 
 thought is always touching it ; because He has fashioned 
 it so beautifully; because creation, which some people 
 seem, to think was all finished and done with thousands of 
 years ago, is continually being renewed one everlasting 
 resurrection miracle." 
 
 Lady Orwell did not interfere with the friends, who 
 knew so well that they were on the eve of separation. 
 Perhaps she felt that it would be useless. Perhaps she 
 feared to incur the censure which would fall upon her, if
 
 LIGHT AT EVENING TIME. 365 
 
 by any vexation she accelerated the crisis, which must 
 come, sooner or later. Or, let us hope, that out of pure 
 kindness she refrained from troubling them ; but, as she 
 disliked the sight of illness, she seldom visited the girls' 
 apartments. 
 
 One beautiful evening the evening of Midsummer-day 
 the Countess did come in person to inquire how the 
 invalid was, and finding her very much better, and in 
 excellent spirits, she sat down and took out her knitting, 
 saying she would sit with them for half an hour. " You 
 will get well after all, you'll see," she presently observed. 
 " Why, yon have quite a colour ! And I think your 
 fingers are not so thin ! You'll cheat the doctors yet, 
 Snsan." 
 
 " I think not," she replied cheerfully. " I know how 
 much this seeming improvement is worth. A lamp, you 
 know, sometimes burns more brightly as it sinks down in 
 the socket bat only for a little while only for a very 
 little while." 
 
 " Why ! " exclaimed the Countess, in her usual blunt 
 style, " you think no more of dying than I do of going to 
 bed." 
 
 "Lady Orwell," said Susan, sweetly but gravely, "let 
 me entreat you to think of the change that must come to 
 you, as well as to me. Do you not hear Christ knocking 
 at the door of your heart ? Oh ! let Him in ! surrender 
 yourself to Him ; and then then, you will soon find that 
 the bitterness of death has passed away for ever. Re- 
 member these words, I pray you, when I am no longer 
 here." 
 
 Very much affected, the Countess promised she would, 
 but she soon rose and took her leave ; "serious conversa- 
 tion " was her horror next to death itself. After she was 
 gone, Susan and Clarissa sat and watched the dying sun- 
 set the purple and gold and crimson clouds that floated 
 like king's banners on the far horizon. From the terrace 
 below came the sweet perfume of flowers ; the tall, white 
 lilies gleamed through the deepening dusk ; one by one 
 stole out the stars of night, in the dark blue dome above. 
 
 " Is it not lovely ? " said Susan, pressing Clarissa's 
 hand. " Clary, my life has been one long sweet sunshine
 
 366 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 even its one sorrow was not all dark ! and the sweetness 
 and the brightness grow and grow as the end approaches. 
 Sorely, surely, dear, this is light at evening-time ! " 
 
 It was even so ! For Susan had already dawned that 
 light that never fades, that knows no fall of eve ! They 
 still sat by the open window, close together, hand clasped 
 in hand, when Clarissa felt the pressure of her friend's 
 fingers closer upon her own. It was only for a second, 
 however; then gradually they relaxed their hold there 
 was a little fluttering of the breath, a long-drawn sigh, 
 and Clarissa knew that the Angel of Death swept through 
 the silent, shadowy room and all was over ! A white, 
 cold form lay back upon the pillows, and Susan Shrosbery 
 was safe from all this life's cares, and toils, and perils. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE." 
 
 " It is only Life that can fear dying 
 Possible loss means possible gain ; 
 
 Those who still dread are not quitejx>rsaken ; 
 
 But not to fear, because all is taken, 
 Is the loneliest depth of human pain." 
 
 FOE the first time since the commencement of their rela- 
 tionship, the Countess showed some real kindness to 
 Clarissa inasmuch as she left her to indulge her grief 
 without restraint. She even, on the day of the funeral, 
 tried to administer a little comfort. " It's no use fretting, 
 child," she observed, with an evident intention to console; 
 " it's of no earthly use crying our eyes out for those that 
 are gone. Not all the tears and lamentations in the 
 world can bring them back again ; and for them, you 
 know, it's a happy exchange. And if ever there was any- 
 body certain of heaven, it was poor Susan. I really think
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE." 307 
 
 it was all one to her, whether she died or lived ; though, 
 ii : sue had any choice, it was for death, I should say. It'u 
 a pity, though, all that fine property going to the Thomas 
 Shrosberys ! She meant you to have it, I understand. 
 You must be disappointed, I am sure. And to think if 
 she had lived barely three weeks longer, she would have 
 made her will, and left yon her heiress ! Dear me ! how 
 uncertain everything in this life is ! The Bible may well 
 Bay, ' Boast not thyself of to-morrow.' " 
 
 Clarissa tried to feel grateful for this rough sympathy, 
 but she found it no easy task. At first she was so 
 stunned for, in spite of the saddest anticipations, the 
 wrench at last had been sudden that she scarcely 
 realised how much she had lost ; but, as days passed on, 
 she felt that now she was alone in the world. Orphaned, 
 portionless, and friendless she was desolate indeed. She 
 looked round the rooms in which she and Susan had lived 
 together so happily, and there was everything to remind 
 her of the pleasant intercourse, of the sweet counsel, of 
 the true, deep affection which had been hers for nearly a 
 whole year. Ihere was the sofa on which Susan had 
 spent so many peaceful hours in the last weeks of her 
 life ; there was her work-basket, with its contents, just as 
 she had left them when for the last time she laid aside her 
 needle; there were the books they had studied, and the 
 music they had practised together; the collection of sea- 
 weeds they had made during their pleasant sojourn at 
 Sonthbourne ; thp very volume which had been in reading 
 on the last afternoon, still with the marker in it ; and on 
 the easel was an unfinished drawing of Bnttertneads, 
 which Clarissa was copying from Susan's hasty sketch. 
 
 Everything reminded the solitary survivor of her dear 
 departed companion ; and, lost in painful musings and 
 passionate regrets, she scarcely thought of the future that 
 remained to her, or of the probable lot awaiting her. She 
 was roused at last by the Countess, who, having left her 
 to herself for a full fortnight, thought she had been quito 
 as indulgent as could be expected of her. It was high 
 time, she said, that Clarissa should begin to bestir herself, 
 and take her proper place in the family, now that that fair 
 vision of a home among the breezy Surrey hills had
 
 3C8 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 vanished like a sunset clond. Accordingly unannounced, 
 and quite unexpectedly, she bustled into the old school- 
 room one morning early, and found Clarissa, with, the 
 traces of tears on her cheeks, sadly contemplating the 
 portrait of her friend. Some needlework was at her feet : 
 it had slipped from her hands, and lay there unheeded ; 
 she was apparently lost in her own sad reflections. 
 
 " Come ! come ! Clarissa, this will never do !" began the 
 Countess, briskly, but not harshly; " you have had plenty 
 of time for fretting, and thinking, and remembering, and 
 all that, and now yon really must rouse yourself, and set 
 to work with a will. Yon are not expected to lead a life 
 of idleness, I suppose ? You are ready to do what you can 
 for your own support ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; quite ready," replied Clarissa, driving back 
 the rising tears, and steadying her voice. " I forgot I 
 did not think I will do anything you wish." At that 
 moment she cared very little, poor girl, what she did or 
 what became of her ; all she wished was not to displease 
 her stepmother, to avoid those taunts and reproaches 
 which were always so bitter to endure. 
 
 Lady Orwell might send her into the nursery now ; into 
 the scullery, into the laundry, if she pleased ! She felt for 
 the moment that it mattered little what her position in the 
 household might henceforth be. Like poor, stricken Marie 
 Antoinette, of whom Madame Pierrot had told her so much, 
 she was ready to exclaim, " Nothin" 1 can hurt me now ! " 
 Drearily she recollected a line in Byron's " Corsair," 
 tl With nothing left to love, there's nought to dread ! " 
 And like one in a dismal dream, she hopelessly repeated it 
 again and again " Nothing left to love ! no, nothing left 
 to love ! " 
 
 "I am glad to find you so sensible," was the Countess's 
 rejoinder; "for I could not answer to my own conscience 
 if I permitted you to go on leading this most useless kind 
 of life. While poor Susan lived you had your duties, of 
 course ; it was needful that someone should be her nurse and 
 constant companion, and as she preferred you to any other 
 person, I would not, in her state, thwart her ; so I left yon to 
 your own devices. Since her death, I have waited patiently, 
 expecting that you would come and ask me what you were
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOTE." 309* 
 
 to do! Aa yon have not, I come to yon, and bid you at 
 once prepare to lead an active, cheerful, useful life in my 
 nursery." 
 
 " I am ready," said Clarissa, in the same dull, abstracted! 
 way as that in which she had already spoken. 
 
 " Oh ! but that tone won't do ! " replied the Countess-, 
 sharply. "A person who has to do with children must be 
 animated, spirited, fall of energy, and agreeably disposed." 
 
 " I will try," began Clarissa again, but in vain she 
 essayed to put on an air of interest and cheerfulness. 
 
 " I hope you will," was Lady Orwell's curt, trite 
 answer, and she spoke as if she were not at all disposed 
 to be trifled with ; it was very clear that she looked for 
 something more than mere verbal pi*omises. 
 
 "Now then," she resumed, "that subject being settled*, 
 let us approach another. Where arc Susan's keys ? I 
 mast look through her papers." 
 
 " She left that for me to do," replied Clarissa, awaken- 
 ing to a sense of all the difficulties before her. " She bnrnfr 
 a great many papers and letters as soon as she knew her 
 danger ; the rest she looked over and arranged ; they were- 
 chiefly memoranda of her own, and of no use to anybody, 
 but, as she rightly imagined, interesting and valuable tome." 
 
 "Still, I choose to look through them; yon are no 
 relation of hers, remember ! Give me the keys directly." 
 
 "Pray do not be angry, but I cannot. She expressly 
 desired that no eye Vit mine should see what she had 
 written." 
 
 " How am I to know that you speak the truth ? Yon 
 used not to be very famous for it, yon know ! " 
 
 " Lady Orwell," returned Clarissa, calmly, " T never told 
 you a falsehood, and therefore you have no right to charge 
 me with deceit. I never in all my life, since I knew right 
 from wrong, told a lie to anyone." 
 
 " Well, suppose I assume that yon are speaking the truth 
 at this moment, how can I ascertain whether you reallf 
 understood poor Susan ? What can a girl like you have to> 
 do with such responsibilities ? " 
 
 " I have not to do with any responsibilities. Mr. Had field'. 
 Las charge of all that is responsible all business matters- 
 test with him." 
 
 24
 
 370 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 " Old Hadfield, indeed ! Why, he has got one foob in 
 ihe grave and the other slipping after it ! He has lost his 
 speech, and his memory, and, indeed, all his faculties ! It 
 is of no use my appealing to him." 
 
 " I should have said, ' Hadfield and Sons;' it is all the 
 same thing." 
 
 " It is not, I tell you. I will have nought to do with 
 those sons, who are more insolent even than their foolish 
 father. My own business is pretty well transferred to 
 Messrs. Tarriton and Dunn, and I wash my hands of the 
 Hadfields." 
 
 " But Messrs. Tarriton and Dunn cannot touch SnsanN 
 affairs. Those must be left entirely with the Hadfields." 
 
 Lady Orwell knew that this was only fact, and the 
 knowledge ruffled her temper not a little. In truth, she 
 tad received a letter from Mr. Thomas Hadfield only that 
 morning, in which he had politely informed her that she 
 had nothing whatever to do with the late Miss Shrosbery's 
 affairs ; that her property reverted to those persons ex- 
 pressly named in her father's will as her successors should 
 it happen that she died before her twenty-first birthday ; 
 that all her just debts if she had any and her funeral 
 expenses would be fully paid by the firm of Hadfield and 
 Sons, they having certain funds at their disposal for all 
 such liabilities. What remained, when all expenses were 
 defrayed, they would hold in trust for Lady Clarissa 
 'Oakleigh, in accordance with the written injunctions of 
 their late client. It was also mentioned that the sum thus 
 bequeathed could not be a large one ; it being simply the 
 residue of Miss Shrosbery's allowance as a minor, and she 
 had, as a rule, spent her income generously, not having, as 
 he conceived till very lately any reason or motive for 
 economy. The money which had accumulated during the last 
 ten years went with the twenty thousand pounds originally 
 left to Miss Shrosbery ; and the small fortune which came 
 from the deceased lady's own mother Mr. Peter Shros- 
 bery's first wife returned, as Lady Orwell must be well 
 aware, to the Marriotts of Bnttermeads. 
 
 All this the Countess had already pondered and digested 
 as well as she could. It can scarcely be said that she 
 grudged ^oor Clarissa a few paltry hundreds, of which she
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE." 371 
 
 stood in no need herself ; but she had fully resolved that 
 the girl should not in any way be independent of herself. 
 She was determined, as she herself expressed it, " to Jceep 
 her under, and, if she rebelled, to make her lick the dust ! " 
 It somehow gave her the intensest satisfaction to reflect 
 that Clarissa, whom she so hated, was at last entirely in 
 her power. She had no longer her father to take her part, 
 and justify her conduct, whatever it might be; and she 
 had no Susan now to furnish her with the means of living 
 elegantly and comfortably, if not in accordance with her 
 rank as an Earl's daughter. She had absolutely nothing 
 but her own charity on which to rely for future main- 
 tenance. And, as a dependent, Clarissa was expected 
 meekly to bow her neck, accept the yoke, and regale her- 
 self with humble pie from January to December. At 
 present it seemed that Clarissa knew nothing about the 
 mcney which the Messrs. Hadfield held in trust for her, 
 and the Countess amiably resolved that she should not 
 know, as long as she could withhold the fact. After all, 
 it was less even than Lady Orwell fancied, for there were 
 several heavy bills to pay, and poor Susan had never 
 dreamed of saving before she knew Clarissa. It was a 
 wonder, indeed, that so much actually was left. 
 
 In the end, the Countess was obliged to go away baffled. 
 Clarissa steadily declined to- hand over Susan's keys ; and 
 it may be supposed that this refusal in no way tended to 
 soothe her stepmother's temper, or to make matters 
 smoother between the two, who seemed fated to remain in 
 perpetual antagonism. She could not for shame dis- 
 possess Clarissa of Susan's dressing-case and workbox, her 
 books, clothes, and other personal properties which had 
 oeen openly and in the presence of several witnesses given 
 to her, though she would have liked well enough to do so 
 not, as we before remarked, from absolute greed and 
 covetousncss, but from the extreme repulsion which she- 
 experienced towards every sort of arrangement which 
 tended to enrich the unfortunate Clarissa. Lady Orwell 
 was singularly blind to her own defects, though wonder- 
 fully keen-sighted as to other folks' shortcomings ; and 
 also her moral perceptions were not naturally acute or 
 clear, so that she never once suspected the meanness and 
 
 242
 
 372 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 malignity of the sentiments she fostered with regard to 
 her step- daughter, and there was no one now that Mr. 
 Hadfield was gone to hold up to her the mirror of 
 truth, and show her the hideous reflection of her own 
 character. Yet every Sunday she prayed, or was supposed 
 to pray, for deliverance from " envy, hatred, malice, and 
 all nncharitableness." She had probably heard the words 
 till she ceased to connect with them any meaning, far less 
 anything like an actual supplication. 
 
 " What am I to do in the nursery ? " asked Clarissa, at 
 length. 
 
 " Anything there is to do ! " was the sharp reply. 
 " Amuse the little ones, teach the elder ones, see to their 
 behaviour, and, above all things, never let them get out 
 of temper. There is far too much fighting and quarrelling 
 among them, and it is entirely the fault of those stupid 
 women in the nurseries. There would be no better children 
 in the world if they were but properly managed. You 
 must study their characters carefully, and gently induce 
 them to give up bad habits and adopt good ones ; you must 
 be patient, thoughtful, and meek-spirited yourself. And 
 mind ! I won't allow the least severity they are never to 
 be punished, or even scolded ; you must govern them by 
 by let me see ! what is it ? I read all about it in a 
 very clever book on Education only a week ago ! Ah ! I 
 know ! yon are to control them, and train them to habits 
 of virtue entirely by moral suasion / " 
 
 Clarissa made no reply. She felt that the labours oi 
 Sisyphus, and the fruitless toil of the Danaides, were to be 
 repeated by herself. However, she must do her best, and 
 it would all come to an end some day. The clamour of 
 the children and the petty jealousies of the nurses would 
 be very hard to bear, but it did not matter much ; trouble 
 she must have, she supposed misery even, and one kind 
 was just as good or as bad as another. It was in a stoical, 
 rather than a Christian spirit, that Clarissa entered on her 
 new appointment. It was apathy rather than resignation 
 that reconciled her to her dreary lot, and naturally she 
 was profoundly wretched, more wretched than she sus- 
 pected herself of being. She began to doubt her Christi- 
 anity, and she soon came to the sad conclusion that she
 
 " NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE." 373 
 
 had deceived herself; it was Snsan in whom she had 
 trusted, not in God ; she had worshipped idols, and now 
 they had vanished from her sight. " And how can it be 
 that God is love ? " she bitterly asked herself, as, tired to 
 exhanstion by the long day's nngenial, unthankful labours, 
 she flung herself, without undressing, on her bed. " If 
 God loved me, would He punish me continually ? would 
 He thus pursue me with misfortune ? " was her train of 
 thought. " Why was my father taken from me, just as I 
 had learned to love him, oh, so dearly? Why should 
 Snsan, my true and precious friend, my more than sister, 
 Vave been snatched away before I comprehended the fall 
 value of her pure and deep affection ? Why should either 
 of them nay, moi'e, why should both have died, without 
 being permitted to do for me what they wished ? It seems 
 as if some relentless fate incessantly pursued me, and took 
 from me everything I loved and cared for, everything that 
 made my life endurable ! If God was love, He would not 
 so afflict me ; He would have pity on me ; He would grant 
 me some little happiness. If I might enjoy only a dead 
 level of calm content, I would ask no more. I would not 
 even long for bliss. Oh, the cold, grey, gloomy twilight of 
 a life like mine ! Better, far better, the darkness and 
 eilence of the grave." 
 
 And day after day wore on, with little variety. The 
 children were worse even than she had anticipated, and 
 the nurses vulgar and spiteful women omitted no op- 
 portunity of evincing their aversion and contempt. 
 Nominally, Lady Clarissa was at the head of the nursery 
 establishment that is to say, she was responsible for 
 everybody's faults, and answerable for all the mistakes 
 and contretemps that will occur even in well-regulated 
 homes, and that abound in families where there is no rule, 
 no principle, but only caprice and selfishness, as guiding 
 powers. The nurses and, all things considered, they 
 were not so very much to be blamed looked upon her as 
 an intruder and a spy ; and they treated her with all the 
 covert disrespect, and all the open intolerance, of irreli- 
 gious ignorance. Secretly, they endeavoured to traverse 
 her plans ; they encouraged the children to revolt ; they 
 laughed at her as a titled beggar a menial, "no better
 
 374 LADY CLAK1SSA. 
 
 than themselves ! " Even at the best, their coarse famili- 
 arity repelled and disgusted her. If she had become a? 
 one of themselves, if she had been content to connive ai 
 sundry malpractices, they might perhaps have tolerated 
 her, and treated her as they treated each other that is, 
 as sworn friends and allies one day, as rivals and enemies 
 to-morrow. 
 
 She had but little to do with the young Earl, for he spent 
 most of his time with his soi-disant tutor, Mr. Chatters, 
 and they kept pretty much to their own apartments, 
 which, to Clarissa's great grief, were those which had 
 been, ever since she could remember, sacred to her father. 
 But what little she had to do with him was painful in the 
 extreme ; for her brother absolutely refused to obey her 
 smallest commands, even when couched in the form of 
 kind requests. He set her at defiance continually, mocked 
 at her, abused her, called her names that she shuddered 
 to hear, and generally ended by taunting her with being a 
 miserable beggar "living on his bounty." On occasion 
 he would resort to violence, and many were the blows and 
 pinches poor Clarissa received from one and another of her 
 impracticable charges. If she ventured to complain to the 
 Countess, the answer was: "All your own fault, you 
 don't manage them properly. If you did not exasperate 
 them, they would not torment you. I dare say it's just tit 
 for tat ! You should set them a better example." 
 
 And then her ladyship would inform her " sweet lambs " 
 that Clarissa had been accusing them of this or that 
 naughtiness, and giving " such a shocking accoiint of their 
 behaviour ! " To which the lambs would generally reply 
 " that she was a nasty, spiteful thing ! that they couldn't 
 bear her that she told lies ! " &c., &c. And their foolish 
 mother listened and condoled, and laughed at what she 
 called their cleverness, when they played tricks on their 
 "governess," and encouraged them, in manner, if nob in 
 actual words, to "pay her out" for her imputed bad 
 temper and her stupid ways. " Ah ! you are naughty, 
 mischievous rogues 1 " she would say, shaking her head 
 good-humotiredly, at the end of some recital or tirade, 
 "good-for-nothing children! and you really must not be 
 so rough ; though I dare say Clarissa is enongh to pro-
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE.'* 375 
 
 voke a stone. The very sight of her turns my bile, I 
 know ! " 
 
 Then, as a matter of course, Clarissa reaped the natural 
 fruit of this cruel and senseless partizanship, and the 
 children ran back to the nursery, or to the schoolroom, iv 
 shout at her " tell-tale-tit!" and threaten that her tongns 
 should be slit, with the rest of that antiquated, vulgar dog- 
 grel which, let us hope, was peculiar to the generations of 
 the past, when boys and girls really knew no better ! At 
 last she learned to refrain her lips, and never spoke of 
 their misdeeds to the foolish, misguided mother. 
 
 Once, and once only, Clarissa, driven almost to distrac- 
 tion by Lord Orwell, was rash enough to appeal to 
 Chatters. " The governess" had ventured to interfere in, 
 a fray between the Earl and his brother, the Honourable 
 Sidney John the eldest of her charges Augustus being 
 pronounced too old for the nursery. Sidney John had 
 offended Lord Orwell, who at once inflicted such reprisal* 
 as seemed best to himself ; and he pummelled the unlucky 
 little fellow till he howled for mercy, and piteously be~ 
 sought Clarissa to hasten to his relief. Already the child's 
 lip was bleeding, and he was trembling under the blows 
 inflicted ; and she must have interfered, even had not her 
 womanly instincts led her to protect the younger and the- 
 weaker boy. Lord Orwell, whose passion was at its 
 height, turned suddenly and savagely upon her, and 
 showered blows upon her shoulders and arms he could 
 not reach her head till she reeled and fell, cutting her 
 forehead against an angle of the wainscot. Sidney, under 
 cover of the new encounter, made good his retreat, and' 
 the Earl, having exhausted his rage, went to make his 
 boast to his mother of how he had " licked that impudent,, 
 nasty Clarissa ! " 
 
 Left alone, Clarissa was holding her handkerchief to her 
 Lead, and trying to regain composure, when Mr. Chatters 
 entered, and inquired, "What was the row?" Utterly 
 unnerved, and driven beyond all bounds, the poor girl 
 poured out her complaint, and implored him to keep Lord 
 Orwell away from the other children ; at any rate, to> 
 prevent such combats as that which had just taken place,, 
 and to which she was utterly unequal.
 
 376 . LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Chatters, who was really sorry for her, replied in a 
 sympathising tone, and promised that he would do all he 
 could to hinder his charming pupil from committing 
 assaults upon his juniors, and from the possible chance of 
 fratricide ! 
 
 " In fact," continued Chatters, " Lord Orwell is a little 
 brute more like a young butcher and prize-fighter than a 
 peer of the realm and he'll come to a bad end one of 
 >these fine days ! But as for complaining, it's of no use ; 
 when he serves me out I shrug my shoulders and say 
 nothing, though it is not often he gives me a specimen of 
 his amiable peculiai-ities. I manage him, you see." 
 
 "Andhowcfo you manage him ?" asked Clarissa ; "I 
 should like to know your secret, for they baffle me, every 
 one of those dreadful children." 
 
 " It's easy enough ! I never contradict him, I humour 
 him, I fool him to the top of his bent ; I am always of 
 his opinion. If he wants to cheat his lady-mother, I let 
 iiim. AVhen it's convenient I close my eyes and shut my 
 <?ars ; in short, I allow him to have his own way in every- 
 thing, and I natter his childish weaknesses, and treat him 
 as the Earl, and monarch of all he surveys ! " 
 
 " I could not do that," she said coldly, and withdrawing, 
 for Chatters, as he concluded his fine speech, tried to take 
 her hand, at the same time putting on his most insinuating 
 expression. But from that day he always addressed her, 
 "whenever opportunity afforded, and made a show of being 
 in her confidence, and in some inexplicable way gave her 
 to understand that former barriers no longer existed 
 between them. 
 
 One dull evening, in the dreary autumn twilight, she 
 .stole away into the park. It had been a dreadful day. 
 The children had been more outrageous than usual, the 
 nurses, " her fellow- servants," as she now told herself 
 they were, more indolent than ever. She had one of her 
 bad, nervous headaches, and she had eaten nothing since 
 a scanty and interrupted breakfast. The Conntess was 
 dining, her two elder boys with her ; the other children 
 were asleep or happily occupied. Clarissa put on her 
 cloak and hood, and went down to the mere, hoping that 
 the air and the silence might relieve her pain.
 
 "NOTHING LEFT TO LOVE." 377 
 
 A.11 wag still there ; only the water rippled among the 
 sedges, and the tall reeds rustled in the chill evening 
 breeze. The twilight was rapidly closing in. There had 
 been a week's rain, and the lake was very high, almost up 
 to Clarissa's feet as she sat down upon a little jutting 
 rock, which in old times had been one of her favourite 
 resorts. She looked down. How still, and deep, and cold 
 the water seemed ! She had never seen it so deep at that 
 spot, though it was never very shallow at any time. 
 Suppose she slipped ! It would not matter, no one would 
 
 care, and she her troubles would be over, her head 
 
 would throb, her heart would ache, no more ! " God has 
 deserted me," she said mournfully, as she shivered in the 
 blast, though her head and hands were burning. " Why 
 should I live on, desolate and forsaken ? If if ! " 
 
 Just then came across her mind, like a strain of half- 
 forgotten, familiar music, the words, "Be still, and know 
 that I am God ; " and again, " Commit thy way unto the 
 Lord." At that moment she thought she heard a sound 
 behind her ; she turned, and there was Chatters, and she 
 knew at once that he had watched and followed her. She 
 was far from the house, and it was getting very dusk. 
 Not even a keeper was likely to pass that way. 
 
 Chatters came on, and advanced to her side with an 
 air of easy familiarity. He came so close to her that she 
 involuntarily retreated. 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried he ; " take care ! you'll tumble off the 
 rock ! " 
 
 It was too late ; even as he spoke Clarissa's foot touched 
 the slippery edge, and the next moment she had disap- 
 peared from his view, covered by the deep, cold waters oi 
 the mere.
 
 378 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 WHAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF FATS. 
 
 " What if I died ? The world is over full ; 
 Stronger and better souls would come instead. 
 Is there no place in heaven yet for me ? 
 Must I keep on, with feigned martial tread ? 
 Live to fear death, and count my sorrow siu ? 
 God knows." 
 
 IT was fortunate for Clarissa that Chatters was a first* 
 rate swimmer, and that he could dive almost as swiftly aa 
 a fish. No sooner had she disappeared than he was after 
 her, and she would have had a regular ducking and 
 nothing worse, had not an Tinder- current caught her and 
 swept her farther from the shore into the deepest portion 
 of the mere ; and as it was nearly dark, there was more 
 than a chance that the young man might not quickly find 
 her. It was, indeed, several minutes before he succeeded 
 in getting firm hold of her, and she was quite insensible 
 when at last he brought her on to terra firma, and then it 
 was some distance to the house. She was a very light 
 burden, however, so he got over the ground more easily 
 than he had ventured to anticipate, and carried her into 
 the great hall, where there was a bell used for summoning 
 auch domestics as were not, but ought to be, in attendance. 
 He rang such a peal as sounded through all the passages 
 and corridors, and brought, not only half-a-dozen startled 
 servants, but the Countess herself, who hurried down from 
 her boudoir to ascertain the cause of so unwonted a dis- 
 turbance. She had been slightly nervous ever since 
 Susan's death, and any sudden alarm filled her with 
 vaguest apprehensions. She was ca the spot almost aa 
 soon as her people, and close behind her followed the new 
 house- steward, who had been transacting business with 
 her ladyship, when the clanging bell broke up the con- 
 ference. 
 
 " Good gracious ine ! " she screamed, falling naturally
 
 WHAT WAS WRITTTN IN THE BOOK OF FATE. 379 
 
 into the expletives of her youth. " Why, Chatters, "what 
 have you there ? As I live, it's Clarissa ! She's been and 
 gone and drowned herself just to spite us all ! " 
 
 " Not quite so bad," replied Chatters, who was not in 
 any condition to give an account of his adventure, for his 
 teeth were going in accordance with his name, and his 
 strength was pretty well exhausted. The Countess gazed 
 on the motionless, dripping form that the young man laid 
 down, just where the light of the clustered lamps fell full 
 upon its death-like face, and the servants stared and 
 faintly exclaimed at a respectful distance. No one 
 appeared to think of succouring the unfortunate girl till 
 Mr. Thompson, who seemed to be the only person present 
 in full possession of his senses, interposed, and asked the 
 
 assembled concourse what the they neant by letting 
 
 the young lady lie there in her wet clothes, as if they all 
 wanted to make sure of a " 'crowner's inquest " ? 
 
 Coralie was the first who responded to the emphatic 
 though inelegant appeal, and she desired the housemaids 
 present to carry Lady Clarissa to her room, while she 
 commanded hot water, blankets, brandy, and all that 
 could possibly be needed, to be brought without delay. 
 And at the same instant Mr. Thompson once more de- 
 spatched a messenger to Dr. Hammond, who, it might be 
 presumed, was growing quite accustomed to these impera- 
 tive demands upon his time and skill. Chatters was 
 escaping to his own quarters when Lady Orwell stopped 
 him. " How did it happen, Chatters ? I can't have you 
 go till you have told me." 
 
 " Lady Clarissa Avas standing on the little promontory, 
 and I suppose her foot slipped," replied the young man, 
 who shook as if in a fit of ague. Then he essayed to 
 pass on, but again the Countess interposed. " Yon are 
 sure she isn't dead ? " 
 
 " No, your ladyship, I cannot be sure ; I should think, 
 however, she will come to if properly treated. She was 
 not in the water more than three minutes at the out- 
 side ; but it took me a good while to carry her to the 
 Castle and she did not seem to breathe. If your lady- 
 ship will be so kind as to excuse me, I will go and change 
 my clothes."
 
 380 LADI CLARISSA. 
 
 And as Chatters spoke he gave himself a good shake, 
 much after the fashion of a water-dog just landed, and 
 this simple action proved more eloquent than his words, 
 for he scattered so much moisture around him that Lady 
 Orwell fell back immediately, and in very sharp accents 
 desired him to go at once and make himself fit for human 
 society. Nothing loth, Mr. Chatters obeyed, and having 
 gained his own apartment, wisely resolved not to leave it 
 again that night. He would have a good warm by the 
 fire, a good supper, an extra allowance of hot grog, and 
 go to bed. 
 
 By the time Dr. Hammond appeared Clarissa had, as 
 Coralie expressed it, " come to life again." But she 
 seemed scarcely conscious, her heart beat very feebly, and 
 her breathing was faint and irregular. Several hours had 
 elapsed before Dr. Hammond would declare her out of 
 danger, and he stayed with her till the morning, only 
 leaving her to visit Mr. Chatters, partly to give the youth 
 the benefit of his advice, and partly to discover how it 
 came to pass that Lady Clarissa had been in the water at 
 all. He found the tutor very comfortably ensconced in an 
 easy-chair before a roaring fire. He was wrapped in rugs 
 and blankets, the debris of a sumptuous supper was on a 
 table beside him, a short pipe, with glowing bowl, was be- 
 tween his lips, and in his hand was a large tumbler fall of 
 some steaming alcoholic beverage. Clearly Mr. Chatters 
 was taking care of himself, nor did he seem any the worse 
 for his impromptu plunge-bath. 
 
 " I think you folks at the Castle have determined to 
 harry my life out of me," said the Doctor, almost irritably. 
 "You can't pass a month without a catastrophe of some 
 sort. For years I never came here on any more important 
 occasion than measles, or inflammatory cold, or rheumatics, 
 or another youngster come to town ; and now I am con- 
 tinually being startled out of my wits by breathless mes- 
 sengers, who incoherentlv tell me that there's a case of 
 life and death, and I must not stop to put my boots on. I 
 had only just dined, and settled down for the evening, 
 when in rushes a frantic page, to inform me that Lady 
 Clarissa is drowned, and Mr. Chatters ' all but ! ' Pray, 
 how did you both get into the water ? "
 
 WHAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OE FATE. 331 
 
 M I didn't push her in," said the young man, sullenly, 
 puffing away vigorously ; " she slipped." 
 
 " I never supposed you did push her in. If I thought 
 such a thing, I would see yon off to Ipsley Gaol, whether 
 yon had finished your smoke or not. When I was a young 
 man, I laid my pipe aside on being addressed by my 
 ioperiors." 
 
 " Ah !" rejoined Chatters, with a visible sneer, "thoso 
 were fine times when you were young, Doctor ; but it 
 must have been considerably more than half-a-century 
 ago, I should imagine. And I am much obliged to you 
 for your kind assurances. If I ever do chance to commit 
 a murder, I'll be sure and let you know." 
 
 " Don't be a fool," replied the Doctor, angrily. At 
 the b?st he disliked Chatters exceedingly, and now that 
 the fellow was really impudent he had some difficulty in 
 restraining his naturally fiery temper. " I'll tell you. 
 what, young man, civility does not cost much, but the lack 
 of it sometimes causes serious inconvenience " 
 
 " To the person who expects it in vain ! ' Blessed 
 is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be dis- 
 appointed.' " 
 
 " No ! to the person who withholds it, sir ! Did you 
 ever hear, as you seem to be fond of old saws, that 
 ' manners make the man, and the want of them the 
 monkey' ? " 
 
 " I believe I have ! it's a proverb I always endeavour 
 to impress upon my ' superiors ' when they unfortunately 
 forget themselves. If you are quite convinced that I did 
 not push Lady Clarissa into the mere, Dr. Hammond, 
 and if there is no other point on which yon are especially 
 curious to-night, perhaps you will allow me to smoke my 
 pipe in peace, and permit me to go to bed. I am not your 
 patient, I am glad to say ! " 
 
 " Mr. Chatters, I don't want to quarrel with you, and I 
 will not keep you from your repose if yon will only tell 
 me how it was that Lady Clarissa happened to slip into 
 the water. How came she to be there at all, so late in 
 the evening ? " 
 
 Chatters smiled a curious smile, which angered the 
 Doctor, though he by no moans understood it- " ^-"ally,
 
 382 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Doctor, you are so very inquisitive ! " he replied, as he 
 knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Young people do 
 take sentimental strolls in the twilight, you know ! And 
 if two young people are of the same mind, and go out 
 about the same time, it is not so very unaccountable if 
 they find themselves in each other's company eh? But 
 perhaps the young men and maidens were more discreet in 
 your day ? Nobody ever sang, ' Gin a body meet a body,' 
 or anything half so improper ? " 
 
 "Do yon mean to dare to imply that Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh met you you by appointment ? " 
 
 " That's a leading question, to which I object, and I 
 don't see what right you have to ask it. That's Lady 
 Clarissa's affair and mine, and no one else's." 
 
 Now Dr. Hammond longed with all his heart to give 
 this jackanapes a good shaking ; and he could easily have 
 done it, though it was, as Chatters had politely sug- 
 gested, a great many years since he was young. But he 
 restrained himself, feeling that it really was no business 
 of his, and that he would not serve poor Clarissa by 
 making any kind of disturbance. But that she really had 
 intended to meet Chatters, he did not for an instant believe ; 
 though it was not at all improbable, he thought, that 
 Chatters had gone out, intending to waylay her, or 
 perhaps followed her, step by step, from the Castle to the 
 mere. He went away little wiser for the interview, but 
 more than ever convinced that Clarissa's position was 
 about as miserable as it could be. "It might have been 
 better for her, perhaps, if that fellow had not fished her 
 out of the lake," he muttered to himself, as he walked 
 slowly from Chatters' chamber towards that of his patient 
 " If he has saved her life and I suppose he has he'll 
 found a claim on that ; and he is quite impudent enough 
 to persecute her with addresses, which will go far to make 
 her home-life untenable. And I do believe he would 
 have my lady's countenance. She would rejoice at the 
 prospect of a mesalliance for her unloved step-daughter." 
 
 But, for a while, Clarissa was sheltered alike from 
 Chatters' unwelcome familiarities, from the Countess's 
 reproaches, and from all the troubles of tho nursery. In- 
 stead of rallying in a few hours, she became extremely ili;
 
 WHAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF FATE. 383 
 
 restlessness and delirium soon supervened, and she just 
 escaped all the dangers and agonies of rheumatic fever. 
 Happily, nearly all her wild talk was in French, and no 
 one but Coralie had any idea that she actually had for the 
 moment entertained the idea of self-destruction. Frivo- 
 lous, saucy, and vain was Mademoiselle Coralie, and sadly 
 wanting in integrity, but she had a woman's heart in her 
 breast, and out of very pity she kept Clarissa's secret, and 
 did all she could to soothe and comfort her, in her weary, 
 almost ceaseless ramblings. Perhaps it was the sound of 
 the language, which was so familiar to her, or perhaps 
 it was the tone of unaffected kindness in which Made- 
 moiselle spoke, but certainly she was the only person 
 who seemed to have the slightest influence over the in- 
 valid, and it was she who had to administer the medicines 
 and apply the remedies which the case demanded. 
 " Pauvre enfant!" she said, one evening when she had 
 been listening to Clarissa's feeble but piteous plaint ; 
 " pauvre enfant/ but that thou art unhappy, in that thou 
 hast not one friend to appear for thee, or do thee one good 
 turn. Me I can do nothing ! I may not even show thee 
 too much kindness, or I shall come to grief myself. No 
 one must be the friend of the pauvre Clarisse ; but I will 
 never again no, never be rude and disrespectful, ma 
 cJiere miladi ; and if it so chance that I can make good 
 for thee, and protect thee from the evil in verity, I 
 will ! And may the Blessed Virgin aid me to keep my 
 firm resolve, and show me how to defeat the machinations 
 of this poor child's cruel enemies!" 
 
 It was October when they laid Clarissa in that bed, 
 where she tossed about for so many weary days and 
 nights ; it was near upon Christmas when she left her 
 room and began once more to mingle with ordinary life. 
 Her illness had altered her considerably. She had grown, 
 at least, a couple of inches, or so Coralie averred; her 
 sallow, swarthy complexion had become comparatively 
 clear, and her lustrous dark eyes were sadder and softer than 
 ever. No one now could call Clarissa plain ! She would 
 never be a beauty except, perhaps, to those who dearly 
 Joveci her, if any such there might be in the unknown days 
 tr. come; but she was "fair to see," and without any
 
 SH LADY CLABISSA. 
 
 question tlie fairest and sweetest and most gracious lady 
 within the sound of the pleasant Orwell bells. The 
 Countess saw the improvement, and liked her none the 
 better; indeed, she muttered to herself that "the girl 
 was more of an aristocrat than before." Why could she 
 not be well ! like her own children, who were certainly 
 not so handsome as they might have been, considering 
 their mother's pretensions to good looks ? But she ecnld 
 forgive her, even for actual prettiness, if she were not, 
 at the merest glance, such a veritable patrician. Of 
 this involuntary sin poor Clarissa herself was, of course, 
 unconscious ; but she perceived that her stepmother's 
 aversion was rather increased than diminished, and that 
 her efforts to please were more fruitless than before her 
 illness. 
 
 By degrees, she resumed her regular duties with the 
 children, and things returned very much to their accus- 
 tomed routine ; but there was one change Chatters was 
 no longer an inmate of the castle. He was only absent for 
 a while, she casually heard ; he was coming back again ; 
 but for the present he was gone, and she rejoiced to know 
 that she was freed from the annoyance of his companion- 
 ship. One day, however, she was considerably startled, 
 not to say stunned, at certain information which she re- 
 ceived. The Countess had sent for her, to give her somt 
 necessary orders respecting the little girls under her care, 
 and, having issued her commands, her ladyship said, 
 abruptly, " I am writing to Chatters ; have you any mes- 
 sage to send him ? " 
 
 " Thank you no ! " replied Clai-issa, with a s~dden 
 haughtiness she could not repress ; and as she knitted her 
 delicate brows, and wreathed her slender neck, she looked 
 so thoroughly well-born and so high-bred, that the 
 Countess could have beaten her on the spot. Never mind ! 
 she had a rod in store for the supercilious girl ! Conceal- 
 ing her displeasure, she turned from her writing-desk, to- 
 Bay, smilingly, " Do you know, Clarissa, you are very 
 unkind to that poor young man ? What has he done that 
 you should treat him with such disdain ? " 
 
 "I do not wish to be disdainful," replied Claris?*, 
 guardedly, for she did not like the affectation of
 
 \7HAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOS 0? FAT3. 385 
 
 assumed by Lady Orwell. She had experienced ifc before, 
 and ifc always boded mischief. "Bat," she continued, 
 " Chatters' manners are not pleasing to me, and I had 
 rather avoid his society that is all. Besides, he and I 
 can have nothing in common." 
 
 " Clarissa, I did not think you were such a thorough 
 coquette." 
 
 " I really do not understand your ladyship. There is no 
 one here with whom I could coquette, oven if I could con- 
 descend to act so bad a part." 
 
 " No ; I know there ia no one at present at present, my 
 dear. Your lover is a hundred miles away, as we are all 
 well aware ; but there are various modes of playing the 
 coquette, you know." I 
 
 " My lover, madam ! " exclaimed Clarissa, her cheeka 
 burning with a sudden glow, and her eyes flashing with 
 all the pride of her father's proud patrician race. " You 
 do not mean you cannot intend to intimate that 
 Chatters has presumed has dared " 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! " cried her ladyship, with her loudest, 
 shrillest laugh. " Fine heroics ! and they might go down, 
 if one did not know a secret or two. So you repent of 
 your little intrigue is that it ? You need not ; I shall 
 make allowances for you. Young people will be young 
 people, and they will fall in love as long as the world goes 
 round. So don't pretend, because it is quite unnecessary." 
 
 "Again I repeat I have not the most distant idea to 
 what your ladyship alludes. A secret ? There was none 
 there is none to know. An intrigue ? I must beg, 
 madam, that you will speak more plainly." 
 
 " I will be as plain as you like ; only, remembering the 
 days when I was young myself, I wanted to spare your 
 blushes. Perhaps I go too far in calling the matter ' an 
 intrigue.' The word alarms you. What shall I say, then ? 
 a clandestine love-affair ? " 
 
 " You can say what you choose, for it cannot at all con- 
 cern me. I have no love-affair, clandestine or declared 
 how should I have? I have seen no one. I am too 
 young." 
 
 " You are almost seventeen, at which age many girla 
 are married. But that is neither here nor there. Have 
 
 25
 
 380 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 yon the conscience to tell me that yon are not privately 
 engaged to Chatters ? " 
 
 "Your ladyship must be dreaming, or I mnst. You 
 might as well ask me if I were engaged to one of your 
 grooms or lacqueys ! " 
 
 " Come, now, that is too bad. Chatters is really a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " I never guessed it." 
 
 *' And he will soon be a clergyman." 
 
 *' Yon. surprise me more and more." 
 
 " Did yon not know he was at college ? A mere form, 
 just to pass one or two needful examinations. He wished 
 to take holy orders a man with some kind of handle to 
 his name always gets on better in society. Either as 
 secretary, or tutor, or what not, he will command a higher 
 salary than if he were plain Alfred Chatters ; also, he 
 will be able to undertake clerical duty. There are some 
 very desirable chaplaincies to be obtained through the 
 proper channels. Oh ! he will succeed in life, you need 
 not be afraid." 
 
 " As he is a fellow-creature, I hope he will succeed, 
 provided, however, he seeks honourable means of success ; 
 but, on any other grounds, I cannot pretend to be at all 
 interested in Mr. Chatters' career. Your ladyship must 
 know that he has always, by reason of his too free and 
 presuming ways, been my aversion." 
 
 " I have heard say that it's best to begin with a little 
 aversion. But come, now, Clarissa, I shall lose my 
 patience ; if I were not in a most angelic frame of mind 
 this morning, I should have lost it long ago. Don't be 
 too perverse ; you may as well own your engagement." 
 
 "I cannot own what does not what never can exist. 
 Oh ! why am I to be so cruelly insulted ? " 
 
 " Insulted ! what next ? You are just like Lydia 
 Languish in that delightful play, who wept because her 
 guardians pui up the banns for her at the parish church 
 that she might openly marry the man of her affections, 
 when she had already arranged to elope to Gretna Greeu ! 
 I remember that she said, almost choked with tears ci 
 vexation ' To think that I should live to be asked iu 
 church ! to think that I should ever be called a spinster ."
 
 WHAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF FATE. 38? 
 
 or something just like it. Bat I thought yoa bad more 
 sense, Clarissa. The long and the short of it is, I don't 
 want you to elope. I want you to behave respectably, as 
 my late dear lord's daughter should behave ; so you will 
 understand that I don't withhold my consent. You and 
 Chatters may marry as soon as yon like after his ordina- 
 tion, and, if you are a good girl, I'll give you a handsome 
 wedding outfit, and a purse full of sovereigns into the 
 bargain. Perhaps I'll give you a hundred pounds ; but I 
 won't promise it." 
 
 " Your ladyship is very generous ; but no wedding out- 
 fit, no present, will be required. Oh ! why will you not 
 believe me ? Not only is there no understanding between 
 myself and that most obnoxious person, but he has never 
 dared to say one word which could be construed into a 
 declaration of regard. He knew his place too well for 
 that, I imagine." 
 
 " Clarissa, can you say can you dare to say and look 
 me in the face that you and Chatters did not meet even- 
 ing after evening by appointment, that you did not so 
 meet him on that particular evening when you so mysteri- 
 ously fell into the water ? " 
 
 " I can ! I always dare to speak the truth. I look in 
 your face, and distinctly affirm that I never even con- 
 ceived the idea of an appointment with that person. I 
 never met him by accident. Once he followed me, and 
 overtook me at the Mere-side on the promontory. Ho 
 came so close to me that I retreated, forgetting that I was 
 already on the edge of the rock, and my foot slipped." 
 
 " Chatters has confessed that you were in the habit of 
 meeting him in the dusk all through last autumn." 
 
 " Chatters is a liar, and a very base liar." 
 
 " Oh fie, fie ! you were seen by others." 
 
 " Let them come forward. No one ever saw Chatters 
 and myself in conversation in company together out of 
 doors. Well, if you will not believe me, it does not 
 matter ; it is vain to multiply words ; only once more I 
 declare, as in God's holy presence, that I am entirely 
 innocent of this shameful crime of which I am accused." 
 
 " I never called it a crime the worst I should say of it 
 *5. that it was an impruderce, and not a"ite worthy of the 
 
 252
 
 388 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 daughter of a British nobleman. There is no crime in 
 honest love that is to end in marriage." 
 
 " No modest girl would act as yon say I have acted. I 
 should never again dare to call myself Clarissa Oakleigh if 
 I had once only once condescended to such unmaidenly 
 behaviour. I call such conduct criminal, if you do not." 
 
 " Very well ! But you make all this fine oration in 
 vain ; it does not tell upon me ! If you persist in your 
 most unnecessary falsehood, there is no more to be said 
 only, take notice : I shall not permit you to play fast and 
 loose in this way, and, whatever you may think, you won't 
 throw Chatters over for a mere girlish caprice ; you shall 
 marry him as soon as he is ordained." 
 
 " That I never will ! I will be torn by wild horses 
 first." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! you might as well say you would be 
 eaten by tigers and boa-constrictors ! You won't even be 
 beaten and shut up on a bread -and- water diet ! Bat 
 mark my words, Clarissa Oakleigh ! it is written in the 
 Book of Fate that Alfred Chatters is to be your husband /" 
 
 " I think not," said Clarissa, calmly. " With your 
 permission, I will withdraw." 
 
 " Yon can go, but depend upon it you will marry 
 Chatters. I shall be only too thankful to have you off 
 my hands, and safely married to an exceedingly worthy 
 and respectable young man, who is far more devoted to a 
 proud, foolish minx than she deserves. Besides, he saved 
 yovr life ! " 
 
 " Would to God that he had not ! Oh, that I had died 
 that night ! " wailed Clarissa, when she found herself 
 alone. " What is my life worth to me ? God has for- 
 saken me ; man has forsaken me, and I am given 
 over into the hands of my cruel foes. And yet, no ! I 
 will not say that I am forsaken of God ! I will hope ! 
 I will trust in Him ! Surely, at last, He will appear for my 
 relief, and bring me out of this deep pit of misery ! Out 
 of the depths I will still cry unto Him I will say, ' Why 
 art thon cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou dis- 
 quieted within me ? Hope thou in God ; for I shall yet praise 
 Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God ! '"
 
 LAL'T CLARISSA. 389 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 THE RENEWAL OF HOPE. 
 
 * Wish not, dear friends, my pain away, 
 Wish me a wise and thankful heart, 
 With God in all my griefs to stay, 
 
 Nor from His loved correction start. 
 * * * 
 
 ** Never so safe as when our will 
 
 Yields undiscerned by all but God." 
 
 THE winter had passed away, and it was spring again 
 spring in its earliest, freshest vernal beauty. The snow- 
 drops had withered, but the pale primrose-stars wero 
 gleaming among the " shadowy grass ; " the daisies, 
 " vermeil-rimmed and white," were scattered up and 
 down the meads, the violets nestled once more under 
 the budding hedgerows, and the delicate wood-anemone 
 drooped its purple- veined bells among the crinkled cowslip 
 leaves and the springing arums. It was spring once more ; 
 but it brought little pleasure to the sad, heavy-hearted 
 Clarissa Oakleigh. 
 
 The Countess did not resume the extraordinary con- 
 versation which had so perplexed and alarmed her step- 
 daughter, but Clarissa soon discovered that this pretended 
 engagement of hers was by no means a secret in the 
 household. The nurses smirked and glanced at her when 
 Chatters' name was mentioned. Louisa Maria, prompted 
 of course by some older person, begged that she might be 
 first bridesmaid ; while Orwell, with horrible precocity, 
 joked her continually on the subject. One day a blessed 
 event happened; the Countess and all her brood, except 
 the baby now two years old went off betimes in the 
 morning, for what her ladyship called "a good spell of 
 shopping " at Ipsley. As the journey was a long one, 
 and the evenings still closed in early, it was more than 
 probable that they would remain all night at the hotel. 
 Thus Clarissa had a full twenty-four hours at her own
 
 fc'JU LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 disposal, for the baby refused to go to anyone except her 
 regular attendant, the present grand head-nurse, Mrs. 
 Cray, vice Mrs. Morris, cashiered for dishonest practices 
 and cruelty to human animals. To the last moment 
 Clarissa dared not believe that she really was to be left at 
 home ; she was so afraid lest the Countess should suddenly 
 say, " After all, Clarissa, I think the elder children -will 
 want yon, so yon had better prepare to accompany ns." 
 But, for some reason, her services were not required ; and 
 at last, though scarcely able to credit her good fortune, 
 she saw the whole noisy troop packed into the great 
 family carriage, while Mr. Thompson sat beside the coach- 
 man, and two nurses filled the rumble. Finally they 
 drove off, Orwell shouting out, at the final moment, to 
 Clarissa, " I say, Clary, give my love to Chatters ! Of 
 course you'll be writing to him while we are away ! " 
 She turned indignantly aside, but not before she had 
 caught the sly look of more than one of the vastly-amused 
 domestics. At least six or eight persons heard this 
 charming speech of the young lord. 
 
 She hurried to the old schoolroom, which was still, by 
 courtesy, supposed to be her studio, for her easels and 
 paints were there, as well as her books and finished pic- 
 tures, and such properties as she could safely call her own. 
 Her first impulse was to sit down and cry with utter 
 vexation. Never before had her name and Chatters' been 
 thus publicly connected. It filled her with a mortification 
 too intense for words, especially as she perceived that it 
 was taken on all hands as a matter of course line affaire 
 arrangee, as Madame Pierrot would have said. But a few 
 minutes' cool reflection determined her not to yield to her 
 annoyance. " I will not let that insolent boy spoil my 
 holiday," she said to herself; "it may be months before 
 I have another, and I will, as far as I can, enjoy myself. 
 What shall I do with my day my precious day that is all 
 my own ? I will try to paint a little, if my right hand 
 has not lost its cunning for want of practice ; then I will 
 1 ave an early dinner, after which I will take one of my 
 tavourite books and go off into the woods, and I have a 
 great mind to go and drink tea at the Woodland Lodge ; 
 dear old Sweetie would be so delighted ! But that reminds
 
 THE RZNEVrAL 02 EOPE. SOI 
 
 me, first and foremost, before I touch my paints arid 
 brushes, I will pay my old nurse a visit ; she has not been 
 out of her own room since the winter, Coralie tells me." 
 
 Upon this idea Clarissa immediately acted, and great 
 was the old woman's delight to behold her nursling, whom, 
 she seldom saw in those sad days. She was not nearly as 
 old as Mrs. Sweetapple, who, in spite of her feebleness 
 and many infirmities, still lingered ; but she had had a 
 severe attack of pneumonia early in the winter, from 
 which she did not rally, and she had become weak in 
 mind as well as in body, her memory failing her, and a 
 certain childish peevishness showing itself at intervals. 
 
 " Bless you, dearie, bless you ! " said nurse, when 
 Clarissa had explained how she came to be at liberty. 
 " The very sight of you does my eyes good. And are 
 they all gone ? " 
 
 " All ! except baby and Nurse Cray. I bolieve baby 
 would have gone, too, only she has been so very fractious 
 with her teeth of late." 
 
 " The Lord be thanked, my dear ! for it is a real 
 blessing to be delivered from those rough children. Now 
 sit yon down, my lady, and talk to me ; sit close, for I am 
 getting as deaf as a post. And are you feeling quite 
 strong again ? " 
 
 " Quite, I think, nurse." But Clarissa spoke wearily, 
 and there was a melancholy cadence in her voice. 
 
 Nurse noticed it. " What is it ails my pet ? " sho 
 asked, drawing the girl's soft, slender fingers into her own 
 trembling, wrinkled hand. 
 
 " Nothing fresh, nurse, only I am so tired of my life. 
 It is all so dreary, so cold, so hopeless. When I awake 
 in the morning, I wish it were evening ; and when night 
 comes, I wish I could lie down, and sleep without 
 awaking." 
 
 " Ay, my dearie, it's hard ; I know it's hard ! But you 
 must be patient. Yon must bide His time, my lady. He'll 
 do what is best for you, though things do look dark, and 
 without much promise for the future. He'll open the 
 way for you, trust me, when He sees fit. He was a good 
 many years sending you a friend, you know, dearie, but 
 she came at last and such a friend ! "
 
 892 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Yes, such a friend ! Bat that she was so precious 
 makes her loss the more bitter. Nnrsie, everything has 
 gone wrong with me since she died." 
 
 " Don't be down-hearted, my dear. I don't like to see 
 yon give way; you had always snch a spirit when you 
 were a child ; you would * never say die,' not you, Lady 
 Clarissa ! " 
 
 " Ah, but the spirit has been crushed out of me since 
 my father died. You cannot think what life in that 
 nursery is. And there seems to be no way of mending 
 matters. Those children do not know what love and 
 gentleness mean, and as for the ' moral suasion ' their 
 mother insists on, you might as well try to reason with 
 the winds. I suppose it is all for my good all discipline ; 
 but I feel that I cannot endure it much longer." 
 
 " ' Now, no chastening for the present seemeth to be 
 joyous, but grievous ; nevertheless, afterwards it yieldeth 
 the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are 
 exercised thereby.' The Book says that, you know, 
 dearie." 
 
 " Nurse, my greatest trouble is, that I have lost my 
 rest. My heart has grown cold towards God ; my faith 
 and hope are so feeble that I think sometimes they must 
 be dead. Day by day I feel myself hardening ; the gloom 
 grows deeper, and I cannot pray." 
 
 " My poor child ! You are not the first that has sunk 
 in these deep waters, and felt too hopeless to cry for help 
 Dearie, I'll tell you something. I am a foolish old woman, 
 and at times I think I am getting silly, but one thing 
 keeps clear as ever to me, and that, Lady Clarissa, is the 
 dear Lord's faithfulness. He don't forget us when we 
 forget Him ; when we, like naughty, wayward children, 
 loose His hand, He doesn't let us go ; though we don't 
 and all our fault we don't feel the comfort of His clasp. 
 But He loves us all the same, and waits till we want Him 
 sorely, till we are quite empty of earthly joys, it may be, 
 and then then, dearie when we turn to Him and cry to 
 Him, He pities the silly, wandering child, and takes him 
 to His bosom and comforts him, and bids him be of good 
 cheer, for all shall yet be well. But it is a sore grief when 
 we can neither see our Father's face, nor feel His hand.
 
 TEE RENEWAL OF HOPE. 393 
 
 It is sometimes said God hides His face, but 1 think that 
 is the wrong way of putting it ; it is we who set np a 
 screen so that we cannot see God a screen of sin and 
 self-will, like the clouds that hide the sun. The sun does 
 not go out of his course, and get behind the clouds, bit 
 the clouds come sailing before tte sun, who shines on 
 behind them just the same. Lady Clarissa, don't doubfc 
 God ; doubt all else, but never doubt Him, if you don't 
 want to go mad with wretchedness and despair." 
 
 " I am so weary, nurse, and my heart has turned to ice.** 
 " The Sun of Righteousness can melt it." 
 " Oh, that He would ! I would give my life though 
 that is not saying much to be at peace again ; to be able 
 to cry, with rapture, ' My God, my Father, and my 
 Friend ! ' Nurse, I am that miserable creature, a back- 
 slider for I did love God and His Christ ; I did yearn for 
 the joy that is in Him alone ; I did desire from my inmost 
 heart to serve Him, and do His work, and wait His will 
 
 and now " 
 
 " Don't call yourself bad names, dearie ; that won't help 
 you. Just leave yourself, and trust to Him. Never say, 
 ' J did,' bat say, ' I do ! I do ! and, by His grace, I will? 
 You won't perish, thongh it may seem as if it came very 
 near to it. God is in the deeps of the sea of sorrow ; nay, 
 He is in the hell that we sink into sometimes through our 
 own foolishness and wickedness, just as much as He is on 
 Mount Pisgah. He was in the thunders of Sinai, as wel) 
 as in the glory of the Transfiguration mountain. It will 
 come all right, my dear ; only trust Him. Keep feeling 
 after Him through the black darkness, for He is there ! 
 He is, indeed, Lady Clarissa, for I have found Him there 
 many and many a time; and while you are feeling and 
 groping for His hand, and crying, ' Lord, take hold 
 of me, and lead me whither Thou wouldest I should go,' 
 all of a sudden you will feel the clasp you know so well, 
 and, as you cling to it, the light will shine, and you will 
 eee your Father's face and meet His smile ! And then 
 then, dearie, all the shadows will flee away, and it will bo 
 morning with you such a morning of joy as you havo 
 never known." 
 
 " Nurse, I did not know yon felt like that."
 
 394 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 " And once I did not feel so, Lady Clarissa. Once I 
 muddled myself with all sorts of doctrines, till, I think, 
 Christ just tanght me, and I saw and felt my Father's love 
 and goodness. Ah! I have been in the deeps myself, 
 and I know what it is to cry, ' Lord, save me, or I 
 perish ! ' ' 
 
 " I feel so much brighter for talking to you. I think 
 you have done me good, dear old nurse." 
 
 " I hope so, child ; if I have, I am glad. But it is not 
 me, it is the Lord, that tells me how to comfort you. 
 God makes use of very humble and ignorant people 
 sometimes." 
 
 " I think you are very far from ignorant, for you know 
 the best things. Oh ! I feel as if better times would 
 come. Indeed, they are come, if only I can pray, as I 
 used to, and I think I can. I can say, ' Lord, lift Thou 
 up the light of Thy countenance upon me, and give me 
 peace ! ' peace in Him, yon know, though all the rest be 
 struggle and disappointment still." 
 
 " My dear, may I ask you a question ? I have heard 
 something about you that troubles me." 
 
 " Ask it, nurse ; I think I guess what it is." 
 
 " They tell me yon are going to be married." 
 
 " It is not true ; I have never even thought of marriage. 
 Why, I am barely seventeen ! ' ' 
 
 " Girls of seventeen do think of marriage, my dear, and 
 it is only natural, I suppose, that they should ; but it's a 
 great pity to rush into matrimony too soon ; buds can't 
 be buds again, once they have turned into flowers. How- 
 ever, that's naught to do with it. They did say I never 
 can have dreamb such a piece of madness ! that you and 
 that young Chatters were sweethearts ! " 
 
 " You will believe me, nurse, when I tell you that there 
 is no foundation for such a report. I excessively dislike 
 Mr. Chatters, all the more because he has tried to treat 
 me with a familiarity that is unbecoming in every point 
 of view. He is a very vulgar young man, and, what is 
 worse, a most unprincipled person. If he were my equal, I 
 should still be repelled by him ; being, as he is, altogether 
 my inferior, I am not only repelled, but indignant and 
 disgusted."
 
 TIIE KEXEWAL OF HOPE. 305 
 
 "Has he presumed to speak of love to the Earl's 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " Not a word. He has scarcely had an opportunity. 
 Bat the Countess tells me that he declares oh ! all sorts 
 of rubbish ; and she affects to believe that there is a clan- 
 destine understanding between us. As if a daughter of 
 our house could so far forget herself ! " 
 
 " My mind is quite at rest on that score, my dear ; but, 
 oh ! don't let them drive you, or worry you, into any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, nurse. I will suffer death ay, and 
 what is worse than death, loss of character ! rather than 
 I will be that young man's wife. I think, if I do right, 
 God will set that matter straight for me ; for I have never 
 provoked such a persecution." 
 
 " It's a plot, dear ; you must be careful." 
 
 " I know that ; I wish I knew how to act for the best." 
 
 " I can't advise you, my lady, or I would. Shut up in 
 this room I only hear what I hear. I can't tell how things 
 are going in the family. Ask the Lord to help yon, to 
 give you wisdom, to guide you. If you want human 
 counsel and it is through earthly friends that God most 
 often helps us I should say talk to Mrs. Sweetapple ; she 
 is to be trusted." 
 
 " I was thinking of going to see her this afternoon." 
 
 " Yon had better do it. She is more a woman of the 
 world than I am, and she loves you, my lady, as the last 
 of the old family she has served so long." 
 
 A little more talk, and then Clarissa went away, for old 
 nurse began to be drowsy. She had brightened up wonder- 
 fully, but all the greater was the reaction when weakness 
 again overpowered her. This conversation, however, had 
 wonderfully strengthened Clarissa, and as she returned to 
 the schoolroom she thanked God, who had given her an 
 hour of consolation and refreshment. She tried hei 
 brushes for a little while, and looked over her favourite 
 " studies." Would any of them ever be finished ? She 
 had not spent two hours at her oasel since Christmas, and 
 now it was April. She had not taken a sketch out of 
 doors for a whole year. And she felt that her artist power 
 was leaving her simply from lack of exercise.
 
 31'6 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 After her early dinner she took a volume from tlie 
 shelves, put on her hat and shawl, and went oat into the 
 sunshine. It was such a lovely day, and the woods were 
 full of life ; the sky was blue above the budding trees, and 
 the birds sang joyous trills among the branches. There 
 was a little gold-green beetle scudding over the olive-tinted 
 moss ; there was a bright-eyed mouse peeping from under 
 the aromatic foliage of the clustering ground ivy ; there 
 was a silver-feathered ringdove cooing to its mate on a 
 dark fir bough ; there was the golden celandine carpeting 
 the emerald sward all round a little pool, over which the 
 tasselled willows hung ; and there was the " rosy plume- 
 let" of the larch, which, however, in those days, no 
 laureate had sung. 
 
 Clarissa found one of her old seats under a great 
 gnarled oak, and there she sat down intending to read ; 
 but her thoughts would not let her ; everything she saw 
 and heard about her reminded her of the days that were 
 gone " the days that were no more." But she did not 
 think so hoj elessly as in the morning ; her heart was 
 lighter, her spirit was stronger, the sullen despair had 
 melted away into a quiet sense of her Heavenly Father's 
 love and care ; once again she could look for Him to appear 
 as her Guide and Helper, and she could wait till He saw 
 fit to make her way plain before her face. Ah ! there is 
 far deeper significance in that readiness to wait than many 
 a one dreams of ! To be patient, to bide one's time, leads 
 generally to success in common worldly affairs. How 
 much more, then, when the patient waiting is for some- 
 thing better than earth's best can give ! Waiting God's 
 will is sometimes sweeter than doing it ; only that 
 
 " Well waited is well done." 
 
 The shadows slanted far across the glade when Clai^ssa 
 arose at last and took her way to the lodge where Mrs. 
 Sweetapple had lived for the last few years with her 
 married daughter and her family. The Countess had re 
 gularly harried her out of the Castle on pretence that she 
 incited the under-servants to rebellion and discontent, and 
 that she was always harping on the happy regime which, 
 with her ladyship's advent, had passed away. But the
 
 THE EEXEWAL OF HOPE. 307 
 
 late Earl took due care of his faithful servant, and lie 
 placed her and her daughter lately widowed in one of 
 the more secluded lodges in the park, and he bought for 
 her an annuity, that she might, in her last days, lack 
 nothing, nor be dependent even on nearest relatives. She 
 1 1 ailed Clarissa's appearance with almost childish delight. 
 She was now very infirm, and scarcely able to move from 
 the cushioned arm-chair, which stood by the window in 
 summer, and by the fire in winter, and where she read her 
 Bible, and knitted, and dozed, and chatted, the whole year 
 round. But her faculties were still clear, and her percep- 
 tions wonderfully keen ; and the shrewdness which had 
 characterised her more active days had by no means left 
 her. 
 
 " Now, this is an unexpected honour, my lady dear," 
 she said, when Clarissa took off her hat, and, presenting 
 her with a nosegay of wild flowers, announced that she 
 was come to tea. " Martha, put these flowers into the 
 chaney vase, and set the table quick. And get out some 
 of that fine honey ; my young lady used to be very fond 
 of honey. And there's that mulberry jam I was once so 
 famous for ! And there ! we might have known you were 
 coming, my lady, for we baked only this very morning, 
 and made a lot of those nice cakes you used to relish when 
 you were a little one. Didn't Tim bring in some water- 
 cresses too ? " 
 
 Such a tea it was, a right royal spread ! There were 
 dainties enough for twenty people, and Clarissa really 
 enjoyed her bread and honey, and the rich purple mul- 
 berry jam, that made her think of the olden days when 
 Nurse Barlow and Sweetie reigned supreme from the 
 Castle's haunted attics to its lowest cellar. Sweetie was 
 with difficulty induced to share the repast, but nothing 
 could persuade Martha, herself an elderly woman, with 
 a married son and daughters in service, to sit down at the 
 same table with " my Lady Clarissa." To all entreaties 
 she only replied, "No, no, my lady, indeed I couldn't; I 
 know my place too well. I'll wait on you, and shall think 
 myself much honoured." 
 
 And so it had to be ; and when tea was over, and she 
 was left alone with Sweetie, Clarissa told her all her trouble
 
 398 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 about Chatters, and asked what she could do in this most 
 unpleasant and cruel dilemma. Sweetie had heard tho 
 story as current in the servants'-hall, and she had been 
 longing to see her young lady, and talk the matter over 
 with her. " Not that I believed a word of it," she said, 
 with quite a flash upon her aged cheeks. " I knew my 
 lord's daughter too well for that ; but says I to Martha, 
 when she told me what her Patty had told her, they mean 
 to make a match of it if they can, and they'll try to force 
 my young lady into it somehow ! They'll trap her with 
 her own words, or they'll make her believe she has com- 
 promised her reputation, or something ! I can see the 
 Countess has made up her mind, and there never was but 
 one that could hinder her from doing what she had set 
 her mind upon, and he's gone. Ay, dearie me, to think 
 that she should turn out such a termagant and plotter, 
 though I saw from the first what she was ; and to think 
 that that fellow, that's only fit for the stables or the kennel, 
 should dare to lift his eyes to such as my Lady Clarissa ! 
 But it is all her fault ; he would never have presumed had 
 he not been encouraged. I should say she put it into his 
 head, my dear, and she means to egg him on and on till 
 she gains her shameful ends ! But she never must gain 
 them, my lady dear." 
 
 " She never must and never shall, Sweetie. Don't be 
 afraid. A girl cannot be forced to marry in this country, 
 and no power on earth would make me say ' I will.' I 
 suppose one might be dragged to church, but one could 
 hold one's tongue, or, better still, say boldly, ' No, I never 
 will.' But I foresee terrible trouble." 
 
 " And so do I, my lady. It's a cruel and shameful 
 persecution, and how to hinder it I am sure I can't tell 
 while she has you in her power. Chatters is away now, 
 that is one good thing." ^ 
 
 " But he will return. He is coming back in June ; at 
 least, the children say so. He will resume his duties with 
 Lord Orwell during the long vacation. And when he 
 comes, oh ! Sweetie, what must I do ? " 
 
 " You must go away, my dear." 
 
 " How can I ? She would not let me stir. And there 
 is no Mr. Hadfield now to interfere on my behalf."
 
 THE RENEWAL OF HOPE. 
 
 ft You must go unbeknownst to her. You owo her no 
 duty, and she has no real right over you. She gives you 
 board and lodging, and makes you work for them ; there 
 is no reason why you should not work elsewhere." 
 
 "But, Sweetie, even if I could get away and I think I 
 would if I could, for I feel sure it would not be wrong I 
 have nowhere to go." 
 
 " We would find a place. I know of one, only no one 
 must guess. I was thinking of Fancy. You remember 
 that she was married to a Kentish man, Will Saunders, 
 about two years ago ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I gave her a wedding present. I had a little 
 money of my own then to do as I liked with." 
 
 "Well, Fancy and her husband that did live somewhere 
 about Maidstone live now in London, and they have rooms 
 to spare ; and you would be safe with Fancy, who would 
 do anything for you. Wherever you are, you must be 
 with some steady, respectable married woman, so that 
 Blander may not be able to wag its spiteful tongue." 
 
 " If I eloped all by myself, it would wag, I am afraid." 
 
 "Never mind; you need not hear it, and yon could 
 soon live it down. 'There's no smoke without fire,' they 
 do say ; but the smoke that comes of striking a brimstone 
 match is soon puffed out ; and nobody in their senses 
 heeds a will-o'-the-wisp." 
 
 " There is another difficulty : I have no money for a 
 journey, nor to pay Fancy and her husband, for I could 
 not be sure of work at least, not directly." 
 
 " I have thought of that, my lady dear. I always 
 meant my savings for you ; but the nice little sum I had 
 laid by in the bank all went when my poor, misled grand- 
 son got into trouble ; and if your dear father, my lord, 
 Lad not bought me an annuity I should have been depen- 
 dent for a crust and a roof to cover me now in my old age. 
 But I have something put by I could not spend all my 
 income if I would and I pay Martha well, as she'll own ; 
 mid there's the monev all ready for my burying, and a 
 decent tombstone, and good mourning for everybody as 
 belongs to me. Please open that cupboard by the bed, and 
 give me the little box you'll see with a broken mandarin 
 a-top of it."
 
 4-00 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 Clarissa handed it to tha old woman, who took out 
 some ancient letters and receipts, and then a small packet, 
 carefully done up in tissue-paper. This she opened. 
 "There, dear, I've kept that for you," she said; "see, 
 there are ten 5 Bank of England notes and nine golden 
 sovereigns and some silver fifty-nine pounds fourteen 
 and sixpence in all. Take it ; I've wanted to give it yon 
 for ever so long, for no mortal creature knows of it, and I 
 may be called any day. Don't spend a penny of it now ; 
 keep it till it's wanted, and it will be wanted, you will 
 find. There, don't say a word ; if you won't have the 
 notes, the fire shall. That money will carry you to 
 London, if needs be that yon go, and will keep yon there 
 in Fancy's house safe and comfortable, owing nothing to 
 nobody, till you can get more in an honourable way. And 
 now, my lady dear, it's getting quite dark, and they must 
 not have it to say that you were out late when the Countess 
 was absent. I hear Tim, the nnder-keeper, in the kitchen ; 
 he will walk home with yon ; he's got daughters of his 
 own, and he'll take care of you. Don't leave Orwell till 
 you can't help yourself, but when Chatters comes don't 
 tarry, and that's my advice." 
 
 And Clarissa resolved that she would not. She thought 
 3je saw her way before her, though as yet but very dimly. 
 She did not hesitate to keep the money. Sweetie would 
 never take it back ; but she might return it with interest 
 to Martha some day, if only she were fortunate with her 
 pictures. When she reached the Castle no one seemed 
 even to have missed her. The Countess and her party had 
 not returned, and Clarissa, when she lay down to rest 
 several hours later, thanked God for the renewal of hope 
 and for the happiest day afce had known for many a 
 r.oath.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 401 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 
 
 * A frog he would a-wooing go, 
 "VVTiether his mother would let him or no. 
 
 Heigho ! ' says Kowley.** 
 
 , the month of roses, arrived, bringing with it, not 
 only flowers, and song-birds, and warm sunshine, and 
 fragrance of new-mown hay, but the person whom, of all 
 others, Clarissa most dreaded to encounter. The Countess 
 had not again condescended to enter into any particular 
 conversation on this obnoxious subject, but references 
 were frequently made to Clarissa's impending marriage, 
 and, naturally enough, her supposititious engagement 
 became known, not alone to the different members of the 
 household, but to the entire neighbourhood of Orwell, 
 far and near. And though she, of course, denied the 
 imaginary fact whenever opportunity occurred, few, if 
 any, of the persons to whom she spoke seemed fully to 
 believe her word ; and it was generally supposed that out 
 of modesty, girlish shyness, or mere coquetry, she objected 
 to any open declaration of her strange betrothal. Mrs. 
 Svveetapple, too, contradicted the reports as they came to 
 her, in her seclusion ; the old Itector, who had christened 
 her, and her father before her, declared that he could not 
 bring himself to credit the news; and Dr. Hammond 
 flatly refused to accept the testimony of any other witness 
 than that of Lady Clarissa herself. 
 
 It happened that one morning he met her with two of 
 the little girls, taking a walk through the village, and ho 
 at once determined to ascertain the truth. 
 
 " Lady Clarissa," he commenced, " you and I are old 
 friends, and your esteemed father and myself were friends 
 also. May I, on the strength of a life-long intercourse 
 with your family, ask a question, which otherwise I should 
 not presume to ask ? " 
 
 " You may. Dr. Hammond," she replied ; " I am sure 
 
 23
 
 402 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 you will ask nothing which it does not become me to 
 answer. I think I know I guess what it is you are 
 wishing to inquire." 
 
 " I have heard that you will shortly be married is that 
 the truth ? " 
 
 " As monstrous an untruth as it is possible to conceive." 
 
 ' I thought so ; I was certain of it. How did so wild 
 a report get abroad ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. I heard it first from Lady Orwell's 
 lips. She assured me that I was engaged to Mr. Chatters, 
 and she only laughed and mocked when I indignantly 
 scouted the idea." 
 
 " You have plainly refused Mr. Chatters ? " 
 
 "I have never been subjected to the insult of his pro- 
 posals ; he has not presumed so far, in spite of his 
 patroness's encouragement. Not one word, beyond the 
 simplest common-places, has ever passed between us ; but 
 he has from the first carried himself towards me with a 
 most repellant and impertinent familiarity. I have reason 
 to believe that he speaks of me as his betrothed, and that 
 in order to bear out his baseless assertion, he tells the 
 jiost abominable falsehoods, not hesitating to declare that 
 I have frequently met him by appointment within the 
 precincts of the park. And Lady Orwell credits, or 
 pretends to credit, his falsehoods." 
 
 " Well, I am very glad I asked you, Lady Clarissa." 
 
 " I am glad yon did; may I request that you will, on 
 my own authority, flatly contradict the rumour whenever 
 it crops up in your presence ? " 
 
 " I promise, Bnt^ou will be placed in awkward cir- 
 cumstances when the fellow returns here, as I am informed 
 he is about to do. You ought, if possible, to leave Orwell." 
 
 " Pray take care what you say ! " she replied in French, 
 with a glance at the little Lady Louisa Maria, whose keen 
 black eyes shone with a peculiar expression that seemed to 
 intimate that she would presently report the whole conver- 
 sation to her lady-mother. She and her sisters had learnt, 
 as soon as they were capable of drawing a palpable infer- 
 ence, that tittle-tattle respecting their elder sister was 
 invariably listened to with ready ear, and that complaints 
 of her were always complacently received.
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 403 
 
 "I understand," said the Doctor; "I cannot speak 
 French, but I catch your meaning a case of little pitchers 
 and long ears, eh ? " 
 
 " Very long ears ! with a tongue to match, and a most 
 retentive memory on an occasion like the present." 
 
 The Doctor nodded, perfectly comprehending the situa- 
 tion ; but the little girl frowned, and was evidently puzzled. 
 Her small wits were not yet sufficiently sharpened to en- 
 able her to take in the full meaning of an innuendo. Bnt 
 she caught at the familiar expression which she had heard 
 scores of times in the nursery, and exclaimed, "'Little 
 pitchers ! ' That's me ! I know what you mean, and I'll 
 tell ma ! " 
 
 " Pray do, sweet child," said the Doctor, suavely. And 
 then, feeling that further conversation was inexpedient, he 
 lifted his hat, and proceeded on his way. 
 
 Lady Louisa Maria at once resumed the subject : " Clary, 
 you are a naughty girl ! You tell fibs." 
 
 " No, I do not, Louie ; I should be very much ashamed 
 to tell fibs like a little girl I know, who very often says 
 things which are not true. Fibbing is both wicked and 
 mean." 
 
 " Bnt you did tell a big fib a downright lie ! You said 
 you were not going to be married." 
 
 " And I am not. You may believe me, Louie and you 
 know I never deceived yon yet when I tell you that 
 nothing is more unlikely than my marriage. I cannot 
 explain, for you could not understand ; but you may be 
 quite sure that whatever happens, whatever people may 
 say about me, I am not even thinking of being married." 
 
 " Not to Chatters ? " 
 
 " Certainly not to Chatters, nor to anyone else." 
 
 "But ma says you are to marry him, and Orwell says 
 BO, too ! And when Chatters is our curate, you are to live 
 at Eglantine Cottage, on the other side the church, and 
 Selina and I are to be your bridesmaids ; it's all settled." 
 
 " I never heard such nonsense such utter nonsense in 
 my life ! " began Clarissa, impatiently ; and then she 
 checked herself, remembering how useless it was to bo 
 angry with the child, who only repeated the lesson she had 
 been sedulously taught. She quietly continued : " It is all 
 
 26-2
 
 404 LAD! CLARISSA. 
 
 a mistake, Louie. I shall want no bridesmaids, for there 
 will be no wedding ! " 
 
 " Won't there ? " replied Louie, nodding sagaciously. 
 M We shall see when Chatters comes home ! " 
 
 " When is he coming ? " 
 
 " Next week, I think or perhaps it's the week after." 
 
 Next week ! The crisis was drawing alarmingly near. 
 In a few days she would probably be called upon to decido 
 her fate, to make her choice between flight and unbearable? 
 persecution, to resort to expedients from which she recoiled 
 and which yet seemed inevitable. That night, when all 
 around her were sleeping, she took counsel with herself, 
 and tried to look her position and its possible consequences 
 calmly in the face. After long thought and earnest prayer, 
 she took her resolution, which to herself she thus ex- 
 pressed : "I will do nothing rashly; I will not yield to 
 impulse, not even to justifiable resentment ; I will nofc 
 leave my home till I am forced from it ! I did think I 
 would fly before Chatters came, but I see now that would 
 be imprudent. It might even be said that I went to him ; 
 besides, it is just possible that I may make him ashamed of 
 himself. He cannot, to my face, persist in his audacious 
 falsehoods ; he dare not tell me that I have ever met him, 
 by appointment, ever heard him. speak one word of what 
 he presumes to call his affection. And if I cannot quench 
 his insolence if I cannot crush his unwarrantable aspira- 
 tions ere he breathe them, I can at least appeal to Lady 
 Orwell. She is a woman ; she will not surely allow me to 
 be insulted, persecuted, slandered, in my own dear father's 
 house. Yes, to her I will make my last appeal, and con- 
 jure her in the name of all that is most sacred both in 
 hea,ven and earth to protect me, and secure me from this 
 bold man's hateful importunities. And if all should fail 
 if he is too strong for me if she will not listen, then my 
 way is plain. I must leave Orwell, and, asking God to 
 guide, and bless, and keep me from shame and evil, I will 
 try if I cannot make my own way in the world. I cannot 
 be more of a menial than I am here ; I cannot have more 
 nngenial tasks ; I will not be above any kind of honest 
 labour ; I will forget that I am Lady Clarissa Oakleigh ; 
 and I will, God helping me, labour patiently with hands
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 405 
 
 and bead in the station to which, as I sincerely believe, 
 Providence now calls me. But I must count the cost ; I 
 must be deliberate ; I must take no step hastily impul- 
 sively." 
 
 And so a few days passed on, and nothing particular 
 transpired ; only Orwell remarked, in Clarissa's hearing, 
 that old Chatters was coming back in less than a week, 
 and that he would remain at Orwell all the summer, up to 
 October. She gathered also that the young man had 
 already left Oxford, and was on a visit to his mother, who 
 lived in Warwickshire, " to talk over," as Lady Orwell 
 professed to suppose, "his own concerns, especially his 
 ordination and his approaching marriage." Clarissa never, 
 on principle, mentioned his name, never asked the slightest 
 question respecting his movements, and she refused to 
 evince the smallest interest in such tidings of him as 
 reached her ears ; and yet it was apparent that all about her 
 continued to view her as Alfred Chatters' promised bride ! 
 
 He came at last. Clarissa had not been apprised of his 
 advent, and she felt something like a shock when, an hour 
 or two after his arrival, she encountered him on the grand 
 staircase. She felt furious with herself, knowing that face 
 and neck were instantly all aglow, and she dreaded to 
 think how he might interpret these signs of feeling. But 
 she did not pause; she simply bowed, as she would have 
 bowed in common courtesy to any other dependent of the 
 family who returned to the Castle after prolonged absence, 
 and passed on, without a word. 
 
 " Lady Clarissa ! I say Lady Clarissa ! " she heard 
 behind her, but she did not turn back. She went swiftly 
 forward, and he passed along the corridor ivhistling ! A 
 little later, and Coralie came to her with a message: 
 '* Miladi's love, and she wished miladi Clarisse to dine with 
 her that evening." 
 
 " Lady Orwell does not dine alone, I suppose ? " she 
 asked of the soubrelte. 
 
 "But, no," replied Coralie; " certainement non / Mi- 
 lords, the little Earl and Mr. Oakleigh " (the Honourable 
 Augustus) " will dine with miladi, their mamma, and also 
 Monsieur Chatter will be of the party. Miladi Clarisse 
 knows that M. Chatter has arrived to-day ? "
 
 40G LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Coralie always called him M. Chattaire? Clarissa's 
 first impulse was to excnse herself, but on second thoughts 
 /she resolved to know the worst. The war, if it must be 
 undertaken, should be waged on the enemy's own ground ; 
 it was useless to defer, to try to shirk the encounter. 
 What was evaded to-day would only be stored up for the 
 morrow, and it was best, wisest, safest to know at once 
 what she had to expect from this most unwelcome, un- 
 genial suitor. She must see what line he would take, 
 what tactics ho would adopt, before it was possible to 
 decide upon her own course of action. So she gravely 
 replied that she accepted the Countess's invitation, and 
 would be in the drawing-room at the usual hour ; privately 
 resolving, however, not to make her appearance till the 
 moment for the second bell should be close at hand. She 
 would watch Lady Orwell and her boys into the drawing- 
 room before she entered it herself ; for as the hour of fate 
 drew nigh she wished to defer it by keeping Chatters at 
 arms' length, and avoiding a private interview as long as 
 possible. She timed herself so well that the first notes of 
 the clang that summoned them to the dining-room sounded 
 before she had been quite half a minute in the drawing- 
 room. Chatters was there, with Lord and Lady Orwell. 
 " Mr. Oakleigh," as everybody was now instructed to call 
 Augustus, was not present ; he had indulged so freely in 
 certain Banbnry cakes brought by Chatters, as to be in- 
 capacitated from dining at all that day. Chatters came 
 forward as Clarissa entered, and met her with extended 
 hand, and the brief, familiar salnte of " How do ? " 
 
 Clarissa took no notice of the proffered hand ; bred up 
 as she had been in strict notions of propriety, the young 
 man, even had he been her equal, would scarcely have 
 seemed to her warranted in taking so much liberty. 
 Besides, the manners of that day were still tinctured with 
 the severity and precision of a former generation ; minuets 
 were still danced by ladies of high degree, low curtseys 
 were not yet out of fashion, and the intercourse between 
 young people of the opposite sex was, in the upper classes 
 at least, extremely formal and reserved. Had Alfred 
 Chatters been a gentleman in Lady Clavissa's.own rank, 
 he would not have dreamed of accosting her with so little
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 407 
 
 ceremony. As it was, lie simply treated her as lie would 
 Lave treated any girl of his own standing, and the Coun- 
 tess was not likely to reprimand him. 
 
 With a most stately bow, and with her coldest, baugh- 
 tlcst expression of countenance wbich expression always 
 exasperated Lady Orwell, because she knew that she could 
 not herself assume it Lady Clarissa swept by, and ad- 
 dressed herself to her little brother, who was making 
 original experiments on his mamma's crape skirt. Then, 
 before there was time for any sort of remark, the great 
 bell was heard, and the Countess drew her son's arm, as 
 well as she could, within her own, saying, " Orwell will 
 take me in to dinner ; Clarissa, accept Mr. Chatters' arm." 
 
 But Clarissa declined the arm ; as she had previously 
 rejected the hand, and, silently gathering up her long 
 skirts, took her way, unsupported, to the dining-room. 
 The footman who held the door as they passed grinned, 
 and those in attendance in the corridor beyond exchanged 
 meaning glances. They all secretly sympathised with 
 Clarissa, and rejoiced in the obvious discomfiture of " that 
 jackanapes," as in moments of confidence they were accus- 
 tomed to style the tutor. Under no circumstances is a 
 favourite popular in a community, whether it be a court, 
 a household, or a private family, and Chatters, arrogant 
 and pretentious to the last degree, and constantly giving 
 himself what the servants called "airs," was no exception 
 to the rule. 
 
 But Lady Orwell was not so easily to be routed ; she 
 had arranged her little programme, and no deviation could 
 be permitted. It was part of the carte-du-jour that 
 Chatters and Clarissa should have " their opportunity," 
 and have it they must under any circumstances, and 
 whether they desired it or not. It may well be imagined 
 that Clarissa was wholly intent on avoiding a private con- 
 versation ; while Chatters was so horribly nervous, that 
 he committed no end of blunders during dinner, and 
 exposed himself to the ridicule of the tall footman behind 
 his chair. No sooner had the Countess trifled with her 
 forced strawberries and apricots, and drunk her prescribed 
 glass of old Madeira, than she rose, saying to her son, who 
 was still intent upon his dessert, " Come with me, Orwell,
 
 408 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 I have a splendid peach for yon upstairs. Never mind 
 Clarissa and Chatters, they have something to say to each 
 other to -which we are not expected to listen ! " 
 
 The boy quickly took his cue, and, lured by the prospect 
 of the fruit, did not object to accompany her ladyship. 
 He hastily filled one hand with strawberries, while with 
 the other sticky paw he clutched his mother's dress. 
 
 Clarissa, alarmed, began to remonstrate. " Indeed, I 
 have nothing to say ! I will go with you, if you please. 
 I think the children must want me." 
 
 "Never mind the children to-night," returned her lady- 
 ship, with her most condescending air. " If yon have 
 nothing to say, Mr. Chatters has, I know ;" and before 
 Clarissa could stir a step towards her, she had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 For an instant Clarissa stood irresolute ; then the courage 
 of her race and all her woman's pride came to her assist- 
 ance. She took her seat again, resolved to hear what 
 Chatters had to say, because sooner or later it would cer- 
 tainly be said, and the sooner she knew her exact position 
 the better. She sat perfectly still, and not so much as an 
 eyelash trembled. She looked quite composed, but very 
 much, the young man thought, as Juno might have looked 
 when addressed by one of the inferior deities, or by some 
 presumptuous mortal who discovered, all too late, his tre- 
 mendous and perilous mistake. How he envied that calm, 
 collected mien, and what a stately creature she was for 
 one so young and small of stature ! He prided himself on 
 his coolness and assurance, and had frequently boasted 
 that he was not to be cowed or put out of countenance by 
 any man or woman living ; but at this moment he felt 
 anything but comfortable, and he fidgeted and almost 
 choked himself with the wine he hastily swallowed while 
 he was trying to frame a speech appropriate to the occa- 
 sion. And there sat Lady Clarissa, cold and serene as any 
 statue as immovable as a fate ! He drank more wine, 
 without the slightest conception of its taste ; he devoured 
 an apricot, which might as well have been a turnip for all 
 his appreciation of its flavour ; he all but upset a finger- 
 glass, and he played nervously with the stopper of the 
 decanter nearest to him. Oh, if she would only speak,
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 409 
 
 however contemptuously! if she would only stir one of 
 those white fingers so firmly folded on the dark mahogany ! 
 if her eyelids would but quiver! if if anything in tho 
 world would but happen to break the spell in which her 
 stillness and silence seemed to hold him ! He called him- 
 Belf a thousand fools for being such a coward in the 
 presence of a girl who had been placed by her natural 
 guardian at his disposal, and who, as he flattered himself, 
 had no alternative but to marry him a girl who was 
 penniless, who was no beauty, who had no friends that 
 he knew of who was associated with the servants of the 
 household, who was, he had been assured, " no better than 
 he was! " And yet, in spite of all, he found himself in 
 the greatest difficulty when he essayed to come to that 
 understanding with her which he had previously supposed 
 to be the simplest and easiest thing in the world. At 
 length he mustered up courage he made a desperate 
 plunge, and spoke. 
 
 *' I say, Clarissa, yon don't seem at all glad to see 
 me! " 
 
 She looked at him quite calmly; as far as he could 
 observe, not a pulse stirred, as she answered gravely, 
 " Lady Clarissa, if you please, Mr. Chatters ! " 
 
 Then he changed his tactics, and, shuffling his own 
 chair towards her, tried to possess himself of her left 
 hand. 
 
 " Be good enough to keep your distance," was all the 
 encouragement he received. 
 
 " I say, now ! " he said, trying to assume an air of con- 
 fidence, " this is too bad, to treat a fellow so ! And I 
 don't deserve it, 'pon honour, I don't ! You're enough to 
 freeze melted butter by the kitchen fire ! Of course, I 
 don't want yon to drop into my mouth, like an over-ripe 
 cherry ! Girls shouldn't be too forward, and a man 
 doesn't care for a woman that puts no value upon herself. 
 It's light come light go, you know, in love, as in many 
 other matters. But there's reason in all things! and if 
 you, being ' my lady,' think it too much to meet me half- 
 way, you might give me just some little token of en- 
 couragement, some little word or look a great deal may 
 be said by looks, the language of the eye> you know !
 
 410 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 just a hint that I am not altogether disagreeable to 
 you." 
 
 " But you are altogether disagreeable to me ! 3 
 strongly object to your society, and I only endnre it, at 
 present, because I think it due to myself to correct the 
 strange misapprehension into which you have somehow 
 fallen." 
 
 *' What strange misapprehension ? " 
 
 " You have had the audacity to say that I regard you 
 you with so much favour that I have consented to be- 
 come your wife." 
 
 " Well ! and haven't you ? Lady Orwell vows you are 
 only playing the coquette. Besides, I saved your life." 
 
 "As to that, but for you, I think, I should not have 
 been in the water at all. However, for your service, such 
 as it was, I thank you, just as I should thank any keeper 
 or labourer on the estate for the same service. But I 
 never heard that one was constrained by any rnle of 
 honour to marry a person, simply because he rescues one 
 from death." 
 
 " Yon despise me because I am not noble, because I am 
 a poor tutor." 
 
 " I despise you because you tell base lies of a friendless, 
 helpless girl ! Yes, and I despise yon because yon are not 
 noble, but most ignoble, in soul, and speech, and action. 
 I am not alluding to birth, which is a mere accident as 
 far as we ourselves are concerned, but to your manifest 
 meanness of character, as exemplified in a hundred dif- 
 ferent ways, and especially in your conduct towards myself. 
 I hope I make myself quite understood." 
 
 " Yon could not speak much more plainly," he replied, 
 with bitterness. " I thank you for your opinion of me ; 
 but take care ! take care ! Lady Clarissa ; you may go too 
 far ! There are limits even to a fond lover's toleration." 
 
 " Yon dare to threaten me ! I am not afraid ! " 
 
 " Don't you see that you are in my power, you proud, 
 disdainful miss ? " 
 
 " That I am not." 
 
 " Yes, you are ! Everybody believes that you and I aro 
 lovers. It is all over the country how you met me evening 
 after evening last autumn, and sometimes after dark, too,
 
 A LAST APPEAL. 411 
 
 young ladies who value their characters are sup- 
 posed to be safe at home ! What will the world say of yoa 
 if it hears that you. behaved so lightly, that I dared not 
 trust my honour in your keeping ?" 
 
 Then she rose, and drawing herself up, transfixed him 
 with her gaze. " Hush ! " she said, sternly. " God hears 
 you, and He will one day perhaps sooner than yon 
 expect make you account for your wicked, shameful, 
 false words ! I leave you ! I should think lightly of 
 myself if I remained with you. vile as you are another 
 minute. I would sooner die I would sooner beg my 
 bread from door to door, without a shelter for my head 
 than I would share your life, with all the good things this 
 world has to give ! Say what you please of me ! I leave 
 my good name where it is quite safe, in the keeping of my 
 Heavenly Father ! " 
 
 And before he could interpose, she was gone. " I have 
 managed badly," he said to himself, as he drained another 
 glass of port ; " never mind ! I shall have her in the long 
 run. She has no one to whom to appeal she has not, as 
 I am told, more than a few shillings in her purse, and she 
 is tired to death, as well she may be, of her ladyship's 
 rampant ' lambs ' ! But really, I am not so sure that I want 
 her ! What a temper she has ! Didn't her eyes flash 
 fire ! Didn't her lips breathe scorn ! A charming vixen 
 to take to one's bosom truly ! I think I hate her ! But 
 I'll secure her, if it is only to humble her, and punish her. 
 No, no ! backed as I am, you won't escape me, my Lady 
 Clarissa ; I shall be too strong for you. You are mine, if 
 I choose it, as sure as fate ! " 
 
 As for Clarissa, she went straight to the Countess, and 
 told her almost word for word what had passed between 
 herself and Chatters. She made her appeal in vain her 
 ladyship persisted in laughing at the girl's distress. At 
 last, as Clarissa still implored, she lost her patience, and 
 spoke out. " Come now ! " she said, in that dogged tone 
 which her step-daughter too well understood, " I am 
 tired of this acting and nonsense ! You will marry 
 Chatters before next New Year's Day ; make up your 
 mind to it, for there is no appeal no appeal ! and I 
 mean what I say. If you had a spark of proper pride in
 
 412 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 you, you would marry any honest man rather than be 
 dependent upon one who is only too thankful to be quit 
 of you ! " 
 
 " I thank you for saying so much, Lady Orwell. At 
 this moment I feel as if I would gladly marry any honest 
 man to escape your taunts. But I cannot put into the 
 category of honest men him whom you would force upon 
 me." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! You marry Chatters, I say. It is all 
 arranged. You must ; you have no alternative ; you are 
 compromised ! " 
 
 " I did not compromise myself." 
 
 " You are compromised, I say. And if you have no 
 regard for your own character, I must guard it for you. 
 Chatters will make you a good and suitable husband, if 
 yon don't exasperate him beyond all bounds before mar- 
 riage. I have no more to say, and I won't even listen to 
 any farther appeal. Go to bed, and get up to-morrow 
 morning determined to act like a sensible girl, and do 
 your duty." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 
 
 " When gathering clouds around I view. 
 And days are dark and friends are few. 
 On Him I lean who not in vain 
 Experienced every human pain, 
 He sees my griefs, allays my fears, 
 And counts and treasures up my tears." 
 
 " YES ! I have quite made up my mind," said Clarissa, 
 next day, to Mrs. Sweetapple, whom she had of late visited 
 pretty frequently. " Everything that happens tells me 
 that Orwell can be my home no longer; everything pointa
 
 ON THE EYE OF DEPARTURE. 413 
 
 to my departure, and I feel increasingly that I am doing 
 nothing wrong in going away privately. But, Sweetie, 
 niy path is beset with difficulties; how is it all to be 
 managed ? " 
 
 " That we must see about at once, for I think now the 
 sooner you are gone the better. I cannot bear the idea of 
 your being under the same roof with that abominable 
 young man. Why ! you will never be free from his im- 
 pertinences, you will never be secure against his pre- 
 sumptuous advances ! " 
 
 " Never ! He came into the room where I was with the 
 little girls this morning, bringing me a fresh bouquet from 
 the new greenhouse. And he said, with such a disagree- 
 able smile, ' There, Clarissa ! that's to show you that I 
 bear no grudge, cruel as yon were to me last night.' " 
 
 " Yon never accepted the flowers, my lady ? " 
 
 " I did, and I did not. As I would not put out my 
 hand for them, he laid them on the table before me, and in 
 his presence I told Louie and Lina they might have them 
 to dress up the nursery vases with. He remarked that he 
 did not bring them for the children to pull to pieces, and 
 I replied that I had no other use for them. A little while 
 after Orwell came to ask me if I would ride. ' Mamma 
 said I could go, and my own horse should be saddled for 
 me ! ' I was not so stupid as not to understand that if I 
 rode I should have the very companion I was so anxious 
 to avoid, and I perceived also that I should be doing 
 something of my own accord to favour the false report 
 which is current, if I went galloping about the country 
 with such an escort ; so I declined, much as I longed to 
 feel myself in the saddle again, and on dear old Gypsy's 
 back. If I wish to go into the library or the conservatory, 
 or to walk in the gardens, I am certain Chatters is on tha 
 look out to join me; it is miserable to feel oneself so 
 watched and waylaid. Lady Orwell sent to say I was 
 to dine with her, but I excused myself because I had 
 already dined with the children, and because my head 
 ached, and I wanted to get into the air. Then, when I saw 
 my opportunity, I made quite an elopement, and camo 
 here, terrified at every step lest I should be followed. This 
 is not to be borne, I think. It is impossible always to ba
 
 414 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 on the defensive, especially when the enemy is so ir dch the 
 stronger and the subtler." 
 
 " It is not to be borne, my dear. If you stayed, it would 
 all end in your marrying the young man." 
 
 " N"o, no, Sweetie ; anything but that ! " 
 
 " You don't know, my dear lady. You don't know how 
 it might be if yon were persecuted continually, and worried 
 out of your life, for weeks and months together. You 
 might give in at last, because you were wearied and had 
 no more strength left to continue the straggle, unequal as 
 it must ever be. Besides, they are wicked people who hold 
 yon in their grasp now ; you are no match for them in 
 craft and cunning and hypocrisy. They will do all they 
 can to injure your reputation, to compromise you so 
 effectually that marriage with Chatters may come to be a 
 sort of refnge." 
 
 " That is what I most dread, Sweetie. If they cannot 
 take me by force, they will take me by gnile. They cannot 
 compel me to go through any legal ceremony, but I am 
 terrified when I think how I may be after all entrapped by 
 means which I cannot even suspect. I put myself into 
 God's hands ; but that does not release me from the neces- 
 sity of using all justifiable means to help myself. Look 
 whichever way I will, I see no refuge but flight." 
 
 " There is no other refuge, no other safety for you, my 
 lady dear. And since you have decided to go, I am sure 
 you ought not to defer your flight." 
 
 " How shockingly it sounds ! There seems something 
 so shameful, so terrible in running away from home ! 
 and a girl, too." 
 
 "If you had only ordinary troubles to cope with, my 
 lady, I should say, ' Have patience, and bear on ; don't 
 leave the natural shelter which is so necessary to the re- 
 spectability of a young woman.' But Orwell Castle is no 
 shelter for you ; under its roof you are more likely to lose 
 than to preserve your reputation ; and Lady Orwell is not 
 BO proper a person to protect your youth and innocence as 
 is Fancy Saunders humble and lowly though she be 
 Now, then, my dear, let us set to work ! we have talked 
 enough about the unhappy needs be ; let us at once pro- 
 ceed to lay our plans."
 
 OX THE EVB OF DEPARTURE. 4l-5 
 
 " It is so good of you, Sweetie, to identify your interests 
 mine. But I hardly know if I ought to let you help 
 me. If Lady Orwell should ever guess that you were an 
 accomplice in my evasion, you would be turned out of 
 your pretty house without much ceremony." 
 
 " No doubt ; but wo will take good care that she does 
 not guess. Besides, my annuity, thanks to my late dear 
 lord, is safe. She cannot touch that ! I should be a most 
 ungrateful wretch if I did not do my utmost for my lord's 
 own child in her extremity. You have that money all 
 right, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Every penny of it. And it is all I have, for my purse 
 has never been replenished since my father died. I cannot 
 understand about the money that dear Susan said Mr. 
 Hadfield would keep for me. It would not be much very 
 little, perhaps, when all expenses were paid, for she had 
 never thought it necessary to save till a short time before 
 her death, and then only on my account ; but something 
 there surely would be, and though poor Mr. Hadfield is 
 dead, the firm survives in the person of his sons, who are 
 as trustworthy as their father. It is so very strange that 
 they have not written to me." 
 
 "I dare say they have, but their letter has not reached 
 you. When you are in London you can call and satisfy 
 yourself. Now, the first thing, my dear lady, is to write 
 to Fancy." 
 
 "I have written. And here is my letter, which I 
 thought you had better address and post for me. And to 
 you the answer must be returned. I have a strong sus- 
 picion that any letter addressed to me at Orwell Castle 
 would be opened, and perhaps detained." 
 
 " Martha shall post it herself the first thing to-morrow 
 morning. I know very well what Fancy's reply will be; 
 she will think herself but too highly honoured, and she 
 will do her very best to make you comfortable." 
 
 " I feel sure of that. But the great difficulty, it seems 
 to me, will be to get away. Every person in Orwell village 
 knows me ; and if I hired a chaise at the ' Orwell Arms,' 
 nhich is the only way I can think of, I should be traced 
 im mediately. And that, for every reason, I would guard 
 against."
 
 4l6 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 "Yon must, indeed. Neither the Countess nor Chattern 
 must have the least idea where yon. are ; no one in this 
 place must know, not even Martha. Once in London, you 
 are safe. I have always heard that London is the best 
 place in all the world to get lost in." 
 
 " No doubt about that. If I can only get to London, 
 there is no danger of my being molested by Chatters, or 
 by anyone employed by Lady Orwell. The question is, 
 how to get there unsuspected. I want to take some clothes, 
 or else I shall have to buy evreything fresh, and that will 
 dip too deeply into my purse, for I do not know how soon 
 I shall be able to earn any money." 
 
 *' You will sell your paintings, I think you said ? " 
 
 " Yes, if I can. And I should think some of them will 
 be sure to find purchasers. The worst of it is, I have 
 scarcely touched my paints since this time last year, and 
 I am sadly out of practice. I ought to have been working' 
 hard for the last twelve months, and I have not even 
 finished one of the studies I had commenced last June. I 
 feel that I cannot depend upon the sale of my pictures for 
 some time to come. If it had not been for your bounty, 
 my kind Sweetie, I do not know what would have become 
 of me ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear, don't call it bounty. Who has so 
 good a right to it as yourself ? All I have, or ever did 
 have, comes to me from your family. As for those few 
 pounds, I don't need them, and never shall. I shall not 
 want for anything long, for my time here must be short 
 now. I think I quite puzzle the doctor, lasting out as I 
 do. Well, I don't think it would do to hire a postchaise, 
 though it would be properest, decidedly. It might geb 
 known, and you would get stopped, and for certain you 
 would be easily traced on your road to London." 
 
 " If I could only get to Ipsley, there is the coach. Few 
 people know me there, and I could wear a thick veil." 
 
 " I have thought of a better plan than that. You shall 
 go to Hnnsleigh Port, where there are always vessels cf 
 some sort sailing for London. You may as well travel by 
 Bea as by land." 
 
 That I may, and I should prefer it. Cut how shaii t 
 ascertain what vessels are sailing ? "
 
 ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 4.17 
 
 *' Heave tliat to me. Martha's boy, Joseph, is at Huns- 
 leftgh Port, in a shipyard ; and she has been talking about 
 */oing to see him these six weeks. I only wish I could get 
 there myself. But I can manage it." 
 
 " Will not Martha be compromised ? Anybody wh<? 
 helps me at this crisis will be ruined, if the Countess only 
 comes to know." 
 
 " Martha is sharp-witted, and she can keep a quiet 
 tongue in her head. And yet, I won't trust her with your 
 secret, so that, if she should be asked any plain questions, 
 she may be able to say, ' J don't know,' and yet tell no lie. 
 I don't hold with lies, anyhow ; but one isn't obliged to 
 tell what one only thinks may be. I shall say to Martha, 
 * There's a certain young woman I want to befriend. She 
 must get to London, unbeknownst to anybody in these 
 parts. Go you to Joseph, and see what ship sails that will 
 carry her, her passage-money being ready.' And if she 
 asks, ' Who is it, mother ? ' I shall tell her not to mind 
 who it is, because it's best she shouldn't know. She will 
 guess, no doubt, but guessing isn't knowing, and she'll 
 keep her guesses as silent as the grave." 
 
 "But how can I get to Hunsleigh Port? It is more 
 than twenty miles away ? " 
 
 "You must walk to Cottleby, that's four miles, and 
 there you must take the carrier's cart from Orchester. 
 Your boxes and things must be somehow sent on before 
 you. You must make up your mind what you will take, 
 and pack it all up in as small a compass as possible." 
 
 " I shall not want a great many clothes ; very few 
 dresses will do, for, of course, I shall live in strict retire- 
 ment. I think all the wardrobe I require will go into one 
 moderate-sized trunk. Then there is Susan's desk and 
 dressing-case, which I must not leave behind. As for my 
 mother's jewels, and a few other things, I can put those 
 into a large hand-bag and carry them myself." 
 
 " The large trunk will be the only troublesome package, 
 the smaller articles can be got here by degrees very easily. 
 1 wish I were not such a useless piece of old lumber, little 
 better than bedridden! All I can do is to sit here and 
 plan. Look you, my lady, you must come here as often as 
 you can contrive daring the few daya that must elapse 
 
 27
 
 418 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 before yon leave the Castle, and yon mnsfc never come 
 empty-handed. Yon don't mind carrying as mnch as you'', 
 strength will permit, I know." 
 
 "Indeed I do not. The chief difficulty will be to gci 
 here nnperceived. The days are now at the longest, and 
 there are so many people abont, to say nothing of Chatters, 
 always on the prowl. And if I am onco snspected, it is 
 all over with me." 
 
 " If yon can evade the notice of the Castle-folk, yon don't 
 rnn mnch risk. Once yon get into the little wood tho 
 copse where yon hid yonrself years ago from yonr new- 
 governess, that Miss Rigby ! and yon are pretty safe from 
 observation. The rest of the way is lonely enongh, so> 
 lonely I do not mnch like yonr coming along it by yonrself ; 
 only everybody here knows yon, and no one would think 
 of insulting you." 
 
 " How would early morning snit ? It is light by thrcs 
 o'clock." 
 
 " It would do very well, I should say. It is better, if 
 you are caught, to be out at sunrise than in the dusk. But 
 do you not sleep in the same room as the children ? " 
 
 "I did till lately till I began to have those fearful 
 nervous headaches. Then I took courage, and told Lady 
 Orwell that I could not sleep in the nursery-wing any 
 longer. If I devoted my days to the children, I must havo 
 quiet nights, or I should very soon be on the sick list, and 
 incapable of performing my duties at all ! She was very 
 cross, and made the demur I expected ; but with all her 
 faults, you know, she is not deficient in common sense, and 
 she saw that I was making no vain complaint, so after a 
 little grumbling and scolding and hints that young people 
 had no right to nerves, permission was reluctantly accorded, 
 and I went back to my old room, next to the schoolroom, 
 and have passed my nights there ever since." 
 
 " That is fortunate ! Having those nurses and the chil- 
 dren always abont you would have embarrassed you not a. 
 little. And that suite of apartments is really as retired as 
 could be wished." 
 
 " It is more secluded now than ever. All those roono 
 have been avoided since Miss Shrosbery's death. She died 
 in the schoolroom, which was our usual sitting-room, and
 
 ON THE EVE OP DEPARTURE. 419 
 
 in tlio adjoining bedroom she lay in her coffin, and both 
 apartments are shunned accordingly. I am never afraid of 
 intrusion ; really, sometimes I have been thankful that 
 there is such a thing as superstition ! I can pack there, 
 and make my arrangements to my heart's content. I am 
 not likely to be interrupted if I use a little caution." 
 
 " Do you remember getting out of the east-chamber 
 window, when Miss Rigby locked you up ? You used to 
 climb and slip about like a cat." 
 
 " So I could now, I dare say ; but I should not like to 
 try that mode of egress or ingress. It was pardonable in 
 a naughty, mad-cap child, who rather prided herself on. 
 risking neck and limb ; but I should not like it to be 
 brought against me, in days to come, that Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh, in her eighteenth year, was guilty of such a, 
 freak ! Getting out of window, except in cases of ex- 
 tremity, is decidedly improper, and, placed as I am, I 
 cannot afford to give anyone the smallest ground of 
 vantage against my reputation. Besides, I could not 
 convey my parcels in that way." 
 
 " Of course not ; you must not think of such a thing, 
 though that shady nook of evergreens is very little over- 
 looked ; but there is the little door below, at the end of 
 that half-dark passage, where people very seldom went in 
 my time." 
 
 " It is that door I mean to make use of ; it is so easily 
 reached by the short flight of backstairs near the old 
 nursery, which is now a lumber-room. The key has been 
 in my possession since last summer, because on very hot 
 days poor Susan liked to sit out there, under the great 
 Portugal laurels." 
 
 " All that is in your favour. Must you go, dear ? Well,, 
 take heart, and don't be faint-spirited. These are dark 
 days now, but the sun shines somewhere, notwithstanding ;. 
 and there is always a silver lining to every cloud, yom 
 know! Only, my dear lady, be very, very careful! if 
 once you give cause for suspicion, you will have spies set 
 upon you. Come as early as you like in the morning ; you 
 will always find some of us stirring, and I cannot sleep 
 much after sunrise. I get my best sleep now of after- 
 noons." 
 
 272
 
 420 LADY CLACISSA. 
 
 "One tiling more, Sweetie. I do not like doing ifc I 
 hate it ; but I am afraid I must, in some sort, change my 
 name. ' Lady Clarissa,' living by herself in cheap apart- 
 ments, will naturally excite people's curiosity, and some- 
 body may make it his business to report my whereabouts 
 to the Countess." 
 
 "There can be no harm, my dear, in your dropping 
 your title for a while ; you won't mind it much, I dare 
 say?" 
 
 " I shall not mind it at all. Indeed, it seems out of the 
 fitness of things that a girl with a title should be earning 
 }ier bread, and living as I must live. And again, I must 
 have some name whereby I shall be known in the artist 
 world, if, indeed, I ever do succeed in making myself 
 known there at all. Susan and I were talking about it 
 long ago, and we agreed that I must select a professional 
 name when the time came to exhibit ; and she laughed, 
 ,-and said it would not be a ' nomme-de-plume,' but a nomme* 
 de-crayon! We almost decided on Miss Clara Leigh." 
 
 " That will do nicely. It is partly your real name, and 
 it sounds professional enough. My late lord always called 
 your dear mamma ' Clara,' though her full name, like 
 yours, was Clarissa. And ' Clara Grey ' was written in 
 many of her books, as I well know. And Leigh stands 
 very well without the Oak ! Yes Miss Clara Leigh ! 
 nothing could be better. And if I were you, my dear, I 
 would not take poor old nurse into confidence, not that she 
 is less to be trusted than I am, but, from what I hear, her 
 'mind is not always very clear, and she rambles, they tell 
 ? me, and does not quite know what she talks about." 
 
 " No ! I will say nothing to nurse. She does ramble, 
 .and might easily let fall something quite unwittingly. 
 Besides, I think a secret and such a secret would be a 
 sore burden to her. Also, it may occur to them to question 
 her. And it strikes me, Sweetie, that Lady Orwell will 
 'be pretty sure to catechise you ! " 
 
 "Let her catechise! I am her ladyship's match any 
 day. I hope she will come on one of my deaf days, when 
 rny infirmity is hard upon me. She is never good to hear 
 because her voice is harsh and thick, and if I do not 
 listen and I need not if I don't want to it will be all
 
 ON THE EVE OP DEPARTURE. 421 
 
 the same as if she talked High Dntch ! It will be a case- 
 of cross questions and crooked answers, Lady Clarissa. 
 Trust me not to put her on the scent ; and I'll take care 
 that Martha shall not really Jcnoto your address, nor how- 
 yon got away, nor anything that might get her into 
 trouble." 
 
 From that hour Clarissa was abundantly occupied, both- 
 head and hands. She had her usual nursery duties, and 
 her own affairs requiring full attention. She had to go 
 over all her possessions, in order to determine what she 
 would take with her, and then came the packing up o 
 what was to go to London. There were many things she 
 must perforce leave behind her, and much she regretted' 
 that there was no one to whose charge they could be safely 
 committed, till suddenly it occurred to her that her 
 deserted treasures would be quite safe in one of the- 
 haunted attics. If she stowed them away in a certain old' 
 chest that had never, as she knew to a certainty, been dis- 
 turbed by anyone but herself during her lifetime, they 
 would, in all probability, remain there untouched for 
 years, till, by God's mercy, she might come back again in 
 peace and honour, and claim her own. 
 
 Upon this thought she acted. Some few of her 
 belongings that might be forwarded to her, should her 
 schemes succeed, she determined to leave with Mrs. 
 Sweetapple. Every morning she contrived to take hei 
 walks abroad before the rest of the world was astir, and-i 
 every morning she carried to the Woodland Lodge some 
 package or other made ready for the journey. 
 
 Fancy wrote to say she could receive her dear young^- 
 lady at any day or hour. She had only to come, and be- 
 more than welcome; and she might be sure of all the- 
 loving and humble service that she and hers could render; 
 It only remained now to make terms with the captain of 
 the coasting-vessel at Hnnsleigh Port, and to convey the 
 luggage to that town. The carrier passed through Cottleby 
 three times a week. As it seemed impossible to send 
 away a large trunk without exciting notice, the different 
 articles were made up into parcels, and packed at last in 
 an old box of the ex-housekeeper's. And more than once 
 Clarissa found it possible to despatch a garden-boy to
 
 422 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the lodge with packages that would have been a sore 
 burden to herself. That she should send a few things to 
 Mrs. Sweetapple surprised no one, and the boy was too 
 tumble and obscure to fall under the Countess's dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 All went well, but Clarissa felt the continued strain 
 almost more than she could bear. To a mind frank and 
 ingenuous as hers, the concealment of her designs was 
 most painful. She could not help regarding herself as 
 engaged in a conspiracy ! And yet she dreaded discovery 
 more and more, for each succeeding day proved the desira- 
 bility of her evasion. Everybody, from the Countess 
 downwards, .seemed in a plot to throw her under the 
 influence of Chatters ; and the young man himself, as 
 may be imagined, was not slow to push his advantage. 
 But that she knew that she would soon be beyond his 
 reach, the persecution would have been unendurable ; it 
 required all her address, all her courage, to keep him at a 
 respectful distance. A less brave spirit would have sunk 
 beneath all she had to sustain and to guard against in 
 those last trying days at Orwell. 
 
 At length, all arrangements were completed. Clarissa's 
 property was safe at Hunsleigh Port, and her passage was 
 taken. She was described by Martha and by her son as 
 4 ' a young woman in needy circumstances, but respect- 
 able and industrious, going to push her fortune in. 
 London." 
 
 Doubtless, Martha guessed who the respectable young- 
 woman really was, but her mother had said to her, when 
 the first instalment of parcels arrived at the lodge, " Thee 
 ask no questions, Patty, then thee canst answer none. Do 
 as I bid thee, and leave the rest to me." And Patty, alias 
 Martha, though over fifty years of age, was a dutiful and 
 obedient child to her aged parent. 
 
 And so it came to the last day the last evening ; and, 
 for the last time, Clarissa undressed her little sisters, and, 
 for the last time, she said "good-night " to the Countess 
 and to Coralie, who followed her to say, " You look so 
 poorly, miladi; shall I help you to undress?" But 
 Clarissa answered that she was only tired and rather 
 nervous, and would prefer to be alone as usual. Looking
 
 OS THE JOURNEY. 423 
 
 from the gallery-window, as she went to her room, she 
 saw Chatters puffing away at his meerschaum among the 
 flower-beds. Fervently she hoped that for the last time 
 she saw his face. A few hours more, and she would be 
 alone and unprotected on the road to London. 
 
 But, thank God, she had friends there humble friends, 
 but true, under whose roof she might in peace and honour 
 rest her weary head. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, as she turned away from that last 
 glance at the familiar landscape, which seemed sinking to 
 repose in the grey twilight of that balmy midsummer eve; 
 *' if God were not my Friend and my Helper, I could not 
 bear it ! He sees all my sorrow ; He knows all my pain, 
 and He will yes ! I feel certain He will bring me safely 
 through, and lead me, though now I can see only the 
 single step before me, into pleasant pastures, an,d beside 
 still waters." 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 ON THE JOURNEY. 
 
 * Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene, one step enough for me.** 
 
 CLARISSA had not much to do in the way of preparation. 
 As soon as she had locked herself in her room, she packed 
 the bag she intended to carry with her ; then she placed 
 in readiness the dress which she had arranged for the 
 journey, and made all necessary dispositions before she 
 lay down to rest, if not to sleep, for two or three hours 
 longer if possible. She had made her calculations, and 
 found that it would be best to start between four and five 
 o'clock ; not earlier, because the carrier, in whose cart she 
 was to go to Huusleigh Port, did not pass through 
 Cottleby till nearly nine, and the difficulty was how ta
 
 424 LADY CIAIUSSA. 
 
 dispose of herself during the time which was not occupied 
 in walking, since she would certainly reach Cottleby by 
 six, even if she loitered on the way. It was a comfort to 
 reflect that the Orwell household was by no means given 
 to early rising, so that she might reasonably hope to escape 
 observation if she took her departure even a little later 
 than she intended. She felt pretty certain that no one 
 would be stirring much before six, but it seemed scarcely 
 safe to run the risk, lest any unlucky chance should rouse 
 one or another of the servants at an earlier hour than 
 usual. She ought, she felt, to be clear of the Castle, and 
 beyond the boundaries of the pleasure-gi-onnds, before the 
 clock struck five. 
 
 Now, as she slowly undressed, she heard eleven striking 
 from the church-tower she had at least five hours before 
 her, in which to recruit herself, and gain strength and 
 spirits for the journey. For the last time for many a day, 
 probably for many a year, perhaps for ever, Clarissa knelt 
 down in her accustomed place for her evening prayer. At 
 first she could not sufficiently collect her thoughts. The 
 home she was leaving was very dear to her, and that room, 
 which had been hers ever since the advent of Madame 
 Pierrot, especially so. " Where shall I be this time 
 to-morrow night ? " she involuntarily asked herself, and 
 then she burst into an agony of tears, and wept convul- 
 sively. They were the first tears she had shed for many 
 days, but they relieved her overcharged heart, and 
 calmed down the excitement which had possessed her, and 
 then she could calmly pray. Never had she been so much 
 in need of help, in need of guidance, for never had she 
 found herself in circumstances so painful and so critical. 
 She knew that she was doing what would expose her to 
 severest blame from all; and the "all" included nearly 
 the whole world who might hear of her escape, so very few 
 persons having any just idea of her true position in that 
 household. She was possibly compromising her good 
 name ; she was certainly placing herself in the way of all 
 sorts of perplexities and embarrassments ; she was setting 
 out on a strange and untried path ; and once launched on 
 the troubled sea of this life's cares and dangers, there 
 be no putting back, no refuge, no friendly haven,
 
 ON THE JOUENEY. 425 
 
 should the tempest rage, and winds and waves prove too 
 mighty for her poor little bark, steered by one so feeble 
 and so entirely inexperienced. 
 
 But once more came the comforting words, " God is 
 our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of 
 trouble ; " and again, " Who is among you that feareth the 
 Lord, that obeyeth the voice of His servant, that walketh 
 in darkness, and hath no light ? Let him trust in the name 
 of the Lord, and stay upon his God." So she besought 
 that to her light and wisdom might be vouchsafed ; that 
 she might be defended in the dangers of the way before 
 her, delivered from all her enemies, and brought safe at 
 last to some quiet haven where, in peace, and honour, and 
 grateful thanksgiving, she might pass her days. She 
 entreated that God would be with her wherever she went, 
 about her bed, and about her path continually ; that she 
 might be prospered in whatever work she undertook ; and, 
 finally, that her strength might not fail, nor her faith wax 
 feeble, though tribulations should abound, and sorrows and 
 cares perpetually abide with her. " To Thee I commend 
 myself, O Friend of the friendless, O Father of all 
 spirits, in whose hands are all human destinies ; go Thoa 
 with me, never leave me nor forsake me, and bring me 
 safe to Thine everlasting kingdom," were her last words; 
 and then, feeling drowsy and wonderfully composed, she 
 lay down and slept soundly till the grey dawn, stealing in 
 through her unshaded windows, awoke her, and warned 
 her that the commencement of her enterprise must no 
 longer be delayed. 
 
 febe dressed quickly, and prayed once more ; then she 
 looked at her watch, and found that it was not yet four, 
 though the sun was already shining, and the birds were 
 singing in the branches. It promised to be a beautiful mid- 
 summer day, and that she felt to be a real blessing, for a 
 wet morning would have been a sad addition to her diffi- 
 culties. She opened the door, and went out into the long, 
 dim gallery, where all was still as death, save that she 
 could still hear the twitter of the birds, and the loud tick 
 of a clock in one of the adjacent chambers. There were 
 no other sounds. She listened, and, as far as she could 
 guess, the household yet slumbered peacefully. Then she
 
 426 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 descended the narrow stairway, to which reference hag 
 been made. It brought her into a region of empty rooms 
 and seldom-used offices, bat it was near the larders, and 
 not far from the dairy, to all of which she knew her way 
 well enough, and which she had visited more than once, of 
 late, in search of bread and milk, which she needed before 
 her early morning walks. If she encountered any servants 
 she could truthfully say why she was there, and for what 
 reason she required food, for she had several times re- 
 quested that a loaf and some milk might be left for her, 
 of which she could partake before starting on her rambles. 
 She cut a slice of bread and battered it, and almost forced 
 herself to swallow it, for she knew that sustenance was 
 needful ; and then, seeing cold meat and cooked poultry 
 close by, she thought it would be only prudent to take 
 with her a sandwich or two, since it was very uncertain 
 how and when her next meal must be made. She pre- 
 ferred the beef to the chicken, as being more nutritious, 
 and it behoved her to husband her forces, and above all 
 the physical, so much depending now upon her own un- 
 aided efforts. The sandwiches ready, she adjourned to 
 the dairy for a good draught of last night's milk, and 
 that was much more welcome than the bread and butter, 
 which she had the greatest difficulty in persuading herself 
 to eat. Lastly, she went to the little door, of which she 
 kept the key, unlocked it, and softly drew back the bolts, 
 so that it remained only on the latch. 
 
 She regained her room, and found the upper stories still 
 silent and undisturbed. She put the sandwiches into her 
 bag, and then entered the sitting-room to take a last fare- 
 well of the place and of the few treasures she was forced 
 to leave behind. The shabbily-famished room was sacred 
 ground to Clarissa ; but she dared not trust herself to 
 dwell even for a minute on what had been transpiring 
 there just a year a,go. Susan's portrait she had, at some 
 risk, managed to get conveyed to the Woodland Lodge, 
 and it was going with her to London. Her other pictures, 
 save one or two that were hidden in the great chest np- 
 etairs, must remain where they were ; so must her easels 
 it was impossible to take them away without exciting 
 suspicion, and she regretted it, because she would be
 
 ON THE JOURNEY. 427 
 
 obliged to spend money in buying ne\< Dnes. Her paints, 
 palettes, and brushes, &c., however, sha had removed, and, 
 to a certain extent, the room looked desolate and bare. 
 
 " Shall I ever stand here again ? " was her thought as 
 ehe placed her hand lovingly on the chair in which Susan 
 had died : " Thou knowest, O, my God, and Thou wilt do 
 for me that which is best and safest ; Thy itrill be done." 
 
 One more last look, and with firm step and resolute will 
 she took her bag and her umbrella in one hand, threw her 
 light cloak over the other arm, and rapidly not daring to 
 pause or to look behind made her way to the unfastened 
 door below. Another moment and she was in the open 
 air, crossing the dewy sward towards the evergreen 
 thicket, through which wound the retired path she judged 
 it best to choose. Through the laurels and the rhododen- 
 drons, on which some lovely blossoms still lingered, she 
 threaded her way, trembling with excitement, and starting 
 even at the sound of her own footsteps and at the rustle 
 of the leaves as she brushed them passing by. A few 
 minutes' walk, and she was beyond the bounds of garden 
 and shrubbery, and in the open park, and the road was 
 straight before her. She had to pass the lodge gates ; but 
 she trusted no one would yet be stirring, and if she were 
 seen, she might easily be taken for one of the servants, 
 she imagined, in her plain dark dress, faded shawl, and 
 close bonnet, over which a large brown gauze veil such 
 as people wore in those days was drawn. And if the 
 worst happened, and she were recognised, it might be 
 Lours before the old gate-keeper or his wife saw anyone 
 from the Castle ; they would scarcely deem it worth their 
 while to take any trouble on her account. From her ear- 
 liest childhood, as we have seen, she had been accustomed 
 to take independent solitary rambles, so that her going 
 forth at this early hour would scarcely surprise anyone 
 who knew her habits. 
 
 And when she reached the lodge the " Water Lodge " 
 it was called, because a broad, shallow stream, an outlet 
 from the Mere, ran near it there were no signs of life, 
 only a belated cat stealing home under the rose-bushes, 
 and a squirrel leaping merrily from tree to tree. Close to 
 the gate was a beautiful Provence rose-tree, covered with
 
 428 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 glowing, richly-perfumed roses, on which the dew still 
 glistened. Clarissa gathered several half-blown flowers as 
 mementoes of the life that was even now becoming a thing 
 of the dead past. She smelt them, inhaled their dewy 
 fragrance, kissed them as if they were sentient beings, put 
 them into her bag, and pursued her way, which now lay 
 along the broad high road, and she had just four miles to 
 walk to Cottleby. 
 
 But though the Castle people were indolent on this fine 
 June morning, the village folk were not, and Clarissa saw 
 several men at a distance, with forks and hay-rakes on 
 their shoulders ; and she heard a shout from a field hard 
 by, telling her that the little world of Orwell beyond the 
 park was already up and doing. She extremely disliked 
 the idea of meeting the villagers, who, to say the least of 
 it, would certainly wonder whither she was going alone, 
 and equipped for a journey, at such untimely hours. She 
 hesitated a moment, and then turned back for a few yards, 
 and soon came to a narrow winding lane, where she would 
 be less likely to encounter anyone who knew her. 
 
 It was a lovely little lane, with grassy banks covered 
 with wild flowers, and high hedges all one mass of strag- 
 gling honeysuckle and briar-roses. The worst of it was, 
 that it was rather too dewy for comfort, and Clarissa re- 
 joiced that she was thickly shod, and attired in raiment 
 that was not easily bedraggled. The lane would take her 
 through a thick pine wood, and then across fields, and 
 along more lanes. She knew every step of the way, and 
 it was a much longer journey than by the road. But that 
 did not matter ; indeed, it was rather an advantage, for she 
 had abundance of time before her, and she did not wish to 
 reach Cottleby till it was almost time for the carrier and 
 his cart. So she went on quietly. She would not be missed 
 till her little sisters were to be dressed, and then no one 
 would suppose anything than that she had taken a 
 longer walk than usual ; and one of the nurses would 
 dress Louie and Lina, and grumble all the while, and 
 call Clarissa names ; but that did not signify. By the 
 time the Countess was informed of her absence she 
 hoped to be safely lodged in the good man's cart, and 
 well on her way to Hunsleigh Port. So, iu the depths
 
 ON THE JOURNET. 
 
 of the wood, she safe down on a fallen treo, and took a 
 little rest, for already her arms were aching with the 
 unaccustomed weight she carried. She had borne heavier 
 hardens to the Woodland Lodge, bat then the way was 
 short, not half the distance she had already travelled, 
 and she was glad to think she need not harry forward. 
 
 The san mounting higher began to warm the air, 
 \vhich at first felt rather chilly. There was a light 
 murmur among the odorous tall pines, flecks of sunshine 
 fell across the shady path, and gleamed upon the mossy 
 ground, thickly strewn with dry " pine-needles " of in- 
 numerable seasons. Every now and then a rabbit scam- 
 pered to his hole, or scudded out of sight, and once a 
 beautiful blue butterfly came flitting through the gloom 
 and settled on the natural bench of which Clarissa had 
 availed herself. She never forgot the aspect of the pine- 
 wood as she saw it on that eventful morning. She waa 
 not aware at the time that she looked with any interest 
 on the various objects about her, but afterwards, recalling 
 the events of her journey, she found that every scene 
 through which she had passed was, in all its details, in- 
 delibly imprinted on her memory. 
 
 She stayed till she felt rested, and then went on by field 
 and wood and shady lane, meeting only one or two country 
 lads, and a little girl who did not seem to recognise her. 
 It was nearly eight o'clock when she saw the little square 
 tower of Cottleby Church before her. She had had all 
 instructions from Mrs. Sweetapple, so that she did not 
 need to ask any questions. She went on till she came to 
 the churchyard, which she entered. She was to rest there 
 in the western porch, from whence she could see the road 
 by which the carrier must arrive. She was to let him pass 
 through the village, and make his nsaal call at the " Blue 
 Dragon," and then, being on before him, she was to stop 
 and request him to take her on to Hnnsleigh Port. 
 
 She sat in the porch, thankful now for the shade, and 
 doubly thankful for the rest, for she had walked at least 
 six miles, the way she had taken being circuitous, and 
 then it was quite a mile from the Castle to the Water 
 Lodge, so that she had probably come nearly seven miles 
 since her scanty breakfast in the larder. She ate one of
 
 430 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 her sandwiches now with something like appetite, and she 
 longed for another draught of milk, bnt she dared not go 
 among the houses to seek for it, lest she should attract 
 attention. In a few minutes, however, a little girl got 
 over a stile, and entered a narrow pathway that crossed 
 the churchyard to the road, and she carried a can, which 
 Clarissa was almost sure contained new milk. As the 
 child approached she took courage and accosted her, in- 
 quiring if she could give her a little milk in exchange for 
 a penny. The little maiden stared, but she did not refuse, 
 and Clarissa took from her bag a small tumbler, which she 
 nsed when mixing water-colours, and which she had put 
 in at the last moment, and said she would give her a penny 
 for as much milk as would fill the tumbler twice. The 
 bargain was concluded, and Clarissa felt all the better for 
 her second breakfast. 
 
 Presently the church clock struck nine, and Clarissa 
 began to feel anxious. Suppose the carrier should not 
 come that day ! Suppose his hours were changed ! Sup- 
 pose his cart should be so loaded that he had no room for 
 a passenger ! Her eyes ached with looking down the dusty 
 white road for the cart that came so tardily. Her anxiety 
 was growing into terror, when at last she saw in the far 
 distance a cloud of dust, and then a sort of van half- 
 covered cart, half-omnibus advancing slowly on its way. 
 But it was the long-desired vehicle, and she watched it up 
 to the inn-door, and then leaving her shelter, proceeded 
 through the village, and when about half-a-mile beyond it, 
 awaited, with beating heart, the arrival of the carrier. 
 
 It seemed hours rather than minutes while she waited, 
 and she had to summon all her courage, when at last he 
 came along, his horse trotting briskly, ere she could frame 
 her request to be taken as a passenger. He stopped, how- 
 ever, and she saw, with exceeding satisfaction, that he was 
 alone, and that he looked like a kindly, honest man. 
 
 " Want a lift, young woman ? " he asked, rather roughly, 
 but not rudely. Clarissa replied that she wanted to go to 
 Hunsleigh Port, and would pay him for the journey. 
 
 He looked at her a moment, evidently surprised at her 
 soft voice and refined speech ; bnt he answered, " Get up, 
 then, and make haste ! You should have mounted at the
 
 OS THE JOURNEY. 431 
 
 'Blue Dragon,' where there's a horse-block, all convenient. 
 Pat your foot on the wheel, and then on the shaft. Woa, 
 Jack, woa ! He don't understand stopping again so soon, 
 because passengers, when I have any, always gets up afe 
 the 'Dragon.' There! steady, now! that's it! You'd 
 best sit on Jack's bag of hay ; for my cart, it don't go on 
 very easy springs, and we've a mile or two of very rough 
 road to go over. Be you all right, miss ? Gee up, 
 Jack ! " 
 
 And Clarissa was safely on her road to the wished-for 
 goal of Hunsleigh Port, where Mrs. Martha's Joe, who had 
 never lived at Orwell, and would not know Lady Clarissa, 
 was to meet her, and put her under the care of the captain 
 of the Mermaid, the small vessel which was to take her on 
 to London Docks. 
 
 The carrier would have liked to converse, but Clarissa 
 felt too much tired and too sad at heart to enter into con- 
 versation ; so after a little while he contented himself with 
 making occasional remarks, and addressing remonstrances 
 to his plodding horse, which seemed determined not to 
 vary from one jog-trot pace after the first two miles be- 
 yond Cottleby. It was past middle day when they stopped 
 at " The Ship," in the busy, fishy-smelling High Street 
 of Hunsleigh Port ; and Clarissa, having paid her fare, 
 /alighted, feeling very stiff, and aching in every limb, from 
 the terrible jolting of the cart. As she stood in the arch- 
 way of the inn-yard, irresolute as to her next movement, 
 she was accosted by a young man of rough speech and 
 nautical appearance: "Be yon from Orwell, miss?'* 
 Clarissa faintly answered in the affirmative ; she did not 
 feel quite certain that this was Sweetie's grandson, to 
 whose charge she was committed. But she was soon re- 
 assured as he continued, " Mother said as how you was a 
 friend of grannie's as wanted to get to London cheap and 
 on the quiet, and she told I to meet you, and take you to 
 a decent place where yon could get a meal, and then see 
 yon safe aboard the Mermaid, which don't ship her anchor 
 till the evening ; so there ain't no hurry, which is lucky, 
 for Peter there is best part of an hour behind time. Ay, 
 he's a slow coach, any day. Come along, miss ; I'll carry 
 your bag."
 
 43'2 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Clarissa followed her escort down the street, and Ihron^h. 
 several narrow, tortuous lanes, which he called " rows " 
 they all smelt villanously of fish and tar. Presently they 
 emerged upon the beach, where all sorts of small vessels 
 were drawn up ; some lading, some unlading, some ap- 
 parently deserted. A few larger ships were riding in the 
 basin, a fleet of boats was coming in from sea, and every- 
 where were masts, sails, nets, anchors, capstans, oars, and 
 sailors ; just such a medley as one finds in the neighbour- 
 hood of docks in a minor seaport, or in what is generally 
 called the "old town" of a prosperous and growing 
 watering-place. 
 
 It was, in fact, to Old Hnnsleigh that Joe had brought 
 Clarissa. They stopped at last at a small, wooden-built, 
 tarred house, with clean windows and whitened doorsteps, 
 and Joe walked in. " Here, mother Peggy ! " he cried to 
 someone who was evidently busy upstairs ; " here's the 
 young woman from Orwell that my mother told you to ex- 
 pect. Come down and see to her, will ye ? She's pretty 
 well dead-beat, seems to me. Sit ye down, miss Peg's 
 a-coming." 
 
 Clarissa sank into a well-cushioned chair, near the fire, 
 by which a pot was simmering, and Joe, telling her he 
 would come for her about dusk, and that he could not stop 
 a moment longer then, hurried away, before the mistress 
 of the house made her appearance. Clarissa sat up 
 nervously, as a heavy step was heard descending the stairs, 
 but she was reassured when a brown-faced, motherly- 
 looking woman made a curtsey, and said she was very 
 glad to see her. The curtsey seemed quite natural to 
 Clarissa, but it is a fact that mistress Peg had not come 
 down with any idea of being deferential. She had expected 
 a girl of her own class an nnder-servant probably to 
 whom she had promised to be kind, and to whom she could 
 talk familiarly ; and here vras certainly a young lady, and, 
 as it seemed to her, a young lady in disguise ! That, how- 
 ever, as she said afterwards, was " neither here nor there !" 
 Gentle or simple, the poor thing wanted to be " mothered," 
 and she had come to the right shop for that when she 
 ta.me to her, Peggy Tibbs, the Mother of thirteen children, 
 all alive and prospering ! So she spoke tenderly, though
 
 ON THE JOUEXET. 
 
 respectfully, to Clarissa. " Sit ye still, my tfear, yon look 
 just tired to death ; but perhaps^ you would rather go up- 
 stairs, for it's hot here, 'cos of the bit of fire I must keep 
 for the cooking -and the back place smokes so when the 
 wind is in this quarter. Then, too, it's open house down 
 here ; all my neighbours steps in, as I steps into them, if I 
 feels disposed, and p'raps you'd like to be more private ? " 
 
 Clarissa thought she would rather not run the gauntlet 
 of all the neighbours, and the small kitchen really was- 
 oppressively hot ; she was afraid, too, she was going to 
 have one of her bad, prostrating headaches. So she fol- 
 lowed her hostess to the upper room, where all was clean 
 and quiet and comfortable, and as cool as it could be on 
 such a burning day. 
 
 " Now then," said Mrs. Tibbs, " take off your bonnet 
 and shawl, and put your feet up, and lie back in that easy 
 chair, while I dish ye up a bit of dinner. I've got as nice* 
 a<siew in the pot as ever you tasted, and I'll give ye the 
 recipe if ye would like to have it : ' A neck of lamb, not 
 too fat, cut up into pieces and simmered never let come 
 to the boil till it's that tender it melts in your month , 
 and with it green peas, and two or three young carrots, if 
 ye can get them, and sweet herbs, and half-a-dozen spring 
 onions, just to flavour, with a drop of mushroom catsup, 
 and pepper and salt to taste.' A sea-captain's wife gave 
 me the recipe, she did, and ' if it's homely it's a fine dish, 
 fit for a lady of title,' says she. And I do hope you'll 
 relish it." 
 
 "Thank you! I am sure it will be nice," replied 
 Clarissa; and Mrs. Tibbs bustled down to prepare her 
 dinner-tray, little guessing that she really had got ready 
 her appetising stew for a " lady of title." In ten minutes, 
 she was back again, and Clarissa's dinner was before her. 
 At first she thought she could not eat a mouthful, but as 
 she ate a little, appetite returned, and certainly Mistress 
 Tibbs had not overpraised her cookery. The stew wa 
 eerved in coarse earthenware, the knife and fork were 
 black-handled and roughly made, the spoon was pewter, 
 the pepper-box japanned tin, and the salt, which was 
 neither fine nor white, was in an old pomatum-pot. Bat 
 the stew itself was delicious, and everything was as clea
 
 434 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 as it conld be ; and Clarissa made a better dinner than 
 she expected, though her hostess scolded her for not 
 eating more, and vainly coaxed her to try " jnst another 
 little bit." 
 
 " But ye don't ought to drink cold water, child," she 
 said presently, " and I haven't got no wine, an' I doubt 
 ye wouldn't take to my beer." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you," replied Clarissa, " I always 
 drink water at my meals ; I never take stimulant except 
 as medicine." 
 
 " Stimulant ! I don't know what that is. I only know 
 beer, and port, and sherry, and British wines which 
 ain't worth the drinking and spirits. Ah ! I know, I'll 
 give you a drop of medicine." 
 
 And away she went into another room, but soon she re- 
 appeared with a little glass in her hand, half full of some- 
 thing. "There now," she said, "you just drink that 
 4 tis what you want I shan't charge it." 
 
 " It is brandy," said Clarissa, as she held it in her hand. 
 
 *' It's medicine," returned Mrs. Tibbs, " and you've got 
 to take it. Don't sip it, drink it down ; maybe it's 
 tincture of rhubarb ! " 
 
 Clarissa drank it obediently. She felt she could trust 
 Martha's friend, and she was not strong enough just then 
 to make resistance. 
 
 " There now, that's a good lass," said Mrs. Tibbs, taking 
 back the tumbler ; "now I'll tell ye what ye've taken 
 jnst a dessert-spoonful of the finest French brandy that 
 was ever distilled, in twice the quantity of water; and 
 that brandy never paid no duty ! It will do ye a sight of 
 good, for yo wanted a fillip to make ye go to sleep one 
 can't sleep if one is over tired. Now lie yon down on that 
 bed, and I'll put yer shawl over you, and go to sleep like a 
 dear. Ye'll be as safe as if ye was in your own mother's 
 keeping, and I'll come and wake you when the right time 
 comes." 
 
 Thankfully Clarissa acceded to the kind proposal. In 
 five minutes after she lay down the bustle on the quay 
 outside sounded like a lullaby, thoughts and remembrances 
 became confused and dim, and in five minutes more she 
 was sound asleep.
 
 LADT CLARISSA. 435 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 "THE MERMAID." 
 
 ** Wherever He may guide me, 
 
 No want shall turn me back ; 
 My Shepherd is beside me, 
 
 And nothing can I lack. 
 His wisdom ever waketh, 
 
 His sight is never dim, 
 He knows the way He taketh, 
 
 And I will walk with Him." 
 
 * Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene, one step enough for me." 
 
 AND while she slept, Clarissa dreamed a strange and 
 beautiful dream. She thought she was journeying alone 
 and desolate across a wide arid plain ; her feet were bare 
 and bleeding, her garments were old and tattered, the 
 path was flinty, overhead was a scorching sun, in a cloud- 
 less but dun-coloured sky, and she was so weak and tired 
 that she could scarcely struggle on. She looked around 
 not a tree, not a shelter of any kind, not a living creature 
 was in sight there was nothing behind, before, on either 
 hand, but the great bare, sandy desert, and night would 
 soon arrive, and the wild beasts would come forth, and she 
 would have neither food, nor defence, nor resting-place ! 
 And on she went plodding through the wilderness, wishing 
 ia her great misery that she might die. Presently she 
 was in a mighty city. It did not seem like London ; she 
 had never seen the streets before, and she was alone, as she 
 Lad been on the great plain. But the solitude was worse 
 here than there, for the multitudes who passed by scowled 
 at her, some jeered and laughed, some mocked at her rags 
 and naked feet; no one offered her bread, or a refuga 
 where she might lay her head, or tittered one kindly word. 
 It seemed to her in her dream that a long, long time 
 passed, and there arrived no relief. Sometimes she was in 
 the desert, sometimes in the unpitying, stony streets ; ROW 
 
 28-2
 
 436 IADY CLARISSA. 
 
 it was midnight darkness, now a burning tropical noon ; 
 bat always the sense of desolation and of anguish and dis- 
 may. And then she had prayed almost wildly for help 
 an angel came to her, and told her that God had sent 
 him to bid her be of good cheer, for the days of trial would 
 soon be over, and she wonld be blest above all that heart 
 could wish. Aid was coming coming fast and joy was 
 coming too joy and love and peace, till her cup should be 
 brimful and running over. And the angel led her up 
 and down the city, and across the wilderness, till at last 
 he said, " Now must Heave thee, dear child ; but thon art 
 in thy Father's land, and it shall be well with thee now, 
 henceforth, and for ever. Blessed are they who shall be 
 steadfast to the end. Weeping may endure for a night, 
 but joy cometh in the morning ! Be thou faithful unto 
 death!" 
 
 And when she turned to answer the angel, he was 
 another, yet the same. The sheeny wings, the glistening 
 robe, the radiant brightness, the aureole, were gone, and 
 instead thereof were mortal lineaments, time-worn and 
 sad ; kind eyes, grey locks, and a frame somewhat bent 
 and yet the face of the stranger, though purely human, 
 seemed one with that of the celestial visitant ; and while 
 Clarissa gazed with wonder and with awe, not unmixed 
 with reverent affection, she awoke and she was on the 
 humble bed, covered with her shabby shawl, in Mrs. Tibbs' 
 hospitable upper chamber and behold ! it was a dream. 
 
 Only a dream a mere phantasy of the o'er-wearied 
 brain ; but somehow it comforted the forlorn girl, and she 
 felt encouraged. But who was the stranger ? The face 
 seemed familiar, even as it faded into vacancy. It was 
 the face of one she had loved or so she imagined but 
 when, or where ? It was not her father's face ; it was 
 not, as far as she could remember, that of anyone she had 
 ever seen before. Would she see it in the days to come ? 
 Would it be the face of a friend, when most she needed 
 one ? An elderly man such was the stranger of her 
 dream much worn, grey-headed, and with a long, iron- 
 grey beard ; dark eyes surely very much like her own. 
 No ! they were her mother's eyes, as she had seen them in 
 her portrait, and full of kindness, sweetness, and pure
 
 "THE MEHMAID." 437 
 
 benevolence. A man whose face, whose whole mien and 
 aspect, invited confidence ; one whom she felt she could 
 trust with life itself, and trust to death, if, indeed, such a 
 man actually existed, and if they ever met. Two tremen- 
 dous ifs, at thought of which, Clarissa laughed at herself 
 for her credulity. 
 
 And while she mused on her dream, which had been so 
 vivid, and had seemed, especially at the last, so very real, 
 she fell asleep again, and when next she awoke, the even- 
 ing rays were slanting on the dark patched sails, and on 
 the wooden pier she could see from the low window. The 
 sea was like molten glass, flushing here and there to 
 golden hues. She knew that it must be near the sunset 
 hour. Ere she could rise Mrs. Tibbs came to the bed- 
 side. " What ! you are awake ? " she said, " I wa3 
 coming to disturb you, for the Mermaid will sail in 
 another hour, and you must have a good dish of tea 
 before you say good-bye to the old port. Eh ! but you 
 have had a nice sleep. I've been in and looked at yon 
 several times, and there you were as fast as the Monu- 
 ment, which I never saw, because I never travelled to 
 London town. Don't yon feel quite fresh and peart, my 
 ladybird ? " 
 
 " I feel wonderfully better," said Clarissa, "only still 
 a little stiff with being shaken and jolted in that dreadful 
 cart. I thought some of my bones would be dislocated." 
 
 " And you are not used to riding about in carts, miss, I 
 should say ? You are more used to your own coach ia 
 my guess ? " 
 
 Clarissa was silent, and resolved not to complain of the 
 next vehicle in which she travelled, even if her bones were 
 broken. 
 
 " Snre you are never going to service ? '* 
 
 " I do not know what I am going to. I am going to get 
 my own living, for I have only myself to depend upon, 
 and the money I have will not last me long. I. am quite a 
 poor girl." 
 
 " Poor you may be, but you are a lady! Deary me! 
 Peggy Tibbs knows gentlefolks when she sees 'em, though 
 ehe's nought but a mariner's wife herself. You can't say 
 you're not a lady born, now ? "
 
 438 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Peggy Tibbs," replied Clarissa, sweetly, 
 " pray do not question me ! I have my secret, and a 
 very sad secret it is, but there is nothing dishonourable 
 -in it, nothing that I am afraid to talk to God about, 
 There are people I think I am not wrong when I call 
 them my enemies and it is of the greatest consemiene^ 
 that I should not be traced. You are so very kind, and 
 you look so good and motherlike, I am bure 1 may 
 trust you." 
 
 "And so you may, and I won't worry you no more, 
 and whatever happens I'll stand your friend, or my name 
 ain't Peggy Tibbs, only I was christened Margaret, but my 
 man, that's at sea, he always called me Peggy, from the 
 first day we kept company, and that's many a year agone. 
 Poor lamb ! I hope the Lord will be your friend, and then 
 ye needn't be cast down. Now, I won't ask no more ques- 
 tions ; only, there is somebody in London for ye to go to, 
 when ye get there, I hope ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have a good, kind friend to go to, a respect- 
 able married woman, and she will lodge me under her roof. 
 She has known me all my life, and she knew my parents. 
 But I must work to keep myself." 
 
 " Ah ! I am right glad ye have someone to take care of 
 ye. For ye are a bit of a thing, and look very young, and 
 if ye ain't axackly pretty, ye have a very taking w&y with 
 you. And London's a dreadful wicked place, full of pits 
 and snares. Ill betide the girl that walks London streets 
 without a friend ! There are places, my dear, where even 
 virtue and innocence are no safer than lambs in lions' 
 dens ; so take care. I'd not like ye to come to harm." 
 
 " Please God, I will come to good, and not harm. But; 
 virtue has a stronger power than many people think* 
 Yon never read about Una and her Lion perhaps ? " 
 
 " Never ! Is it a true story ? Won't you tell it me ? I 
 do like stories good ones, above everything." 
 
 " I am afraid I could not tell it now. I ought to get up 
 and wash and dress, and get ready for going on board. 
 But I promise that if ever you and I meet again, I will tel] 
 you the beautiful story of ' Una and her Lion.' " 
 
 " That's a bargain, then ! And now I'll go and get ye 
 your tea downstairs. There's water and soap and a clean
 
 "THE MERMAID." 439 
 
 towel, and I've brushed yer gownd where it was dirty 
 round the bottom, so I'll go and leave ye to make what 
 the French call your twilight." 
 
 Clarissa could not but smile at the good woman's 
 French rendering, and she made her "twilight" with re- 
 vived spirits. Surely, people were very kind to her I 
 Then she had her tea, which she quite enjoyed, and then,. 
 as it was growing dusk, and Joe might be expected any- 
 minute, she took out her purse, and asked Mrs. Tibbs 
 what she had to pay. 
 
 " Pay ! " exclaimed Peggy ; " not a stiver ! Do ye 
 think I'd take money from such as ye, my dear ? As to 
 what ye've had, ye are right welcome just a bite of meat, 
 and a taste of vegetables, and a cup of tea ! I shouldn't 
 be worthy to be called a Christian if I wanted to be paid 
 for that. So put up your purse, dear miss, and don't say 
 another word." 
 
 " But, indeed," urged Clarissa, " I came to you like any 
 other wayfarer. I should have gone to an inn, only I 
 was afraid, and I wanted to be quiet, and I have no 
 right " 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! you've all the right in the world. To-day 
 it's my right to give, yours to take. Some day, perhaps, 
 it will be jnst the other way. Now, my dear, don't vex 
 me ; the Lord sent you here, and told me to be a mother 
 to you while I had the chance ; and don't I know who it 
 was said, ' I was a stranger, and ye took Me in.' It's no 
 good our calling of ourselves Christians if we don't do as 
 Christ did. That's my religion." 
 
 "And the world would be a happy place if it was every- 
 body's religion, and what you offer me in that holy and 
 blessed Name I cannot refuse. But I shall never forget 
 your kindness ; it has done me more good than even the 
 good food and the comfortable rest. I feel quite hopeful 
 now, and when I entered your house I was almost iu 
 despair." 
 
 Before Peggy conld answer through her tears, Joe 
 rushed in, exclaiming, " Now, miss, the Mermaid is all 
 ready, and the skipper says you must come on board at 
 onst, if you means to sail with he. So please make 
 haste."
 
 440 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " I must go with yon to the ship," said Mrs. Tibbs, stick- 
 ing an old bonnet on the top of her grizzled locks. " I 
 mast tell yon captain to look after ye a bit. He's a friend 
 of mine, and an old married man, and he's got daughters 
 of his own. Ye may trust him he's a Primitive." 
 
 Clarissa had no idea what a "Primitive" was, but she 
 felt sure, from her friend's tone, that it must be something 
 very good ; and she was quite prepared to respect the cap- 
 4ain of the fast-sailing schooner Mermaid. They threaded 
 their way through groups of jolly tars, smelling of the 
 -Bait sea, through regiments of boats, and coils of ropes, and 
 .heaps of fishing-nets, and piles of caulking, and bales of 
 goods, and crowds of children, who were evidently half- 
 amphibious ; and over all was a fragrance of sea-weed and 
 pitch and salt breezes, tempered by a decided odour of red 
 herrings and tobacco. 
 
 Five minutes brought them to the Mermaid, which re- 
 ceived them figuratively that is with open arms. The 
 'Captain and Mrs. Tibbs were old friends, and Joe was as 
 *nnch at home on board as anywhere, and Clarissa 
 was clearly to be taken into the association without more 
 edo. 
 
 " All right," said the Captain, when the moment of part- 
 ing came. "I'll take care of her, and keep my eye on 
 her, till her friends in London take her in tow. She shall 
 have the best of everything on board the Mermaid, though 
 the best ain't much to boast of, I'm afraid. But there's 
 the little state-room at her disposal, and Polly Spratt, my 
 mate's wife, will look after her ; and the wind's just right, 
 and the tide in our favour ; and I think we are going to 
 have a wonderful quick passage. With a smooth sea, we 
 ought to be in London Docks by twelve o'clock to-morrow. 
 They're a-heaving up the anchor, Mistress Peggy you 
 must go ashore, if you don't want to go w r ith us to 
 London." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind ! I'd relish the trip. But what 
 would my lads say when they corned in presently and found 
 no mother and no supper ? Good-bye, my .dear ; God bless 
 ye, and bring ye out f all your troubles, as He will as He 
 my dear, in His own good time." 
 
 " Amen ! " cried the Captain, doffing his cap. -And Polly
 
 "TIIK MERMAID." 441 
 
 Spratt, who had jnst emerged from a dark hole that looked 
 like the mouth of Tartarus, exclaimed, "Hallelnjah ! " 
 from which circumstance it may be presumed that Mistress 
 Spratt was also of the Primitive persuasion. It was all 
 new to Clarissa ; but she rather liked the sound of it. 
 Then Mrs. Tibbs kissed her heartily, saying, " And don't 
 forget Peggy Tibbs, of ' Diana Cottage, the Old Quay, 
 Hunsleigh Port.' " 
 
 The Captain's predictions were fully realised. The sea 
 was as smooth as the little inland mere at Orwell ; tho 
 breeze, though, cool, was by no means chilly, and the rosy 
 sunset clouds still lingered in the western sky. 
 
 " These summer nights are beautiful," said the Captain to 
 Clarissa, when they were well out to sea, and the little- 
 town they had left was growing dim and faint in the soft, 
 grey twilight. " That red light yonder won't die out, 
 mayhap, all night if night you can call it, when it's 
 never dark not till the Lord sends us the dawn of 
 another day. I often think of what David said, ' Thou 
 makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to re- 
 joice ! ' I can't understand those seafaring folk that havo 
 no fear of God before their eyes ; no people see so much of 
 the works of the Lord as mariners. ' They that go down 
 to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these 
 see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.' 
 They see Him in the storm and in the calm, in the raging 
 waves and in the placid river with its white houses, and 
 green banks, that leads them safe into port, even unto 
 their desired haven. And this world's a great sea, and 
 life's a voyage, my dear young lady, and the same God 
 that brings the ships safe into harbour will bring those 
 who trust Him safe to their heavenly rest their desired 
 haven, yonder, far away, we don't know where. ' Oh that 
 men would praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His 
 wonderful works to the children of men.' " 
 
 And Clarissa could not help joining audibly in Mrs. 
 Spratt's ' Amen" 
 
 She remained a good while in the comfortable seat tho 
 Captain had found for her, watching the still golden lino 
 upon the horizon, and its reflection on the rippling waves. 
 As this was only a coasting vessel, and the sea was so
 
 442 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 calm, they did not go very far from land, and as it grew 
 dark they could see the twinkling lights of towns and 
 villages ashore; and overhead, the pale stars shone out in 
 the bine transparent sky. Every now and then they saw a 
 light-ship warning them off the sfcotfs which abounded in 
 certain parts of that coast, and once or twice they passed, 
 at some distance, tall lighthouses, from which clear, broad 
 rays, as if from some giant planet, shone out across the 
 waters. It was almost midnight when Clarissa descended 
 to the fnnny little " state-room " appropriated to her use. 
 She lay down without undressing, thinking she would not 
 be able to sleep ; but the rocking motion of the vessel, and 
 the lapping of the water against the sides, soon lulled her 
 to peaceful slumbers, which lasted till another morning's 
 sunshine sparkled on the sea. 
 
 By-and-by the schooner slackened her pace, and jnst as 
 Clarissa arrived on deck a boat came alongside, and there 
 was evidently some business to be transacted. That over, 
 the boat and the rowers went back to the spreading town 
 from whence they came, and xhe Captain informed his pas- 
 senger that it was Harwich, whence a great many vessels 
 sailed for Dutch and German ports. " We ought to have 
 been farther on our way," he said. "We should have 
 made Harwich, an hour ago, but we were pretty well be- 
 calmed all night. However, there is a fine fresh breeze 
 springing np now, that will waft us up the river fast 
 enough. And first thing, you must have your breakfast. 
 Ahoy there ! Polly Spratt, just see to this young lady's 
 rations, will ye ? " 
 
 Clarissa half expected sea biscuits and something which 
 \vas called " salt junk," with a possible offer of " grog ; " 
 but in a quarter of an hour, when Mrs. Spratt, acting as 
 stewardess, summoned her to the meal, she found quite a 
 dainty set out of hot coffee, toast, eggs, and potted meats 
 to say nothing of kippered fish and two large saucers 
 of preserve ! There was enough breakfast for half-a- 
 dozen people. Clarissa supposed she had a sea-appetite, 
 for she never remembered having tasted such delicious 
 toast, such eggs, such fish ! As for the coffee it was 
 ambrosial, and Mrs. Spratt informed Clarissa that it was 
 made French fashion, and that she learned the way when
 
 "THE MERMAID." 443 
 
 she was at Nantes, and at Bourdeaux, and at Marseilles, 
 years and years ago. 
 
 " You have been in France a good deal, then," said 
 Clarissa. 
 
 "My dear," replied Polly, confidentially, "I've been 
 pretty nigh all over the world ! and I know the coasts of 
 many countries as well as our skipper himself do. Where 
 my man goes I go. I've sailed with him ever since we 
 married, and that's very near upon eight-and-twenty years 
 ago. We never had any family, so we've kept together 
 on the water as well as on the land. I stayed ashore 
 once, while my hnsband went a pretty long voyage, bat 
 I had qnite enough of it ; I never let him sail without 
 me again. I've been with him to Japan, and to China, 
 and to St. Petersburg, and to Constantinople, and to 
 the Cape, and to New Zealand, and to the West Indies, 
 and pretty near everywhere ; and I've found out that the 
 world's a biggish place, and that there's lots of good 
 folks in it that don't know a word of English. It makes 
 one liberal-like to travel, that it do." 
 
 While Clarissa breakfasted, and talked to Mrs. Spratt 
 about many things among them the Primitives the 
 schooner was proceeding on her way, at I dare not say, 
 not being nautical, how many " knots an hour." Indeed, 
 to confess the truth, I am not at all sure of the relations 
 between miles and knots, so I will not attempt to chronicle 
 the speed of the Mermaid, as her prow cut the water on 
 that pleasant summer morning. Suffice it to remark, that 
 when at last, after a long talk, Clarissa went up on deck 
 again, they were no longer on the open sea, but in the 
 mouth of the river, with a clear coast-line on either side of 
 them. 
 
 And by-and-by the shores drew nearer together, and the 
 river gradually narrowed, and the Captain and his crew, 
 Mrs. Spratt included, began to bo very busy. The Captain, 
 however, found leisure from time to time to point out to 
 his passenger certain places as they passed, and they now 
 went much more slowly, for the tide was running in rather 
 heavily, and the river was fall of vessels and boats, and all 
 sorts of craft, from the splendid merchantman to the little 
 wherry. It amused Clarissa to watch the men drawing in
 
 444- LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the sails, and to listen to the queer langnage in 
 orders were issued and answers returned, and she liked to 
 look at the banks, especially as they drew near Limehouse, 
 and forests of masts and rigging rose up on either hand. 
 
 " And those are the West India Docks, miss," said Mrs. 
 Spratt, who had finished doing something to a huge coil 
 of rope ; " and there's Rotherhithe on the other side. And 
 now we are just into ' The Pool,' and soon we'll come to 
 Shadwell, and then to Wapping, and after that it's 
 nothing to the dock, and it's a very fine voyage we have 
 made, bless the Lord ! " 
 
 But as the vessel approached its destination Clarissa 
 began to feel nervous again. She had felt so safe and com- 
 fortable on board the Mermaid that she thought she would 
 like to make a little floating home of it, as Mrs. Spratt 
 and her sailor-husband did. That could not be, however, 
 so she tried to prepare herself for any emergency that 
 might arise, fervently hoping that Fancy would be on 
 shore to meet her, as she had promised Sweetie. 
 
 " I ought to be ashamed of myself," thought she, 
 41 having these misgivings and fears, when I think how I 
 have been cared for ever since I left Orwell Castle 
 yesterday morning. All has been made plain for me, and 
 the way prepared, and such kind friends raised up ! The 
 carrier was kind and respectful, Mrs. Tibbs was more than 
 kind, and I shall always love this dear old Captain, and 
 remember Polly Spratt. Of course, God put it into their 
 hearts to be so good to me, and they are all His own 
 people, that is, all but the carrier, and I am not sure 
 about him, in the sense I mean. Dear me, I am forgetting 
 to pay ! " 
 
 But the Captain was as inexorable as Mrs. Tibbs. "Bless 
 me, no ! Why should I take your poor little money ? " 
 eaid the good man. " You are very welcome to your 
 passage, and to all you have had, and I only wish I could 
 have treated you better, I do. But, yon see, this ain't a 
 passenger vessel. I only carry a friend now and then, and 
 should be ashamed of myself if I ever took a fare ; indeed, 
 I don't know whether it would not be illegal to convey 
 you for payment, and you wouldn't like to get me into a 
 ecrape, now, would yon, missy ? And if ever you want to
 
 THE MERMAID. 
 
 go back again I'll be most proud to take you. Drop mo 
 a, note at the address I'll give yon. I alsvays put up at 
 the same house in Wapping, and what's sent to my good 
 landlady always finds me first or last." 
 
 A few minutes later they landed, and Clarissa looked 
 anxiously around her. Yes ; there was Fancy. No ; was 
 it ? Another moment, and Clarissa was locked in Fancy's 
 arms, and she felt that she was safe at home, and that her 
 long and hazardous journey was at an end. It had not, 
 however, been anything like so terrible as she had feared 
 it would be. 
 
 " Can we walk to your house, Fancy ? " asked Clarissa. 
 
 " No, indeed, my lady ! It's miles and miles to Chelsea, 
 where I live." 
 
 " I did not know it -was at Chelsea you lived ; but. 
 Fancy, you must not address me as ' my lady.' I am Miss 
 Leigh now, Miss Clara Leigh." 
 
 " I shall never frame my month to it," said Fancy ; 
 " but if I must I'll try. We must take a cab for a little 
 way, and then we shall find an omnibus that will set us 
 down at the top of our own street. I am sure yon are 
 very tired, dear, and, oh ! I dare say you are hungry 
 you've had no dinner, and it's between one and two." 
 
 " I have fared sumptuously ever since I got to Hnnsleigh 
 Port, yesterday. I had a breakfast fit for a queen, and I 
 have just been ' obligated,' as Mrs. Spratt said, to eat 
 sundry good things by way of luncheon." 
 
 " In that case, we'll make the best of our way home, 
 Hud have an early tea."
 
 446 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 HUE AND CRT. 
 
 " She was not found ; 
 
 Nor from that hour could anything be guessed, 
 But that she was not." 
 
 WE may consider Clarissa as safely established tinder 
 Mrs. Sannders' roof, in a neat, well-ordered little house, in 
 a certain respectable street turning out of the well-known 
 thoroughfare of King's Road, Chelsea. She had what 
 people who let lodgings generally call "drawing-room 
 apartments " that is to say, rooms on the first floor ; in 
 this case, a sitting-room and bedroom on one level, open- 
 ing into each other. Accustomed her whole life long to 
 Orwell Castle, or to the family mansion in a West End 
 square, Clarissa at first felt herself rather restricted as to 
 space ; but she soon became nsed to a parlour fifteen feet 
 square, and a bedroom even smaller. Everything was 
 beautifully clean, and scrupulously neat ; and Fancy had 
 brought out all her best for the benefit of her dear young 
 lady. But there was, nevertheless, a good deal on all 
 sides that offended Clarissa's refined habits and artistic 
 tastes. The Saunders' had furnished this drawing-room 
 over the shop, and the adjoining bedroom, with a view to 
 "letting;" and they considered that they had successfully 
 combined both economy and effect, when they had laid 
 down a gaudy, many-coloured carpet, that might have 
 vied with the Babylonish garments of ancient days ; and 
 a hearth-rug, chiefly conspicuous for huge pink, blue, and 
 scarlet roses, of the size of full-grown cabbages ; when they 
 had set thereon a cneap chifonnier. half-a-dozen chairs 
 with hard, horse-hair seats, a horse-hair sofa, with brass 
 mouldings, and a centre table, of course ; and when they 
 had placed, by way of ornament, sundry cheap china 
 figures and spill-cups on the chimney-piece. 
 
 Fancy, knowing better than her husband what was 
 required, made various additions when her young lady
 
 HOE AND CRY. 447 
 
 was expected ; but, in spite of all contrivances, the 
 "apartments" looked anything but beautiful in the eyes 
 of their new occupant, who would have preferred better 
 things, even in an advanced stage of shabbiness. Tho 
 sitting-room, however, had a very fair light for painting, 
 and when Clarissa had unpacked her own effects, had 
 hung up Susan's portrait and two or three small pictures 
 which had accompanied it, had arranged the very few 
 books she had in her possession, together with her work- 
 basket and writing-case, had disposed the furniture a 
 little less formally, and had settled where her easel should 
 stand when she had procured it, she thought the aspect ot 
 affairs in general much more promising. Moreover, she 
 determined to put down with a strong hand anything 
 like fastidiousness and discontent on her own part, and to 
 take up most thoroughly and entirely the new, strange life 
 to which she had committed herself to become Miss 
 Clara Leigh, the poor artist, in real earnest, and sink till 
 better days perhaps for ever the high-born Lady 
 Clarissa Oakleigh. 
 
 And here, for a short space, we leave Lady Clarissa 
 settling herself in " furnished apartments," and thankful 
 for many mercies, hopeful for the future, and striving 
 hard to cultivate a healthy and, therefore, Christian frame 
 of mind, while we return to Orwell Castle, in order to dis- 
 cover what were the feelings of its inmates when it became 
 known that she had clandestinely removed herself from 
 the scene of her persecutions, and from the proximity of 
 her obnoxious suitor. 
 
 Things went very much as Clarissa to herself had 
 prophesied. At eight o'clock on the morning of her flight 
 the ladies Louisa and Selina were still en-robe-de-nuit t 
 and clamouring loudly for their sister to come, according 
 to custom, and dress them. The whole staff of nurse- 
 maids refused to do " what was not their work ! " Afc 
 length, the children getting desperate, and beginning 
 to attire themselves, an under-maid was despatched to 
 Lady Clarissa's room to inquire into the cause of so un- 
 wonted a delay. The girl came back open-mouthed 
 " She isn't there ; the door is wide open, and the room- 
 ail the rooms are empty."
 
 4 IB LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " She hag taken one of her long morning rambles, I'll 
 warrant yon," said Mrs. Cray. " This isn't the first time 
 she has been late with the children, and I shall just take 
 it upon myself to represent to my lady that I can't keep 
 proper order in the nurseries if there is to be irregularity. 
 Besides, it's not respectable, a young girl like Lady Clarissa, 
 wandering about by herself, the goodness knows where 
 and with whom ! And it can't be healthy, going trapes - 
 ing through the grass before the dew is dried. It's not a 
 week since I heard of her a mile away from home, and the 
 clock had not gone five. My lady ought to know." 
 
 "Perhaps," argued one of the under-nurses, "she has 
 gone out with Mr. Chatters ? " 
 
 "Not she," returned Mrs. Cray, scornfully; "it's my 
 belief she hates that young man like poison, and how she 
 ever got engaged to him, as they say she is, is more than 
 I can understand ! No ! no ! it isn't Mr. Chatters that 
 takes her out of her bed, before it's well daylight there's 
 someone else, I think, though I don't know who. But I 
 tell you what, Bell, you had better set to and dress the 
 young ladies yourself ; there will be a fuss if they are kept 
 waiting any longer." 
 
 And while Bell attended to Louie and Selina, who were 
 both very cross at Clarissa's supposed negligence, Mrs. 
 Cray and her satellites wondered garrulously who the 
 young man could be, with whom, to Mr. Chatters' injury, 
 the cnlprifc was accused of taking her walks abroad. Bat 
 as Lady Clarissa had scarcely ever spoken to any young 
 man iii the neighbourhood, they found it impossible to 
 pitch upon any especial person, the curate being a married 
 man, and the organist, who, at one time, gave her lessons 
 in music, living at a distance. 
 
 And the little girls were dressed, and what was termed 
 the schoolroom breakfast was announced, and Clarissa, 
 the usual president over the bread-and-milk and new-laid 
 eggs, was still absent without leave. 
 
 " She must have gone a most tremendous way," the 
 nursemaids remarked. Louie suggested that she must have 
 lost herself ; and Lina lisped, with her month fall of bread- 
 and-milk, " P'aps poor Clary is tummelled into the water 
 adain ! " And then Mrs. Cray said, if she did not come in
 
 HUB AND CUT. 4-19 
 
 soon, someone had better go and tell Mr. Chatters, and 
 really my lady ought to know at once ! And the nurses, 
 in chorus, assented. 
 
 Breakfast being over, Mrs. Cray called Mademoiselle 
 Coralie to counsel. The servants really began to imagine 
 that some terrible accident had befallen Lady Clarissa, 
 And they were anxious to divide, as far as possible, the 
 burden of responsibility. Coralie sniffed, and turned up 
 her nose, and answered crossly, " Well, and what if the 
 pauvre miladi did choose to make a long promenade, 
 what was it to anybody ? M. Chattaire ? No, indeed ! 
 he was still in his own room, and milord and M. Oakleigh 
 had just gone up to him to give him some cold peeg ! And 
 miladi herself had had a cup of tea an hour ago, and sho 
 had commanded not to be disturb, till she did make ring 
 her bell." 
 
 But for all her vehemence, Coralie privately thought it 
 rather strange, and she determined to go to Lady 
 Clarissa's room, and see if there were anything unusual 
 to be observed. So, after declaring that she neither would 
 nor could disturb the Countess, nor permit anyone else to 
 approach her before the summons came, she left the 
 nurses to their gossip, and went to make her observations. 
 The quick eye of the Frenchwoman at once perceived that 
 the room had not quite its accustomed aspect. She 
 opened one or two drawers, and they were partly emptied, 
 a good deal of linen was certainly absent, and at least 
 three dresses appeared to be missing from the pegs where 
 they were wont to hang. Then Coralie went into the 
 sitting-room, and lo ! Miss Shrosbery's portrait was gone, 
 and some other pictures, many books, and all the paint- 
 ing apparatus, save the easels, and sundry other articles 
 belonging to Clarissa. 
 
 " She has gone, runned away ! made what is called the 
 elopement ! " said Coralie, throwing up her hands. " Me, 
 I blame her not ! I only do wonder she has stayed so 
 long to be insult, and persecute, and badly treat by nearly 
 everybody in the house ! Pauvre petite ! But I hope no 
 harm will happen to her. May Our Lady and the dear 
 saints preserve her ; for she is good yes, vairy good ! 
 But it is bad for the young girl to be out in the world 
 
 29
 
 450 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 without one protector, and they will say most evil things 
 of her if she is really gone. Pauvre miladi Clarisse ! 
 Shall I go to the Countess ? What for should I go ? I 
 will not be the one to set the hounds upon the hare ! If 
 she have anywhere safe to go to, I hope they will never 
 find her. Ah ! now I know why she look so pale and so 
 sad last night." 
 
 Thus it came to pass that it was between ten and eleven 
 before Lady Orwell heard of her step-daughter's disappear- 
 ance, and then she was informed, not by Coralie, but by 
 the young Earl himself, who, having listened to the 
 nursery comments, rushed straightway to his mother's 
 room, shouting, "Ma! I say, ma ! what do you think? 
 Clarissa's gone ! and Chatters thinks she has cut and 
 run ! " 
 
 "Clarissa gone? What do you mean, Orwell?" in- 
 quired the Countess, with a yawn, and only half awake. 
 " She has taken a walk, no doubt." 
 
 " Yes," replied the boy ; " but she went out a long 
 time ago, and she is not come back, and Louie and Lina 
 had breakfast without her, and Chatters says lie knows 
 she has mizzled." 
 
 " What time is it ?" 
 
 " Going on for eleven." 
 
 "Find Coralie, and send her here this moment;" and 
 Lady Orwell pulled violently at the bell. Coralie answered 
 it with all despatch ; she had seen Lord Orwell enter his 
 mamma's chamber, and she quite comprehended the loud 
 and violent ringing a minute afterwards. 
 
 ' ; What is all this, Coralie?" demanded her ladyship. 
 " The Earl informs me that Lady Clarissa is missing. 
 What docs he mean ? " 
 
 " Miladi Clarisse went out for her usual promenade de 
 matin, and she have not yet return, that is all, miladi," re- 
 plied Coralie, innocently. 
 
 " Bat she ought to have returned," said Lady Orwell, 
 imperiously; "the children must be waiting for their 
 lessons." 
 
 " Nais oui ! " was Coralie's cool response, with a shrug 
 ef her shoulders that might mean anything. 
 
 " Dress me as quickly as you can. Orwell, go and see
 
 HUE AND CRY. 451 
 
 if your sister is come home ; if not, yon and Chatters had 
 better look up and down the park a little. And she once 
 hid herself in the oak-copse, I have been told. Make 
 haste, Coralie, any dress will do, and never mind my hair. 
 Give me my new morning-cap. There ! that will do ; don't 
 fidget me." 
 
 In an indescribably short time the Countess's toilet was 
 completed, and she was ready for action. It was now 
 rumoured all over the Castle that Lady Clarissa had run 
 away from, home I Chatters was sent for, and he ap- 
 peared with a very sulky air ; he was quite convinced in 
 his own mind that the victim of his persecutions had run 
 away, and that to escape the annoyance of his unwel- 
 come addresses. He had nothing to say, except to con- 
 firm the news, and to urge that the fugitive should be at 
 once pursued. 
 
 " I will go to her room," said the Countess, rising sud- 
 denly ; "there will be something there to tell tales, if, in- 
 deed, she has been shameless enough to elope." And 
 thither her ladyship at once repaired, followed by 
 Chatters, Lord Orwell, and several other persons. It was 
 immediately apparent that many things, particularly in 
 the sitting-room, had been removed. 
 
 " Yes ! she is gone, sure enough ! " said the Countess, 
 sitting down in her agitation, where, in calmer moments, 
 she never would have seated herself in Susan's rocking- 
 chair. " See ! the pictures are removed, and Susan's 
 desk and things, and the painting-boxes, and nearly all 
 the books ! And the wardrobe and drawers are pretty 
 nearly empty ! How could she have got them away ? 
 Some of the servants must have helped her. Whoever 
 dared to do so leaves my service characterless, this very 
 hour. Call the housekeeper ! Summon every domestic 
 to the dining-room. Where is Mr. Thompson ? " Of 
 course, neither the Countess nor any other person could 
 have the remotest suspicion of the property stowed away 
 in the great chest up in the haunted attic. The silent 
 removal of the books and pictures and other heavy articles 
 Was, therefore, an actual mystery, and it was only natural 
 to imagine that Clarissa must have had some accomplice 
 in her flight. But, of course, every servant strenuoasly 
 
 292
 
 452 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 denied the imputation, not one of them having guessed, 
 even remotely, at the young lady's intentions, though the 
 housemaid, in whose charge the rooms were, confessed 
 to having missed Miss Shrosbery's portrait two mornings 
 before ; but, as she remarked, she thought nothing of 
 that : she did not know but what the Countess herself 
 had ordered its removal ! It was impossible to find out 
 a criminal who did not exist, and though several of the 
 maids were in some sort suspected, the stigma of guilt 
 could not be affixed to any one of them. And, meanwhile, 
 Clarissa was well on her way to Hunsleigh Port, being 
 cruelly tormented by the jolting of the carrier's cart. 
 
 " I should not wonder if old Nurse Barlow don't know 
 something," muttered Mrs. Ginger, the housekeeper, as 
 the assembly was breaking up, and the Countess caught 
 instantly at the idea, and went at once in person to in- 
 terrogate the poor old woman. Both Mrs. Sweetapple 
 and Clarissa had judged wisely in withholding confidence 
 from nurse ; it was well for her that she could plead un- 
 feigned ignorance. As it was, it was bad enough to be 
 questioned, and cross-questioned, and threatened, and 
 almost bullied on such a subject, and she wept sore when 
 at last she fully comprehended the true state of the case. 
 Her nursling was gone, no one knew whither ; cast, pro- 
 bably, helpless on the world, and she would never see her 
 again ! Nothing was to be gained by continuing to 
 harass the poor old lady, and so she was left to her tears 
 and lamentations. 
 
 The next thing was to make inquiries without the 
 house, to ascertain whether any of the lodge-keepers had 
 seen the fugitive pass the gates that morning ; and as 
 no one at the Water Lodge had observed her, the answer 
 returned in every case was a simple, but decided negative. 
 Next, the villagers were put under examination, and with 
 no better result ; no one had seen Clarissa beyond the 
 boundaries of the park since a certain day, when she had 
 gone through the village with her little sisters and "Mr. 
 Oukleigh." Of course, she had somehow made her way 
 to Ipsley, but upon inquiry being made it could not be 
 discovered that any vehicle of any description, from a 
 post-chaise to a vheclbarrow, had been hired at Orwell
 
 HUE AND CET. 453 
 
 Mfigna that morning, and all the Countess's own eqnipages 
 were safe at home in the coach-honses and cart-sheds, 
 except those which were in the fields at that very moment. 
 "And yet she could not have walked to Ipsley, the dis- 
 tance was quite too great." 
 
 " I don't know that, my lady," interposed the vexed 
 and angry Chatters; "she is a grand one at walking; 
 she would beat many a man upon the road. She is more 
 like a milkmaid than a young lady of title, and I've said 
 so many times. To Ipsley she is gone, you may be cer- 
 tain of that ; she would take the coach there, of course. 
 I dare say she is upon the road now. If we took a pair of 
 fast horses and a light conveyance, we might overtake her 
 yet." 
 
 Lady Orwell caught at the notion. " If we only 
 knew at what time she left the Castle ! " she reflected. 
 Then aloud she said to Chatters, "Yon see, if she set 
 out quite early, say before six o'clock, she would be well 
 ahead of us by this time. It is almost twelve now one 
 could go a long way in six hours." 
 
 " Yes, my lady, if one walked straight on without 
 stopping, which I am pretty sure Clarissa could not do, 
 although she is almost as strong as a trotting pony. 
 She would get along briskly enough for a mile or two, 
 perhaps for three or four, and then she would be tired, 
 and begin to lag. And by nine o'clock the heat would 
 be overpowering on the high road, and there's very little 
 shade after passing that fir-wood beyond Bnshmeads. 
 She would be obliged to rest herself, and after that she 
 would go slower and slower, till she was dead beat. At 
 any rate, we might catch her at Ipsley ; she would certainly 
 be too late for the morning coaches unless she started 
 in the dead of night, directly the house was quiet and 
 the evening coaches don't leave the town till between 
 seven and eight. We could be there before four o'clock 
 if we lost no more time. But I thought your ladyship 
 said she had no money r 1 " 
 
 " She had none that I know of ! I never gave her a 
 sixpence, and what she had when my dear lord deceased 
 mnftt have been long ere this expended. But I cannot 
 tell whether Sasan Shrosbery did not give her something
 
 454 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 handsome before sine died. And she Las a hundred and 
 sixty pounds lying at the Hadfields' ; but she knows nothing 
 of that I took care she should not it would only have 
 made her more uppish, and more difficult to manage. No ! 
 all things considered, I should say she has very little money 
 in her possession, and as she has no idea how cash flies 
 in travelling, even with economy, I should not wonder if 
 she found herself suddenly at a dead lock, for want oi 
 needful supplies." 
 
 " Serve her right ; she had no business to take herself 
 off, with never a word to anybody. Had we not better 
 start at once ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; do you go and order out the fleetest horses 
 and the light phaeton, and while they are getting ready 
 we will eat a mouthful of luncheon. I don't despair of 
 catching her ladyship; and if once I get her back, she 
 will not run away again in a hui'ry, I promise her. It is 
 casting a reflection upon me eloping in this strange way 
 'but, of course, the scandal will be and shall be all her own." 
 
 " She is alone, I suppose ? " said Chatters, a sudden 
 idea striking him. " There isn't anybody else anybody 
 she would run away with ? " 
 
 " If there is, she is more artful and cunning than a fox ! 
 Still, if we don't find her, and if people say she must have 
 had a companion, and all that, you know, Chatters, I 
 sha'n't take the trouble to contradict it. If she chooses 
 to ruin her character, she must. I had provided, as I 
 hoped, a suitable match for her I meant you to have a 
 portion with her, as you know, and, therefore, I am not to 
 blame. The world must know her for what she really is, 
 and that is irreclaimably stubborn and vicious. I am very 
 sorry my dear lord's daughter should so disgrace herself, 
 but I can't help it. And such an example to my own 
 eweet lambs ! I think I am very much to be pitied." 
 
 " Let's set off ! " cried Chatters, impatiently. " If we 
 can only get hold of her, she must be made into Lady 
 Clarissa Chatters before she is many days older ; then she 
 will be safe, and not till then." Mr. Chatters, though not 
 at all in love with Clarissa, had no mind to lose the pro- 
 mised " marriage portion," and also certain Church patro- 
 nage, on the strength of which he was taking holy (?)
 
 HUE AND CRT. 455 
 
 orders ; nor did he like the idea of relinquishing a titled 
 bride. Altogether Clarissa was a most eligible partie, and 
 he determined to secure her at any cost if possible. Once 
 his wife, he could humble her "cursed pride," and pay her 
 out for all the insults she had heaped upon him. " Ah ! 
 my lady," said he, as he crossed the stable yard, " only let 
 me have you fast, and then I won't be long in bringing 
 you to your senses ; it will be my turn then heigho ! " 
 Happily for Clarissa, this was an absolute case of "first 
 catch your hare." 
 
 They went to Ipsley, the Countess and her worthy 
 protege, and they made inquiries all along the road, but 
 of course gained no information. At Ipsley they got upon 
 a false scent, but were soon undeceived ; it seemed almost 
 certain that Clarissa had not that day been in the town. 
 Chatters persisted that she must be still on the road, and 
 as they returned search was prosecuted in every place 
 where it was at all likely she might be in hiding or taking 
 rest. All in vain. When late^at night these worthy 
 inquisitors reached Orwell, Clarissa was peacefully and 
 trustfully watching the stars from the deck of the Mer- 
 maid, under the fatherly care of good Captain Brown. 
 
 But it would fill a volume to recite all the doings of 
 Lady Orwell, Mr. Chatters, and their coadjutors, as day 
 after day they continued their fruitless search. No one 
 ever thought of Cottleby, and, strange as it may appear, 
 no one dreamed of such a thing as questioning the 
 Orchester carrier ; and if he had been found and inter- 
 viewed, the clue would have ended, probably, in the inn- 
 yard at Hunsleigh Port, where he set Clarissa down. 
 Even if she had been traced on board the Mermaid, the 
 thread of discovery must have snapped short at the dock 
 where the schooner landed crew and passenger. Captam 
 Brown did not know Fancy, nor where she lived, and, in 
 fact, he scarcely noticed her, being satisfied that hia 
 charge was safe tinder the protection of a respectable 
 person of her own sex. 
 
 The Countess did think of Mrs. Svveetapple ; but it 
 was one of Sweetie's very deaf days when she visited her, 
 and her interrogator was very quickly baffled. Martha 
 could truly declare that she had not seen Clarissa on the
 
 456 LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 day of her evasion, nor could she possibly say whero she 
 was gone ! What did my lady think of her going to Paris, 
 to Madame Pierrot ? And there were some friends of 
 Miss Shrosbery's at Edinburgh that Lady Clarissa used to 
 talk of ; was she with them ? It seemed unlikely ; but 
 the Countess wrote to Madame Pierrot, and to the Edin- 
 burgh ladies, whose adddress she managed to procure; 
 but neither France nor Scotland knew aught of the fugi- 
 tive Clarissa. Dr. Hammond came under suspicion, and 
 he rather enjoyed it than otherwise, and amused himself 
 by tantalising Chatters, and uttering dark sayings when 
 cross-questioned by Lady Orwell. On the whole, the 
 Doctor was the person most suspected of being in collu- 
 sion with the poor lost girl. Her disappearance was a 
 nine days' wonder, of course, and, like other wonders, it 
 ceased after a while to afford more than mere passing in- 
 terest. Not the smallest clue could be obtained, and it 
 was whispered in many quarters that she no longer lived 
 since only a ghost could have vanished thus mysteriously, 
 without leaving some sort of trace behind. And, in fact, 
 Lady Orwell did have the Mere dragged, and, to her infi- 
 nite relief, without result. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 MISS CLARA LEIGH. 
 
 M How full of briars is this working-day world } 
 The night is long that never finds the day." 
 
 IT was some weeks before Clarissa could set to work m 
 real earnest. When once she found herself in safety, when 
 once the need for action and effort was over, she relapsed 
 into a state which very much resembled illness, although 
 she did not appear to suffer from any decided malady. It 
 was simply a case of overwrought nerves, induced by ex-
 
 MISS CLAKA LEIGH. 457 
 
 cessive mental and physical excitement, and consequent 
 fatigue. A less healthy person would have succumbed 
 earlier, for the strain upon her powers had been in every 
 way tremendous. The annoyances she had suffered ; the 
 persecutions she had so long endured with a bravery at 
 which she herself wondered, now that they had ceased ; 
 the constant burden and worries of her unsatisfactory and 
 continual nursery duties ; the contrivances to which she 
 was obliged to resort, and the ever-present dread of dis- 
 covery, under which she lived from the first moment of 
 the escape being planned till she found herself on board 
 the Mermaid, with about a mile and a half of sea between 
 her and the land ; even the long morning walks to and 
 from the Woodland Lodge, followed by busy, anxious 
 days ; and lastly, the journey, which, favourable as it had 
 been in many respects, was still a tremendous effort had 
 all combined to exhaust her energies and prostrate her 
 strength of body and of mind. 
 
 At first she could not sleep, and the want of refreshing 
 slumbers naturally increased her feverish weakness and 
 irritated her nerves ; her appetite failed her to an extent 
 that alarmed the faithful Fancy, and she seemed little in- 
 clined to exert herself in any way, though she was per- 
 petually distressed at her own indolence, as she called her 
 weariness of brain and limb, and continually chiding her- 
 self for her lack of interest in the ordinary pursuits of life, 
 well aware as she was of the necessity of exertion now 
 that she had voluntarily assumed the entire responsibility 
 of her career, and placed herself in a position where she 
 had only her own resources to rely upon. When, how- 
 ever, she could sleep the difficulty was to remain awake, 
 and it was not till she had passed several days as well as 
 nights in almost unbroken repose that nature, having 
 taken her revenge, permitted her to rally. 
 
 At last she began to prepare for work, and the very 
 eight of her brushes and palettes did her good. She pro- 
 cured an easel, stretched her canvas, determined on a sub- 
 ject, and, without any more delay, set about her charcoal 
 iketch. Once having made a commencement, she worked 
 with a feverish energy that alarmed her young protectress, 
 who knew perfectly well what must be the end of unrea-
 
 458 LADY CLAKISSA. 
 
 sonable and unvarying labours ; and after some persua- 
 sion Clarissa, perceiving that she was making a mistake, 
 and also that everything depended on her keeping in good 
 health, consented to give herself more leisure, to go out 
 oftener, and to paint so many hours a day, and no more, 
 however strong her desire to continue at her easel. 
 
 " For," said Fancy, " it stands to sense, my lady oh 
 dear ! I mean Miss Clara that nobody can go on work, 
 work, work, without proper rest and recreation, and, 
 above all things, exercise in the open air. I have learnt a 
 few things since I was married, for my husband is very 
 wise and studious in what he calls the needs of the body, 
 and it's as good as a lecture to hear him tell how the body 
 and the mind mutually assist or injure each other, and how 
 the body must be sound and healthy if the mind is to 
 work well and easily ; and it's as good as a sermon to 
 hear him preach up the duty of attending to our bodies as 
 a real religious duty, that Christian people owe to God as 
 well as to themselves. My Will is no common man, Miss 
 Clara. I thought when I first became his wife that he 
 was a bit too bookish, but I don't think so now, for he 
 never neglects his business for reading, and the books he 
 studies are all good ones, and he learns most wonderful 
 things out of them, I can assure you. Well, one thing he 
 insists on is daily exercise in the open air, that the lungs 
 may be filled and the nerves braced by what he calls pure 
 oxygen whatever that may be ! Now, Miss Clara, you 
 have scarcely been out at all since you came to Chelsea, 
 and there are such pretty lanes about, where you can 
 get a nice walk to say nothing of the river-side, and 
 the lanes about Old Brompton. There are cedar-trees, 
 Miss Clara, not far from here, real cedars of Lebanon, 
 that it will do your heart good to look at." 
 
 "Well, Fancy," replied Clarissa, "I will try to go out 
 a little oftener every day, if I can muster up the courage. 
 I know yon are right, and as painting in oil-colours is not, 
 I am afr&id, exactly a salubrious occupation, I suppose I 
 ought to take in a double portion of this oxygen of which 
 you speak. You see, I have never been used to walking 
 in public places unaccompanied, and I feel a foolish kind 
 of shrinking from I scarcely know what ! for there is
 
 MISS CLARA LEIGH. 459 
 
 nothing actually to fear ; bat somehow, I do not like walk- 
 ing out alone in London." 
 
 " And I don't wonder, though. Chelsea, you know, is not 
 exactly London, and I am pretty sure no one in this neigh- 
 bourhood would molest yon. Nor, for the matter of that, 
 would you be less safe in the City ; young women who 
 di'ess modestly and keep themselves to themselves, and 
 go about their business properly, are seldom troubled, I 
 believe." 
 
 " And I am not pretty ; I used to be vexed at my plain- 
 ness, even when I was a little girl ; but now I see how, 
 like every other dispensation of Providence, it is all for 
 the best. Lady Clarissa Oakleigh might have been a 
 beauty and no harm follow ; but poor Miss Clara Leigh, 
 endowed with great personal attractions, would often, I 
 fear me, find herself in awkward circumstances. Beauty 
 would be a more troublesome possession even than a title ! 
 That I can lay down, while my beauty if I unluckily had 
 any I should have to keep till I was old, or, perhaps, till 
 small-pox came to my relief." 
 
 " As for that, Miss Clara, you are certainly not plain. 
 J think you are pretty, and something more than pretty ; 
 but still you are not one of those wonderful creatures such 
 as I have seen in the park and in Kensington Gardens, 
 with a skin like satin, all roses and lilies, and dressed, oh ! 
 so splendidly. And fine feathers make fine birds, they do 
 gay, my lady that is, Miss Clara." 
 
 " Which proves that I must dress as plainly as pos- 
 Bible ; and that will suit my purse as well as my position." 
 
 " I would always go out with yon, Miss Clara, and be 
 proud to ; but there's the shop and the baby, and my girl 
 is but a giddy young thing, and not to be trusted. And 
 then, in the fine evenings Will is never satisfied if I don't 
 take a bit of a stroll with him." 
 
 " Very right and wise of Will. But do not trouble 
 yourself, Fancy ; I will begin to-morrow to take my daily 
 constitutional, and as I object to walking without an aim I 
 might do some of your errands for you." 
 
 " Oh, my dear young lady ! I could not think of such 
 a thing. Lord Orwell's daughter doing my errands for 
 me ! What would your dear papa say if he could know
 
 460 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 that you were demeaning yourself to serve your forme* 
 nursemaid ? " 
 
 " He would not think I ' demeaned ' myself by doing 
 any useful work. And pray do not speak of the difference 
 between us, in that way. Yon were my nursemaid, cer- 
 tainly, and very kind and faithful you were to me. Since 
 those days, I have been a nursemaid myself, only without 
 wages. I call yon my friend, Fancy ! and I shall never be 
 ashamed of doing anything to help you. Please to under- 
 stand that, until happier days arrive, or for all time, if 
 it so please God, I lay aside empty claims to rank ; I 
 relinquish my birthright as the daughter of a nobleman ; 
 I am simply and altogether Miss Clara Leigh a young 
 woman who has no one to look to but herself, and who 
 must earn her own bread if she wishes to live honestly, 
 and therefore honourably." 
 
 It was in the early autumn that this conversation took 
 place, and from that time Clarissa worked industriously, 
 but with some degree of moderation. She never failed, 
 unless the weather was extremely unfavourable, to take 
 her daily walk, which gradually grew longer, and which 
 she enjoyed more and more as she grew accustomed to her 
 surroundings. By-and-by, she ventured into omnibuses, 
 when, as sometimes happened, her errands carried her into 
 the City, or perhaps to Oxford Street, and she found that 
 she could come and go unnoticed, and even tread the busy 
 streets without being exposed to remark, or to any kind of 
 annoyance. 
 
 As a rule, respectable women who conduct themselves 
 prudently are safer alone in London than in any other 
 place, provided, of course, they are not abroad at unrea- 
 sonable hours. And even then, if accident or necessity 
 should detain even a very young woman in the streets and 
 public haunts till later than is desirable, she need not be 
 alarmed. She will scarcely be insulted if she walk 
 steadily forwards, and if her dress and manner generally 
 be modest and unobtrusive. A good and sensible girl may 
 nearly always hold her own, under almost any circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Thus Clarissa became accustomed, in more senses than 
 one, to depend upon herself; and after awhile, she lost all
 
 MISS CLARA LEIGH. 461 
 
 sense of fear, and went boldly wherever dnty called her. 
 But her dress was always of the plainest, though scrupu- 
 lously neat, and her grave, thoughtful face, and quiet, 
 composed demeanour, secured her, doubtless, where con- 
 spicuous attire and a vain and frivolous air would have 
 exposed her to serious unpleasantness. Fancy grew so 
 habituated to receiving little services from Clarissa, that 
 sometimes now she would even ask her to call and order 
 something from the butcher's ; or would she mind going into 
 such a shop, and matching a certain material ; or it would 
 be such a favour if she would take her walk Kensington 
 way, and leave a message that Will wanted to be delivered! 
 And Clarissa gladly assented in every case ; she felt 
 happier when she could make herself really useful to these 
 kind, though humble, friends of hers. 
 
 And when the winter came she found abundant oppor- 
 tunities of rendering true service to the Sounders', for 
 Fancy had another baby, and she made but a very slow 
 recovery, and there were a thousand little acts of kindness 
 she could unobtrusively perform, until she fairly wondered 
 that so much good could be done without spending any 
 money. It was spring before Mrs. Saunders was out-of- 
 doors again, and it was not till she resumed her duties 
 that she even guessed at what Clarissa had been doing on 
 her account. They had news, too, from Orwell during 
 that long and inclement winter ; Sweetie and nurse both 
 died, in a severe frost that nipped the life of many a one, 
 and was especially fatal to infancy and to old age. 
 Martha kept up, at wide intervals, a correspondence with 
 Fancy, and Fancy always answered her letters, but in 
 them Clarissa's name was never mentioned. No one could 
 mourn for the good old women, for they had both served 
 their generation, and, like David, fallen asleep, full of 
 years, and ripe for heaven. And yet Clarissa shed many a 
 tear, which she could not repress, over the departure of 
 these steadfast, life-long friends ; theirs was the gain, hers 
 the loss, the growing sense of desolation. Fancy and her 
 husband were all that now remained to her on earth, so 
 far as she knew. She had never been to the Messrs. 
 Hadfield, lest they should deem it their duty to acquaint 
 the Countess with her place of refage. If the old gentle-
 
 462 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 man had been living, she "would not have hesitated ; bat 
 she knew nothing of the sons, except that they were in 
 good repute as excellent lawyers, and men of unimpeach- 
 able integrity, and how could she be sure that this very 
 attribute of theirs might not constrain them to communi- 
 cate with her dreaded stepmother ? She determined that 
 she would not, if she could help it, put in any claim if 
 claim she really had on any legacy, which possibly, only 
 possibly, might revert to her. Not, at least, till she was 
 one-and-twenty, when of course she would be indisputably 
 and legally her own mistress. 
 
 But could she help going to them ? Week by week, 
 and month by month, her finances slowly dwindled. 
 Though the Saunders', without her knowing it, charged 
 her less, far less, for her board and lodging than they 
 would have charged any other person, and though she 
 spent little on herself, her money gradually melted, as it 
 seemed to her. Certain regular payments, however mode- 
 rate, must needs, sooner or later, exhaust a fund which is 
 never replenished, and Clarissa knew that well enough, 
 and with some anxiety, and a decided sense of depression 
 which she could not throw off, she watched her little hoard 
 grow less and less, till, when the anniversary of her 
 flight came round, there were only several sovereigns 
 remaining. She had her mother's jewels, it is true, and 
 her own watch and chain her father's last present to her ; 
 but it would be inexpressibly painful to part with these 
 beloved relics of the past, and probably for a fifth part of 
 their value ! 
 
 And what about her paintings ? Had she finished 
 nothing, or had she failed to find purchasers for her pro- 
 ductions ? She was in the latter case. She had worked 
 diligently, and, as she believed, successfully ; but not one 
 picture had she disposed of, although she had gone from 
 shop to shop, and tried every place and every person where 
 there seemed even a remote chance of their being appre- 
 ciated and sold ! The utmost she could gain was permis- 
 sion, not too willingly accorded, to leave several of her 
 best subjects on sale or return, on condition that she would 
 not call oftener than once a fortnight to ascertain their 
 fate.
 
 MISS CLARA LEIGH. 463 
 
 And there they remained, in a certain " Emporium of 
 Art " in Oxford Street, and Clarissa was assured that no 
 one had ever cast on them more than a passing glance, nor 
 had their price ever been demanded. She grew hopeless 
 and sad ; it seemed useless to work on and accumulate 
 stock which must remain upon her hands. 
 
 Then she tried water-colours, and she threw off with 
 great rapidity a series of pretty sketches, which she 
 thought might meet the popular taste, if she sold them 
 cheap. It would be better to earn a few shillings than 
 absolutely nothing, she told herself ; for the days were 
 at hand when poor dear Sweetie's gift would dwindle 
 down to the last sixpence, and then she must either go in 
 debt a dreadful alternative to a mind like hers or dis- 
 pose of her jewels, or run all risks and pay a visit to the 
 Messrs. Hadfield, who, after all, had, probably, nothing in 
 their hands which belonged to her. 
 
 A few of her sketches, however, did sell, but so few 
 that the products of sale were totally insufficient to meet 
 imperative requirements. What could she do ? How and 
 when could she find work that is, remunerative work ? 
 She was always very busy, but her diligence was, in a 
 pecuniary sense at least, totally unproductive. Nothing 
 that she did and she was always doing brought grist to 
 the mill. She began to wonder if she could take in plain 
 sewing, or dispose of fancy-work at which she was con- 
 sidered very clever, for she had learned from Madame 
 Pierrot several rare kinds of French embroidery, and she 
 had dexterous, nimble fingers and an artist's taste. But for 
 such work expensive materials were required, and Clarissa 
 dared not venture her little all in what must surely be a 
 speculation. She wondered if she could do what was 
 then called " Moravian work" for the shops, and she paid 
 visits to sundry tradesmen, even carrying with her a speci- 
 men of her skill, and pledging herself to take all manner 
 of pains, and to complete any tasks assigned her at the 
 appointed time. 
 
 But though the piece of embroidery she showed them 
 was certainly superior to any hitherto produced in their 
 establishments, she did not obtain the wished-for orders. 
 One man coolly told her that it was easy to bring a
 
 454 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 piece of work and call it a specimen. It looked to Hm 
 very much, like something ont of a foreign nunnery J 
 How could he be sure she had done the work herself ? 
 He had been played that trick before ! Another admired 
 the specimen extremely, and seemed content to accept ft 
 as her own veritable production ; but he had already several 
 regular hands waiting for a job, and trade was so dull, 
 and customers so fastidious, &c., &c. Some would not 
 even look at the cambric she unfolded ; others appre- 
 ciated, but they were overstocked at present. A few 
 asked her address, and promised to communicate should 
 they require "anything in her line." 
 
 Clarissa's heart grew very heavy. Then she resolved to 
 try a celebrated Magazin des Modes, where, attended by 
 Madame Pierrot, she had more than once been received 
 with excessive deference, and waited upon as if she had 
 been a royal personage. They would never remember her, 
 she felt assured, and they really were such nice people, 
 almost too good for shopkeepers ! Yes ! she wondered 
 she had never thought of this famous West End house 
 before ; it was now four years since her last visit to them 
 as " Lady Clarissa ; " they would scarcely recognise her, 
 altered as she was in face, as well as in general 
 appearance. 
 
 No, they did not recognise her ! It might have been 
 better if they had. She was treated with politeness, but 
 she was at once and coldly repulsed ; they were not just 
 then requiring that kind of embroidery, it was decidedly 
 ont of fashion ; a new stitch was all the rage. In short, 
 they could not possibly at that time give her a commission. 
 She had nothing to blame them for ; they were civil and 
 even kind, compared with others, whose rebuff had been 
 harsh, if not insulting ; but a feeling of bitterness stole 
 over her as, folding up her exquisite needlework and she 
 knew it was exquisite she saw none equal to it she con- 
 trasted her present with her past reception. Clearly, tho 
 Earl's daughter, stepping from her father's carriage, and 
 attended by an aristocratic French governess, was quite a 
 different person from the humble, shabby Clara Leigh, 
 alone and on foot, making no purchases, and seeking 
 employment almost beseechingly.
 
 MISS CLARA LEIGH. 465 
 
 At last she did obtain a commission ; a piece of work 
 was given her as a trial of her skill. It was a square of 
 the finest cambric, of cobweb-like texture, and it was to be 
 delicately embroidered in satin stitch and open work, to 
 form a,ficliu for the neck and shoulders low bodies being 
 at that time universally the mode. It took her a fortnight to 
 complete ; it made her head ache and tried her eyes. She 
 even sat up at night to finish it within the appointed time ; 
 and then she received a sum so pitifully small that she 
 could scarcely believe but that it was a strange mistake. 
 And she knew that the fichu for which she was paid a 
 paltry few shillings would be sold for not less than three 
 or perhaps four guineas ! In fact, the shopkeeper did sell 
 it at an exorbitant price, as foreign work just received, 
 and a miracle of art and beauty ! And the purchaser was 
 the Countess of Orwell. 
 
 But Clarissa sought no further orders, for she felt thafc 
 while she made those wonderful stitches on the gossamer 
 cambric she was sewing her own shroud, and gaining 
 nothing either for herself or for others. 
 
 Fancy did all she could to comfort her, and declared 
 that while she had a roof to cover her, and a loaf of bread 
 to eat, her dear young lady should share it; but the 
 Saunders' were not well off. Two more babies had arrived 
 to occupy their mother's time and to absorb their father's 
 earnings, and Fancy was not strong ; and Will, though, 
 clever, and a good deal of a bookworm, was not very suc- 
 cessful in his business. He was steady, persevering, and 
 self-denying; bathe did not, as his wife said, "get on," 
 and so it came to pass that Mr. and Mrs. Sauuders often 
 fo-xnd it a hard matter to " make both ends meet." 
 
 It broke in upon Clarissa's mind, at last, that she was 
 paying for her rooms far less than their just rental ; she 
 knew that if the Saunders' let their " drawing-room " to 
 any other person, they would receive almost as much 
 again ; she began to feel that she was a drag upon them, 
 and she resolved to leave her present abode as soon as 
 possible. In vain Fancy pleaded, urged, coaxed, and 
 scolded Clarissa was inexorable. " Don't try to dissuade 
 me, Fancy, dear," she said, and the eyes of both the 
 women were full of tears ; " I never ought to have taken
 
 466 LAtT CLARISSA. 
 
 pood apartments, only I was so igm rant, and knew 
 no Vetter ; and, then, when I began to suspect how 
 greatly you favoured me, to your own detriment, I hoped 
 that I should soon earn something, and be able to pay you 
 better. I mean for the rooms ; I know I can never, never 
 repay you for all the kindness and care you have lavished 
 npon me, ever since that day I met yon at the docks, 
 more than three years ago ! You have been mother and 
 sister and friend to me, Fancy ; God will reward you, if I 
 never can." 
 
 Fancy burst into tears, and said something about it 
 being no more than her duty, and she should have been 
 ashamed to do less, and so would Will, and she only 
 wished she could have done more ; but the children, and 
 the shop, and the untrustworthy servants there had 
 been a succession of them, for Fancy's " helps " were ne- 
 cessarily youthful and inexperienced had really so taken 
 up her time that she could not manage as she would. 
 And, indeed, Miss Clara had been almost a servant herself 
 of late ! No one but a poor woman with a very limited 
 income really knew the burden and worry of a large little 
 family ; and the business, somehow, did not prosper, while 
 expenses would increase. But whatever happened, Miss 
 Clara must not leave them ! Will would be broken- 
 hearted if she did, for a talk with her, he said, was worth 
 a hundred pounds to him ! 
 
 But "Miss Clara " was resolute ; she was a woman now 
 a woman of business, and, in the best sense of the term, 
 ft woman of the world, that is, she had become practical; 
 her girlhood had slipped away from her, and she had 
 learned to estimate things and persons at their real, rather 
 than their ideal, value. And so it came to pass that she 
 moved into humbler lodgings, contenting herself with 
 one room, and that a poor one, and furnished scantily. 
 It comforted her to know that she was not any longer 
 standing in the way of W ill and Fancy Saunders. 
 
 She did not go far from them her new home, if such 
 it could be called, was only two streets distant from that 
 in which the Saunders' lived ; but she felt very, very 
 lonely when the long winter evenings came, and she 
 was shut up in her solitary chamber, amid sordid sur-
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINB. 467 
 
 roundings, and no friendly voice or smile to break the 
 titter dreariness that pressed upon her with increasing 
 pain and weight. Her health began to suffer, and her 
 spirits sank with her hope lower and still lower almost 
 to zero. But one spring evening it was just before her 
 twenty-first birthday she had one of those sweet, bright 
 Lours of communion with God which our Father so often 
 vouchsafes to His children who in their sorest need call 
 tipon Him to deliver them in their distress. Something, 
 the Blessed Spirit doubtless, told her that she should 
 " never be confounded/" God would help her, and that 
 right early ; and inasmuch as she suffered and was cast 
 down, strength should be given her according to her day. 
 And, in truth, she had reached the crisis of her fate. 
 The morrow was to be the era from which, henceforth, 
 she would date the dawn of a new and wonderful and 
 thrice happy life. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 
 "Hope springs eternal in the human breast." 
 
 IT was a lovely April day ; one of those sweet, golden, 
 fragrant days which spring sometimes borrows from sum- 
 mer, as if to make amends for the lingering icy hours 
 imposed upon her by winter, harsh and loth to abdicate 
 his kingdom, which steal from her the earliest moments 
 of her lawful reign. It was so warm that Clarissa found 
 her linsey dress heavy and uncomfortable. Birds were 
 singing loudly in the pleasant lanes of Chelsea there 
 were plenty of rural nooks in and about Chelsea at that 
 time the leaves of the lime-trees were opening fast ; the 
 horse-chestnut was spreading its green, wrinkled fans of 
 foliage ; the gardens were gay with early flowers and 
 
 302
 
 408 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 .sheets of plum and cherry blossom, and nearly every 
 window was thrown wide open, as if to let the blessed, 
 happy springtide in. 
 
 Clarissa was on her way to Knightsbridge, and she was 
 carrying with her some small, but exquisitely-finished 
 floral vignettes, for which a tradesman had given her a 
 commission. She had only finished them the evening 
 before, and made no delay in taking them to the shop, 
 hoping to receive payment for them immediately, as her 
 purse happened to be as it too often was, alas ! very 
 nearly empty. She knew exactly how much she had ; it did 
 not take long to count it, though it was all in silver coin, 
 for she had changed her last gold piece in paying her rent 
 two days before, and she calculated that with what 
 remained and with what she expected to receive, she would 
 be in funds sufficient to last her for a fortnight, or, with 
 extra economy, for three weeks. 
 
 " But, then," she meditated, as she walked along, 
 " what am I to do for dress ? I have spent next to 
 nothing in wearing apparel since I left Orwell, nearly 
 four years ago, and I brought away no great stock of 
 clothing. I have mended and turned, and re-turned and 
 darned, till the things will hold together no longer. I 
 really must go and see the present Mr. Hadfield ; his 
 brother has gone out of the firm, it seems. To-morrow I 
 shall be of age, and the Countess cannot pretend to hold 
 me in subjection ; nor am I any longer afraid of Chatters. 
 I dare say he is married by this time. Why, dear me ! 
 Orwell must be quite a great boy now. I wonder if he is 
 gone to Eton ; he will be taught useful lessons there not 
 to be found in books, I fancy. His schoolfellows will soon 
 teach him that the world was not made for him alone, 
 that mankind was created for other ends than for his con- 
 venience, and that carls, though not as plentiful as black- 
 berries, are by no means the rarce aves he imagines them 
 to be. Yes ; Orwell must be now in his thirteenth year, 
 and even the baby must be six years old. I wonder if 
 they have quite forgotten their sister Clarissa ! But I 
 certainly will find out whether Mr. Hadfield holds any 
 money of mine ; I hope I have not forfeited it by not 
 putting in an appeai\ince all these years. Perhaps they
 
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 469 
 
 fhink I am dead ; perhaps Lady Orwell Las given out 
 that I am dead. Ah ! I am afraid she would be more 
 likely to declare that I had disgraced myself. And now 
 that I know the world, now that I am a full-grown 
 woman, no novice in the difficult game of life which all of 
 ns must play, I understand how dreadful, how inefface- 
 able, any stain of that kind would be. Half my courage, 
 when I ran away from home, arose out of ignorance ; 
 though young as I was, and secluded as I had been, I 
 suppose I may call it innocence. At what age, now, does 
 innocence become ignorance ? That, I should imagine, 
 would depend entirely upon circumstances ; and some 
 poor untaught creatures, exposed to contamination from 
 their birth, can never, never know child-like purity can 
 never, never be innocent. One cannot live four years in 
 London, as I have done, and not know that." 
 
 By this time Clarissa, who had made quite a circuit, in 
 order to prolong her rural walk and to keep in the shade, 
 found herself approaching the busy haunts of Knights- 
 bridge. In a few minutes she reached the shop which 
 was her destination. The master was engaged, waiting 
 on a lady and gentleman, who were accompanied by a 
 pretty, elegant young girl of fifteen, or thereabouts. The 
 lady seemed to be about thirty-five, the gentleman was 
 evidently younger ; they were basy selecting coloured 
 crayons and cakes of water colours, and on the counter 
 lay a scattered heap of drawings, which were, as Clarissa 
 well knew, frequently sold, or hired out to be copied. 
 Not a few of them were the work of her own pencil. The 
 assistant, knowing that her business was with the prin- 
 cipal, civilly handed her a chair, and placed before her a 
 portfolio of engravings just received. She was feeling 
 rather tired, and glad of the rest; she seated herself 
 contentedly, not feeling in any hurry, and enjoying the 
 cool atmosphere of the shop, after the hot and dusty 
 street. 
 
 The lady who now occupied Mr. Sabine's attention was 
 a gentle, sweet-looking woman, dressed in perfect taste, 
 and having altogether an air of high breeding and refine- 
 ment. The gentleman was evidently her brother, the 
 younger lady was her niece, for she called her "aantie."
 
 4-70 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Clarissa was so interested in the trio, as they talked 
 merrily to each other, and across the counter, that she 
 scarcely glanced at the engravings. The lovely face of 
 the elder lady filled her with delight, and she longed to 
 paint it on ivory ; it was a face so good, so kind, so trans- 
 cendently sweet and fair, while the niece, who was called 
 Adelaide, and sometimes " Addie," was as gay and spark- 
 ling as girls of her class frequently are, before they have 
 known even the shadow of care and loss and pain. Pre- 
 sently, they came upon a group of roses pink, white, 
 carmine, and buff, on a tinted background. Clarissa re- 
 cognised it as her own production, and she remembered 
 how she had exulted in the beauty her fingers had created ; 
 $he listened with beating heart to the young girl's 
 Enthusiastic plaudits. 
 
 " Oh, auntie, dear ! oh, Uncle Horace ! do look at these 
 roses ! Did you ever see anything more natural, more 
 beautiful ? Why ! they are groining on the cardboard ! 
 I fancy I can smell them, especially that rich, soft, velvety 
 crimson one ; and just notice that Gloire de Dijon, and 
 that half-opened mossy bud, and this lovely little bunch 
 of sweet tea-roses ! Oh ! if I could only paint flowers 
 like these ! " 
 
 " They are splendidly done ! " said Uncle Horace ; 
 " your praises do them no more than justice : yon had 
 better take the group, Addie." 
 
 " By all means ; but I could never copy it, uncle. I 
 will have it framed and hung up in my own room next to 
 that lovely ' Clytie ' that papa gave me on my birthday. 
 But I tell you what, Aunt Emily, if I am to stay with you 
 while papa and mamma are in Italy, I don't see why I 
 should not have some proper lessons." 
 
 " Of course, yon can have what lessons you like. Perhaps 
 my new governess may be something of an artist." 
 
 " I don't want to be taught by something of an artist ! 
 I want a true artist for my teacher ; I want someone who 
 can paint like that ! I should like the very person who 
 did paint it. Where is he, or she I know it's a s/ie 
 Mr. Sabine ? " 
 
 Mr. Sabine smiled a curious, but not unkindly, smile, 
 and looked towards Clarissa.
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 47 J 
 
 She arose, colouring deeply, and, in a tremulous voice, 
 addressed " Aunt Emily " : "I should be very glad, 
 madam, to give lessons in any kind of drawing ; I would 
 take the greatest pains with my pupils. I have other 
 sketches and specimens of flower-painting here, if Mr. 
 Sabine would not object to your seeing them." 
 
 Now Mr. Sabine, though he had always paid Clariss; 
 very poorly, was in the main a kind-hearted man, and of 
 late he had taken a good deal of interest in Miss Leigh, 
 who, in spite of her shabbiness and too evident poverty, 
 struck him as being no ordinary person. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, Miss Leigh ! " he said, quickly ; 
 " I shall be very happy if I can serve you and one of my 
 best customers at the same time ; I have often thought you 
 should turn your attention to teaching not the elements 
 of the art, of course but you might give finishing lessons 
 to advanced pupils. I shall have much pleasure in recom- 
 mending you." 
 
 " Thank yon, thank you, Mr. Sabine," returned Clarissa, 
 with evident gratitude. 
 
 "Yon wonld teach drawing only, I suppose, Miss 
 Leigh ? " said the lady, who had scanned Clarissa some- 
 what closely, while she was engaged in conversation with 
 Mr. Sabine. 
 
 " I have not thought about teaching," replied Clarissa. 
 " I could teach other things, I believe. I speak French as 
 easily as English, and I am a tolerable Italian and German 
 scholar. I had an excellent governess for many years, 
 who spared no pains in my education," 
 
 " Are you anything of a pianiste ? Can you sing ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know how to reply to the first question ; 1 
 could play once people said I played well but it is 
 years since I touched a piano. I can sing, my voice is 
 good, and I studied once nader the best Londcw 
 masters." 
 
 " Should you like to undertake a governess's duties ? n 
 
 " I should like it more than I can say ; bat" 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I am not qualified; I never taught any 
 but very young children ; and and I am afraid I could 
 not furnish such references as are usually required."
 
 472 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 "I am sorry for that. But I am sure that it is rather 
 your misfortune than your fault." 
 
 " I think I may say truthfully, madam, that it is so. I 
 would speak more frankly if I had the opportunity." 
 
 " Will you think the matter over, and call upon me 
 some time to-morrow about one o'clock, if it will not 
 inconvenience you ? " 
 
 " I will, madam. Where shall I have the honour of 
 waiting upon you ? " 
 
 "At Hyde Park Gardens ; there is my card." 
 
 And Clarissa read upon it the name of Lady Ridley a 
 name that seemed in some degree familiar ; she thought 
 she had heard her father mention it. She left her draw- 
 ings, saying she would see Mr. Sabine again, for he had 
 contrived to whisper, " If you would go now, Miss Leigh, 
 I might be able to say a good word for you! " 
 
 She was no sooner gone than Lady Ridley commenced 
 to question him. " Do you know anything of this young 
 lady, Mr. Sabine?" 
 
 "I cannot say I actually know her in any other way 
 than through our dealings across the counter ; I hava 
 employed her for several years well ! it was two years 
 last Christmas since she came to me offering her drawings 
 for sale. She seemed to be in great distress, and seeing, 
 as I did at a glance, that she was no ordinary dabbler in 
 the art, I bought what she submitted to me, and gave her 
 a, little commission for some sketches. Since that time I 
 have seen her frequently. She is singularly reserved, even 
 a little proud, 1 should say the kind of person with whom 
 few would dare to lake the smallest liberty. I have found 
 out that she is highly educated, and I have not carried on, 
 my business so many years with people of rank and posi- 
 tion without knowing the genuine article when I meet 
 with it ; and my own opinion is that Miss Leigh is a born 
 gentlewoman, and that she has a history! a very sad one, 
 probably. That she is extremely poor there can be nc 
 doubt." 
 
 " I never saw a more attractive face," said Lady Ridley; 
 " and I shall be very much surprised if Miss Leigh, in 
 spite of present externals, is not my equal in birth. What 
 do you bay, Horace ? "
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 473 
 
 " She is most certainly a lady, in every sense of the 
 word," replied the young man, who seemed about twenty- 
 eight or twenty-nine years of age ; " but I should advise 
 yon, Emily, to act cautiously. It is a serious affair, intro- 
 ducing a stranger into the bosom of your family ; and 
 more than one of your protegees have turned ont sad 
 failures." 
 
 " Something telly me I shall not be disappointed in this 
 Miss Leigh ! You know, Horace, I am quick at reading 
 character, and I never read truth, absolute truth, and no- 
 bility of mind, in any person's countenance, if I did not 
 read it in hers, when first I looked upon it. Noblesse 
 oblige is written upon every lineament, and speaks in 
 every tone." 
 
 "I am certain sure she is a darling," said Miss Addie, 
 enthusiastically. " She will tell us all about herself, when 
 she comes to-morrow. I am sure I shall like her, she has 
 anch lovely eyes." 
 
 " People don't engage governesses for their beaux yeux 
 generally, chatter-pie ! " returned Uncle Horace, laughing. 
 " Come, Emily, let us be going ; we have to be at Chiswick 
 by four o'clock. Here are your roses, Addie ; I will carry 
 them." 
 
 " My dear, beantif ul roses ! And I kno^v they will lead 
 up to something delightful." 
 
 The next day, exactly t one o'clock, Clarissa was en- 
 tering Lady Ridley's dressing-room, where she generally 
 spent her morning*. It was warmer than yesterday, and 
 so Miss Leigh ventured to appear in the sole decent dress 
 she possessed an old black silk, which had been turned 
 and altered and contrived year after year, and yet looked, 
 as Fancy declared, " quite genteel," even now ! Clai-issa 
 carefully kept it for state occasions, but she thought sho 
 should not err in putting it on on so eventful a morning. 
 A strange yearning for rest and peace had seized her ; sho 
 longed for the protection which as a member of a 
 family she should enjoy ; also she felt a passionate desire 
 for intercourse with persons of her own real station, for 
 refined surroundings, and for the atmosphere of culturo 
 from which she had been so long excluded. Lady Ridley 
 welcomed her kindly, and rang for a cup of coffeo ; sho
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 was sure she innst be tired after her long walk in the 
 heat. Ah ! how long it was since Clarissa had tasted 
 such coffee, how long since she had handled delicate 
 porcelain, and been served from a silver salver ! And yet 
 Lady Ridley's house was not so splendidly appointed as 
 was her father's six years ago, when the world knew her 
 as Lady Clarissa Oakleigh. 
 
 That coffee did her good ; it braced her nerves, which 
 were somewhat shaken ; it invigorated her spirits, and 
 gave her time to resume her ordinary composure. 
 
 " Now, then," said Lady Ridley, when she had given 
 orders that she was not to be disturbed, "will yon teli 
 me all about yourself, Miss Leigh ? " 
 
 " I cannot ; " and Clarissa's face fell. But her interro- 
 gator had discrimination enough to discern that it was 
 not the shadow of guilt or of shame that darkened the 
 expressive and ingenuous countenance. 
 
 " You may trust me," said Lady Ridley, persuasively, 
 " If you will give me your confidence, I need not say I 
 shall respect it. Is Leigh your real name ? " 
 
 " It is, and it is not ! It is part of my name ; I have 
 the very strongest reasons for not calling myself by the 
 whole of it. My father died and left me penniless, though 
 he was a man of rank. He quite intended to provide for 
 me, but an accident occasioned his sudden death, while he 
 was yet in the enjoyment of unbroken health and perfect 
 vigour ; my mother I scarcely remember. It is through 
 my stepmother I am an exile." 
 
 " Does she bring any charge against yon ? " 
 
 " I do not know that she does ; and yet I am afraid she 
 speaks very ill of me. She never liked me from the first ; 
 but that was, to some extent, my own fault, for as a child, 
 and a most imperious one, I set her at defiance. She stood 
 'between my father and myself for some years, and I lived 
 almost apart, with my French governess. It was an un- 
 happy marriage a mere match for convenience on both 
 sides and a mesalliance into the bai'gain. My father 
 wanted money, the lady wanted position. When I began 
 to grow up my father's heart awoke, and he turned to me 
 the only child of a wife whom he had loved for conso- 
 lation, and also for companionship. For a little while, till
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 475 
 
 lie died, we were all the world to each other, and my step- 
 mother hated me accordingly, with a bitterness and inten- 
 sity of hatred which even now makes me shiver when 1 
 recall it. I was left at her mercy and iu her power, and 
 she made me her servant ; I was nursemaid to her 
 children. She persecuted me in every way, and at last, 
 as the final stroke of malice, would have forced upon me a 
 marriage unworthy not only of my name and lineage, but 
 of a pure minded and honourable woman. To escape from 
 the hateful importunities of a man whom I at once de- 
 tested and despised, I fled from home, aided by an old 
 servant of my father's, since dead. I came to London, 
 and lived, till about a year ago, with another former ser- 
 vant of the house, a respectable married woman. I had a 
 small sum of money to begin with. When it was gone, I 
 painted, I drew, I tried embroidery, anything to earn an 
 honest living. I am very, very weary of the struggle, and 
 I should thank God, in my heart of hearts, if He saw fit 
 to open the way to more assured means of livelihood. 
 That, Lady Ridley, is all my story ; I cannot tell you 
 more." 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Leigh, how can you expect anyone 
 to engage as governess I have three dear little girls a 
 person who owns to an alias or its equivalent, and who 
 refuses to disclose her true name and position ? " 
 
 " My name I cannot tell ! As for my position, it must 
 be made, and by myself. Lady Ridley, if yon will try me, 
 I think I can promise you most solemnly that you shall 
 not be disappointed. If you will take me, as Miss Leigh 
 simply, I do believe you will never repent the decision. If 
 I show the smallest indication of being other than I have 
 told yon ; if I display the least lightness of character, or 
 deceive you by one hair's breadth ; if, in short, I compro- 
 mise myself in any one particular, send me away on the 
 instant, to bear the full penalty of my misdeeds." 
 
 " There is one thing forgive me if I seem suspicious 
 but is there no person who, without revealing names, if it 
 must be so, could confirm the story you have told me ? / 
 believe you implicitly, observe ; but if I admit yon into 
 my family, and consign my dear children to your care, 
 without any warranty, save your own word, my husband
 
 476 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 will not be satisfied. I feel strangely impelled to espouse 
 your cause, and to become your friend, but I think, all 
 things considered, I ought to require some kind of testi- 
 mony beside your own." 
 
 " Mrs. Saunders, who was once my nursemaid, and with 
 whom I lived for three years, would tell you that I speak 
 plain, unvarnished truth ; but she is only the wife of a 
 small tradesman, and a comparatively uneducated person. 
 Still, her word is as unimpeachable as that of a duchess. 
 Also, the clergyman of the church I have lately attended 
 would, I am sure, testify, in some measure, to my respec- 
 tability ; and oh yes ! I think I can send you to some 
 
 one, who will satisfy you, and yet preserve my secret. Do 
 you know Mr. Hadfield, the celebrated lawyer? " 
 
 " I know him very well. He is Sir John's solicitor, as 
 his father was before him. Am I to understand, then, 
 that I may apply to Mr. Hadfield as your referee ? " 
 
 " I must see him first ; I will go to his offices at once, 
 and to-morrow I will let you know." 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " I am twenty-one to-day. It will be strange if a new 
 life should date from my majority." 
 
 " It is a good omen, I hope. Let me wish yon all 
 happiness and success, in whatever career may be before 
 you, and may God's blessing be on all your endeavours." 
 
 "I cannot thank you enough! I do trust I may be 
 permitted to convince you that I am not ungrateful. If I 
 do come under your roof, I will try to repay yon by the 
 diligence and the fidelity with which I hope to serve you." 
 
 " Something tells me we shall come to terms. But, do 
 yon know, I should have thought you were at least 
 twenty-five." 
 
 " My life has been so sad. I was thrown so early on 
 my own responsibility, and even as a child I was often, 
 told how old and grave I looked." 
 
 " It mnsfc make all the difference the kind of life one 
 leads, and I suppose the circumstances of one's childhood 
 do give an indelible tone and colouring to futare years. 
 5Tou will let me know to-morrow, then, whether I am to 
 apply to our mutual friend, Mr. Hadfield." 
 
 " I will, without fail. But I can scarcely call the pre-
 
 GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. 477 
 
 sent Mr. Hadfield my friend, thongh I have seen him and 
 spoken with him on several occasions. The old man his 
 father was indeed my friend ; had he lived, I should have 
 thrown myself on his protection long ago." 
 
 " Is Mr. Hadfield your family lawyer still ? " 
 
 " No ; my stepmother took her affairs out of the hands 
 of the father, long ago, and the sons both were in the 
 firm then were only too glad to be excused from any 
 further connection with a person who would not heed 
 their counsel, and who took offence continually at their 
 plain speaking, and imputed to them dishonourable 
 motives." 
 
 " Very well. It is needless to go into particulars at 
 present ; but I may just say my little girls are ten, eight, 
 and six years old. My niece, Miss Nugent, who was with 
 me yesterday, will be glad to take lessons in painting, and 
 to read and speak French with you, should we conclude 
 our bargain. And as she is quite too young to go into 
 society, she woiild probably be your companion frequently. 
 There is the luncheon bell. Will you join us ? We are 
 quite alone, the children and I. You will need something 
 substantial if yon are going at once all the way to 
 Lincoln's Inn." 
 
 But Clarissa gratefully declined. She wished to be 
 alone; she felt that she could not just then enter into 
 ordinary conversation, and nowhere could she be more 
 really alone than in a rattling London omnibus, and in the 
 noisy London streets where no one would speak to her, or 
 disturb the train of her reflections. She therefore took 
 her leave, and at once found an omnibus that would 
 convey her direct to the top of Chancery Lane. Once 
 settled in the corner seat, she closed her eyes and thought 
 over all that had happened within the last twenty-four 
 hours, and contemplated the possibilities that wer\J close 
 befovs ber. Her fellow-passengers thought she was asleep.
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HER STOUT. 
 
 Green pastures are before me, 
 
 Which yet I have not seen ; 
 Bright skies will soon be o'er rue, 
 
 Where the dark clouds have been. 
 My hopes I cannot measure, 
 
 My path to life is free, 
 My Saviour has my treasure, 
 
 And He will walk with me." 
 
 " WELL, my lady, yon have led us all a pretty dance ! 5> 
 said the little, trim, dapper, elderly gentleman who, in 
 answer to the note which Clarissa sent in to Mr. Had- 
 field's private room, very quickly presented himself. 
 " And where have yon been all this long time ? And how 
 is your good husband ? " 
 
 " My husband ?" and Clarissa looked amazed. Then 
 she laughed, and said, " I have not the honour of possess- 
 ing one, Mr. Hadfield. I am twenty-one to-day, and I 
 write myself ' Clarissa Oakleigh, spinster ! ' ' 
 
 " The Countess told us that you had married some low 
 person ; at least, she hoped, she tremblingly hoped, it was 
 a legal marriage ! " 
 
 " The Countess would have forced me to marry a very 
 low person. I fled from him as much as from her; I 
 should never have quitted my father's house clandestinely, 
 but for that young man." 
 
 " What might the young man's name be ? " 
 
 " His name was Alfred Chatters ! " 
 
 " And you ran away from him ? You ! Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh, the Earl's own daughter, fled from a vulgar, 
 Jow-born, and what is far worse low-minded, base- 
 hearted fellow, like Alfred Chatters ? " 
 
 " What could I do, Mr. Hadfield ? " 
 
 " Nobody would have dared to drag you into the Castle 
 Chapel at dead of night, as they might have dared two
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HER STORY. 4*7 
 
 centuries, nay, even one century ago, and upon pain of 
 death, or the cloister, force you into going through the 
 marriage ceremony ! And if you and that fool of a 
 Chatters had been conveyed to the parish church even, no 
 parvenue Countess that ever was born could have made you 
 pronounce the irrevocable ' I will ! ' ' 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Clarissa ; and then she told 
 her tale from first to last, which, of course, need not be 
 repeated here, as it is already known to our readers. 
 When she had finished, Mr. Hadfield said very seriously, 
 "It is a sad story, Lady Clarissa, and young and inex- 
 perienced as yon were, I scarcely wonder that you took 
 the course you did. But why did you not come to me f 
 Surely you might have trusted my father's son ? " 
 
 " I have thought since that I might. You must for- 
 give me, for I did not know you ; and I fancied that you 
 might feel it your duty, if I threw myself upon your 
 mercy, to give me up to Lady Orwell, who, as my father's 
 widow, seemed undoubtedly the proper person to pro- 
 tect me." 
 
 " If your father's widow had been anyone but the 
 quondam widow Shrosbery it might have been as you ap- 
 prehended ; for I never encourage headstrong young people 
 in their rebellion against the powers that be. But things 
 being as they were, I should simply have constituted 
 myself your guardian, and placed you under proper care, 
 not being myself a married man." 
 
 "Will you tell me, as exactly as you can, how the 
 Countess explained my disappearance ? " 
 
 " First of all, she said you were dead ; then, when she 
 feared legal inquiries into the mode and time of your 
 decease which might have been extremely awkward, you 
 know ! she confessed that you had ' absconded ' that was 
 how she phrased it ; that you had taken with you nearly 
 all your clothes, all your ornaments, and sundry other 
 properties to which you considered you had a right. I 
 at once set on foot a private inquiry, and I traced you 
 to London ; I found out that you travelled by sea, on 
 board a small coasting-vessel, commanded by a certain 
 Captain Brown. I lost you at the docks where you 
 landed, but both Captain Brown and the stewardess, a
 
 480 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Mrs. Spratt, assH.cd me that yon went away with a re- 
 spectable-looking young woman. After a while, my lady 
 of Orwell gave it ont that you were married, or that 
 you pretended to be married ! I think I may safely say 
 that no one even in her own queer set believed either 
 statement for a moment. As for myself, I went on 
 hunting for you till I was tired and ont of humour, 
 and told mjseif you were not worth any more powder 
 and shot." 
 
 " And why did you hunt for me, Mr. Hadfield ? " 
 
 " Why ? What a question for your father's daughter 
 to ask my father's son ! Have not Hadfields served Oak- 
 leighs, and been leal and true to them, ever since the days 
 of Adam ? Well ! say since the building of the Tower of 
 Babel ! It was my duty to look after yon, don't you see ? 
 Besides, I had it on my conscience that I had not done so 
 earlier ; that I had not rescued you from your painful 
 circumstances before affairs arrived at such a crisis. Then 
 I had your money in my hands poor Miss Shrosbery's 
 little legacy ! Why on earth did you not apply for that ? " 
 
 And again Clarissa had to explain, and Mr. Hadfield 
 had to declare that he had written three several letters, 
 addressed to " Lady Clarissa Oakleigh," at Orwell Castle, 
 and that two of them remained unanswered ; that the 
 third, which was couched in somewhat peremptory tones, 
 did elicit a response as it would appear, from herself 
 desiring that the money in charge to wit, one hundred 
 and sixty pounds should remain untouched, and be 
 allowed to accumulate, till she had reached her one-and- 
 twentieth birthday ! 
 
 " And, strange to say, I do come to yon on my one-and- 
 twentieth birthday! Bat, Mr. HadGeld, I never wrote 
 any letter to you in my life. Did you preserve the epistle 
 supposed to be mine ? " 
 
 " Of course I did ; such documents are always filed and 
 posted. I can lay my hand on it in three minutes." 
 
 Which he did, presenting it to Lady Clarissa for her 
 inspection. 
 
 Clarissa carefully examined it, and then returned it, 
 saying, " I never wrote that letter, Mr. Hadfield ; I never 
 6aw it before. And I never received any letter from you.
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HER 8.t)ET. 481 
 
 I came here to-day simply on the strength of Miss Shros- 
 bery's own assurance that, when all expenses were paid, a 
 small sum., or what seemed so to her, would be at my dis- 
 posal. I had certain expectations nothing more. Your 
 letters to ine were intercepted, and someone has written 
 in my name to yon." 
 
 " I expected as much ! I was sure of it, but I did not 
 see how to interfere without some communication with 
 yourself. I should like to prosecute somebody for forgery." 
 
 " Let it pass ; it does not matter now. That person's 
 power over me is at an end, nor do I think she will dare 
 further to traduce my character." 
 
 " And may I ask what you are going to do with your- 
 self now ? " 
 
 Clarissa told him, and moreover explained to him in 
 what way she wished that he should serve her. But the 
 grave lawyer shook his head. " No, no ! " he replied, " I 
 cannot be a party to any arrangement of the kind. Lord 
 Orwell's daughter going oat as a governess ! it is simply 
 absurd ! '* 
 
 " But Lord Orwell's daughter must live. She cannot 
 starve, she cannot steal, she cannot beg. A princess and 
 a workhouse girl are in the same predicament when it 
 comes to the question of mere maintenance. I have a 
 hundred and sixty pounds, you tell me; it is full two 
 hundred pounds by this time, do you say? So far so 
 good, for I need money for immediate expenses, sorely, 
 sorely ! But I cannot live on the interest of two hundred 
 pounds. I must secure some kind of income, and I must 
 have a home. I thought it only wise to lay aside my 
 title, which under the circumstances seemed little better 
 than a mockery. A titled woman, with exactly nothing 
 a-year, and the wife of a small tradesman for sole friend 
 and helper ! it was too ridiculous." 
 
 " Granted, but it was still more ridiculous to conceal 
 yourself from me. And now you want me to aid you in 
 another irrational quixotic project." 
 
 " Mr. Hadfield, am I not now my own mistress ? Is 
 there any living person who can exercise the right of con- 
 trol over any of my actions ? " 
 
 *' I am bound to say that there is not. But you have 
 
 31
 
 482 LADY CLARIt'SA. 
 
 relations, though distant ones, and blood is blood ; and it 
 would be a reflection on your family, and on your kindred, 
 however remote, if yon were reduced to the extremity of 
 getting your own living in any dependent capacity." 
 
 " I have thought of that, hence I determine to remain 
 simple 'Miss Leigh ! ' I dare say some of my fourth or 
 fifth cousins would give me an asylum, rather than permib 
 the world to behold me honourably at work for my sub- 
 sistence. But it strikes me that I should still be a depen- 
 dent, and I should still have to render some sort of ser- 
 vice., being on their charity. I am afraid I am too proud 
 to enact the role of poor relation with any success ; in 
 fact, I had enough of it at Orwell. It would surely be 
 expected, and not unreasonably, that since I could nob 
 make myself ornamental, I should as advertisements say 
 ' be willing to make myself generally useful ! ' Now thab 
 commonly implies a good deal of drudgery, and a plentiful 
 dietary of humble pie ; and then one's relations, as a rule, 
 never deem it necessary to pay one for service rendered. 
 Being professedly treated as one of the family, salary i.-s 
 supposed to be out of the question, so that the only 
 tiling gained is the preservation of caste. Now I havo 
 lost caste as Lady Clarissa ; but I think I may still make a 
 very respectable Miss Leigh, and as Lady Ridley's gover- 
 ness I shall hold a reputable position, and receive decent 
 wages for honest work." 
 
 " Did yon never hear the name of Ridley before ? " 
 
 " I am sure I have ; but in what connection I cannot 
 recollect." 
 
 "It is a curious fact that yon should have fallen in 
 with the Ridleys. Ttis Sir John Ridley is the younger 
 brother and heir of your father's friend of old time Sir 
 Charles Ridley ; and it was in his house that the Earl of 
 Orwell first met and loved the beautiful Clarissa Grey, 
 your ladyship's own mother." 
 
 " My father told me that my mother, though well con- 
 nected, was not of noble family ; that she moved in a sphere 
 beneath his own ; in short, that she was a governess, and 
 that, as such, he wooed and married her. But I do not 
 remember that he mentioned the name of Ridley." 
 
 " Nevertheless, Clarissa Grey was governess to Lady
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HER STORY. 483 
 
 Ridley's little daughters. Tho Sir Jolin Ridley, into 
 whose family you propose to enter, must have seen your 
 mother often. And do you know that, without exactly 
 inheriting her marvellous beauty, you Lave grown ex- 
 tremely like her ! If Sir John be not struck by the re. 
 semblance, I shall be surprised." 
 
 "It is very singular. But what you tell me, Mr. Had- 
 field, greatly increases my desire to secure this situation. 
 Do give me your countenance and assistance. My two 
 hundred pounds, which yon have so kindly held and 
 managed for me, seems at this moment quite a splendid 
 fortune ; but it will not afford me any sort of income. 
 And as my dear father's sudden death left me without 
 provision, it only remains that I provide for myself. Dear 
 me ! persons more nobly born, and better in every respect 
 than myself, have been compelled to earn their living. 
 And there is no disgrace in labouring in any capacity, pro- 
 vided it be an honest one ; and teaching little girls of my 
 own order seems to me not only good, but pleasant work. 
 All I ask of you is, that you will confirm the story I told 
 Lady Ridley several hours ago, mentioning no names." 
 
 " I will see Lady Ridley, and hear what she has to 
 say. My own advice is, that you give her your full and 
 perfect confidence ; she is a wise as well as an honourable- 
 woman, and you may be quite sure that she will preserve 
 a discreet silence, if you continue to prescribe it. Of 
 course, Sir John must know, but he also may be trusted. 
 I think, Lady Clarissa, that it will be for your interest in 
 every point of view to deal quite openly with these good 
 people ; I am sure you will never repent it. Since you 
 must have a home and that you must, I admit you cau 
 Rcarcely have a better one than they will afford you." 
 
 " But it is surely an absurdity to go flourishing my 
 empty title in the schoolroom ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so ; I have not quite made up my mind on 
 that score ; but of this I am certain, that Sir John and 
 Lady Ridley ought to know whom they shelter, apart 
 from any disguise, which may be or may not be defen- 
 ible." ' 
 
 " I should have exposed myself to suspicion, and cer- 
 tainly to ridicule, if I had gone among the people with 
 
 31-2
 
 4-84 LADT CLAEISSA. 
 
 whom I hare consorted all these years as Lady Clarissa. 
 Why ! some months ago, I was on the point of setting-up 
 a, little weekly school at sixpence a- week for reading and 
 rplain sewing, a shilling per week for writing, fancy-work, 
 ;and geography, without the use of the globes twopence a- 
 vreek extra, for manners, of course ! Fancy my sending 
 out circulars, under my true style and title, and imagine 
 my drawing up an account for I was to have one quar- 
 terly pupil ' Mrs. Muggins to Lady Clarissa Oakleigh, 
 ifor one quarter's instruction of Miss Muggins 10s. 6d. ! ' 
 Some people would at once have dubbed me an impostor ; 
 the more charitably disposed would have accredited me 
 with insanity. The joke would have got into the news- 
 papers, and those from whom I was hiding would at onco 
 Slave discovered my retreat." 
 
 " I do not blame you, as regards the past, Lady Clarissa, 
 though take notice that I consider your evasion a decided 
 mistake. At any rate, if you could not help eloping, all by 
 yourself and I am not prepared to say you had at the 
 itime any other alternative you ought, as soon as yon ar- 
 rived in town, to have come here to me, or, at least, to have 
 communicated with me, and that without delay. No ; the 
 past being irrevocable, let us ignore it, and not waste any 
 more breath in discussing the pros and cons of what can- 
 siot now be altered. But as regards the future, I entreat 
 you to drop the masquerade, so far as regards the Ridleys. 
 3f they do not object to receive you, and to introduce you 
 ;as Miss Leigh, all well and good ; but you must not run 
 'the risk of inopportune discovery. Hidden in the depths 
 
 of Chelsea, and meeting only with persons of a certain 
 
 class, you were not likely to get into difficulties on account 
 of your alias ; but the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and 
 
 -the select circle of my Lady Ridley, are toutes autres chosen 
 you know ! I am sure you must perceive it for your- 
 self." 
 
 " I begin to see that certain contretemps are not unlikely 
 to arise ; but I have already distinctly stated to Lady 
 Kidley that Leiyh is not my real name, but only part of it. 
 "Still, if yon seriously counsel me to reveal all I have con- 
 cealed to Lady Ridley and, of course, to Sir John I 
 *rill do so."
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HEP. STORY. 485 
 
 1 do seriously counsel entire openness. Let the Ridley* 
 know all that is to be known ; there is nothing to be- 
 ashamed of, nothing you need hide from them ; then they 
 can decide whether or not it is expedient for you, as theirr 
 governess, to preserve your incognito. When shall yot&. 
 see Lady Ridley again ? " 
 
 " I promised to see her to-morrow chiefly to inform her 
 whether yon were willing to stand surety for my truthful- 
 ness, as regards my story and my general respectability."' 
 
 " I will write to her ladyship this evening, and assuro 
 her that you are most worthy of her regard, that she may 
 with perfect confidence receive you into her family. But 
 I shall leave the disclosure of your real name to yourself,, 
 and I shall tell her that I have advised you not to pre- 
 serve your incognito, as far as she and her husband are- 
 concerned. All the rest must be settled between yourselves... 
 Now, about money. Lady Clarissa ; is your purse tolerably 
 supplied ? " 
 
 Clarissa drew out her poor, faded purse, and with &> 
 blush and a smile explained that it contained something 1 ' 
 less than a sovereign, and that she would really be very 
 thankful to receive some small instalment of her legacy as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 " Shall I draw you a cheque for ten pounds, or for- 
 twenty pounds or for how much ?" said Mr. Hadfield, 
 taking pen in hand. 
 
 " I will have twenty pounds, if yon please. Woman- 
 like, I am anxious to rush to the linendraper's and th& 
 milliner's." 
 
 " I should have thought Lady Clarissa Oakleigh waa 
 above the petty foibles of her sex." 
 
 " Lady Clarissa may be, but Miss Clara Leigh is not f.' 
 Yon see, Mr. Hadfield, if I go to Lady Ridley's, I must 
 dress respectably ; and seeing that this old gown, which, 
 threatens continually to fall to pieces, is the only one in. 
 which I am at all presentable, and taking into account the> 
 fact that I have not replenished my wardrobe since leav- 
 ing Orwell if I except a cheap washing dress or two 
 and that all my habiliments are in the last stage of hope- 
 less consumption, it behoves me, I think, to take speedjf 
 measures for the rerewal of my toilet."
 
 486 1ADT CLARISSA. 
 
 " I think so, indeed ; I had no idea that yon had been 
 so straitened ; let me give yon thirty pounds at once, 
 and draw npon me for all that yon require. Yon will need 
 a general snpply of everything, from bonnets to boots, and 
 money is soon spent when you take to shopping on snch a 
 gcale." 
 
 " Also I may as well confess it I have been obliged, 
 in order not to incur debt, to pawn my watch and some 
 of my dear mother's jewels. I shall wish to redeem them 
 cs quickly as may be, now that I am so rich." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! to think you should have been 
 brought to such a pass, and I within your reach all the 
 time ! Of course, the watch and the ornaments must bo 
 redeemed. I will attend to that for yon ; when next we 
 meet hand over the tickets to me. Now, come and have 
 some dinner. There is a place, not far off, where ladies 
 dine. No, don't refuse ; I am not going to let you have 
 your own way any longer. Tour face at this moment is 
 nearly the colour of your pocket-handkerchief. Let me 
 see, I had better get your chequo cashed, had I not r* 
 You shall have twenty-five pounds in notes, and the rest 
 in gold. You will not lose it, eh ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall. I am so unused to having money ii: 
 my pocket. But I will take care. I have lost all tho 
 country-cousinhood I brought with me to town ; I feel like 
 a veritable Londoner." 
 
 "Nevertheless, Londoners prey on Londoners, as well 
 as on country-cousins, when they get the chance. Now, 
 then, let us be going. I am hungry, if you are not, and I 
 am sure you stand in need of refreshment." 
 
 In the ladies'-room of an establishment such as wo 
 should now call a restaurant, Clarissa, for the first time 
 for many a day, sat down to a dainty little dinner. 
 
 Mr. Hadfield seemed thoroughly to enjoy his repast, 
 but he kept a sharp watch on his companion, and saw 
 that she did not trifle with the delicate little plals he 
 ordered on her account, and he insisted on her drinking 
 a glass of good sound claret. The truth was, he felt 
 quite shocked at Clarissa's faded, careworn looks, and 
 the shabbiness of her one best dr^ss, and her only bon- 
 net, touched him to the heart ; and as he discussed his
 
 CLARISSA TELLS HER STOUT. 487 
 
 41 sole NonNOfuZe," lie reproached himself that he had dis- 
 continued the search for the girl, whom his father would 
 have guarded and protected at any cost or risk. He had 
 always meant to resume certain inquiries, to endeavour to 
 take up the clae winch he had been compelled to let fall 
 at the dock where the Mermaid landed her solitary pas- 
 senger, but Mr. Hadfield had not only inherited his father's 
 clientele, but he had added very largely to his practice as 
 solicitor, and his time and thoughts were both very fully 
 and continually occupied. " However," said he to himself, 
 as he sipped his Chateaux Margaux, " I will take care not 
 to lose sight of her again. To think of Orwell's daughter 
 wandering about London in this guise ! She will be safe 
 for the present under Lady Ridley's cai'e. Don't I wish 
 I could punish that old harridan, her stepmother! I'll 
 do something to pay her out, or my name is not Thomas 
 Hadfield. I wonder if I could frighten her almost out 
 of her senses ? she is such a fool in many ways, and I 
 know a good deal of her history. It would not be very 
 difficult, and I really want something to divert me, by way 
 of recreation." 
 
 Clarissa, still crumbling her French roll, wondered what 
 he was smiling at such a curious, cynical, malicious smile 
 it was. When they left the restaurant they walked back to 
 the office, where Clarissa found her magic slip of pink and 
 white paper transformed into gold and notes. Then Mr. 
 Hadfield called a cab, and put her into it, intimating as 
 she drove off that the fare was paid, and that she had only 
 to alight on reaching her destination. 
 
 She slept that night as she had not slept for many 
 months ; her sleep was sweet and sound, and wonderfully 
 refreshing. Next morning, when she tried to say her 
 prayers, all she could think of was, " Bless the Lord, oh, 
 my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name." 
 And, at the appointed time, she once more donned her old 
 black silk, and resolving to buy a neat, ready-trimmed 
 bonnet on the road, set off for Hyde Park Gardens.
 
 483 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 ADELAIDE'S PREVISIONS. 
 
 * Her life came to her, hour by hour, day by day, and she never 
 hurried it. She never wanted to meddle with the future. She 
 left it as the sacred, untouched ' to come,' in the hands of God." 
 
 LADY RIDLEY met Clarissa with Mr. Hadfield's letter in 
 her hand. It was, as you may suppose, perfectly satisfac- 
 tory, but he strongly urged upon both ladies the fullest 
 and most entire confidence, and he went so far as to 
 observe that the Ridley family had already been in a 
 certain way connected with that of Miss Leigh, and that 
 Miss Leigh's father and the late Sir Charles Ridley had 
 been close friends many years before. 
 
 " Will you not tell me all about it ? " said Lady Ridley, 
 when she and Clarissa were again seated tete-a-tete. " I 
 de not make a condition of your confidence, but I think it 
 would be so much better for us both if there were no 
 secret between us, and my husband would be satisfied, 
 which I am afraid he might not if there were any reserva- 
 tions. Yon tell me that Leigh is a part of your name ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the latter part. Lady Ridley, my own judgment 
 endorses that of Mr. Hadfield. I think you have a right 
 to know who I really am, and I am quite sure it will be 
 happier for myself that it should be so. My name, then, 
 is Clarissa Oakleigh, and my dear father was the Earl of 
 Orwell. And my mother, once Clarissa Grey, was, as Mr. 
 Hadfield informs me, governess in the family of Sir 
 Charles Ridley. In fact, my parents, I believe, first saw 
 each other at Ridley Park, and the wedding took place in 
 London from Sir Charles' town house." 
 
 " You are, then, Lady Clarissa Oakleigh ? " 
 
 " That is my proper style and title, certainly ; but I 
 laid it aside four years ago when I quitted Orwell and 
 entered upon a life of humble labour and obscurity. In 
 the first place, I anxiously desired to hide myself from my 
 stepmother and from another person whom 1 dreaded and
 
 ADELAIDE'S PREVISIONS. 489 
 
 disliked ; and I also felt that in tlie circumstances to 
 which. I was reduced, and in the position which I musfc 
 necessarily accept, any assumption of rank must needs bo 
 inexpedient and ridiculous. As regards Lady Orwell and 
 that other person, I think I need not any longer disturb 
 myself her ladyship cannot now pretend to any kind of 
 control over me ; and the other person from whose perse- 
 cutions I fled, I should not fear to meet to-morrow, though, 
 from motives of pure aversion, I would fain never see his 
 face again." 
 
 " This ' other person,' I presume, was an unacceptable 
 suitor ? " 
 
 " Precisely so. If it would not weary you, I should like 
 to tell you the whole story of my life, from my father's 
 death to the day before yesterday, when we met in Mr. 
 Sabine's shop." 
 
 " It is just what I am anxious to hear. Addie was 
 right ; she said she was quite sure you had a story." 
 
 And then, for the second time within twenty-four hours, 
 Clarissa told the sad tale of which she was the heroine, be- 
 ginning with Chatters' arrival at the Castle, and ending, 
 as she had promised, with the interview in Mr. Sabine's 
 shop. She tried to tell the story as simply as possible, not 
 dwelling upon her own wrongs, nor exaggerating her mis- 
 fortunes, nor sparing herself in those instances wherein she 
 now felt she was more or less to blame ; but just giving the 
 facts as they actually were, and narrating the events with- 
 frank and scrupulous veracity. 
 
 " I have heard before of Lady Orwell's eccentricities, to 
 apply no harsher word to her strange conduct. Mr. Had- 
 field is evidently supremely disgusted with her ; he says she 
 must have suppressed tetters from himself to you letters 
 which would have gone far to render unnecessary the re- 
 treat which your stepmother speaks of as your elopement. 
 But now, my dear, I hope your troubles are ended. I think 
 I can promise you that my husband and myself will be as 
 true friends to you as were Sir Charles and the former 
 Lady Ridley to your mother. Only 1 do not like the idea 
 of making yon my governess ; you are more nobly descended 
 than myself. And yet I will not contemplate the prospect 
 of our ever again being strangers to each other."
 
 490 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Dear Lady Ridley, I trust you will not let my rank my 
 empty title, which is a mere accident of birth stand in the 
 way of my good fortune. I must maintain myself, having 
 neither pecuniary resources nor expectations. The life of 
 a governess will be easy and pleasant compared with that 
 which I have led for many years. It will be delightful to 
 be usefully employed, and to serve those upon whose kind- 
 ness and steadfastness I can depend. I ask nothing better 
 than to be engaged by yon as the instructress of your little 
 girls. God helping me, I will strive to be a blessing to 
 them and a comfort to yourself." 
 
 " Very well, then, that is settled ; you are to come to me 
 as soon as you can arrange your affairs. But, my dear, 
 though you act as my governess, I shall treat you as my 
 friend and sister. I shall at once let it be known that a 
 friend of mine is about to reside with me, and assist me 
 in the education of my children. I shall not speak of you, 
 nor allow others to speak of yon, as the governess ! " 
 
 " You are very, very good, and I shall be, I trust, your 
 true and faithful friend. But as I intend to do the work 
 of a governess, I shall not be ashamed of tbe name of one. 
 And I should like still to be called Miss Leigh." 
 
 " Miss Oakleigh would be better, would it not ? That 
 would be simply to drop the title, which might be re- 
 sumed at any time, though I do not see why you should 
 not at once be known to the world as Lady Clarissa 
 Oakleigh. You and I have settled our arrangements, and 
 henceforth you make your home with me. That is simple, 
 and quite satisfactory." 
 
 " Extremely so ; I should deserve future misfortune if I 
 did not feel more than satisfied with the present aspect of 
 affairs; nevertheless, I must, if you please, be known 
 simply as Miss Oakleigh." 
 
 " And when can you come to us ? " 
 
 " I think I should like to have a fortnight for necessary 
 preparations. You would not care that I should enter your 
 house with a shabbier and scantier wardrobe than any of 
 your servants. Also, I have a small order from Mr. Sabine 
 to complete." 
 
 " Surely you need not ar.y longer paint pictures for the 
 chops ? "
 
 ADELAIDE'S PREVISIONS. 401 
 
 " No ; but this order was received when I was only too 
 thankful to obtain it ; besides, I promised Mr. Sabine that 
 certain drawings should be executed by the end of the 
 month. I promised unconditionally, therefore I think I 
 ought unconditionally to perform. Of course, I shall not 
 undertake fresh work." 
 
 " You are right a bargain is a bargain, and a promise, 
 though involving inconvenience, should be kept. Shall 
 we say, then, this day fortnight ? " And so it was 
 arranged ; and Clarissa returned to Chelsea to impart the 
 great news to Fancy, whom she had not yet enlightened, lest 
 the negotiations with Lady Ridley should end in nothing. 
 Mrs. Saunders was, of course, delighted, and her own 
 rooms being vacant just then, she persuaded Clarissa 
 to occupy thm, that she might the more effectually be 
 aided in the preparations she had to make. The fortnight 
 soon passed, and Clarissa, having once more supplied her- 
 self with suitable raiment, and having also finished Mr. 
 Sabine's pictures, took up her abode at the Eidleys', and 
 entered on her new and pleasant duties. 
 
 She had never been happier In her life. Lady Ridley 
 treated her like a sister. Sir John was kindness and con- 
 sideration itself. The children were well-behaved, affec- 
 tionate, and intelligent, and Adelaide Nugent was her 
 friend and companion. Uncle Horace, whom Clarissa soon 
 came to know as Captain Willoughby, was very much 
 with his sister at Hyde Park Gardens, and appeared 
 to like nothing better than conversing with the new 
 inmate, whom his niece Addie assured him continually was 
 "the dearest and charmingest creature in the world!" 
 But neither Captain Willoughby nor Addie knew who 
 Clarissa actually was. They were only told that she 
 belonged to one of the oldest and best families in the 
 kingdom ; that she was an orphan, and, through the 
 unkindness of relatives, portionless. 
 
 " As if the dirty dross of money mattered," said Addie, 
 one day, about four months after Clarissa's domestication 
 among them, and when they were all together at Ridley 
 Park, including Uncle Horace. 
 
 "Yon would find it mattered very much, Addie," 
 returned Lady Ridley, " if you were suddenly left quite
 
 492 LADY CLARISSA, 
 
 destitute. You would not despise the 'dirty dross* if 
 you came to be in Clarissa's circumstances ; yon have not 
 the smallest idea of the value of money." 
 
 " And why should I have ? I have as much as I want, 
 and Uncle John that is, for papa pays all my bills, and 
 stints me in nothing. If I chose to be extravagant, I dare 
 say, I should begin to make calculations, and to be 
 covetous ; but I do not think I shall ever wish to exceed 
 my allowance. Or if I do, papa won't mind he is so 
 generous, and he never scolded me in all my life. It 
 must be awkward, though, to have no money at all, or 
 only just a little that yon cant make do, and, worst of all, 
 to be alone in the world, without father or mother, or 
 kind uncles or aunts, or any one to take good care of you. 
 Now really, Aunt Emily, I wonder what would become of 
 me if I were left to my own resources. Just fancy me, 
 obliged to earn my own living, and without guidance or 
 control ! " 
 
 " I really cannot fancy it, Addie, and I earnestly hope 
 you will never be in such straits, for I do not think you 
 have Clarissa's high courage and patient endurance." 
 
 "And yet Clarissa, I suppose, was in her childhood and 
 early youth as happily situated as I am ? " 
 
 " No, she was not. But her position in life was superior 
 to yours, and she could have had as little idea of actual 
 poverty as yourself." 
 
 " How very religious she is. I don't mean that she is 
 always breaking out into texts and verses of hymns, or 
 bothering you about your soul, like that curious person 
 with whom we lodged at Scalby last summer ; but she 
 seems to think so much about pleasing God, and she 
 trusts Him so ; and she is so kind and patient, and 
 anxious to do all the good she can, and she is so content 
 to leave her future in God's hands. Now I who have no 
 real anxieties want to know what is coming ; I feel 
 sometimes as if I must run on to meet the life that is 
 coming to me, while Clarissa is thankful to take her life 
 as it comes to her, day by day, and hour by hour." 
 
 " Yon know ivho said, ' Take no thought for the 
 morrow ' ? " 
 
 " Auntie, I have often wondered what that meant, for il
 
 ADELAIDE'S PREVISIONS. 493 
 
 we interpret ifc literally, it seems to me that the whole 
 world mast get into hopeless confusion. Christ could 
 never intend that we should go on our way regardless of 
 consequences." 
 
 " Christ never intended anything that was in the 
 smallest degree unreasonable or unnatural. It was the 
 great charm, and power of His teaching that He taught as 
 one who, being Himself man, knew what man's cares, and 
 griefs, or temptations were. That text is very easily 
 explained. Yon know when our present translation of 
 the Bible was made ? " 
 
 " To be sure ; in the reign of James I. that most 
 foolish, and self conceited, and ridiculous of English 
 kings!" 
 
 "Well, at that time the word thought was often used 
 to express undue care, over anxiety as the literature of 
 the day proves. Shakespeare uses the word I forget 
 where in this sense ; Lord Bacon speaks of a man ac- 
 cused of some offence against the State, who, ere the 
 day of trial came, ' died of thought ' that is, of dread 
 and excessive anxiety as to the issues of his prosecution. 
 The same expression occurs frequently in letters of the 
 period, especially in those of Queen Elizabeth's secretary, 
 Sir William Cecil. You see words, like coins, vary in, 
 their worth as centuries roll on. The penny of James I. 
 was, doubtless, a very respectable piece of money so 
 much could be purchased with it. A penny now is of 
 little avail, even to a beggar, if it stand alone. Just so, 
 ' taking thought ' in the present day means due conside- 
 ration ; in the day of these translators it meant invari- 
 ably worry and distress of mind." 
 
 " I see. I am so glad to know. And that other ex- 
 pression about not being able to add a cubit to one's 
 stature has always seemed to me such a far fetched ex- 
 pression." 
 
 "It is an expression due to the ignorance or careless- 
 ness of the translators. The Master Himself said no- 
 thing of tho kind. I am sorry to say I am not such a 
 Biblical scholar as I might be, and I am not quite cer- 
 tain what the true rendering really is ; but I believe it ia 
 that a man cauiiot add to his life any period of duration
 
 494 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 beyond that which Grod has assigned him I thirJc that ia 
 it, but I will not be positive. Your Uncle John, however, 
 will tell you, for he is an excellent Greek scholar, and, 
 except for family purposes, never uses the common English 
 translation." 
 
 Then Addle was quiet, and for nearly a quarter of an 
 hour she stitched silently at her embroidery, while her 
 aunt wrote a letter. But as Lady Ridley lighted the taper 
 to seal her note for there were no such things as adhe- 
 sive envelopes, nor, indeed, any envelopes at all, in those 
 days she burst out with, " Auntie ! the most delightful 
 idea has just occurred to me." 
 
 " Is it practicable as well as delightful? " 
 
 " Quite ! I'll tell it to you in confidence. Uncle 
 Horace and Clarissa Oakleigh shall be married ! It will 
 be just as good as a novel." 
 
 But Lady Ridley looked very grave as she replied, 
 " Really, Addie, you are too old to talk in that wild, rash 
 way. If yon breathe one word of such a notion to Clarissa, 
 yon would at once disturb all her peace and comfort, and 
 perhaps drive her away from ns." 
 
 " Aunt Emily, I am not such a simpleton as to speak to 
 Clarissa ; I only mentioned it to you in strict confidence." 
 
 " Better not mention anything of the kind to anyone! 
 Better not think of it yourself. One careless word, or 
 one oblique hint, might do an infinitude of mischief. There 
 is something, to my mind, indelicate in such speculations." 
 
 " Auntie, I did not mean any harm. I only thought 
 how nice it would be to have Clarissa for my Aunt Wil- 
 longhby. And then they suit so well, and I ana pretty 
 sure Uncle Horace does like Clarissa." 
 
 " Liking is one thing, marrying is another. And they 
 are too poor to marry. I hope they will not think of such 
 an imprudence. Mind you do not suggest it to either of 
 them ; yon chatter very freely to your Uncle Horace some- 
 times, you know." 
 
 " I do know ; but I should never think of referring to 
 anything of that sort. One may go so far with Uncle 
 Horace, and no farther ; one may be very frank and free 
 with him, but one must not take a liberty. I know no 
 one who can quench impertinence more quickly by a word,
 
 ADELAIDE $ PREVISIONS. 
 
 or by a. look, or tone even. Bat quite between ourselves, 
 annt, I do think it may be some day ; Clarissa has not 
 thought of it yet, but I can't help fancying Uncle Horace 
 has. And would they be so very poor ? " 
 
 " You know your grandpapa is not rich, and Horace ia 
 only a younger son, while Clarissa has literally nothing." 
 
 " But she may have, may she not ? " 
 
 " I cannot see how, for she has no near relations in th 
 world who are likely to leave her any money ; nor has she 
 any legal claim upon those who onght, but who decline, to 
 make adequate provision for a daughter of their house." 
 
 " What a pity ; now, if Uncle Horace " 
 
 "My dear, I should prefer not to continue the conver- 
 sation. You know how I dislike vulgar gossip; and the 
 discussion of probable marriage between two persons who 
 show no sign of discussing it between themselves comes 
 under that head." 
 
 And so Addie was reduced to silence ; but being a young 
 lady of decided and tenacious opinions, she was by no 
 means internally convinced. Lady Ridley herself could 
 not shake off a sort of latent notion that Addie might be 
 right ; she pondered it in her own mind, not even men- 
 tioning the idea to her husband. She quietly watched 
 the two, and said nothing to anyone. 
 
 And the autumn passed away, and winter once more 
 spread its snowy mantle over the leaf-strewn sward of 
 Ridley Park, and Christmas came with all its hallowed 
 memories and festal joys, and still Lady Ridley was un- 
 certain whether Addie's guess had been a true one. Only, 
 that which at first sight had seemed to her a mere im- 
 possibility, was becoming daily more probable and more 
 satisfactory. And one morning, when Lady Ridley had 
 gone to her husband's study to ask some needful question, 
 he said suddenly, dropping the pen in the act of resuming 
 it: "My dear, are your friend Clarissa and your brother 
 Horace going to make a match of it ? " 
 
 " JOHN ! ! " Half-a-dozen notes of interrogation and 
 exclamation would not suffice to mark the surprised and 
 almost reproachful inflexion of Lady Ridley's voice. 
 
 " "Well, my dear, and what is there in that speech to mak* 
 you look ten hundred queries and a thousand rebukes ? **
 
 i>'3 IAPT CLARISSA, 
 
 " Just think of what yon are say in g. One breala u? ib 
 would drive Clarissa from Ridley." 
 
 " I don't see why it should. Clarissa seems to me an 
 extremely sensible young lady, and if she can't like 
 Horace Willoughby having no previous attachment t 
 am sorry for her, and have no hesitation in saying that 
 she deserves to be an old maid ! " 
 
 "You do not think Horace is in love with her ? " 
 
 '* My dear wife, where are your eyes ? " 
 
 " In my head, of course ; but your tone leads me fco 
 suspect that I have not been using them to much purpose 
 lately. Tell me, John do you know that Horace is think- 
 ing of Clarissa ? " 
 
 "I do know it; but whether Clarissa is thinking of 
 Horace is more than I can say ! I thought, perhaps, you 
 could tell me that. But seriously, Emily, should you 
 object to Clarissa as a sister ? " 
 
 " There is nobody in the world I should prefer to her ; 
 she is all but my sister now. But sister and sister-in-law 
 are not quite interchangeable phrases, and I think we ought 
 to reflect before we encourage anything between these two." 
 
 " I don't see it ; I thought for once the capricious deity 
 \vas going to behave in the most unexceptional manner. 
 It seemed to me a heaven-made match. What would you 
 have ? Clarissa is charming and good, and well born, 
 and Horace is in love with her, and has been ever since 
 last April. Why should they not marry ? " 
 
 " Because they have so little to marry upon." 
 
 " I hope my little wife is not growing worldly. These 
 young folks are not rich, and, considering their station in 
 life, they are actually poor / But what then ? Horace has 
 brains and energy, and a small patrimony, and Clarissa 
 cares little for luxuries, and does not go in for the pomps 
 and vanities of this wicked world, like some fashionable 
 ladies whom I could mention. Besides, she has learned 
 contentment and economy in a hard school." 
 
 " You think they might venture ? " 
 
 " If they love each other, they oityld to venture. There 
 would be no imprudence in their case. Neither of them 
 cjijr-es much, if at all, for fashionable position, or for expen- 
 sive pleasures."
 
 ADELAIDE'S ^REVISIONS. 47* 
 
 " Horace will leave the army, of courso.*' 
 
 " He is intending to do so, I believe, irrespective of 
 Clarissa's claims. He never liked his profession, as yon. 
 know ; he always wished to enter the Chnrch. I advise- 
 him to sell out and embrace the vocation which is so 
 clearly his. I would not so counsel him if I were not sure? 
 that he wonld be the right man in the right place. I. 
 always said he was cut out for a clergyman." 
 
 " And you have two good livings under your patronage/" 
 
 "I have, Emily. All things considered, I abominate 
 what is called ' Church patronage,' for I think I am sura 
 it is the fruitful source of much that is inj arious to man,, 
 and displeasing to God. But having two ' livings ' how- 
 well the word expresses the mean fact in my gift, all I 
 have to do is to bastow them, as a faithful steward 
 acting for a righteous and omnipresent Master. And I 
 know that if I put Horace in Brightlands Rectory, which,, 
 iu the course of nature, must be vacant in a very few years,, 
 I shall be doing that for which I shall not be ashamed to* 
 answer at the great settling day. Not but what I count; 
 Church patronage an error and an abuse, which will one> 
 day pull down, or help to pull down, the National Estab- 
 lishment to the ground. It won't come in our day, Emily ^ 
 bat our children may live to see strange things." 
 
 " God forbid ! " 
 
 " Nay ! Strange things may be to God's glory. And I r 
 see with my own eyes that the National Chnrch is fast., 
 becoming national only in name." 
 
 "Bnt God's Chnrch cannot fall." 
 
 "Never! But God's Church is the whole Church mili- 
 tant here upon earth, of which we of the Church of 
 England are only a section. God has to do with prin- 
 ciples, out of which grow Churches. I am afraid He haa 
 little, if anything, to do with systems, out of which grow 
 establishments. Systems have their day, and fade and 
 die when their time comes ; principles only are immortaL 
 The Church of Rome is a system ; the Chnrch of England- 
 is a system. The one, I think, has done her work, and a 
 great work it was, in the old days gone by ; the other 
 will do her work to the end, I trust ; but both, as Estab~ 
 lishments, must perish, even on this side eternity."' 
 
 32
 
 498 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Those strong lines, " Oar little systems have their day," 
 &c., were not then written, or Sir John Ridley would, 
 doubtless, have quoted them ; but I think he had the true 
 conception of them in his mind. 
 
 And so it came to pass, that when Addie's previsions 
 were verified, and Horace Willonghby asked Clarissa to 
 be his own dear wife, she consented, knowing well that 
 she would be welcomed by every member of her lover's 
 family. And Addie could not help being the least bit- 
 triumphant over Aunt Emily. The young couple wonld 
 have to wait at least several years, but that did not matter; 
 both were willing to wait, and both had perfect confidence 
 in each other, and in the wisdom and love of God whom 
 they humbly served and trusted. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 " SING SMALL, LOO, SING SMALL ! " 
 
 *' Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding 
 
 small; 
 
 Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds 
 He all." ' 
 
 HORACE and Clarissa were engaged quite two years two 
 years which to the latter were full of calm, uneventful 
 happiness and peaceful waiting. Horace, as had been 
 arranged, sold his commission, and, as quickly as the 
 necessary formalities would permit, " took orders," or, as 
 Romanists and Anglicans put it, " entered the Church " 
 as if the priesthood constituted the Church of God. We 
 prefer to say he entered the ministry. They did not 
 wait for the Brightlands Rectory to fall vacant, but 
 married, with the full consent of the united families of 
 Ridley, Willoughby, and Nugent, as soon as Horace was 
 iu full orders, in the June after Clarissa completed her
 
 " SIWG SMALL, LOO, SING SiIALL ! " 499 
 
 twenty-fourth birthday, and just after the young 1 Earl of 
 Orwell was expelled from Eton for conduct singularly 
 scandalous and disgraceful. 
 
 And leaving Lady Clarissa "Willoughby for awhile, we 
 will, with the reader's permission, take a slight review of 
 the state of things at the Castle during the years which 
 intervened. Freed from the presence of her hated step, 
 daughter, the Countess believed that she would dwell in 
 perennial sunshine, and she told everybody that Clarissa 
 had tried her temper, and worried her in a thousand ways, 
 ever since she came a bride to Orwell, till really she must 
 own there came to be bad blood between them ; but now, 
 when it had pleased the Almighty to deliver her from her 
 long and heavy trial, she doubted not that her days would 
 be long in the land, and most supremely happy. 
 
 Chatters consoled himself speedily by falling in love, and 
 courting the pretty, saucy daughter of mine host of the 
 " Red Cow," whom in due time he wedded, and made as 
 miserable as might have been expected. He, however, 
 could not coax Lady Orwell into giving him the "living " 
 which was to have been his as the husband of Lady 
 Clarissa ; and he remained a mere curate till his dying 
 day, forfeiting all chance of preferment by his disreputable 
 conduct, which excited severest disapprobation in a day 
 when immoral clergymen were unfortunately rather too 
 thick upon the ground. Whether it was that the Rev. 
 Alfred Chatters took offence at the Countess's withdrawal 
 from her conditional promise, or whether they fell out 
 as two such natures were sure to do, sooner or later on 
 any other score, is more than I have been able to ascertain 
 the family records, and the old letters which I have been 
 permitted to consult, throwing no gleam of light upon 
 this subject, which, after all, does not interest us ex- 
 tremely. 
 
 I only know for certain that Chatters I beg his pardon, 
 the Rev. Alfred Chatters, B.A. became her ladyship's 
 mortal enemy, and, as far as he could, without damaging 
 his own reputation, spread abroad the story of Clarissa's 
 wrongs, and published, by loud and incessant tittle-tattle 
 quite in keeping with his patronymic the account of 
 tome of the persecutions which had at last driven her to 
 
 322
 
 500 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the desperate step of withdrawing herself from her child- 
 hood's home. 
 
 The young Earl also commenced at a very early period 
 to overwhelm his mother with painful anxieties, and Mr. 
 Oakleigh and the Honourable Sidney John were not slow 
 to follow the example of their elder brother. While still 
 in the nursery, they plucked the unfledged birds of their 
 feathers ; they tortured miserable cats, and tied tin-kettles 
 to the tails of luckless dogs. As they grew older they 
 became the patrons of all kinds of cruel sports, and they 
 seemed to revel in low companionship never so happy as 
 when associating with some of the worst juvenile offenders 
 in the village. They alternately consorted with and 
 bullied the servants ; and it was a very curious establish- 
 ment, that over which the Countess now presided such 
 an one as, perhaps, never before nor since has disgraced 
 the ancestral halls of one of England's peers. All the 
 failings of the Oakleighs, and all the vices of the Sparkses, 
 appeared to be concentrated in these unpromising youths, 
 who began so early to make sore their mother's heart. 
 
 Mr. Thompson still maintained his post, and was prac- 
 tically, if not nominally, the master of the household. 
 That he had some strange claim upon his mistress no one 
 doubted, and there were those who did not hesitate to 
 whisper that Lady Orwell and he had married privately 
 the Orwell folk being unaware of the existence of a Mrs. 
 Jack Sparks, alias Mrs. Thompson ; for the steward never 
 spoke of himself as being a married man, and was popu- 
 larly supposed to be a widower, as he owned to having 
 had a son, who was " the living image " of the young 
 lord. 
 
 As time passed on, Lady Orwell, still ignorant of 
 Clarissa's fate, ceased to suffer from certain prickings of 
 a conscience which was not quite dead in the first few 
 months after her disappearance. She often wondered 
 what had become of the girl, and she would not have been 
 displeased to hear that she was in safe keeping someivhere, 
 provided she was not too happy or too prosperous. Her 
 ladyship would have been quite elate had she witnessed poor 
 Clarissa's struggles for a living, or seen her in her last 
 stage of hopelessness and shabbiness. That would have
 
 " SING SMALL, LOO, SING SMALL ! " 601 
 
 been " just what she expected ; " and we know how pleased 
 people are, and especially people of a certain type, when 
 things turn out according to their expectations. She had 
 always prophesied that Clarissa would " come to no good," 
 and we must confess she had done her utmost to bring about 
 the accomplishment of her prediction ; and to find her 
 friendless and poverty-stricken would have been exactly 
 what would have rejoiced her very heart, and convinced 
 her that she herself really possessed a remarkable gift of 
 prescience. 
 
 But one day she was rather rudely awakened from her 
 state of comfortable security as regarded her injured step- 
 daughter. She received a letter from Mr. Hadfield, in- 
 forming her that Lady Clarissa Oakleigh had presented 
 herself and claimed her legacy, and that he was preparing 
 to prosecute her ladyship for having stolen his letters, and 
 for having forged his client's signature to a certain docu- 
 ment, which had been the source of much uneasiness to 
 himself, and of serious disadvantage to his client, &c., &c. 
 Of course, he only intended to give her the fright she so 
 richly deserved, and it must be owned that he succeeded 
 beyond his anticipations. The Countess was, as he had 
 remarked to Clarissa, singularly ignorant, and Mr. Thomp- 
 son, her sole confidant, was acquainted only with criminal 
 law, and therefore in no condition to instruct his mistress, 
 or give her sound advice. 
 
 It so chanced that the family were in town when this 
 letter was written, and Mr. Thompson strongly advised 
 her ladyship to go at on>e to Mr. Hadfield, and " make 
 things straight," the best way that she could ! " For you 
 know, Loo," said he he still called her Loo in strictly 
 private interviews, and when any important discussion 
 was on the carpet "you know it would be uncommon 
 awkward if the thing got wind and was talked about. 
 Yon did forge Clarissa's name ! there's no mincing the 
 matter, and yon did it to prevent her laying hold of her 
 own property. Why ! you might get seven years, Countess 
 as you are." 
 
 " They would never dare. Besides, I could pay fof 
 counsel, and crush that insolent, meddlesome fellow, whose 
 very name I hate."
 
 502 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Don't lay the flattering what do you call it ? to 
 your soul, Loo. English law is tolerably impartial, and 
 all the world knows you are a nobody by birth. But 
 convicted or not, it would be most unpleasant to be put 
 upon your trial. It would be a fine piece of scandal in 
 high life for all the old maids and dowagers to discuss 
 over their tea and card tables. And then everything 
 absolutely everything would come out, and it would get 
 noised abroad how you tried to marry Lord Orwell's 
 daughter to that Chatters, who, between you and me, is 
 as great a scamp as ever lived, and a disgrace to his cloth. 
 And folks would know how you made a regular nursemaid 
 of her, and a hundred disagreeable facts would come to 
 light. And facts, let me tell you, are very troublesome 
 things ; there is no dealing with them, if in any way 
 they can be proved which facts mostly can. I've been 
 in trouble myself, and so I ought to know. The long 
 and the short of it is, that I advise you to lose no time 
 in smoothing the affair over if you can! And you 
 mustn't be too high and mighty, for you don't hold good 
 cards, and your game anyhow bids fair to be a losing 
 one." 
 
 " What excuse can I make ? " 
 
 '* Any excuse that seems best. I don't teach ducks to> 
 awim, or hens to cackle. You always were able to give a 
 good account of yourself ; if ever a woman knew how to 
 tell her own story, in her own way, 'twas you, Loo ; and 
 I should say yon are not less clever than you were twenty 
 years ago." 
 
 " I shall pretend to be quite astonished ; indeed, I am 
 really astonished. I shall say that I had not the least idea 
 I was acting unlawfully when, for the most excellent 
 reasons, I kept back certain letters from, a troublesome, 
 ill-conditioned child, who was entirely dependent upon my 
 bounty ; and that, being bothered, I wrote in her name, 
 simply to avoid further annoyance. No one could suppose 
 I had any intention of actually defrauding ; I didn't 
 want to handle poor Susan's paltry savings ; no one can 
 Bay I did a trifle of a hundred and sixty pounds, or 
 thereabouts. The detestable girl has got her own at last, 
 it seems, and why make any fuss ? It must have been
 
 *' SING SMALL, LOO, SING SMALL ! " 50? 
 
 accumulating all these years ; so mnch the better for her. 
 Orwell won't come into his property till he is twenty-one, 
 why should she grumble at being in the same predica- 
 ment ? It would be a pretty sort of world if all the im- 
 patient minors and wards might get their money whenever 
 the whim took them." 
 
 " That's neither here nor thre ; right's right, and 
 wrong's -wrong; and any number of blacks won't make 
 a white. I am afraid you'll be told that you'd no business 
 to interfere, and that to forge the name of a minor is as 
 punishable by law as it is to forge the name of any grand 
 personage come to middle age. Still, you must say some- 
 thing, and I don't see what else you can plead but thai 
 yon didn't mean any harm. But sing small, Loo, sin^ 
 small, my dear, and don't try to ride your high horse 
 before the lawyer. You're uncommonly fond of that quad 
 ruped, I know, but it's downright foolishness to mount 
 him when he's more than likely to spill yon in the dust." 
 
 " I wish I had never meddled in the matter. You see, 
 Jack, I really did it for the best. If Clarissa had known 
 that she could go and get all that money straight away, 
 there's no knowing what scrape she might have got into. 
 I really thought I was doing my duty to my poor hus- 
 band's daughter, and she was a girl that wanted the curb,. 
 if ever girl did." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! that won't wash. It isn't supposed to bo 
 anybody's duty, under any circumstances, to forge letter* 
 especially letters which have to do with money matters. 
 And as for the girl herself, you know my opinion. A 
 more sensible, better-conducted young woman than Lady 
 Clarissa I never met with and every inch a lady ! What 
 she might have been as a child I can't say. Many children 
 are torments all yours are but from the time I first 
 knew her she was as good and gentle and prettily-behaved 
 as anyone could wish. And if ever a girl was tried in 
 her temper and put upon, she was. And she only showed 
 her spirit and proved her blood when she ran away. I'm 
 glad to hear she's all safe ; if she had come to grief, it 
 would have been bad for you, if not in this world, in the 
 next. Now, don't let the grass grow under yoiir feet ; 
 make haste and stop proceedings if you can"
 
 504 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 " Had I not better put the case into the hands of my 
 -own solicitors ? It would be more dignified." 
 
 " You can't afford to be dignified, Loo. It would be a 
 nice thing to tell respectable lawyers that you bad com- 
 mitted the crime of forgery, and wanted them to get you 
 out of the dirt. Folks like Tarriton and Dunn don't do 
 that sort of thing ; they leave all that business to the Old 
 ^Bailey lawyers. No, yon must fight it out yourself ; no 
 one is more capable, once yon make up your mind to it." 
 
 After a little hesitation Lady Orwell determined to 
 teard the lion in his den next day, if only he would grant 
 her an interview. The more she contemplated her posi- 
 tion the less she liked it, and her conversation with 
 Iher cousin had in no wise tended to reassure her. She 
 was beginning to think that, after all, crooked ways 
 were impolitic, and to fear lest her day of supremacy 
 .should be on the decline. 
 
 Mr. Hadfield received his visitor with grave, impas- 
 sive politeness. He had her ushered into his own pri- 
 vate sanctum, and instructed his confidential clerk to say 
 'that he was engaged on important business for the next 
 iiour, and was not to be disturbed. He handed her to a 
 chair, and then seated himself, and waited for her to 
 tjegin. For once she found it difficult to speak. At 
 Jength she stammered out, " I wished to see you, Mr. 
 Hadfield, about that strange letter I had from you the 
 wther day." 
 
 Mr. Had field bowed his head, but did not otherwise reply. 
 
 *' I can't, for the life of me, understand it." 
 
 " What cannot your ladyship understand ? " 
 
 "You say I have committed robbery and forgery. It 
 "is monstrous." 
 
 "If your ladyship did not suppress my letters and did 
 not subscribe yourself ' Clarissa Oakleigh,' I humbly beg 
 pardon. It remains only to ascertain who did." 
 
 " How do you know that any letters were suppressed? " 
 
 " It is enough to reply that I do know ; and I may 
 add that you, Lady Orwell, know it as well as I do ! " 
 
 " This is all a piece of your revenge ; you want to 
 pay me out because I found it convenient to take my 
 affairs out of your hands."
 
 " SING SMALL, LOO, SING SHALL ! " 505 
 
 " Your ladyship can give my conduct that interpretation 
 if yon please. It does not matter." His coolness and 
 composure stung her to the quick. 
 
 " What have I done," she resumed, becoming lachry- 
 mose, " that yon should treat me in this way ? Your poor 
 father would never have done it, I am persuaded." 
 
 " My father was extremely thankful when you notified 
 your intention of removing your legal documents from 
 our office. And his latest regret was that he had had a 
 hand in bringing about a marriage which had proved so 
 extremely unsatisfactory." 
 
 " You are not particularly gallant ; I might go farther 
 and say you are not at all polite, Mr. Hadfield." 
 
 " Gallantry, my lady, is out of the question, and con- 
 sidering that we are on the point of becoming plaintiff 
 and defendant, too much politeness would be absurd." 
 
 " But we are not going to be plaintiff and defendant ! 
 That would be taking the quarrel into court," replied tho 
 lady, in great alarm. "You can't suppose I wanted the 
 money I, who have plenty of my own ? And such a 
 pitiful few pounds, too ! " 
 
 " Which makes your conduct in the affair doubly cul- 
 pable. You acted the part of dog in the manger." 
 
 " How can you tell it was I ? " 
 
 "If it were not, it is for your ladyship to deny the 
 allegation, and to prove your innocence in open court." 
 
 " Of course I have to thank Clarissa for this un- 
 pleasantness. Of course you and she have combined 
 together to ve> and humble me." 
 
 " On the contrary, Lady Clarissa is in perfect ignorance 
 of the whole matter. She saw the forged letter, and afc 
 once declared it to be in your handwriting; but I do nob 
 think it ever occurred to her to punish jou for your 
 wrong-doing." 
 
 "And if she don't interfere, you can't," suddenly inter 
 posed the Countess, with a sharpness that proved her to 
 be no simpleton, ignorant though she might be ; " whoever 
 wrote that letter forged her name, not yours, and if she 
 don't prosecute, you can't there now ! " 
 
 "But you stole or shall I eay appropriated? the 
 letters I wrote to Lady Clarissa. The one case involves
 
 506 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 the other the forgery must come to light, even if no one 
 prosecute. It may not be deemed expedient, it may not 
 be possible, to send you. to Botany Bay ; bat there is an- 
 other place, to which persons in society, especially ladies, 
 are inevitably consigned, if they bring any disgrace upon 
 themselves and their order. And I think that if your 
 guilt were proved, or only mooted, Lady Orwell, yon 
 would soon find yourself in the unhappy locality I have 
 referred to." 
 
 " What locality, pray?" 
 
 "Coventry! Not the city of Grodira, bat the city of 
 ostracised individuals." 
 
 As Lady Orwell had never even heard of the ostracism, 
 this allusion was lost upon her. She was silent, for she 
 understood the fall force of being " sent to Coventry," 
 and to Coventry she knew she must go, if this stupid 
 story should get into the newspapers. And if her name 
 once came before the public, who could say what inquiries 
 would be made, and what inconvenient disclosures would 
 follow ? Her Whitechapel birth and breeding might be- 
 come patent to all the world ; there were a good many 
 people who, once in possession of the missing link which 
 united the fates of Louisa Sparks and of the Countess of 
 Orwell, would be only too ready to come forward and 
 supply full information. Then Chatters was her declared 
 enemy, and would be delighted to see her humbled, and 
 so, of course, would Clarissa. And, somehow, she did 
 not feel so very sure about Mr. Thompson, and she was 
 terribly in his power, though no one knew it but herself. 
 All things considered, she concluded that it was of no 
 avail to make fight against the accusation ; her only way 
 was ingenuously to confess her fault, and protest that she 
 had not the least idea that she was doing wrong, or that 
 her offence was actionable. So she commenced : " Well, 
 Mr. Hadfield, it's of no use beating about the bush with 
 a lawyer, and especially with one so clever as yourself, so 
 I'll own here and now that I did suppress your letters 
 three of them to my ward and step-daughter, Clarissa 
 Oakleigh. And then, feeling that I could not go on with 
 it, and that it would do the girl a great injury to let her- 
 receive the money in her then state of wayward revolt
 
 "SING SMALL, LOO, SING SMALL!" 507 
 
 and rash insubordination, I thought to settle the matter 
 qnietly by writing in her name, and desiring you to keep 
 both principal and interest in your own hands till she was 
 of age. And what could have been better for her ? I 
 did not try to steal the money ; I wouldn't have defrauded 
 her of one penny of it for the world. What harm have I 
 done ? I made a mistake a very foolish mistake ; I see 
 it now. Bat I was left a poor, desolate widow, with 
 this girl, who always set me at defiance, on my hands 
 and I did it for the best." 
 
 " Tour good sense might have told you that cheating 
 and trickery could not be for the best. It never answers 
 to do evil that good may follow. Besides, in this case, 
 good did not and could not follow ; you satisfied your 
 grudge against Lady Clarissa, and strengthened, as yon 
 supposed, your hold upon her; but by putting a stop to 
 the intercourse between her and her true friends you did 
 my client a great and grievous injury, and you exposed 
 me to serious misconstruction. Your ladyship must per- 
 ceive that such a course of conduct cannot be justified, 
 and that to permit it to go unquestioned and nncensured, is 
 to shirk one's duty as a member of civilised society. If 
 everybody, who could do it, thought fit to forge letters 
 for ulterior purposes, what would become of the community 
 at large ? Faith and honour would bo lost, and there 
 would be no trust in the world." 
 
 " I admit it, Mr. Hadfield I admit it ; you show me 
 how blameable I have been. I acknowledge my offence, and 
 I am ready to make reparation. Pray let it go no farther." 
 
 " What reparation can yon. make ? " 
 
 " Let me double the sum yon hold, or did hold, for Lady 
 Clarissa." 
 
 " I do not hesitate, in Lady Clarissa's name, to decline 
 your proposal. She cherishes, I am persuaded, no enmity 
 against you, but nothing, I feel assured, would induce her 
 to accept anything at your hands." 
 
 "What can I do, then?" 
 
 "I will tell you. A formal confession of this -little 
 transaction shall be drawn up, and it shall be read aloud 
 to your ladyship. You will then sign it in full, in tho 
 presence of two witnesses."
 
 08 LADY CLAltlSSA. 
 
 "I won't do it." 
 
 " Very well. In that case you may expect me to take 
 fcteps." 
 
 " You are very hard and cruel, Mr. Hadfield. "Why ! 
 a lot of people will know about it, and it will get bruited 
 here and there, till it will be all one as if it had come into 
 open court." 
 
 "No one will know, if you keep your own counsel. I 
 will draw up the document myself, and no one else shall 
 set eyes upon it. The witnesses will not know what you 
 sign. I shall call it in their hearing a deed of release, 
 which is a common thing enough." 
 
 " And yon won't produce it against me ? I am not so 
 stupid that I don't know it will be evidence against me of 
 the most conclusive character." 
 
 " Your ladyship's penetration does yon credit. It is a 
 pity yon should not always see things clearly. No ; I will 
 not produce the paper against you, I promise yon that." 
 
 " Under no circumstances ? " 
 
 " Under no circumstances, Lady Orwell. A Hadfield's 
 word is his bond." 
 
 " Then I think I'll consent, if you are sure you'll not 
 bother me any more. Where is Clarissa ? " 
 
 " I have not her ladyship's instructions to declare her 
 place of residence at present. I am, however, glad 
 to inform yon that she is quite well and very happy, and 
 nnder the honourable protection of friends of her own 
 standing. A person of Lady Clarissa's merits so very 
 charming a person is sure to make fast friends." 
 
 " But she has nothing to live on, except the trifle 
 Susan Shrosbery left her. It was like Clarissa's bad luck, 
 Susan's dying little more than a fortnight before she cams 
 of age. If Miss Shrosbery had lived a little longer, 
 Clarissa would have been provided for." 
 
 "Lady Clarissa's 'luck,' I trust, has turned. And she 
 is in no difficulty as respects an income." 
 
 "Bless us! how has she got it? Have her pictures 
 come to be the fashion ? " 
 
 " 1 am not at liberty to discuss my client's affairs. I 
 simply observe that Lady Clarissa is in every way inde- 
 pendent of yourself."
 
 HOMEWAED BOUND. 
 
 " Slie's like a cat, and falls upon her feet ! Most young 
 women would find their characters damaged, eloping as 
 site did, a girl of seventeen, and hiding herself away from 
 Ler relations for four years." 
 
 " She took dae precautions. She has been under 
 respectable, matronly guidance from the first, so that the 
 breath of scandal cannot touch her." 
 
 There was no more to be said, though the Countess was 
 ready to eat her finger-ends with secret rage. She signed 
 the paper two days afterwards, and Mr. Thompson assured 
 her she was well quit of a troublesome concern, and he 
 would advise her never to forge anybody's signature again. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 " Oh, dream of joy ! Is this indeed 
 
 The lighthouse top I see ? 
 Is this the hill ? Is this the kirk ? 
 Is this mine own countree ? " 
 
 OK the evening of a beautiful summer day, the new first- 
 class, fast-sailing steamer, the Pearl of Columbia, was 
 coming up the Mersey into Liverpool. Fine steamers 
 were not so plentiful then as now, and the " quick pas- 
 sage " was something altogether unprecedented. The 
 Pearl had had a wonderfully prosperous voyage ; from the 
 day she left New York till she anchored in her dock at 
 Liverpool, she had nothing but favourable winds and soft 
 pleasant breezes that wafted her smoothly into port. 
 
 She had steamed on, without let or hindrance, making 
 punctually and easily so many knots an hour, to the great 
 satisfaction of the gallant captain, who was as proud of 
 the Pear/, and loved her, from her " sky-scrapers " to her 
 keel, as if she had been his bride or his daughter, the only
 
 510 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 child of his affections. The passengers had enjoyed the 
 voyage thoroughly, even the most sensitive had been but 
 slightly and briefly visited by that cruel demon of the 
 waters, mal de mer ; there had been dancing and singing 
 on the quarter-deck, and pleasant talks during fresh, 
 bright mornings, and lazy lounges in warm golden after- 
 noons, and quiet conversations in the glorious sunsets, 
 when the sea was all crimson and pm-ple, in the lovely, 
 radiant light that burned so solemnly on the western, 
 horizon, which they left behind them. 
 
 There were moonlit nights, too, when the waves heaved 
 and shone like molten silver ; nights too bright for sleep, 
 too warm for the confined space below ; nights that dis- 
 posed people to make confidences, and to listen sympathe- 
 tically to each other's past experiences. It was curious 
 to note with what different emotions the passengers, who 
 had grown so intimate beneath the flowing standard of the 
 Pearl, were approaching the shores of the old world. 
 Some were Americans visiting "Europe" for the first, or 
 perhaps for the fourteenth time, as the case might be ; 
 some were returning to their native land after a brief ab- 
 sence men to whom " crossing " was little more than 
 going from one town to another ; and some were bound 
 for English shores, after many long years of exile and 
 separation. 
 
 All were assembled now on deck, waiting for the pilot- 
 tug that was to take them up the river. There was a 
 grave, set look on every face, for who knew what might 
 have happened since the last letters were received from 
 home ? There were few whose fears, however transient, 
 did not mingle with the pleasures of anticipation. But 
 of all the company there was only one who knew neither 
 hope nor dread, as the low-lying Lancashire shore, with 
 its treeless wastes of mud and sandhills, burned in the 
 rosy sunset light. And this one was an elderly, tho 
 young folks called him an old, man, who had been much 
 sought out during the brief voyage of twelve days. 
 Everybody liked him, and had a good word to say for him, 
 and everybody wondered who he was, and nearly every- 
 body came to the conclusion that he was somebody. 
 
 Was he English or American ? No one could be quite
 
 HOMEWARD BOTJNb. di 
 
 satisfied on that point ; he had never proclaimed his 
 nationality, and with all his kindness, and even sweet- 
 ness of deportment, there was a certain dignity in his 
 tone and manners that checked impertinent and even 
 natural curiosity. He was tall, but rather bent ; his face, 
 still handsome, was thoughtful, and bore the traces of 
 many a past sorrow ; his hair was grey, especially his 
 beard, which was nnwontedly luxuriant for those days, 
 when all good, respectable Britishers made it their 
 duty to inflict matutinal torture on their chins and upper 
 lips with unflinching fortitude and strict regularity. His 
 complexion was dark, chiefly from exposure to sun and 
 air, it Avonld appear, for once or twice, when he bared hi8 
 throat, it was noticed that it was singularly fair. But 
 his eyes were wonderful ! Everybody said so passengers 
 and crew from the captain himself down to the mis- 
 chievous cabin-boy, whose pranks made him at once the 
 torment and deliglat of all on board; and "that what 
 everybody says must be true " is a well-known and well- 
 accepted axiom, into the philosophy of which it is need- 
 less to inquire. Those same dark eyes, when yon came 
 to look into them, were not black they were rather of a 
 deep, soft, slate colour ; but the colour of them was for- 
 gotten in the expression, which was at once sad and hope- 
 ful, gentle and determined, kind and severe ; eyes that 
 told of no ordinary mind and no common spirit hidden 
 behind their marvellous grave lustre. The owner of these 
 beautiful eyes had made himself very popular during the 
 voyage ; the crew to a man praised him, his fellow-pas- 
 sengers admired him, and, still more, they believed in 
 him, told him their own stories, and asked his advice, 
 though they knew nothing of his antecedents, or of his 
 present position in society. They thought he was rich 
 some were sure of it ; still, it could be no more than a 
 supposition ; but all were agreed that he was truly, and 
 in every sense of the word, a gentleman. " Yes, and a 
 Christian gentleman," was the captain's comment, when 
 Mr. Grey was once the subject of private conversation. 
 
 " Are you expecting your friends at Liverpool ? " asked 
 a iady, who, leaning on her husband's arm, was intently 
 watching the approach of the pilot-boat.
 
 V/J LADT CLARISSA. 
 
 Mr. Crrey started, for just then he was absorbed in fiia 
 own reflections, but he tamed courteously to the speaker, 
 whom he really liked, and replied, " No, Mrs. Calcott, for 
 the very excellent reason that I have not, to the best of 
 my knowledge, any friends in England." 
 
 " Ah ! there must be some, one or two at least ; you are 
 not the man to be without friends wherever you may go." 
 
 " I must make them, then, in England. For of the 
 few I left not one survives. How long do you suppose 
 I have been away ? " 
 
 "Twenty years, perhaps," replied Mr. Calcott; "per- 
 haps rather longer. My own brother, who is still over 
 there" pointing westwards "has not been home these 
 five-and-twenty years ; but he talks of joining us when 
 two or three more summers have passed over him, if 
 God spare his life. I will guess, then, that yon, Mr. 
 Grey, left England a quarter of a century ago." 
 
 "It is more than forty years since I saw that ' Black 
 Rock ' yonder fade into the speck that it is now. It was 
 the last I saw of old England." 
 
 " Yon must have been quite a boy." 
 
 " I was a very young man, and I was poor. The girl I 
 loved or thought I loved jilted me for a richer suitor. 
 I had bat one near relative, a sister, who was in the care 
 of an aunt with whom I was no favourite, and whom I 
 was not permitted to visit. She my sister was, as I be- 
 lieved, provided for. She was an only daughter, and gave 
 promise of great personal loveliness. She was to be her 
 aunt's heiress, and I was given to understand that she was 
 intended for some high destiny. I loved my little sister, 
 but I was not allowed to enjoy much of her society ; my 
 aunt did not approve of me, and she accredited me with 
 all sorts of objectionable habits, and with some few vices, 
 which, thank God, I knew only by repute. So I thought 
 I would leave England, where I had few ties and smalt 
 prospect of success in life, and try whether fortune would 
 favour me in some other part of the great globe. Since 
 then I have sojourned in every quarter of the world, and 
 there are few countries which I do not know something 
 about." 
 
 " You have boen in India, of coarse ? '*
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 513 
 
 '* I was in India for many years ; but my first foreign 
 experiences were in the United States of America. After- 
 wards I was in Brazil and in Mexico ; then I crossed to 
 the Eastern continent, did business in Madras and Cal- 
 cutta, with China and Japan ; then retraced my steps to 
 Mexico where I had some strange adventures and 
 finally settled down in the State of New York, where I 
 quite intended to end my days ; till, all on a sudden, there 
 arose within me a strong and inexplicable desire to visit 
 my own country before I died, and to look once again on 
 the almost forgotten scenes of my youth. For some time 
 I fought with the inclination, for I told myself that I was 
 no longer an Englishman, but a cosmopolitan, and that I 
 should find, at the best, but one or two graves to link me 
 with the past. Still, even after I had, as I thought, de- 
 cided to remain in my favourite home, among those who 
 had grown to be to me as my own people, I was restless, 
 and ever thinking of the land which gave me birth. Afc 
 last an accident or what seemed to be so made me 
 resolve to indulge my wishes. I am so accustomed to 
 travel both by sea and by land that a few thousand miles 
 of the former went for a very little, and though I am a 
 good deal worn from exposure and hardship in the com- 
 mencement of my career, when I was still struggling with 
 adverse circumstances, I am stronger and altogether more 
 robust than many men twenty years my junior. The 
 long and short of it is I am here! and yonder lies 
 Liverpool. It is curious that I should come back to the 
 exact spot whence I started." 
 
 " You will find Liverpool wonderfully changed. Ifc 
 was of little account, I believe, forty years ago ; now it 
 has taken the shine out of Bristol, and competes with 
 the metropolis itself in point of shipping interest." 
 
 "I went away, too, in a miserable little sailing vessel, 
 that might have had half-a-dozen Jonahs on board, it 
 encountered such dreadful weather. I return in a magni- 
 ficent steamer, that ploughs the waves as if it were their 
 queen and mistress ; and not the ghost of a squall has it 
 met since it slipped its moorings." 
 
 " It must be a strange sensation, going home as it were 
 to an unknown country yourself passed oat of know- 
 
 33
 
 614 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ledge. Forgive me, though, if thonghtlessly I touch a 
 wound." 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive ; there was but one person 
 in England about whom I was ever really concerned, and 
 she has been dead let me see ! how many jears ? why, 
 it must be full two-and-twenty years since I read in the 
 papers the notice of her death." 
 
 " Your sister, yon mean ? " said Mrs. Calcott, with all a 
 woman's kindly curiosity, which is, after all, but another 
 name for sympathetic interest. 
 
 " My sister ! There were but two of us, and we were 
 orphans. I wrote to her as soon as I had obtained settled 
 employment, and told her if ever she wanted friends and 
 means of living, she was to come out to me, and I would 
 do my best for her, and share with her what I had, 
 whether it were a palace or a hut, a dry crust or a ban- 
 quet. My letter was never answered. After a few months 
 I wrote again, and with the same result. I concluded 
 that Clarissa had never received either communication. 
 Then I wrote to the aunt who had adopted her, entreat- 
 ing that I mig%t have news of my only sister, whom I 
 very dearly loved, and whose protector I would be if 
 ever she needed one. Three months after I read in a 
 year-old newspaper that I found tossing about in a 
 Mexican cafe, of this aunt's sudden death." 
 
 " And did she fulfil her promise of making Miss Grey 
 her heiress ? " 
 
 "I cannot say certainly, but I am inclined to be- 
 lieve she did, for when, afterwards, being painfully 
 anxious about my sister, who might be cast upon the 
 wo.vld for all I knew, I wrote to my agent in London to 
 make inquiries, he gave me full information respecting 
 her, and sent me a copy of the certificate of her mar- 
 riage with the Earl of Orwell! She would scarcely 
 have made so grand a match had she been left in poor 
 or middling circumstances." 
 
 " Probably not. Though occasionally well-born young 
 ladies, reduced in position, do marry well, especially if 
 they happen to be beautiful." 
 
 " That occurs more frequently in novels than in real 
 life, I should imagine. My own impression is, that
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 515 
 
 Clarissa was properly introduced into society 'brought 
 out,' as your English aristocracy say and married, as a 
 matter of course, at the close of her first season." 
 
 " You would have no difficulty in communicating with 
 her, then." 
 
 " I suppose not ; but then I cared no more to commu- 
 nicate with her. I wanted my little loving sister, Clarissa 
 Grey, not the fashionable Countess of Orwell. The child 
 I had loved and pined after seemed to disappear, and in 
 .her stead remained only a proud and stately lady, who 
 -would scarcely thank such a roving adventurer as I was 
 in those days for claiming kindred. I knew that Clarissa 
 was rich and titled, and I trusted she was happy the 
 Earl was said to have made a ' love-match.' At any rate, 
 she had passed out of my sphere ; I thought it was best 
 to go my own way, and leave my lady to go hers." 
 
 " That was pride," said Mrs. Calcott, gently. " Forgive 
 me, Mr. Grey, but it was not worthy of you. You could 
 not tell but that your sister, amid all her grandeur, pined 
 for yon, even as you pined for her. A woman may be a 
 countess, and yet not happy. I think you ought to have 
 written to her." 
 
 " I think so now. I thought so when, little more than 
 six years afterwards, I read the announcement of her death. 
 I cut out the paragraph from the Times. I have it still. 
 It said, ' Died, on the 20th May, at Orwell Castle, East- 
 shire, Clarissa, Countess of Orwell. Her ladyship, only 
 daughter and surviving child of the late Rev. Grey, 
 of Crestworth, married Francis, ninth Earl of Orwell, iu 
 18 , and died of consumption in the twenty-eighth year 
 of her age, leaving no issue.' I was sorry that she died 
 childless ; I was getting a rich man by that time, and I 
 shonld have liked to be a good, generous uncle to one of 
 her little ones ; but it was ordered otherwise, and doubt- 
 less for the best, for after all my wanderings and buffet- 
 ings, I was scarcely the uncle for little lords and ladies. 
 Clarissa's death severed the last tie that bound me to the 
 old country, and I gave myself, as far as I could, to the 
 country of my adoption; for when I grew wearied of 
 travel, and tired of heaping up money that must go, for 
 want of heirs, to public charities, I made my home, as I 
 
 332
 
 516 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 thought, for the remainder of my life, in the State of New 
 York. And what really possessed me to cross the 
 Atlantic again, and revisit the land which I left three- 
 and-forfcy years ago, is more than I can tell. I seek no- 
 thing in England ; I have no object but to kneel once at 
 Clarissa's grave. I shall be interested, no doubt, in the 
 changes I shall observe, and there are some places of note 
 I must see before I take my passage back again. Ah ! 
 we are really on the river ! Dear me ! what forests of 
 masts ! and those houses there quite a little town ! " 
 
 "That is New Brighton." 
 
 " Never heard of it. It looks forlorn enough though j 
 as ugly as Old Brighton, without its prestige, and the 
 shelter of its South Downs." 
 
 In a few minutes all was bustle, and in the pale twilight 
 of the midsummer night, the Calcotts and Mr. Grey took 
 leave of one another, with a promise of meeting, however, 
 in London, in several weeks' time. The Calcotts slept one 
 night in Liverpool, and then went on to their London, 
 home they had only been paying a visit to the New 
 World. Mr. Grey, having nothing in particular to do, 
 and wishing to turn his leisure to the best account,, 
 loitered in the neighbourhood of Liverpool for several 
 days, then visited Chester, and made a short tour in North 
 Wales. After that, he turned his face eastwards, deter- 
 mined to go on pilgrimage to Orwell before he made any 
 farther plans, or saw the Calcotts again. 
 
 Desiring to see as much of the country as possible, he 
 posted it all the way to Ipsleigh, and there halting for a 
 single night, he though it might be as well to learn what 
 he could about the noble family at Orwell. That the 
 Earl was dead he knew, and that he had left a widow and 
 family of young children. He had therefore married 
 again, within a year or two as it would appear of 
 losing his wife Clarissa. Mr. Grey thought, too, that he 
 might as well pay the Countess-Dowager a visit, and ex- 
 plain his relationship to her predecessor. He was not 
 shy of titled ladies now, for he was so rich that he scarcely 
 knew what he was worth, and he had learned to hold his 
 own, long since, in any circle of society. 
 
 So he invited the landlord of the inn where he put up,.
 
 EOMEWAKD BOUND. 517 
 
 to sap with him, with a view to learning all that he wished 
 to know of Orwell and its inhabitants. Mine host was a 
 well-mannered elderly man, very deferential to a guest 
 "\vho evidently cared nothing for expense, and by no 
 means disinclined to take tip the parable on the subject of 
 the Orwell family. 
 
 " Well ! that is strange !" he said, when he had listened 
 to Mr. Grey's introductory statement; " we never so much 
 as knew that the Countess Clarissa ever had a brother. 
 But she has been dead and buried these twenty years 
 and more. How time flies ! She was the loveliest creature 
 that ever walked the earth, was our old Countess as we 
 tisod to call her to distinguish her from the present lady, 
 the young Earl's mother and a great favourite with all 
 about here, high and low. Poor lady, she had bad health 
 after her little daughter was born ; and it was a great 
 disappointment to my lord that she bore him no son and 
 heir. Folks did say he neglected her. I am sure I cannot 
 tell whether it was truth or not. Anyhow, he took to 
 wild ways, and got into money troubles, and he was abroad 
 at some gaming-place, I am afraid when his beautiful 
 young wife died." 
 
 " Poor Clarissa ! " sighed Mr. Grey. " What a wretch 
 I was not to assure myself of her happiness ! A neglected 
 wife ! And I might have done much to cheer and com- 
 fort her ! " Then alond : " She is buried at Orwell, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, and in the church. My lord lies there now; 
 in death they were re-united," said the landlord, feeling 
 almost sentimental. 
 
 "And the little daughter you spoke of, how long did 
 she survive her birth, and does she lie with her parents ? " 
 
 "The daughter, sir. Bless you! my Lady Clarissa is 
 alive now. I know them as saw her not many weeks 
 ago.'-' 
 
 "But the newspapers the Times even said that the 
 Countess died ' without issue ; ' I remember the exact 
 words." 
 
 " The Times for once made a mistake, sir. And con- 
 sidering that the Countess and her child lived always in 
 retirement, and that the Earl was always bewailing his
 
 518 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 heirless condition making his little girl count for 
 nothing, as you may say I don't think it is much to 
 be wondered at. But the peerage will tell you different ; 
 I've got one handy, and you may know for yourself, sir. 
 Here it is ! the book opens naturally at the Orwell page ; 
 and it's a new one, too ! my old peerage book was quite- 
 cut of date as well it might be, seeing that my father 
 bought it when I was a little lad. Look : ' By the first 
 marriage, "no issue ; "by the second Clarissa Grey : one- 
 daughter, Lady Clarissa, born 18 , married 18 to the 
 Kev. Horace Willoughby, second son of Sir Edward 
 Willoughby, Bart., of Grosvenor Square, London, and 
 Cottisham Park, Yorkshire. Has issue, one son and a 
 daughter.' " 
 
 Yes, there it stood ! Mr. Grey was speechless. Oh ! 
 why had he not come sooner ? To think that Clarissa 
 left a child, after all, and that the child had grown 
 up and married without his being aware of her existence. 
 " She is not now at Orwell, I suppose ? " was his next 
 question. 
 
 "Dear me, sir no! The Countess and my Lady 
 Clarissa are not on terms ; and, to tell the truth, my lady- 
 ran away from home, ten or eleven years ago, when she 
 was a girl of seventeen, or thereabouts." 
 
 Mr. Grey groaned aloud. " To think that my sister 
 Clarissa's daughter should do such a thing. Ran away 
 from home ! " 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir, she is none the worse for 
 that. The Countess from the first hated my Lady Clarissa- 
 like poison, and when the Earl died, leaving no provision 
 for his eldest daughter, the poor young lady got very 
 shameful treatment. Her stepmother kept her in the- 
 nursery, to wait upon her own unruly children ; she made 
 a regular drudge of her, and at last would have married 
 her to a fellow to whom no honest man would give his 
 daughter. I'd have cracked his head if he had dared to 
 look at my girls who are good girls, though only an* 
 innkeeper's ! " 
 
 " Tell me the whole story as far as you know it," said 
 Mr. Grey. 
 
 And the landlord did tell it, to the best of his ability
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 trnthfully enongli in the main ; if the Countess and 
 Chatters were painted a little blacker than they deserved, 
 where is the wonder ? Mr. Grey listened in amazement 
 and sorrow, now blaming himself, and now pouring out his 
 wrath on the present Lady Orwell. He heard, too what 
 he was on no account to repeat what was whispered about 
 among the Ipsleigh folk, with something like relish, as ifc 
 seemed to Mr. Grey that the Countess had speculated 
 wildly and lost immense sums of money ; that her steward, 
 Mr. Thompson, had some strange influence over her ; that 
 there was an intimacy between mistress and servant which 
 ill-accorded with their relative positions ; that the un- 
 fortunate lady was much harassed and distressed for want 
 of cash ; and finally, that the young Earl, who was not 
 yet of age, had plunged over head and ears in debt, was 
 given to sundry vices and low pursuits, had lately been 
 rusticated whatever that might mean, but mine host con- 
 jectured that it was the University term for expulsion ; 
 and, worst of all, had contracted a private though legal 
 marriage with an actress some years his senior, and of 
 damaged reputation. 
 
 " I am sorry for the Countess-Dowager," said Mr. Grey; 
 " has she any comfort, or hope of comfort, in her younger 
 children ? " 
 
 " The brothers, as to their conduct, are as alike as so 
 many peas," returned the landlord. " They are the 
 curse of the neighbourhood. But it serves her ladyship 
 right ; she has sown all she reaps ; she is hardly to bo 
 pitied ; in fact, if anybody is to be pitied, it is the lads 
 themselves, that lost their father who would no doubt 
 have done his duty by them and were left to such a 
 mother. And all the country cries shame on her for her 
 treatment of Lady Clarissa ; but she don't care she's 
 just that sort that cares for nothing." 
 
 " I shall make a point of seeing her to-morrow, and I 
 shall ask her what has become of my niece Clarissa. I 
 shall have something to say to the Dowager- Countess of 
 Orwell, and it will not be by any means of a compli- 
 mentary nature ; she shall hear a few wholesome truths, 
 for once ! "
 
 S20 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 A MISERABLE WOMA5T. 
 
 v My days are in the yellow leaf ; 
 
 The flowers and fruits of life are gone ; 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone." 
 
 MR. GREY meditated long and seriously after his hosfc 
 wished him "good- night ; " and before he went to sleep he 
 arranged his plan of action. Next morning he ordered a 
 post-chaise betimes, and had himself driven to the village 
 of Orwell-Magna, alighting at the ancient hostelry of 
 " The Orwell Arms." There he ordered a second break- 
 fast, or at least a meal so-called, which displayed all the 
 constituents of a substantial luncheon. And while he 
 breakfasted, he inquired for the landlord. 
 
 The portly dame to whom he addressed himself replied, 
 " There isn't any landlord, now, sir ; my good man de- 
 parted this life five years ago. I keep on the business 
 myself; and I've a barman who's worth his weight in 
 gold." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," returned Mr. Grey. " I only 
 wanted to ask a few questions about the family at the 
 Castle, and I dare say you can answer them." 
 
 "It would be odd if I couldn't, sir. I was second 
 housemaid there in the time of the Countess Clarissa, as 
 we call her, to distinguish her from the first Countess, 
 and from her ladyship the present Dowager." 
 
 " Oh ! the Earl is married, then ? He is full young to 
 take a wife." 
 
 " He's a boy, sir, and nothing more ; and a very bad 
 boy, too. If I thought my little Isaac he's ten come 
 Martinmas would grow up half as wicked, I'd pray God 
 to call him now, while he's an innocent child." 
 
 " Does his mother take it to heart ? " 
 
 *' That she does ! But what could she expect ? She
 
 A MISERABLE WOMAN. 521 
 
 brought him up never to be crossed, and she let him bull j 
 and domineer when he was only in petticoats. Oh, dear ' 
 what a life he did lead his nurses ! and especially his 
 hali-sister, my Lady Clarissa." 
 
 " She was the Countess Clarissa's daughter, of course ?" 
 " She was, and a sweeter young lady never wore shoe 
 leather, though as a child she was wayward and trouble- 
 some enough. She had a fine spirit of her own, but she 
 that is, the Dowager now soon broke it. It was an ill 
 day for Lady Clarissa when my late lord brought home 
 his new wife to Orwell." 
 
 " Is there not a story about Lady Clarissa eloping ? " 
 " There is a story about Lady Clarissa, sir, but as 
 to eloping, that's all rubbish ! She went away unknown 
 to her stepmother ; she could do nothing else, poor young 
 lady ! There was a fellow at the Castle in those days 
 just about eleven years ago, it is named Chatters, and 
 the Countess made up her mind to marry him to Lady 
 Clarissa." 
 
 " And Lady Clarissa conld not fancy him ? " 
 " She couldn't abide him ! He was no fifc match for 
 any respectable young woman, let alone her father's 
 daughter. She might as well have matched with such a 
 man as my husband, and better, for he was a decent, up- 
 right character, and born of honest, respectable, though 
 lowly parents, which this Chatters wasn't. Well, the two 
 of them Chatters and the Countess made the place all 
 too hot for Lady Clarissa. It was pretended that she 
 had encouraged him ; they even spread it about that she 
 had demeaned herself by meeting him privately in the 
 grounds, or in out-of-the-way corners of the Castle, after 
 dark. The Countess went so far as to say that, for Lady 
 Clarissa's own sake, it must be a marriage, and that pretty 
 quickly. Her own dread, I believe, was, that partly by 
 worry and partly by intimidation, urging that her cha- 
 racter was lost irretrievably unless she became Chatters' 
 wife, they would some day, in one of her weak moments, 
 draw her into the snare. She was so helpless, you see, 
 sir, like a poor bird caught and fluttering in a net, and 
 they that were compassing her ruin were strong and 
 cunning, and downright unprincipled; they'd stick at
 
 522 IADT CLAK1SSA. 
 
 nothing to carry out their purpose, and she knew it but 
 too well." 
 
 " Did no one guess that she was going ? Had she no 
 confidant ? " 
 
 "Yes, one; but that one kept her counsel for many a 
 day. Old Mrs Sweetapple, that had served the house of 
 Orwell from girlhood to old age she was housekeeper for 
 I couldn't say how many years, and Lady Clarissa put 
 trust in her, and Mrs. Sweetapple helped her, and 
 arranged for her journey. We didn't know it till very 
 lately, when the old lady's daughter, leaving these parts, 
 spoke up, and told the whole story from beginning to end. 
 We always suspected it, but we didn't know for certain. 
 And we heard how Lady Clarissa went to London and 
 lived with Fancy Saunders, who had once been her maid, 
 but was then married respectably, and living somewhere 
 in town." 
 
 " But what did Lady Clarissa do in London ? She 
 would not be dependent on former servants, however 
 faithful ; and you say she had nothing of her own ? " 
 
 " Not a sixpence ! The Earl died suddenly, through an 
 accident in the hunting-field, as I dare say you havo 
 heard " And here the landlady went into those par- 
 ticulars which you have already had, speaking also of 
 Miss Shrosbery, who would have provided for Lady Cla- 
 rissa if she had lived but a few days longer, and dwelling 
 largely upon Clarissa's experiences in the Orwell nursery, 
 at once the slave and butt of the unruly children, and the 
 despised companion of the other nurses. " Which I did 
 ought to know all about," she assured her guest, "for I 
 had a niece in the house at that time, and she was a good 
 deal in the nursery sewing, and she saw and heard things 
 that wouldn't be believed by anybody who was unac- 
 quainted with the true state of things." 
 
 " And who is at the Castle now ? " 
 
 " Only the dowager and the young ladies ; my lord and 
 my lady such a ' my lady ! ' are away in London. I 
 think Mr. Sydney and Lady Louisa Maria are with their 
 mother ; I am not sure. We don't have much to do with 
 the Castle nowadays, and the less the better. And tho 
 Earl, it is said, has quarrelled with his mother, because
 
 A MISERABLE WOMAN. 523 
 
 she's wasted all his estate, and he's worse off than his 
 father was when, for the sake of her money, he married 
 her ay, and repented ifc ever after ! " 
 
 " She was a rich widow, I have been told." 
 
 " She was that, sir. She married first a foolish old 
 man, who left her all he had, without conditions. And 
 we do always say she as good as bought her coronet with 
 her gold. Ah ! such marriages never come to good ! But 
 now if all that's talked be true there's little more than 
 the coronet left again. It's a mystery where such a power 
 of money's gone to ! Some folks do say that Mr. Thomp- 
 son has handled the Orwell property just as if ifc was his 
 own. He is a queer one." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Thompson ? " 
 
 "The Countess introduced him, just before her hus- 
 band's death, as house-steward ; but, after my lord died, 
 he seemed by degrees to become master of everything, 
 and he was soon, to all intents and purposes, land-steward 
 as well. And he's that familiar with the Countess thafc 
 
 is, the Dowager ! Well ! I never did talk scandal, 
 
 and I won't begin now ; but he's been heard to call her 
 'oo/'" 
 
 " Well, I am going to see this wonderful and unpopular 
 Countess-Dowager." 
 
 " Oh, dear, sir, and I thought you was quite a stranger; 
 
 and I've spoken that free ! But there, I haven't said 
 
 a word that is not naked truth. And I don't care two- 
 pence for her ladyship, nor for the Earl either, only they 
 could turn us out of this house, that's been in the family 
 near upon two hundred years, when our lease is up. But, 
 thank goodness, it has thirteen years to run : so it don't 
 much matter." 
 
 " Do not be afraid ; I shall respect your confidence. 
 STou have only answered my questions, and told me what 
 I wished to know. I thank you very much. When I tell 
 you that the late Countess Clarissa was my only sister, 
 you will understand that I am in no wise disposed to side 
 with the woman who presumed to make a nursemaid of 
 my niece, and persecute her almost to the death. I havo 
 heard a good deal before, but I wished to ascertain the 
 sentiments of those who must know a erood deal about the
 
 521 LADT CLAKISSA. 
 
 trath, and who nave been upon tho spot for tlie lasfc 
 twenty years." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I beg pardon for speaking so freely. 
 "Well, I am right glad for Lady Clarissa's sake, though I 
 believe she is very happy now, and has the best of hus- 
 bands, and two most lovely children. Still, it will surely 
 be a great pleasure to her to see her own dear mother's 
 brother. And do yon know, sir, your eyes are just liko 
 Lady Clarissa's, and hers were like the Countess's." 
 
 And then Mr. Grey prepared to walk up to the Castle ; 
 Le could see the North Lodge gates from the window 
 where he sat. " I shall dine and sleep here," he said, as 
 he departed ; " let me have a good dinner at six o'clock, 
 and see that my bed is well aired." In a few minutes he 
 was sauntering up the long double avenue, under the very 
 trees which had overshadowed his sister and her noble 
 husband, when, nearly thirty years before, they had, as 
 bride and bridegroom, approached the Castle. But some 
 of the grandest trees were gone, and, wandering a little 
 into the park, Mr. Grey perceived that the timber 
 had been felled to an extent that proved the fact of family 
 financial difficulty. As he came near to the house he 
 discerned many signs of neglect, and, altogether, the 
 estate had the air of a place sinking slowly but surely to 
 decay. 
 
 He entered the great hall for the door stood wide open 
 and waited till someone should appear. Seeing a 
 eervant on the stairs he beckoned to him, and desired him 
 to carry a card on which he had written something to 
 the Countess-Dowager. After a few minutes' delay the 
 servant returned, and requested the visitor to follow him. 
 
 The Dowager sat at her escritoire in the very room 
 where she had received Mr. Hadfield years before, in the 
 first days of her widowhood. The name on the card had 
 not enlightened her ; she had quite forgotten that Cla- 
 rissa's mother was a Miss Grey, and she had racked her 
 brains trying to recall the associations of the name with 
 something she could not remember what. 
 
 " I dare say, now, he is come about that hateful mort- 
 gage," she said to herself ; " I knew they would foreclose ! 
 And I'm sure I don't know what to do. It's no use con-
 
 A MISERABLE WOMAN. 525 
 
 suiting Orwell ! I must call Jack to deal with him if 
 necessary but I am terribly afraid Jack is, and always 
 has been, feathering his own nest at the expense of mine." 
 And then she told the servant to show up the stranger, 
 and if she rang the bell twice, to request Mr. Thompson 
 to attend her immediately. 
 
 Mr. Grey had heard of her as a fine woman, who had 
 been very handsome in her day ; but he found it impos- 
 sible to credit the statement. He thought she could never 
 have been even moderately good-looking. If being tall 
 and large constituted a "fine" woman, then the lady 
 might lay claim to certain charms ; but height without 
 grace, and breadth without fair proportions, were not 
 what Mr. Grey admired. The once brilliant complexion 
 had become coarse and red and sallow, and, except upon 
 occasions, she seldom now put on either rouge or pearl- 
 powder. The once dark hair, always of harsh texture, 
 was now of that dead dull iron-grey that is more unbe- 
 coming than any other colour ; there were lines and 
 wrinkles on the face, that told their tale of secret worries 
 and perplexities and evil tempers long-indulged. And, 
 to crown all, her ladyship's dress was most slovenly in 
 the extreme; she never made a grand toilet as in old 
 times, unless some visitor of importance was expected, 
 and it was not worth while to retire and beautify the 
 process was becoming more and more lengthy and com- 
 plicated for a mere Mr. Grey, a tiresome man of 
 business ! 
 
 So she received that gentleman in an old green silk 
 gown, in the last stage of shabby gentility, her ruffles all 
 torn and rumpled, and her rough, leaden-hued hair un- 
 becomingly pushed back from a bold face that showed 
 large cheek-bones, thin straight lips, and a most unlovely 
 colouring of greyish brown, with here and there a clash 
 of dull coarse red. She was really only fifty-six years of 
 age she looked at least ten years older. For nothing 
 ages people more especially women than a selfish, self- 
 seeking, unprincipled life, such as she had led ever since 
 her second marriage. She bowed in her old, wonld-ba 
 dignified fashion, as Mr. Grey entered, and he said, " I 
 believe I speak to the Countess-Dowager of Orwell ? *'
 
 526 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 He was about to say, " I believe I have the honour, Sfc.J* 
 but, being a scrupulously truthful man, he checked him- 
 self in time. The lady again bowed, and she looked at 
 him with renewed suspicion. The man was gravely 
 courteous, but there was nothing of deference, no acknow- 
 ledgment of her superiority, in his tone or manner. She 
 began to fear that things were worse than she had sup- 
 posed, and that his arrival boded the reverse of good 
 Bat, with all her faults, she was not a coward, as her sons 
 were, and she speedily plucked up courage to address him. 
 "Be seated, sir; you come, I conclude, on behalf of 
 Messrs. Cheatem and Doom ? " 
 
 " I do not know any such persons." 
 
 " On whose business, then, sir, are you here ? " 
 
 " On my own, or, rather, on that of my niece, Lady 
 Clarissa Oakleigh." 
 
 " Your niece ! " with scornful incredulity. " Clarissa 
 Oakleigh never had an uncle, and if you were what you. 
 claim to be you would know that that young person is 
 not now Clarissa Oakleigh! She chose to marry, four 
 years since, without even asking the consent of her 
 brother, or of any of her relations." 
 
 " I do know that Clarissa is married, and, as I am led 
 to understand, she was forced I say forced to sever her- 
 self from all connection with her family long before the 
 happy event occurred." 
 
 "Clarissa was a very bad, wilful, rebellious girl, and 
 she wore me almost into my grave with her shameful 
 pranks. Why, she once set her big dog on me, and all 
 but killed me ! Nobody kno- T .vs what I had to endure 
 through that wicked, cruel girl. She came between my 
 lord and me, too ; and yet, when he died, and left her 
 without the smallest provision, I befriended and sheltered 
 her, and would have given her a suitable dowry had she 
 married the worthy young man, who would have made 
 her the best of husbands." 
 
 " Your ladyship could not surely have believed that of 
 Mr. Chatters. A person less esteemed could scarcely be ; 
 nor was the young man at all in her own rank of life ; it 
 was gross presumption on his part to dream of mating 
 with the Earl's daughter. I am thankful that my niece
 
 A MISERABLE WOMAN. 52? 
 
 proved to be -worthy of her ancestors, and exposed her- 
 self to danger and difficulty rather than brook so dis- 
 graceful an alliance mesalliance in every sense of the 
 word, and that your ladyship knows as well, or better, 
 than I do ; and it was out of pure malice and hatred of 
 your step-daughter that you arranged the match." 
 
 " And pray who are you, sir, that you presume to come 
 and call me to account under my son's roof ? If he were 
 at home " 
 
 " He might probably take my view of the subject, as 
 you and he are not exactly friends at present. I have 
 told you who I am ; my name is Edward Grey, and Cla- 
 rissa, Countess of Orwell, nee Grey, was my only sister ; 
 we two were the only surviving children of our parents, 
 who died when we were both young, when Clarissa was a 
 mere child." 
 
 " I don't believe it," returned her ladyship, with some 
 brusqueness; "I never heard my late lord speak of any 
 brother of his former wife ; he must have known if such 
 a person existed. And I am sure the girl herself never 
 dreamed of having an uncle; she had, literally, not a 
 single relation on her mother's side. Sir, you are an 
 impostor ! " 
 
 "If it pleases you to say so, madam, I will not be dis- 
 courteous enough to give you the lie. It does not much 
 matter what you pronounce me to be ; after to-day we 
 shall probably not meet again. Clarissa and her husband, 
 I hope, will not disown me, more especially as I am pre- 
 pared at once to declare her my sole heiress. It has 
 pleased God to give me great riches ; and who so fit to 
 have them while I live, and inherit them when I am gone, 
 as my dear sister's child ? " 
 
 " I am sure I delight to hear it," replied the lady, in 
 tones that were meant to be silky, but sounded snaky in 
 spite of herself. She felt sick and faint with passionate 
 envy and regret ; but it was her policy always to make 
 friends with the rich and powerful, and now that evil 
 days were at hand, it behoved her to secure allies 
 wherever she could find them. She wished now she had 
 been on better terms with Clarissa for Clarissa, a greafc 
 heiress, would be a very different person from Clarissa,
 
 IADT CLARISSA. 
 
 destitute orphan, such as she had been. " One never 
 knows what may happen," she cogitated. " If I had 
 only gnessed that this ancle lived ! yes ! he is her uncle ;. 
 he has her eyes! and was perhaps a millionaire! richer 
 than I ever was, may be, and only waiting to endow her 
 with his wealth, I wonld have made quite a pet of her, 
 that I would ! It was a mistake putting her in the 
 nursery, and a mistake encouraging that scamp that 
 ungrateful wretch, Chatters. I see it now ; and I'm, 
 afraid it's too late. I went too far ; she will never come 
 round, never believe that I entertained any sincere regard 
 for her ! " 
 
 She could only continue to affirm that she rejoiced, 
 " for dear Clarissa's sake ; " she had always had a true 
 affection for her, and no doubt they would have been the- 
 best of friends, had no injudicious persons come between 
 them at the first, and sown the seeds of discord and dis- 
 trust ere they met ! " I am sure, Mr. Grey," she said, 
 blandly, in conclusion, "you who have had such large 
 experience of life, need not to be told that it is a most un- 
 thankful office, that of stepmother. One is sure to be 
 suspected, misconstrued, and unjustly blamed." 
 
 " I quite agree with your ladyship. I am aware that 
 stepmothers, as a class, have much, very much, of which 
 to complain. I know that they are often most unfairly 
 censured, most cruelly belied. But in your own case, 
 madam, I think you have nothing to complain of. Your 
 treatment of your step-daughter was I do not hesitate to 
 say scandalous ! Had she come to real harm you would 
 have been answerable, and you alone. From a child you 
 wilfully irritated and tormented her ; you would, if pos- 
 sible, have deprived her of her father's affection. After 
 his death you refused to carry out his intentions with 
 regard to her, thongh you knew that only procrastination 
 and accident, so called, frustrated the fulfilment of those 
 intentions, and that the settlement was the wish, probably 
 the last wish, of your dying husband's heart ! Left to your 
 mercy, thrown on your charity, you made a servant of 
 her, and associated her with your menials, while your 
 own children, unchecked, unpunished, were allowed to 
 lfc and harass her at their will. Worst of all, you per-
 
 A MISERABLE WOMAN. 529 
 
 mitted a low adventurer to persecute her with his hateful 
 addresses ; yon allowed lies to circulate I do not say you 
 invented them, though it may be so lies which were 
 most detrimental to her reputation. You strove in every 
 way to compromise her, to drive her, as a last resource, 
 into the arms of a fellow not fit to wed your chamber- 
 maid, if she were a decent woman. Ah ! you see I know 
 all all, Lady Orwell ! And I promise you the world 
 shall know it too. All England shall know how the 
 Countess-Dowager of Orwell behaved to her husband's 
 daughter, and I think the world will not be slow to 
 pronounce its verdict." 
 
 Rather to the surprise, and a good deal to the discom- 
 fiture, of Mr. Grey, the lady burst into tears, genuine 
 tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Were 
 they tears of passion, of bitterness, or of real distress ? 
 
 They were a union of all three. For the Countess was 
 now severely tried. She had, as people said, speculated 
 wildly, under the influence of Mr. Thompson, and had 
 lost in nearly every venture. Her sons all gambled and 
 betted recklessly ; the two eldest, especially, were fools as 
 well as knaves, and they had been plucked like geese, and 
 fleeced like shorn sheep, by sundry of their low com- 
 panions, who were nothing less than blacklegs and turf- 
 sharpers. Her daughters were dull, plain girls, with what 
 their acquaintances called nasty tempers. Their mother 
 had weakly indulged them in their childhood, and taught 
 them to over-estimate their charms and their importance, 
 and now they rewarded her with cool contempt and habi- 
 tual defiance of her commands. She had not the smallest 
 comfort in any of her children. Sydney John, the drone 
 and dolt of the family, gave her the least uneasiness ; he 
 could not be said to be " the best of the bunch ; " he was 
 only the least bad of the whole family. 
 
 The Earl, who was in the hands of the Jews, had 
 counted upon large sums as available on his approaching 
 majority ; and finding how his mother had mismanaged 
 his affairs, he bitterly reproached her, and declared that 
 she had been the ruin of him. The estates were in the 
 worst condition possible, and the handsome fortune which 
 poor Peter had left her was almost entirely dissipated. 
 
 34
 
 530 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 She had begun, too, to have the worst opinion of tl\o 
 pseudo Mr. Thompson, but she was so entirely in his 
 power that she dared not quarrel with him, nor could she 
 extricate her affairs from his control. Disappointment, 
 humiliation, and suspicion met her at every turn, and her 
 apprehensions increased and darkened as the weary days 
 went on. She was emphatically a miserable woman. No 
 wonder that her nerves gave way under the sudden sur- 
 prise of Mr. Grey's stern accusations. For months past 
 she had been slowly and reluctantly coming to the conclu- 
 sion that her life had been a series of mistakes, and that 
 all that she had striven for, and all that she had gained, 
 was not worth the price she had paid for it. And now 
 Clarissa was rich, and happy, and honoured ; and she was 
 poor, and wretched, and likely to be disgraced ! 
 
 "If I had my time over again, I would do differently," 
 she said, "indeed I would ; but it is too late now." 
 
 " Never too late to repent of wrong ; never too late to 
 turn to God, and lead a Christian life ! " replied Mr. Grey, 
 greatly touched. " Christ calls you still is calling you 
 now ! Oh, listen, and let your last days be your best and 
 happiest. There is pardon and peace for all ! " 
 
 Then he left her, feeling such unfeigned compassion for 
 her miserable condition, as almost surprised himself. He 
 left her without anger almost without contempt. He 
 was so very, very sorry for her when she wept, and wailed 
 out, " I am a miserable woman ! " Afterwards, he was 
 most thankful that he had parted from her thus. 
 
 He went back to his inn and dined, and then strolled in 
 the glorious Orwell woods till the sweet summer evening 
 deepened into lovely summer night. The morrow's dawn 
 had not broken, when he was awakened by a great dis- 
 turbance in the street. He opened the window, and saw 
 over the tree-tops a red glow on the sky. " Is it a fire ? " 
 lie asked of someone below. "Yes!" was the answer 
 " a great fire ! the Castle is in flames, and there are EO 
 engines nearer than Ipslcigh."
 
 LADY CLARISSA. 531 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 MRS. JACK SPARKS. 
 
 " That night a mingled column of fire and smote, 
 From the dark thickets of the forest broke, 
 And glaring o'er the landscape, leagues away, 
 Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. 
 Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, 
 And all the villagers in terror gazed." 
 
 " CLAXG ! clang ! Borne ! borne ! Ding-dong ! " went 
 the bells in the old ivied tower, as Mr. Grey hurried up 
 the avenue, where he had loitered and mused so quietly 
 fourteen hours before. The heavy bells were ringing 
 backwards or anyhow a tocsin of distress. The sky 
 was crimson, and the tree-tops showed like foliated masses 
 of ruddy bronzes, in the awful glow that lighted up the 
 scene. The rooks, roused from their nests in the tall 
 elms, were wheeling round and round, while their dis- 
 cordant caiv mingled with the strange jangle of the bells ; 
 the wild fowl rose from the sedges of the Mere, and 
 screamed as if pursued ; and the deer, terrified at the un- 
 wonted glare, went thundering across the open lawns and 
 glades to find shelter in the more distant woods. Every 
 moment the glow deepened, and the blaze grew brighter ; 
 and when, at length, Mr. Grey came in sight of the Castle, 
 it seemed to him that the whole ancient edifice was in 
 flames. 
 
 It was not so, however, for the old wing and a great 
 part of the offices were as yet untouched ; but in the more 
 modern building, which was occupied by the family, aud 
 in which were the state-rooms, the fire raged furiously. 
 The nursery and schoolroom quarters were wrapped in 
 flames, which spread with frightful rapidity ; long fiery 
 tongues licked the window frames of the library, and the 
 great dining-room was like a furnace. A crowd of people, 
 composed of nearly every man and woman in the neigh- 
 bourhood, was gathered together, but no one seemed to 
 
 34-2
 
 532 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 have any idea of wrestling with the enemy. Indeed, the* 
 fire had so far got the mastery, that any such slight op- 
 position as the Castle engine a mere toy affair could 
 offer was manifestly useless. In its best days it might 
 have been efficacious in the first moments of alarm, but it 
 never could have coped with a well-established fire. Never- 
 theless, some of the servants had dragged it out and fixed 
 the decayed hose, and one, more adventurous than the 
 rest, had actually played upon the blazing mass. The 
 sprinkle seemed rather to increase the fury of the flames,, 
 and it suddenly struck the beholders that they had better 
 yield the victory to the awful foe, and devote themselves 
 to the more possible work of salvage. 
 
 "What has to be done must be done quickly," said the 
 butler, taking the command. " There is not much that 
 can be done, for the fire has got all the rooms where the 
 chief of the valuables are. but there's the pictures in the 
 long gallery, and the armour we might, if we are sharp 
 about it, save them ! And I must have a try for that 
 Chateau Yquem. My plate is all safe. Come along, my 
 lads the way is clear to the gallery ! " 
 
 But the fire spread so fast, and the heat and smoke soon, 
 became so intolerable, that the men were forced to abandon 
 their work, and beat a quick retreat. They went to other- 
 parts of the house, where it was cooler, and the smoke less 
 dense, and saved just what came to hand chiefly old, dis- 
 carded furniture and kitchen implements. The house- 
 keeper and her maids rescued a little only a very little 
 linen ; for ere they left the presses the place was like 
 an oven, and the fire had got hold of the adjoining still- 
 room. Pieces of the splendid Sevres dinner-service were 
 also saved ; the rest by far the larger portion had to be 
 abandoned. As for the wine, it was useless to think of it, 
 for the cellars in which it was stored were immediately 
 onder the rooms which was the very focus of the con- 
 flagration. 
 
 " Are the family all safe ? Are the servants all right ? "" 
 was Mr. Grey's first question. He had often played the 
 amateur fireman with equal bravery and skill, and he 
 saw at once that in a few hours the vast pile would be 
 one heap of ruin, unless the engines speedily arrived.
 
 MRS. JACK SPARKS. 533 
 
 Salvage to a small extent was all that could be hazarded ; 
 as well endeavour to quench heaven's thunderbolts as 
 that great roaring, seething mass of fire, which consumed 
 like tinder all upon which it fixed its demon fangs. But 
 the family, the servants ! Was no human life in peril? 
 
 " Lady Louisa Maria and Lady Selina went with some 
 of the maids to the North Lodge directly the fire broke 
 out," was the reply. " And Mr. Sydney was here a 
 moment ago. See ! there he is helping to bring out that 
 japan cabinet." 
 
 " And the Countess-Dowager? " 
 
 " She came down with her daughters. I saw her in 
 her dressing-gown, with her hair all flying," said a 
 woman from the village. 
 
 " She didn't go with the young ladies, though," inter- 
 posed another, " for my husband was with them. Lady 
 Selina fainted, and had to be carried." 
 
 Presently, up came our old friend Mademoiselle 
 Coralie mademoiselle no longer, for she had been married 
 for some years to a thriving tradesman in Ipsleigh, who 
 had a small branch business at Orwell, which Mrs. 
 Draper chiefly managed herself. And Mrs. Draper 
 cordially hated and despised the whole family of Orwell, 
 Lady Clarissa excepted. But though her talk was loud, 
 she did not really wish them any ill, and she was now 
 most anxious to be certified of the safety of her quondam 
 mistress. She had met the young ladies, and Lady Louisa 
 Maria was crying, and begging someone to go and look 
 after " mamma." 
 
 " For," said the girl, " she went back after some of her 
 jewels, and it wasn't safe ; I told her so, but she would 
 not heed ; the floors were giving way then. Oh, do go 
 .and see if she is safe ! It would be so dreadful if sho 
 were burned to death." 
 
 So Madame Coralie pressed on, to make inquiries. 
 
 "Ah! she not burn!" said the Frenchwoman to her- 
 self, as she approached the scene of action; "not here, 
 that is to say ! She will burn for ever and ever in tho 
 other world ; being a heretic, she won't get the advantage 
 of purgatory. It is of no avail to say masses for a 
 heretic, even for a good heretic ! for the Church damns
 
 534 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 them eternally. Ma foi, I would not be a heretic ! But 
 the Countess will take no hurt ; she will live to be ninety- 
 nine, as all horrid old witches do. It is the good and 
 the gentle that are swept away ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, her first inquiries were for the Countess- 
 Dowager, and she arrived just as people were declaring 
 that she had gone back into the Castle, and never come 
 out again. Several persons began to be excited ; Mr. Grey 
 was seriously alarmed ; he asked further questions, and 
 became only more convinced that the unfortunate lady 
 was still in the burning house. 
 
 " Which are Lady Orwell's rooms ? " demanded Mr. 
 Grey. 
 
 Fifty voices answered him ; as many hands pointed in 
 a direction where the fire was fiercest. 
 
 Madame Coralie shuddered. 
 
 " She is but a cinder, if she is in there ! " she cried. 
 
 " She would never have gone back," said Mr. Grey. 
 " It might be Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, it scorches 
 even here ! Does no one know where the Countess- 
 Dowager is likely to be ? " 
 
 " I seed her," said a little kitchenmaid, who stood- 
 trembling, and keeping guard over some of her own be- 
 longings, which she had caught up in the moment of flight. 
 " I seed her ladyship as I come down the cedar stairs. 
 Our own stairs was so full of smoke, I was fear'd of being- 
 choked, and there she were, looking that scared it were- 
 awful. And I says, 'my lady,' but she says nothing, and 
 I runned on, and the next minute I had lost her in the* 
 smoke." 
 
 " Could she get to her rooms that way ? " asked Mr. 
 Grey. 
 
 " Yes, she could," replied Madame Coralie. "I expect 
 jhe found the grand corridor all on fire, and so turned 
 Aack to the cedar landing, to try getting round through 
 my lord's rooms, the other way." 
 
 " Show me the road to the cedar stairs," said Mr. Grey r 
 imperatively. But someone was before him. Poor 
 stupid Sydney John had listened to the kitchenmaid'ai 
 avowal, and to Coralie's remarks, and the best part of his- 
 nature triumphed over the worst, and he was ready to
 
 MRS. JACK SPAUKS. 535 
 
 risk his own life for his mother's. He was already on the 
 lower flight of the cedar stairs so-called, because they 
 led to a suite of apartments panelled with cedar wood 
 when Mr. Grey asked someone to direct him. Coralie at 
 once led the way, impelled by a sudden bravery, and she 
 reached the first landing, where the cedar planks were 
 hot under her feet, and the smoke was gathering in thick 
 volumes. But as yet there was no fire there, only the 
 black dense vapour in one of the cedar chambers pro- 
 claimed the speedy advent of the flames. 
 
 " This way ! " shouted Coralie. " Ah del ! the fire is at 
 the other end of the passage. Pauvre miladi / she is lost, 
 lost." And the woman wrung her hands in utter horror 
 and dismay. " Allans ! Fuyons ! " she cried, " or we too 
 shall be roast ! " 
 
 At that moment, pushing through the smoke and a 
 fringe of fire, came a tall, loutish figure, all begrimed, 
 and staggering under the burden he carried in his arms ; 
 it was the lad Sydney John, and he had saved his mother, 
 whom he found crouching and apparently unconscious in 
 one of the rooms that had been his father's, and through 
 which there was access to the Countess's own suite. 
 
 Mr. Grey stepped forward to his assistance for Sydney, 
 though tall and large- boned, was little more than a boy, 
 being scarcely over eighteen, and the Countess-Dowager 
 was no light weight. They got her down the stairs, and 
 into the kitchen-yard, where they sprinkled her well with 
 water, and soon brought her in some measure to her 
 eenses. That is to say, she opened her eyes and twitched 
 her fingers, and tried to sit up on the door-step, where 
 they had hastily placed her. Her first words were incom- 
 prehensible. 
 
 " Jack ! I said it would come, and it has ! God'a 
 curse is upon us ! What was it that Percy read the other 
 day? 
 
 " ' Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ! ' 
 
 I forget the rest ! Jack, I say, I like you very well, but I 
 can't marry you. I mean to be a lady, and you'll never 
 make me one. Yes, ma'am ! carrots, fivepence a bunch J
 
 53G LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 very scarce yet, but turnips is cheaper. A pen'north o' 
 parsley yes ! " 
 
 "She is out of her mind," they said; "terror haa 
 turned her brain ! " And so it had. The fire had not 
 touched her, but the fright and distress had been too much 
 for her already tortured mind. Reason had deserted its 
 throne never to return ; from that awful night Louisa, 
 Countess-Dowager of Orwell, was an incurable maniac. 
 Sometimes she was desperate, and required restraint, and 
 sometimes she "was harmless, but seemed to have gone 
 back to her Whitechapel days, and once more she served 
 her neighbours with greengrocery, and made "two 
 pen'norths " of coal, and bought cheap finery, and de- 
 plored cousin Jack's departure for Botany Bay. All the 
 rest was a blank. She had forgotten both her husbands, 
 and all her days of prosperity and grandeur were as if 
 they had never been ; she was Louisa Sparks again no- 
 thing more ! Only now and then, when the violent fits 
 came on, it seemed as if dim reminiscences of her titled 
 splendour visited her, and she asserted herself with more 
 than her former arrogance and pride, and worked herself 
 up into such a frenzy that the strait-waistcoat and the 
 padded-room were called into requisition. 
 
 And all the while the fire marched on like a ruthless 
 triumphant conqueror. It spread from room to room and 
 from wing to wing ; it slid along beam and rafter ; it 
 licked and charred the old cedar panelling, and the beau- 
 tiful carved work for which Orwell was so famous; it 
 crackled, and hissed, and roared, and mingled its spire-like 
 flames with the red dawn light that was surging over all 
 the sky. Just as the roof fell in, two engines came 
 thnndering up the avenue, and in less than half-an-hour 
 three more were on the spot, and ready to set to work ; but 
 they could only play upon a burning heap ; and when the 
 fire at last was so far extinguished that it only smouldered, 
 now and then sending out a flickering tongue of blaze, 
 nothing remained of the grand old Castle of Orwell, save 
 bare blackened walls, a few charred timbers, and battle- 
 ments that tottered to their fall. The ruin was complete ; 
 of all tho noble pile, only a small suite of servants' rooms, 
 with ofliccs beneath, escaped entire destruction.
 
 MIi3. JACK SPAEK3. 537 
 
 As the day wore on, and the engine still played upon 
 the red-hot debris, there arose a cry that the steward was 
 missing. He had not been seen after the fire broke out, 
 arid strange to say, in the fright and confusion, no one 
 had missed him. Only the butler, who had organised and 
 commanded the salvage party, had inquired for him. It 
 was clearly Mr. Thompson's duty to take the lead ; but 
 he did not put in an appearance, and there was no time to 
 waste in calling him to the rescue, so they proceeded 
 without him, the butler declaring that " the coward 
 skulked, and was frightened at the smell of fire." 
 
 " Oh ! he'll turn up at breakfast time, somewhere," 
 said one of the grooms, as he leaped out of a window, as 
 the shortest way to safety : " he'd never risk his precious 
 carcass for the sake of anybody's property." 
 
 But the butler looked grave. " Hush, Tom ! " he said ; 
 " this is no time for railing. I hope we are right I do 
 hope he is a coward, and that " 
 
 " And that what ? " asked the groom. 
 
 " That he is nowhere in the burning building." 
 
 " Why, he'd be burnt to death ! " 
 
 And when breakfast time came, and food was served in 
 the stable-yard to those who had worked all night, there 
 M-as still no steward. And the hours wore on, and the 
 engines, save one, went home to Ipsleigh, and the ruins 
 were left to cool under the dews of heaven ; and still no 
 Mr. Thompson. As it gi-ew towards evening the Honour- 
 able Sydney John went and conferred with the sti'anger 
 at the Orwell Arms the gentleman who had helped him 
 with his mother, and whom people were saying was 
 Clarissa's uncle. 
 
 " I say ! " said Sydney John, " this is a rum go ! Why 
 don't Thompson turn up ? Why didn't he show last 
 night when everybody wanted him ? " 
 
 "I really cannot say," replied Mr. Grey, much amused 
 at the youth's gaucherie. " You see, I know nothing of 
 Mr. Thompson's habits. He is house-steward and latid- 
 Bte\vard in combination, is he not ? " 
 
 " He is everything that he can be, and he rules the 
 toast when Orwell is away. As for mother, he's got her 
 under his thumb ; she never knocks under to anybody
 
 538 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 but Thompson and Orwell ; and, of the two, she's most 
 afraid of Thompson." 
 
 " Strange that a mistress should be afraid of her own 
 servant." 
 
 " So it is ! Now I come to think of it, it's very strange. 
 Why! she always seemed afraid of him ever since he 
 came more than twelve years ago, when I was a little 
 chap, just out of petticoats. And at the same time they 
 were dreadful intimate, thick as thieves ! " 
 
 Mr. Grey said nothing. He had heard strange rumours, 
 both at Ipsleigh and at Orwell, and he knew that whispers 
 were afloat, very much to the Countess's discredit. Old 
 as she was, it was her turn now to become the subject of 
 scandal , she was ten times more talked about than ever 
 Clarissa, in spite of wicked slander, had been. So 
 many persons said that there had been, or ought to be, 
 a private marriage between her and the steward, who 
 presumed to quarrel with her ladyship, and even called 
 her "Loo/" 
 
 Sydney proceeded : " I say, now, Mr. Grey, it's one of 
 two things either the fellow is roasted to cinders, or 
 else, he's bolted! And if he's bolted, I shouldn't be 
 surprised if he set fire to the place before he went." 
 
 " Had you any reason to suspect that he intended 
 bolting ? " 
 
 "I hadn't at the time, but since, putting two and two 
 together, it seems to me as if it might be so. My lady 
 and he had an awful row yesterday, after you went 
 away ; and I know Orwell was determined to come 
 to a settlement with him, and had told him so. I 
 say ! if he has mizzled, and gone off to foreign parts, 
 it will be bad for us, for he would never go empty- 
 handed ! " And the Honourable Sydney felt quite proud 
 of his own sagacity for people had always called him 
 "dull." 
 
 Of course, Mr. Grey could not offer an opinion ; be* 
 could only suggest that inquiries should be set on foot im- 
 mediately, and that the ruins should be carefully examined 
 as soon as practicable. 
 
 If any deeds or securities were missing, that would, of 
 course, go far to prove that Thompson had absconded. It
 
 MRS. JACK SPARKS. 539 
 
 was even reported that he had been seen at Hunsleigh 
 Port, in the early morning, while the sky was yet red 
 with the glow from the burning Castle, but no one could 
 be found who had actually beheld him; it was always 
 somebody who had told somebody else, that somebody had 
 recognised the missing man. 
 
 Nevertheless days passed on, and there were no tidings 
 of Mr. Thompson, and a week had elapsed since his dis- 
 appearance, when one morning an elderly woman arrived 
 in the village, and betook herself to " The Orwell Arms," 
 where, after partaking of some spirits and water, she 
 commenced, " I'm come to know about my husband ! I've 
 let him go long enough, and now folks do say he's either 
 burnt to death, or gone out of the country with what don't 
 belong to him, so I am here to look after him, for I'm his 
 lawful wife !" 
 
 The hostess suggested that the lady should name her 
 lord, although she felt pretty certain to whom the inquiry 
 related, since only one person was in the circumstances 
 referred to, burnt, or missing. Only no one in Orwell 
 Magna knew that Mr. Thompson was a married man. In 
 the meantime, however, she summoned Mr. Grey and 
 Mr. Sydney who was with him, discussing matters, as 
 usual to the conference. The woman replied, "His 
 name is, or it were, Jack Sparks ; but he were always 
 called Mr. Thompson here ; and he were house-steward to 
 his own cousin, the Countess of Orwell." 
 
 " Mr. Thompson own cousin to my mother ! " cried 
 Sydney, in amaze. Then, turning to Mr. Grey : " I say, 
 now, I do believe it's the truth ! There's a lot of things 
 to prove it." 
 
 " It's truth enough," responded Mrs. Sparks. " The 
 Countess, afore she were Mrs. Shrosbery, were a Miss 
 Sparks, and lived down Whitechapel way. Her ma sold 
 greengrocery, and her pa weren't nothing in particular ; 
 he was one, I've heard my Jack say, as would never earn 
 his salt, if you gave him bread and cheese." 
 
 "Upon my word," said Sydney John, "I seem to 
 have had not very respectable grandparents ; and pray, 
 Mrs. Sparks, what induced your husband to alter his 
 -name ? "
 
 540 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 j in course, Loo that is, the Countess wouldn't, 
 for the world, have let it be known who she was, and how 
 she grew up, in the gutter, as one may say. And she 
 hated the name of Sparks, and my good man, he never 
 were over fond of it, and as often called himself some- 
 thing else as not. And he and my lady made a paction ; 
 she would give him a place of trust, and good pay, and 
 generous perquisites, and he would serve her faithful, 
 and never, peach. And they was always to be as mistress 
 and servant. I guess they foi'got theirselves sometimes, 
 though. Well ! that was more nor twelve years back, and 
 for a long time I didn't know where my husband was ; but 
 lie sent me money, and I never was so well off in my life ; 
 I were quite the lady, that I were ! And as we had never 
 hit it off very well, we were quite as well parted as not. 
 Folks thought I were a widow; and I often wished I 
 were, for I could have married more than once, and done 
 well for myself, I could. But latterly I haven't had my 
 money regular, and I've been obligated to go out nurse- 
 tending, to keep myself from want, and now I hear as he's 
 missing; and, thinks I, I've played the fool too long, I'll 
 go and look after him ; for Thompson or Sparks, he's my 
 lawful hnsband, and I've more right to him than his lady- 
 cousin." 
 
 It was not easy to dispose of Mrs. Sparks, for she swore 
 she would not stir a step till her liege lord was at her 
 side again, and she threatened to become a nuisance. She 
 demanded to be confronted with the Countess ; but that 
 unhappy lady was in no state to receive her, for her 
 malady had increased so visibly that it became necessary 
 to place her at once under proper treatment. Fortunately, 
 at this crisis, the Earl and his wife made their appearance ; 
 also Mr. Oakleigh, who had been at Baden-Baden when 
 the news of the calamity reached him. Lord and Lady 
 Orwell came straight from Paris ; owing to some delay 
 of letters they had only just received their brother 
 Sydney's. 
 
 Mr. Grey thought he might now safely leave affairs in 
 the hands of those whom they actually concerned, so he 
 sat down to finish the letter, already commenced, to Cla- 
 rissa and her husband a letter which was quite a little
 
 MP?. JACK SPARKS. *41 
 
 autobiography, and fully explained all that required an 
 explanation. 
 
 But he stayed till the ruins had been thoroughly ex- 
 plored, and, as far as could be ascertained, no human 
 remains were to be discovered, though, as it was affirmed 
 by all who were judges in such matters, the heat had 
 been so very fierce that it was quite possible that the 
 bones were calcined, and no trace left of the ill-fated 
 steward if, indeed, he had perished in the flames. His 
 wife, however, inclined to the belief that he had fled the 
 country a supposition which the young Earl also enter- 
 tained, and in which he was confirmed when he came to 
 investigate his own affairs. Of course, all the steward's 
 papers and accounts were burnt ; but that Avas not all : 
 deeds, bonds, securities, and documents of importance- 
 were missing ; and the Earl soon made the discovery 
 that he was more completely ruined than ever his father 
 had been, without the alternative of marrying a rich 
 widow. 
 
 Mr. Grey grew sick as villainy after villainy was dis- 
 closed, and when it came to the Earl coolly asking him, 
 on the score of "relationship ! " to lend him 10,000, he 
 thought it was high time to beat a retreat and disconnect 
 himself entirely from the Orwell perplexities. He had 
 heard from Clarissa, and there was no reason why he 
 should any longer delay his journey to Brightlanda 
 Rectory.
 
 CHAPTER LL 
 
 SHADES OF EVENING, 
 
 " Nearer, my God, to The:?, 
 
 Nearer to Thee, 
 E'en though it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me ; 
 Still all my song shall be, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 
 Nearer to Thee." 
 
 IT was rest and comfort indeed to be at Brightlands 
 Rectory, after the disturbed and troublous atmosphere 
 of Orwell, and Mr. Grey had not been many days in his 
 niece's family before he began to think it was jnst possible 
 he might not care to return to America. " Suppose I 
 were to make up my mind to stop here always that is to 
 say, in England," said he one day to Clarissa; "do you 
 think you could find me a cottage near at hand?" He 
 had told the Willoughbys that he was not poor, but as yet 
 he had said no word about his riches, and they simply 
 supposed that he had a competency, and nothing more. 
 They had given him a warm and hearty welcome on his 
 arrival, and as time passed on they became extremely 
 fond of him, and hoped that he would defer his departure 
 till the latest possible moment. Clarissa answered, " I 
 am not sure, Uncle Edward, that there is any house in the 
 village that would just suit you ; there is nothing to let, 
 or likely to be let, except a large mansion, and several 
 small and inconvenient cottages, hardly fit for working 
 people. But I do not see whv von shor.ld not stay on with 
 us ; the Rectory is quite too large for our occupation. 
 Suppose we fitted up those two south rooms, which I 
 showed you the other day, given over to dust and lumber ? 
 Horace will never get on without you, now that he has 
 been used to have a lay curate and honorary church- 
 warden; and as for the children, they would miss you. 
 dreadfully." 
 
 " And bow about yourself, Clary dear? "
 
 SHADES OF EVENINO. t 
 
 " You know very well, nncle, that I only want you to 
 consent to my plan in order to be quite happy. Indeed, 
 Horace and I have spoken about it already ; only last 
 night he said to me, ' If we could but keep your Uncle 
 Edward with, us au long as he iives, how glad I should 
 be!'" 
 
 "All very well, child, but suppose I cannot afford to 
 pay you liberally for my board and lodging ? And Edward 
 Grey could never bear to be dependent upon his kith, and 
 kin while he had the ability to work for himself." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, it would be worth anything to Horace 
 to have such a coadjutor in his parish work. There is so 
 much to be done ; this place has been so shamefully neg- 
 lected. I am sure it could be arranged, Uncle Edward ; 
 whatever suited yon would suit us. You shall pay us 
 something if it would make you feel more comfortable 
 or nothing, just as you choose. We are not at all poor, 
 you know." 
 
 " Some ladies of your rank would think themselves ex- 
 tremely poor with your moderate income." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I dare say! But then I have known what 
 it is to be really poor ! I have been obliged to consider 
 every sixpence before I spent it ; I have known what it is 
 to toil far into the night for the sake of a few shillings, 
 to make scanty meals, and to wear old clothes, till it 
 seemed hopeless trying to mend them any longer. And, 
 once, I remember, I could not go out till after dark, be- 
 cause I had no boots that were at all respectable. Thank 
 God, those days are passed. Ah ! I am rich now, with 
 my dear husband and children, and this sweet, pleasant, 
 home, and all my wants fully more than fully sup- 
 plied." 
 
 " Did you ever quite lose faith, Clarissa ? " 
 
 " Now and then I am afraid I did. But the despon- 
 dency, the darkness, never lasted ; God had pity on me, 
 and would not let me be tried too hardly. The worst 
 time was just before I left the Castle, and when I could 
 not feel sure that it would be right to run away and 
 find some other home. Ah, God has been very good to 
 me ! I may say if anyone may ' Goodness and mercy 
 have followed mo all the days of my life ' ! "
 
 $11 LADY CLAMSSA. 
 
 " And yet the discipline of your youth was very 
 severe ; you bore the yoke for long, and a heavy yoke, 
 too." 
 
 " I needed it. Never was a prouder, more self- willed 
 child than I ! Poor Lady Orwell did not altogether 
 slander me when she complained of my pride and obsti- 
 nacy. I arn quite sure I tried her sadly, and she never 
 had a very gentle temper. Though I believe she made 
 me worse than I should have been ; she seemed to take 
 advantage of all my defects of character and of training 
 for I was left entirely to servants, after mamma died. 
 Well, I dare say we mutually tormented each other ; I 
 have often thought I ought to have had more patience 
 with her. And now now tbat such terrible misfortunes 
 have overtaken her, I feel that I forgive her, from the 
 bottom of my heart, every act of unkindness, every harsh 
 and bitter word." 
 
 " You are better to her than her own sons the Earl 
 especially. I was absolutely horrified to hear him speak 
 of his wretched mother in the way he did. I took the 
 liberty of reminding him that whatever were her follies 
 and her errors, she was still his mother, and as such to be 
 regarded with at least a show of reverence. He burst 
 into a horse-laugh, and replied that reverence of any sort 
 was not in his nature, and that as for his mother, she had 
 been his ruin and his shame, and he felt towards her only 
 aversion and contempt." 
 
 " How shocking ! And he was her darling ! The one 
 good point in her character the one, at least, that could 
 not be overlooked was devotion to her children. She 
 spoiled them, I know ; but she loved them. And now that 
 I am a mother myself. I feel, in spite of her wrong-doing 
 and her shortcomings, that she must have loved them 
 passionately. Ah. ! if my boy should ever live to despise 
 his mother ! " 
 
 " He never will, my dear. Bring him up wisely ; teach 
 him early to walk in God's ways, to live for others rather 
 than for himself ; show him the beauty of holiness, set 
 him a worthy example in short, go on as yon have 
 begun, and there is no fear that he will ever cherish any 
 sentiments save those of tender and reverent affection
 
 SHADES OF EVENING. 545 
 
 towards you. Bat Lord Orwell and his brothers behaved 
 very badly towards yourself, did they not ? " 
 
 " They were but children, and they were encouraged to 
 set me at defiance. It would have been a miracle had 
 they been other than they were. I have no grudge against 
 them, poor boys." 
 
 " And that infamous Chatters ? " 
 
 " I had rather not speak of him. I was so shocked one 
 day at seeing him in the pulpit. Horace and I were 
 staying at Westonbury one wet Sunday, and we turned 
 into the first church we came to, and had taken our seats, 
 before I perceived that the officiating minister was my 
 ancient enemy. He read our beautiful prayers in most 
 slovenly fashion, and, by way of sermon, he hurried over 
 what was evidently a printed discourse, for once or twice 
 he lost his place, and was unable to proceed. I heard 
 afterwards that he was not unfrequently seen in a state of 
 intoxication, and that he lived most unhappily with his 
 wife, who had just and grave cause of complaint against 
 him. Still, I hope, I would do Alfred Chatters good, 
 if it were possible ; I would not resent the wrongs 
 and indignities of that unhappy time, if ever I had the 
 chance." 
 
 And strange to say, years afterwards, Clainssa did have 
 the chance. There came a day that found Chatters bereft 
 of reputation, friends, health, and means, when he was 
 thankful to receive an alms from the generous woman 
 whom he had once so cruelly persecuted. His last days 
 were soothed by Clarissa's kindness, and when he died, a 
 miserable, worn-out, prematurely aged man, she estab- 
 lished his widow in a small business, and placed three of 
 his four children in situations where they might, if they 
 conducted themselves well, take the first steps towards an 
 honourable career. Chatters' eldest son, to this day, 
 epeaks with reverential affection of the Lady Clarissa, the 
 friend and protector and " guardian angel " of his youth. 
 
 Mr. Grey finally accepted his niece's invitation, but h 
 insisted on furnishing his own rooms for himself ; he 
 could very well afford it, he assured her. He chose his 
 opportunity when Clarissa and her husband were absent 
 on a short visit, and not content with filling the chambers 
 
 35
 
 546 LADY CLAKT5SA, 
 
 destined to his own peculiar use frith every possible com- 
 fort and elegancy, he had a new grand pianoforte placed 
 in Clarissa's sitting-room, while a beautiful inlaid cabinet 
 decorated the drawing-room, and Horace's library received 
 sundry valuable and long-desired additions. 
 
 Clarissa could scarcely believe the evidence of her senses 
 when she beheld the rooms, which she had seen last faded, 
 dull, and filled only with discarded furniture and old boxes. 
 Either her uncle was wealthy or else alarmingly extrava- 
 gant, and the latter supposition, from a variety of causes, 
 it seemed impossible to entertain. He had simply said he 
 should prefer to furnish his own rooms, and he could very 
 well afford it, and Clarissa, with true delicacy, determined 
 that he should have his own way, and that she would pre- 
 sently add all those little comforts and luxuries which he 
 was himself unable to supply. But no additions were re- 
 quired, and everything in the rooms was of the very best 
 and costliest ; a London upholsterer had evidently been 
 employed, and nothing was forgotten that the capacities 
 of the time afforded. Mr. Willoughby and his wife were 
 equally astonished ; they could only conclude that Uncle 
 Edward's estimate of " moderate means " must be some- 
 what singular. 
 
 It was on the morning after their return that they first 
 entered the newly-furnished rooms, and before Clarissa 
 had observed the new piano, as she had only glanced 
 into her boudoir the night before, with a chamber- 
 candlestick in her hand. Neither had Horace seen the 
 precious volumes which lay on his library-table, awaiting 
 his arrangement. They were alone for several minutes, 
 for Uncle Edward had purposely lingered behind when 
 he proposed the visit. Husband and wife looked at each 
 other in uncontrolled wonder, and Clarissa exclaimed, 
 " What does it mean ? more has been spent on these two 
 rooms than on many a large, respectably-furnished house ! 
 These things must have cost an immense sum immense, 
 that is, for Uncle Edward, who is comparatively poor." 
 
 "He never said he was poor," said Horace, medita- 
 tively ; " on the contrary, he has several times distinctly 
 affirmed that he was ' well off, ' and I supposed that to- 
 mean not exactly affluence, but mere comfortable cir-
 
 SHADES OF EVENING. 547 
 
 cumstances, especially for an. old bachelor, almost certain 
 never to marry, or require increase of income. Why! 
 these pictures and these mosaics alone are worth a small 
 fortune ; that sandal- wood and silver cabinet, I imagine, 
 he brought from India. And here is his dressing-case ; I 
 suppose we may look into it, as we come on a tour of in- 
 spection. Yes ! actually gold fittings and jewelled stop- 
 pers ; and the case itself is a rare piece of workmanship. 
 Diamond rings and studs, too ! And a ' repeater,' with 
 chain and seals, worth several hundred pounds ! Truly, 
 Uncle Edward's estimate of ' moderate means ' is, to say 
 the least of it, extraordinary /" 
 
 " Horace, did I ever tell you of a strange dream I had 
 at Hunsleigh Port the day I left Orwell ? " 
 
 " Yes, yon did. You told me before we were married. 
 What about that dream ? " 
 
 " It was a queer, jumbled dream, inconsistent and im- 
 possible, as dreams generally are ; but I have always re- 
 membered it. You know how the angel that comforted 
 me turned into, or was replaced, rather, by a mortal 
 creature like myself an elderly, grey-haired man, with 
 beautiful, kind eyes, and of noble, benevolent aspect 
 Well, the first time I ever saw Uncle Edward, I was re- 
 minded of my dream ; and ever since, I have thought he 
 might be the friend whom I then met in vision. Only 
 now, I do not want a friend, for I have you to take care 
 of me, and I am more than content with the blessings I 
 enjoy. There he comes." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Grey, entering, " how do you young 
 people like the old man's fancy ? Are the rooms English 
 enough for your taste, Clarissa? " 
 
 "They are perfect," she replied; " absolutely perfect. 
 But so much perfection must have involved a commen- 
 surate outlay. I know what things cost pretty well." 
 
 " Don't look so grave, my pretty bird ; the old uncle 
 can afford it all ay, and twenty times as much, and yet 
 not be guilty of extravagance." 
 
 " Then you are not at all poor ? " 
 
 M Certainly not. I never pleaded poverty, Clarissa." 
 
 u I know you did not. But somehow I seemed to 
 understand, and so did Horace, that you were only tolcr- 
 
 352
 
 548 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 ably well off. I thought perhaps you might have two 
 hundred a-year, or thereabouts, when you insisted on 
 paying all the expenses connected with these rooms, which 
 I supposed you would furnish quite simply. Horace and 
 I fully intended supplementing your own purchases with a 
 few small luxuries, such as we thought an elderly person 
 might really need ; but our whole year's income would 
 not have been sufficient to pay for a quarter of these 
 lovely things. Are you rich, then, Uncle Edward ? " 
 
 " Yes, Clarissa, I am so rich that I hardly know what 
 I am really worth. It has pleased God to crown my 
 labours with success. He has made me the steward of 
 great wealth, and I tremble when I think how large is 
 my responsibility for all I have and am is the Lord's ; 
 and it behoves me, as His loving, faithful servant, to 
 spend and to be spent for Him. And now, Clarissa and 
 Horace, I call upon you to share that responsibility, for 
 mine is yours, my children ; and may we all so live to 
 God's glory, that at the last He may say, ' Well done, 
 good and faithful servants ! Inasmuch as ye have done 
 it unto the least of these My brethren, ye have done it 
 unto Me: 5I 
 
 And from that day till he died, full of years and ripe 
 for glory, Edward Grey and his niece and nephew, and 
 their children, made one happy family. 
 
 They did not forsake the work which they had taken iu 
 hand. Lady Clarissa was one of the greatest heiresses 
 of her day, and she lived according to her state and rank, 
 and kept up such an establishment as became her station 
 that station to which it had pleased God to call her. 
 But there was no lavish expenditure on self, no mere 
 spending for self -glory or self -aggrandisement. All was 
 done " decently and in order," and that, in its broadest 
 sense, means a great deal. Neither was there lavish and 
 indiscriminate giving ; the sick, the aged, and the weak 
 were helped bountifully ; but those who could help them* 
 selves were put in the best way of doing it, and taught 
 and encouraged to maintain their independence. 
 
 Large estates were bought, not that they might add 
 field to field, and land to land, but that "the people " 
 the " masses " in the rural districts might be cared for,
 
 SHADES OF EVENING. 549 
 
 and taught to care for themselves. There was no indis- 
 criminate dole of beef and blankets at Christmas-time, 
 though the poor and needy were never sent away empty- 
 Landed ; but, on the other hand, there were on the 
 Willonghby Manors no fever-breeding cottages, no 
 picturesque but wretched hovels for the encouragement 
 of vice and indecency ; no dunghills at the doors, no 
 miserable children driven out in snowy winter mornings, 
 to supplement by a few weekly pence their father's hard- 
 earned shillings. 
 
 The Willoughbys let their farms at reasonable rates, and 
 on fair terms, on the understanding that the labourers 
 should be paid a fair wage, on which they could live in 
 comfort, and bring up their children respectably. For 
 they did not believe that a labourer could honestly support 
 a wife and family on nine shillings a week, notwithstand- 
 ing the Christinas dole from the Great House, and the 
 blankets, and broth, and port wine, in case of sickness 
 which some lords and ladies of the soil, even to this day, 
 falsely imagine to be charity which make amends for all 
 sorts of defalcations in the matter of actual wages. Wages 
 just wages the Willoughbys take to be the labouring 
 man's right, quite as much as the rent of houses and 
 lands which they own is theirs. And cJiarity, in the 
 popular acceptation of the term, they take to be an insult 
 to the able-bodied, industrious man, who is willing to do 
 a good day's work for a good day's wage. To every man 
 his due, not his mere stint ; to the feeble and infirm, and 
 suffering, that substantial sympathy and kindly assistance 
 which the Master Himself taught and imposed as a primary 
 Christian duty, when He said, " Inasmuch as ye did it, or 
 did it not, &c. ! " 
 
 I have often thought of late, when I have heard good 
 people disputing about the dogma of eternal punishment, 
 how little some of them think of the faults, the true nature 
 of the faults, for which those on the left hand were con- 
 demned. It is not, " Come, ye blessed of My Father," or 
 "Depart from Me, ye cursed," because of this or that 
 belief, or because of this or that non-belief! Faith is im- 
 plied, of course, because, if one does works of love, as 
 unto Christ, one must necessarily believe in Christ, the
 
 550 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 Saviour, the great Exemplar of the world. Bat here, in 
 this parable, Christ does not insist on creeds, or dogmas, 
 or systems of religion. He rewards and He punishes " ac- 
 cording to every man's work ; " the work being the natural 
 outcome of that faith which alone deserves the name, and 
 which, in the last great day, will be owned of the Lord, 
 when the faith of mere sentiment and emotion, and even 
 of conviction, will perish everlastingly. I fear that in 
 that day of His appearing some, who have made a great 
 noise about believing, and who have loudly despised doing 
 as "deadly sin," may find themselves, to their infinite 
 horror, in the category of the condemned. Let us only 
 question ourselves of that which no one can answer for 
 us : Is ours the dead faith which, neither blossoming nor 
 bearing fruit, is a mockery of all that Christ taught ? Are 
 we of those who, hearing Christ's sayings, and doing 
 them not, must be likened to the foolish hearer, who built 
 his house upon the sand ? 
 
 " And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the 
 winds blew, and beat upon that house ; and it fell : and great 
 was the fall of it" 
 
 That was Christ's teaching. But methinks if our Lord 
 came again to earth in mortal guise, and preached as He 
 preached on the plains and mountains, and by the shores of 
 Galilee, there are many who, making loud profession of 
 His name, and thinking themselves " Believers " above all 
 others, would turn from Him as from a mere teacher of 
 morality, a Christian philosopher, a setter-forth of salvation 
 by works ! I am not sure but that some, in their righteous 
 displeasure, would not warn men against Him, declaring 
 that He preached not the " pure Gospel." Nay, I am 
 afraid, He might even be stigmatised as a Unitarian ! For 
 the men of the present day, who dare to say " Follow 
 Christ," as well as " Believe in Christ," do occasionally 
 incut that which is intended to be the very climax of 
 rebuke. 
 
 Lady Orwell lived to old age in the retreat to which she 
 was consigned soon after that dreadful night, the terrors 
 of which deprived her of he.- reason. The Castle was 
 never rebuilt ; the Earl, compelled to reside on the Conti- 
 nent, fell in a duel, originating in a gambling dispute.
 
 SHADES OF EVENING. 551 
 
 He died childless, as did his brother Augustus, who suc- 
 ceeded to the title. Sydney John, whom his companions 
 called " Lackland," lived chiefly in Switzerland in ob- 
 scurity, but in more respectability than his brothers. His 
 wife was a charming young peasant of Zurich, and she 
 had but vague ideas of her husband's actual rank ; to the 
 day of her death she never knew that she was Madame ta 
 Comtesse. She brought him half-a-dozen daughters, who 
 all grew up and married well in their own country ; but no 
 son was ever born to the honours of Lord Fordham. 
 Percival, " poor Percy," as his sisters always called him, 
 was the victim of incurable hip and spinal disease; he 
 died at comparatively early age, unmarried, and so the 
 title was extinct. The girls themselves were left as por- 
 tionless as ever Clarissa had been, and but for their elder 
 sister's generosity, they must have decided between actual 
 want or going out into the world to earn a livelihood. 
 Only the youngest, Lady Adeline, married ; Louisa 
 Maria and Selina became grim, soured spinsters of that 
 type which has rendered old-maidism an unjust reproach. 
 And while they owed all that they had to Clarissa, they 
 hated her for her wealth, her family joys, and the great 
 esteem in which she was held by all who were honoured, 
 with her friendship. 
 
 More than once Captain Brown was a welcome guest at 
 Brightlands Rectory, and Mrs. Tibbs received many sub- 
 stantial tokens of regard from Lady Clarissa, whom she 
 had entertained as an angel, unawares. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Saunders were helped in their business, and became so 
 prosperous that the retail trade was gradually abandoned, 
 and the shop gave place to the wholesale City warehouse. 
 Their children were well-educated, and took a superior 
 position in society. And the "fifty -nine pounds fourteen 
 shillings and sixpence," which had been good Mrs. Sweet- 
 apple's parting gift, was returned with more than com- 
 pound interest to her grandchildren. Lady Clarissa never 
 forgot one humble friend ; all who had ever shown her 
 kindness were sought out and gratefully remembered in 
 the days of her prosperity. 
 
 In order to perpetuate Susan's dear memory she founded 
 a village school for girls, which should bear through all
 
 552 LADY CLARISSA. 
 
 time the name of her to whom she owed so much. That 
 would be more in keeping with Susan's character and 
 wishes, she told her uncle and her husband, than erecting 1 
 a marble monument, or giving to Orwell or Brightlanda 
 Church a grand memorial window. And one old friend 
 the Mrs. Grandison who had learned the first lessons in 
 Christ's school on the quiet Southbourne shore owned 
 that it was indeed as Clarissa said. Mrs. Grandison had 
 become very poor, as regards the silver and gold of the 
 world, but she was rich in the treasure laid up where 
 neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. Always she spoke 
 with reverential gratitude of Susan Shrosbery, who was 
 never ashamed to own her Lord, and who bore such simple, 
 humble testimony to Christianity ; Susan, whose work 
 lived after her in the person of those whom she had won 
 by precept and example to the Master's cause. 
 
 Lady Clarissa still lives, an old woman now, surrounded 
 by her children and her children's children. Her husband 
 has gone before her to the heavenly world, and she waits 
 in peace and patience for her dismissal hence. She remem- 
 bers all the way through the wilderness by which the Lord 
 her God has led her; she cries with the Psalmist, "It ia 
 good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn 
 Thy statutes." Her heart is full of a quiet joy, that ever 
 deepens and widens, as the evening shadows fall around 
 her, and her favourite song is, "Nearer, my God, to 
 Thee ! " And still she loves to say, speaking now in 
 the past tense, " Surely goodness and mercy have fol- 
 lowed me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in 
 the house of the Lord for ever and ever," 
 
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 Feet of Clay. With PORTRAIT OF AUTHOR. 
 
 The Household of McNeil. 
 
 In Spite of Himself. 
 
 A Border Shepherdess. 
 
 Paul and Christina. 
 
 The Squire of Sandal-Side. 
 
 The Bow of Orange Ribbon. 
 
 Between Two Loves. 
 
 A Daughter of Fife. 
 
 Jan Vedder's Wife. 
 
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 The Harvest of the Wind, AND OTHER STORIES. 
 By AMELIA E. BARR. Crown 8vo, paper, is.
 
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 Thornycroft Hall ; ITS OWNERS AND ITS HEIRS. 
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 Miilicent Kendrick ; OR, THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPI- 
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 St. Beetha's ; OR, THE HEIRESS OF ARNE. 
 
 Violet Vaughan ; OR, THE SHADOWS OF WARNEFORD 
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 Margaret Torrington ; OR, THE VOYAGE OF LIFF. 
 
 Fortunes of Cyril Denham. 
 
 Singlehurst Manor ; A STORY OF COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 Overdale ; THE STORY OF A PERVERT. 
 
 Grey and Gold. 
 
 Mr. Montraorency's Money. 
 
 Nobly Born. 
 
 Chrystabel : OR, CLOUDS WITH SILVERY LININGS. 
 
 Canonbury Holt. 
 
 Husbands and Wives. 
 
 House of Bondage, The. 
 
 Emilia's Inheritance ; A SEQUEL TO MR. MONT- 
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 Father Fabian ; THE MONK OF MALHAM TOWER. A 
 
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 Oliver Westwood ; OR, OVERCOMING THE WORLD. 
 
 Lady Clarissa. 
 
 Grey House at Endlestone, The. 
 
 Robert Wreford's Daughter. 
 
 Brudenells of Brude, The. 
 
 Heirs of Errington, The. 
 
 Joan Carisbroke. 
 
 Woman's Patience, A. 
 
 Story of Penelope, The. 
 
 Sissie. 
 
 Abbey Mill, The. 
 
 Warleigh's Trust. 
 
 Ksther Wynne. 
 
 Fortune's Favourite. 
 
 His Next of Kin. 
 
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 Married Life ; OR, THE STORY OF PHILLIP AND EDITH. 
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 Helen Bury. [Ready June 16 
 
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 Lottie Lonsdale. 
 
 Sir Julian's Wife. 
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