^\ KSMSi^^^i^- yacww^V'^*.'^ iij S TRET TOM ; THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ALUMNUS BOOK FUND / Hester MorleVs PROMISE. BY HESBA STRETTON, author of ■' The Doctifr's Dilemma" " Bede's Charity," Sr-V., iVv, NEW YORK : D D D , M !-: A I ) .t C M P A X Y, Ai-UMr'" " CONTENTS 5^T CHAPTER PAGH I. John Morley, Bookseller • 7 II. A Young Stepmother . 12 III. Pastor and Deacons . . 19 IV. A Monomaniac 29 V. Fleeting Sunshine . .. ^6 VI. Great P'olks .... 42 VII. Miss Waldron . . . . . 48 VIII. A Little Rift 5? IX. New Hopes . . . , . . ti X. Sunday Visitors 64 XL Deepening Shadows . . 71 XII. A Great Gulf . 76 XIII. The Slough of Despond . . 86 xn. Sinners and Judges 90 XV. A Sunless Spring-time • 96 006 IV CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACK XVI. A Point ov Conscience . . .100 XVII. The Prodigal's Return . . .108 XVIII. A Blow in the Dark . . . 115 XIX. Lawson's Attic 122 XX. A Budget of News . . . 132 XXI. His Only Enemy .... 140 XXII. A Prescription .... 149 XXIII. Face to Face 155 XXIV. Hester's One Wish . . . 162 XXV. A Hopeless Quest . . . .175 XXVI. An Impossibility . . . .179 XXVIT. Castles in the Air .... 184 XXVIII. A First Charge .... 192 XXIX. In Succession 198 XXX. Miss Waldron's Counsel . . 205 XXXI. A Painful Discovery . . .212 XXXII. Hester's Sanctuary . . .216 XXXIII. A Perilous Path .... 225 XXXIV. A Husband for Hester . . 236 XXXV. Consulting Carl . . . .243 CONTENTS. V CHAPTER PAGE XXXVI. How Could it End? . . . 250 XXXVII. A Direct Effort . . . .256 XXXVIII. Something more than a Friend . 262 XXXIX. Ten Years After . . . .268 XL. Her Husband's Heart . . .277 XLI. The Old Nursery . . . .283 XLII. A Lesson for Hester . . .291 XLIII. A iMuNiFiCENT Gift .... 298 XLIV. Blow after Blow .... 306 XLV. Retribution Begun . . . .315 XLVI. A Pastoral Visit . . . . 324 XLVII. Another Pastoral Visit . . .332 XLVIII. Heresy 34i XLIX. Out of the Dark .... 347 L. Another Call .... 352 LI. At John Morley's House . . 358 LII. On the Other Side . • .364 LIII. A Fruitless Effort . . . • 374 LIV. Alone in London .... 379 LV. Then and Now . . . . .3^9 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE LVI. A Night of Terror . . . 394 LVII. Besidk Himself 399 LVIII. A City of Refuge . . . 407 LIX. Saturday Night ... 412 LX. No Clue 420 LXI. Another Hester . . , 427 LXn. Three Months' Suspense . , 436 LXni. An Inspiration 442 LXIV. In the Sunshine .... 449 LXV. What might have been . , . 460 LXVI. Good News for Carl . . .467 LXVII. To Burgundy 474 LXVIIL At Home Again . . . . 479 LXIX. The Last Moment .... 485 LXX. A Full Forgiveness . . -493 LXXI. Carl's Hour 498 LXXII. Brought to Light .... 504 LXXIII. Checkmated . . . . c 514 LXXIV. Last Words 521 CHAPTER I. JOHN MORLEY, BOOKSELLER. LITTLE ASTON is one of those small midland towns, lying in the midst of an agricultural district, which offei- no attraction to tourists, and where very few events seem to happen. Every family in it, even to the lowest classes, possesses a staid respectability and decency, which is chiefly the heritage of those who live in isolated places, divided from the busier, and perhaps the more wicked, world by a girdle of corn-fields and meadows. The popu- lation cannot be more than five thousand, which in these days constitutes little more than a family party, whose members must be very closely allied. A large proportion of the townspeople consist of professional men, and people with means, who keep up the tone of its society. The grosser vices, if there be any, hide themselves diligently from the microscopic scrutiny of the town. Murder has never stained its precincts with blood ; suicide is almost unheard of; intrigue is unsuspected. There are scandals, but scandals of the gentler kind, such as one might whisper af one's own mother's son. From day to day, and from fear to year, its narrow stream of life flows in common- place channels, seldom quickened into rougher and swifter currents. There are births, deaths, and marriages ; old men retiring from business, and young men attempting small innovations ; but the town of Little Aston is always very orderly, and strictly respectable. 8 HESTER MOKLEY S rRO.MlSE. Some years ago the centre of respectability was the Market Square, and to dwell elsewhere was to be a grade or two lower in society, and to be inadmissible to the se- lecter circle. But the next best place was Chapel Street, opening out of the.nortJi-west corner of the Square. It was narrow, and very dull, even upon market days ; the dullest street in the town. The shops were dark and dingy, and about half-way along it, they gave place to small, poor houses, built capriciously, each one of differ- ing height and size. Nearly at the end stood a large and ugly chapel, with a pretentious portico, supported by four square pillars of red brick, and surmounted by a pediment and architrave of blue and yellow tiles. This chapel gave its name to the street. A few houses distant from the entrance into the Square stood a very old and very dingy dwelling, which had undergone but little alteration from the date of its erection, a century and a half before. Not that there was any of the picturesqueness of antiquity about it ; its aspect was only gloomy and weather-beaten, the windows being of small panes of discolored glass, and its walls blackened by smoke and age. The roof formed three gables, and the moss and house-leek grew along the gutters, and choked up the water-pipes. It was a large building, occu- pying more basement than would have sufficed for two handsome modern houses. It was on the north side of the street, which the sun never gladdened, and looked as rf a perpetual cloud overshadowed it. Whether the gloom was within or without one could scarcely tell. The street was narrow, and the side pavement exceedingly so ; yet the old house thrust upon it two ancient bow windows, with casements painted black, and small dark panes, through which a passer-by with good sight might decipher the titles of long rows of books, the bindings and lettering JOHN MORLEV, BOOKSELLER, 9 of which were faded by damp, rather than by excess of light. The books were dry, judged by modern taste. They were certainly old, and mostly theological ; with here and there a lighter volume of religious biography. Latin and Greek classics might have been found among them Between the two windows was a door, always closed, but which rang a bell as it opened ; and the black lintel above it bore, in dim and tarnished letters, the words "John iStorley, Bookseller." Within, the shop was always dusky, partly because of the books filling the windows ; and partly because of its northern frontage ; a cool and pleasant shade in summer, but in winter a very den of chill and darkness. As you opened the heaxy door, and entered the shop to the tinkle of a noisy bell, John Morley himself would step down into it from some apartment beyond, and meet you face to face. It was less like addressing a tradesman behind his counter, than the meeting of friends or acquaintances. Most of his customers shook hands with him. At the first glance it would have been said that John Morley was a grave and bookish man ; at the second, that he was solemn ; at the third, that he was sorrow-stricken. Some souls have a vast capacity for sorrow, and drink it in as a parched land drinks in water. There w'as no glimmer of sunshine about him any more than about his dwelling. Like it, he was stationed on the northern side of life, where no laughter or splendor of sunlight could fall upon him. Involuntarily, every voice was lowered to a subdued and respectful tone.' Not a sound from the rest of the premises penetrated to the dusky and quiet shop ; and when John Morley bowed out his customer, and closed the door as upon some departing guest, the little bell rang loudly, like one jingling to the hard pull of a schoolboy in an empt} house. T* 10 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. Tlie rest of the dwelling consisted of a number of half- furnished rooms, with steps down or steps up into them, as the fashion is in old buildings ; with low, long case- ments, high and narrow doors, stained ceilings, and half- wainscoted walls. The windows at the back looked upon an enclose 1 yard, part of which had, a long time ago, been planted as a garden. A few melancholy lilacs and lluii privet bushes still sucked a feeble life out of the sooty mould, and sent up slender black branches and a handful of pale leaves, to catch any stray sunbeams which might shine over the surrounding walls. There was a rambling range of outbuildings, including a stable filled to the rafters with rubbish ; above which was a small room with a shelv- ing roof, which was approached by an outside staircase. A sad and sombre little room, with dingy ivy-leaves grow- ing round the door, and tapping at the dusty panes of its lattice window, as if in parody of ivied doors and windows in the country. This room — nobody knew why — bore the name of the nursery ; though no children, within the memory of man, had ever played in it. About a mile from Little Aston stood Aston Court, a handsome, bran new, desirable family mansion, with pleas- ure-grounds, conservatories and gardens, all surrounded by a fine, well-timbered park. The old Court had heen bought and pulled down ten years ago by David Waldron, Esq., M. P., a famous man among the dissenters, and naturally the great man of the chapel at the end of Chapel Street. The portico had been bulk in honor of him. The church at Little Aston — ^by which we mean that " congre- gation of faithful men" worshipping in the dissenters' chapel — -had been small and of no repute, before the ad- vent of Mr. Waldron. It had been looked upon as low and vulgar, fitted only for the poorer classes. There had been but one member of arv standing, of ii.iv education or JOHN MORI.KV. H< '( iKSKl.I.KR. II learning, belonging to it, — a man wlio had the original tongues on his Hps more aptly than the rector himself, and wlio knew the whole origin, motive, and histor\- of dissent. That man was John Morle\\ If these two, David Waldron, M. P., and John Morley, booksf.-ller, had met each other in the aisles of the parish church, they would have kept to their own legitimate spheres, and been no more to one another than the squire and his tradesman. But they were brought together on the democratic platform of a church-fellowship, in which all the members were professedly equal. They called themselves brethren. All the rest of the brethren were content to look up to Mr. \\'aldron from a long way off, as a brother far above them ; and they were quite willing that he who helped to rule the nation should rule their church absolutely. But John Morley was a deacon; like Mr. Wal- dron ; he was also a trustee, like Mr. Waldron. He knew what equality and fraternity meant. If Mr. Waldron had political influence, John Morley had literary influence ; for he could use his pen well in defence of their sect and its tenets. These two men held a somewhat uneasy position with regard to one another. John Morley Avas the Mor- decai in the gate ; but let it be understood that Mr. Wal- dron was a very worthy Haman, a really good man, only a little jealous of the homage and authority he believed to be his due. CHAPTER II. A YOUNG STEPMOTHER. THE room behind John Morley's shop was spacious enough ; but it had a low ceiHng crossed by a mas- sive beam, and it was Hghted only by a long low casement of small panes and thick woodwork, opening upon the mournful garden at the back. It looked like an addition to the crowded shop in front ; for the walls were lined with shelves closely packed with books, dull and dark in their bindings, with narrow strips of crimson baize, which had long lost their bright tint, nailed along the edge of each shelf. The furniture was heavy and old ; the carpet threadbare and faded. No curtains shut out the black night when it pressed against the window outside. On the table, during the daytime, there usually lay a pile of business books, a ledger, a day-book, wh;ch no neat, med- dlesome hand of woman moved from time to time. No woman's work lay side by side with them, neither sewing nor knitting ; such as had once, for a brief space of two years, sometimes ruffled John Morley a little by its disor- der and interference with his own more important occu- pations. He had remembered them often, when they could come in his way no more, with a pang too sharp to be shown by any other sign than the deepening shadow under his eyes, and the threads of white growing plainer in his dark hair. In this room, haunted by memories be- coming more and more dreamlike, John Morley had spent A YOUNG STEPMOTHER. T3 his evenings alone, without companions, and wishing for none, having his books and his remembrances only ; the latter dying away softly and slowly, us if they had merely lingered for a while out of pure good nature, before leav- ing him to his solitude. This room was not, however, yet solitary at six o'clock one winter's evening ; though John Morley was occupied with a customer in his shop. It was unlighted, except by a good fire burning brightly in the grate. Stretched at full length upon the hearth lay a little girl, reading by the fire-light, her face glowing partly with the heat, and partly with the interest excited by her book. Her hair, cut short over the forehead, had been flaxen, then golden, and was now taking a sunny chestnut shade of brown. The eyes were large, well opened, and clear, with that peculiar gaze of wonder and innocence which some children's eyes still retain at the age of ten years. In spite of the glow upon the face, it was grave and sad — as sad as a child's face can be. You might have seen, looking at her closely, and reading rightly the expression of the eyes and mouth with its sweet and pliant lips, that this was a child whose life would be most completely shaped and colored by the temperaments .of those around her. She could never be childishly gay while others were suffering; nor grave in the presence of mirth. By a more direct necessity of her nature than most others possess, she would weep with those that weep, and rejoice with those that rejoice. Only encircle her with gladness, and she would be the most joy- ous among the happy ; here she was the most subdued among her mournful and sad surroundings. This child caught at last the sound of animated voices, aud lifted up her head, which had been bent over her book. A minute or two afterwards she crossed the room quietly to the door which connected it with the shop, and pu.;hed 14 HESTER MORLEY S PROMISE. it open far enough to get a glimpse of the talkers. She couki see her father's face, and slie leaned forward more eagerly to look at it. She could hardly remember to have seen it without its profound and unbroken gloom, which never lightened when looking at her. But now the gloom was gone ; the dark eyes glittered, the stern lips smiled, and the heavy eyebrows expanded with an unmistakable pleasure, as he gazed into the face turned towards him. This face the child could not see. The little solitary heart was as quickly troubled as the surface of a mountain tarn, which lies open to every breath that blows ; and the tears came, she did not know why, into her eyes. " Come in, and see my little girl now," said John Mor- ley, in a tone which reached her ears. The child shrank back shyly, and retreated to the hearth, reaching it just in time to turn, and front the stranger, who seemed to hesitate for a moment on the threshold of the comfortless and sombre room. The face was girlish and exceedingly pretty, set round with rich masses of fair hair, and lit up with blue eyes, which ap- peared to shine into the gloom, and disperse it. Her hesitation, if it were hesitation, was gone in an instant, and she crossed the floor with a light and eager step to the child, who waited timidly her approach. She laid her arm about her shoulders, and stooped down to kiss her cheek. " What is your name, my dear ? " she asked, in a gay young voice, which seemed to thrill through the child's sensitive frame. " Hester Morley," she answered, speaking with quaint self-possession, and in measured tones : '' what is your name, and where do you come from i* " •' My name is Rose Mary," said the stranger, with a laugh breaking through the long, dull silence of the place, A VoLXG STEPMOTHER. 1 5 u"-]i a promise of more music like it : "is it a pretty name, Il.-ster?" " I think so," replied the child after a moment's mus- ing ; "does my father like it ? " " Oh you droll little creature ! " exclaimed the girl, with a sidelong glance at John Morley's radiant face. " 1 daresay he does, but I shan't ask him. How old are you, Heiter ? "' '■ I am nine years old,"' she said, sighing as if she had found the nine years a heavy burden ; " but you are older than me. How old are you, Rose Mary.-"' '• Oh, fie I " she cried, lowering her voice to a mock whisper, " you must never ask a lady her age ; tliat is always a secret. But I will tell you ; only you must never, never tell your papa. I am twenty-three years old : posi tively an old woman. What an odd little mortal you are ! " The girl's manner had a light and graceful vivacity about it, full of charm and novelty to both of her grave listeners. She glanced again at John Morley with an ex- pression which the child could not altogether comprehend, but which caused her to withdraw her hand from hers. John Morley came forward to the hearth, and laid his hand upon his little daughter's head. " She has been sadly neglected," he said, look'ng fondly at the pretty girl beside him ; " but you will soon put her right : Hester, this lady has promised to be your mother." Hester neither spoke nor moved, except that her clea. eyes went quickly from the one face to the other ; but dwelt longest on the sombre, yet handsome, features most familiar to her. " Don't you understand, my little Hester ? " asked Rose, putting her hand through John Morley's arm. with l6 HESTER MORLEY's PROMISE. a coquettish and caressing gesture. " I am going to be your mamma, and take care of you." " Yes, I understand," said the child, nodding her head, " you are going to be my stepmother. I have read all about it in books, and Lawson has told me about it. My real mother is dead ; and my father is going to marry you. Yes, I know all about it. At first the stepmother is very kind, and is very fond of the children ; but as soon as she has a baby of her own, she gets cross with the others, and everything is quite different." John Morley's face flushed and darkened while his little daughter spoke in her measured tones ; but Rose laughed her blithe and musical laugh again, and fell down on her knees before Hester, so as to bring her bright face on a level with the child's serious eyes. "Look at rhe, little Hetty!" she cried, "just look at me. Do I look as if I could ever be cross or unkind ? I'm not an old dragon of a stepmother. I shall want somebody to play with me, and your papa is years and years too old to play ; but you and I will have fine games together. Oh ! I am sure.vou will love me." Hester gazed into the blue eyes of the girl with the deep, full, unconscious scrutiny of a child. The color came and went upon Rose's cheeks, and her lips pouted under this inspection. At last Hester half held out her small hand to her future stepmother, but checked herself, looking up to her father. "Will it make you happy?" she asked with a grave air. " Happier than I could tell you," answered John Mor- ley passionately. "I like you," she said, turning to Rose, "and we shall all be very happy — at first." " No ! no ! no I Not at first ; but always," cried the A YOUNG STEPMOFHER. 1 7 girl, pressing kiss after kiss upon Hester's mouth, " we will love one another veiy dearly. You will be very glad to have me for your mamma ? " '• Yes," answered Hester, still regarding her wistfully. " And you promise me to be like my own daughter," continued Rose, half playfully, "for ever and ever? You will love, honor and succor me, — those are the words, I think, — as if I were your mother? When I am old and ugly, and nobody cares for me, you will care for me and never forsake me. Let me whisper a little secret, Hester. Your father will grow tired of me by-and-by, and w^e shall quarrel sometimes, and he will be very angry, and dread- fully cross ; oh ! so cross ! But you must never get tired or cross with me. You must try to be exactly, just exactly, the same, as if you were born my own little girl. Will you promise me this, Hetty ? " She had spoken quite as much to John Morley as to Hester, with little coquettish charms and prettinesses which infatuated him. Hester's small, serious counte- nance deepened with thought, as she deliberated for a minute or two, gazing into her father's beaming face. " Ought I to promise, father ? " she asked at last. "Certainly," answered John Morley; "she is to be your mother. You cannot be too good a child to her." " God hears me promise," said the little girl, with simple solemnity' ; " I promise that I will be the same as if I had been born your daughter. I do promise it." The gloomy room was silent again as Hester's child- ish voice ceased speaking; and the girl, who still knelt before her, grew pale, and the tears sprang into her eyes. John Morley also felt a passing chill and shadow of doubt crossing the brightness of his new jo\\ It was a gloomy niche in a gloomy household, w-hich he was about to fill up with this gay and girlish creature. She glanced round I8 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. the room \vith its dingy rows of books, and peeped up into John Morley's face, already marked with austere lines ; and an involuntary shudder ran through her. But the next moment she laughed merrily. She embraced Hester with warmth, and held out her hand for John Morley to assist her in rising from her knees. It was one of her charming ways to seem to require help upon the slightest occasions. "Thank you," she said, giving him a smile which made his heart beat quickly again with delight: " this is a queer child ! She made me feel, I can't tell you how solemn ! It was almost like being married, and hearing you vow all you will have to vow, you know. Are you quite sure you will be as much in earnest ? " John Morley murmured a reply which could not reach Hester's ears. "Well! I must go now," she said. "I ought to be back already at that wretched school. Oh ! I am tired to death of it ; I long to get away from it. I believe I am only marrying you to be sure of never going back to it. There, now ! It is such a shame for a i)retty girl like me, and I am a pretty girl you know, to be chained to a long table, hearing stupid dolts repeat stupid lessons. You will save my life, sir ; and I thank you a thousand times for it." She curtseyed to him playfully, kissed Hester, and tiipped away lightly out of the dark room, which seemed darker than ever after she had left it. CHAPTER III. PASTOR AND DEACONS. "TTXHEN John Morley returned to the sitting-room, he V V busied himself for some minutes in Hghting the lamp, and setting everything into unbroken order, without once venturing to meet the eyes of Iiis little girl, who still kept her station upon the hearth, watching him timidly but steadily. There was an undefined shyness and dis- quietude in his feelings towards her, which he could not well have explained to himself. He was accustomed to perform these small feminine duties of setting his room in order ; but to-night he found himself embarrassed and awkward, with Hester's eyes upon him. After complet- ing his methodical arrangements, he reached down a thick old volume from the bookshelves, and appeared to absorb himself in its contents. But he was not reading. Hester was not to be de- ceived by the transparent artifice ; and he felt it uneasily, and moved restlessly in his arm-chair, shading his eyes with his thin and scholarly hand. But all his features were kindled with a sunshine from within, brighter and stronger than a smile. For he would not smile ; though he could not dim the light in his eyes, or make harsh again the strange softness which was smoothing away the rigid lines upon his face. • Hester comprehended, but vaguely and as a child only, that a sad life, solitary and unnatural, was coming to an end, and that already the 20 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. light shone upon him from afar off. Her young heart was full of sympathy for him ; but for some time she kept silence. Her short life had been full of lessons of reserve and taciturnity. " Father," she said after a long while, — and he put down his hand, and looked across to her, where she sat in a large, deep, old arm-chair which had always been her mother's seat, — " I am not at all sorry to have a step- mother."' The child's approbation had something quaint about it, but its oddity did not seem to strike her father ; though he allowed a vivid smile to flit across his face as he heard it. " Will it be long before you are tired of my step- mother?" inquired Hester. " I shall never be tired of her ! " he answered. " But you are tired of me," she continued, " and you are tired of my mother, or else you would not want to marry another wife. So I thought you would get tired of Rose Mary some day." "Hester," said John Morley, his face over-clouded again, " I should never have been tired of your mother if she had lived." ♦' But you tell me she does live," persisted the child, " and Lawson says she comes back sometimes and walks about the house, though I cannot see her. Sometimes I think I can feel her kissing me very softly. Perhaps she is here this evening, and heard me promise to be like a daughter to my stepmother. Do you think she would like it, father?" It was seldom that Hester spoke so freely and flu- ently ; but this evening she was excited, her cheeks were crimson, and her large gray eyes were lit up. John Mor- ley lowered his voice, and looked stealthily round the room as he answered her. PASTOR AND DEACONS. 21 "My love, if your poor mother, who was very dear tc me, — clearer than you can thmk, — could know of this, I am sure she would rejoice for your sake as well as mine. I am doing what I believe to be good for you as well as for myself. You need some woman to stand in a close rela- tionship to you ; and you will need it more as you grow older. Rose will be a second mother to you." "You are quite sure?" said Hester, with a childish love of reiterated and positive assurance. " Quite sure," he answered. Perhaps he had had but little thought of his child till this evening, but now he began to believe that she had been*his chief consideration ; and as he turned back to his book, he said to himself' several tmies, " Certainly, Rose will be a second mother to her." The silence which followed seemed scarcely like a silence to him ; while the eager face of Hester was bent forward out of her great arm-chair, and her speaking eyes were fastened upon him. But he would give no attention to her eloquent looks ; and in a few minutes she seemed aware of this, for she nestled down into her mother's chair, as she might have nestled into her mother's lap, and pro- duced a book which she had kept wrapped up in her pina- fore since the first interruption of her evening's reading. John Morley and his daughter sat thus for half an hour, no sound reaching them from without ; when the sharp tinkle of the shop-bell broke upon the stillness. The persons who entered were two men, one old, the other elderly ; unlike in feature, yet possessing an unde- finable and subtle resemblance, which linked them togeth- er, and seemed also to link them to John Morley. It might have been that the order of their thoughts, and the convictions and conclusions at which they had arrived, had been the same ; for the brain works out its own family 22 HKSTER MORLEV S PROMISE. likenesses. It was evident that in some way or other thej belonged to one class ; though John Morley, a handsomer man than either of the others, had also most the look of a scholar. The smallest, meekest, and eldest of the three men was distinguished as a minister by his di'ess, and the spotless whiteness of a large neckcloth, which served to withdraw the eye from dwelling upon his somewhat feeble features. The third was a robust, thick-set, elderly man, with a square and massive face, and with the air of one not much accustomed to be gainsaid, yet wiio would not altogether dislike to meet with a worthy antagonist. " Bi-other Morley, we come as friends," said the min- ister. With a courteous but formal bow John Morley ushered his guests into his sitting-room, and set chairs for them at the table ; as if they were about to sit in committee. The minister alone took any notice of Hester, who slipped down fr-om her high seat upon their entrance, to offer them a shy welcome. She was used to listen earnestly to the discussions and controversies often held in her father's parlor. This evening, however, there was some difficulty in introducing the subject of conversation, and when the minister broke silence it was in a faltering, apologetic voice. "Brother Morley," he said, "cannot you divine the purport of our visit to-night?" Over John Morley's face closed again much of the old gloom and austerity, as he looked from one to the other of his visitors ; gazing longest and hardest into the square set face of the younger man; who regarded him, in his turn, with an unflinching judicial eye. The three men were three brothers doubtless, though the weakness and mercifulness of age were creeping over the eldest. PASTOR AM) DKACOXS. 23 "We are come," he continued, deprecatingh', "liecause certain rumors have reached the ears of the church — ■''' " 'J'he churcli has many ears, and long ones," inter- rupted John Moriey, with a grim smile, "but no doubt it has heard correctly. I apprehend the purport of these rumors." " But brother," pursued the minister, in his most sooth- ing accents, "it is not as if you were one of the unknown and inconsiderable members of the church. You are one of our chief men ; a polished pillar in the temple. We come only to expostulate and beseech. It is written in the Scriptures, ' Thou shalt rebuke thy brother, and not suffer sin upon him.' " The minister gazed at John jMorley with mingled en- treaty and sadness ; but his companion, who was eager to prusuc the assault with greater vigor, quickly broke the reverential pause which followed his quotation from the Bible. " Come, brother Moriey," he said, speaking as if he were a brother very far removed, " there's no need to beat longer about the bush. You are thinking of taking a sec- ond wife." " That is essentially a domestic arrangement, Mr. Waldron," said John Moriey, girding himself willingly for the contest : " the church has nothing to do with it. If it were a question of moral discipline the church must needs take note of it. But it has no voice in this matter ; neither of assent, nor veto." " Tush, brother ! " answered Mr. Waldron, sharpl;^ : "we come but semi-officially. As your brethren, we are bound to watch your conduct ; and if your choice had fallen upon a godly woman, not a word would have been said. But when we see one of ourselves about to form an ensnaring union, our constitution as a pure church 24 IIKSTKR ^rOIa,EV's PROMISE. gives us the right, and Inys it upon us as a duty, to warn, rebuke, and protest. This marriage ought not to be." " Yes, dear brother," said the minister, emboldened by Mr. Waldron's words, and pressing into the breach he had made, "the rule of the apostle is simple : 'Be ye not un equally yoked with unbelievers.' " ••' The unbeliever," replied John Morley slowly, " sig- nified to the early church the heathen and idolater My future wife has been baptized, and is probably a communi- cant in the Church of England ; therefore she cannot be called an unbeliever in that sense. But there is another saying of the apostle : ' The unbelieving wife is sancti- fied by the husband.' I trust that this marriage may prove the entrance into a purer faith and truer creed for my wife." There was a short silence again, while Mr. Waldron drew a well-worn Bible out of his pocket, and turned over its pages impatienth'. " Listen then, John Morley," he said ; " in the thir- teenth chapter of Nehemiah, beginning at the twenty-third verse, it is thus written : — " • In those da5^s also saw I Jews that had married wives of Ashdod, of Ammon, and of Moab. And their children spake half in the speech of Ashdod, and could not speak in the Jews' language, but according to the language of each people. " ' And I contended with them, and cursed them, and smote certain of them, and plucked off their hair, and made them swear by God, saying, Ye shall not give your daughters unto their sons, nor take their daughters unto your sons, or for yourselves. "' Did not Solomon king of Israel sin by these things? yet among many nations was there no king like him, who was beloved of his God, and God made him king over all I'ASruR AM) DEACONS. 2$ Israel : nevertheless, even him did outlandish women cause to sin. '' ' Shall we then hearken unto you to do all this great evil, to transgress against our God in marrying strange wives ? ' " Mr, Waldron read the passage with an evidently keen sympathy with the indignant governor; and he looked hard into John Morley's rigid face. The latter was not a man to yield quietly to the arbitrary rule even of Nehemiah the Tirshatha ; and he met the judicial frown bent upon him with cool composure. "Yet it had been permitted to the ancient Jews,"' he said, " under the rule of Moses, when they saw among the captives a damsel who pleased them, to take her to wife. Also David, the man after God's own heart, took to wife Maacah, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur." "And she bare him Absalom," interrupted Mr. Waldron eagerly, " the rebel and the assassin." The words were still upon his lips when there came a gentle tap at the door, and it was opened from without before John Morley could reach it. Rose appeared in the doorway ; and the minister and Mr. Waldron regarded her with surprised admiration. Again the sombre room seemed the brighter for her presence, and her clear, fresh young voice sounded pleasantly to their ears, after their own grave and deep tones. '• I thought I should find you and Hetty alone, Mr. Morley," she said ; smiles and blushes following one another closely upon her fair face ; " and the bell did not ring, so I came straight on here. I have only left a book behind me, and I came back to fetch it." John Morley had approached her, and drawn her hand through his arm with an air of pride. Hester too, as if attracted by some irresistible charm, had descended from 2 26 HKSTKR M()R1,1:V"S TKOMISE. her seat, and pressed close beside her. This girl possessed some fascination which drew all hearts to her ; though one might know lovelier women, wiser women, women tenfold better. The few words she had uttered were simple ; but like the foolish old songs with sweet tunes, which are heard by chance, and which one always wishes to hear once more, the three men were silent in the dull parlor when she ceased speaking, as if they waited to hear her voice again. " This is the young lady who has consented to be my wife, Mr. Waldron," said John Morley, with an ill-con- cealed triumph in the effect her appearance had produced. She stole a bashful look at the great man of the neigh- borhood, and curtseyed profoundly ; a boarding-school curtsey, learnt from a dancing-inaster, yet not without a certain diffident grace of its own. Mr. Waldron's face relaxed from its severity. " Well brother," he said, with greater affability than before, " I wish you joy. And you also, my dear ; only we must make you one of ourselves as speedily as possible. We have just been speaking of it to John Morley. Yo(!i must join the church, when you become his wife and the mother of this litde girl." " Yes, sir," murmured the girl, with charming shame- facedness ; while a shade of gravity clouded her sunny face for a moment. The old minister came forward, and ad- dressed her in a tone of earnest solemnity. " It will be the turning-point of your life," he said, " to become the wife of a godly man. Hitherto you have been wandering in the paths of vanity, but here you will be safely enfolded from the snares of this world. Morning, noon, and night a voice will sound in your ears : ' This is the way ; walk ye in it.' You will be snatched from the world, and gathered into the bosom of the church." Once again the girl shivered, and looked in bewilder- PASTOR AND DEACONS. 27 ment at the faces around her, wondering what their strange manner of greeting her might mean. But they had each put on a smile for her, and her nature was buoyant enough in itself to find complacency everywhere. John Morley's handsome face, moreover, wore an expression which any woman would be pleased to see in her future husband ; and she bridled her pretty head with a half-affected air of coquetry. " I must go directly," she said in a girlish tone of im- portance; "I have a hundred things to do yet to-night. There is my book on the table, Mr. Morley. Thank you very much. Good-night j good-night. Good-bye, my little Hetty." The door closed upon her, but the three men did not resume their seats, and Hester remained standing on the hearth, listening eagerly for their next words. The con- troversy had come to an unexpected end. Yet John Mor- ley drew his little daughter within his arms, in an unaccus- tomed caress, and stroked down her tangled hair with a trembling hand. " If the church be scandalized," he said, in a voice which he rendered steady by a great effort, " I can with- draw from it. There are other forms of worship and other sects not greatly differing from our own. My intended wife has been brought up in the Established Church. If it be necessary — " The pause was of even more significance than the words ; and the old minister opened his eyes widely in unutterable astonishment. Mr. Waldron was the first to speak. "It is a matter for expostulation," he said, "not of re- proof or censure. Let each man act according to his own conscience. What do you say, Mr. Watson ?'' " It is a question encompassed with difficulties," an 28 HESTER MOKLEV'S PROMISE. swered the minister diffidently; "and every man must act according to his own inward light. But since brother Morley has gone so far as to promise marriage to this young creature, I do not see how he can conscientiously break off his covenant with her." With that uttterance the subject seemed settled. A few minutes later Mr. Waldron shook hands with John Morley with distant brotherliness, and went away with the minister. John Morley kissed his child, and bade her go to bed and dream of her new mother. But Hester loitered for a min- ute or two after he had reopened his large book, as if long- ing to say something to him. It was evidently an effort, an effort which she felt constrained to make; and at last, when he believed himself to be alone, John Morley heard a small, timid voice speaking from the threshold, and saw Hester looking back at him with anxious eyes. What she had to say before she left him was simply this : " I hope you will not make God angry with you, father." CHAPTER IV. A MONOMANIAC. ONE of the three gables of John Morley's house rose a story higher than the others, and undei its pointed roof was a large attic, lighted by a great dornner window, which overlooked the neighboring buildings, and caught a glimpse of fields and woods beyond, with a range of dis- tant hills, lying blue and cloudlike against the sky line. It was the pleasantest room in the dark old house. Be- neath it lay some printing offices, black and grimy, contain- ing ancient presses, covered over with dust and cobwebs ; for John Morley had given up the printing business, which his predecessor had carried on, and the attic in the gable was his only workroom. He employed also but one work- man, a stranger, who looked like a foreigner, and who had been passing through the town on the tramp the first week after his marriage with Hester's mother. The young wife had taken pity upon the footsore and famishing wanderer, and had persuaded her husband to give him a trial at his professed trade as a bookbinder. This trial was a com- plete success. He had learned his trade in Paris ; his faiher having been an English artisan, who had married a Frenchwoman from Burgundy. The amount of work accomplished by this single man was marvellous, and the price he set upon it extravagant ; yet such was the taste and beauty of the workmanship, that John Morley seldom received less for it than the high sum at which his binder 30 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. valued it. Throughout the whole county no binding was esteemed unless it had issued from John Morley's work- shop. 'J'he binding room, wherein this solitary artisan had worked for ten years, was not only light and sunny, but it was odorous with the pleasant scent of Russia leathe/ and morocco, and in the summer with the flowers which he cultivated in boxes and pots about his window-sill. His press and work-table stood in the wide bay formed by the casement, w-here the daylight fell upon .him, long after the court below and the sombre parlor were obscured in twilight. Over the rusty old grate, which was formed only of a few rude bars of iron fastened into the chimney jamb, stood a rack containing his tools for the printing of his ornamental devices upon the gold-leaf All around on the shelves and the sloping ceiling were displayed specimens of the tasteful branch of art which he carried on in unbro- ken monotony from day to day, and from year to year. He was a man so qaiet, perhaps from his ten years of lonely work, that never was any sound heard of him in his attic ; which indeed was isolated from the rest of the house by the empty rooms below, though there was a door out of them which communicated with the second floor of the dwelling. There was another entrance to the workroom by a door into a passage running along the side of the house, of which he kept the key, in order to let himself in at any hour ; for he was an early riser, and often came to his work at five o'clock in the oiorning, and remained until late at night ; taking neither pleasure nor rest, be- yond that absolutely necessary for health. He was a small, tough, withered-looking man, stooping a good deal in the shoulders, and with thin, scanty hair. Always upon reach- ing the deserted printing oftices, it was his custom tc exchange his boots for a pair of soundless list slippers, A M()XO.MAXrA(\ 31 which could make no noise upon the bare boards of his attic. He was a nervous man, starting at every sound, ot' which however but few ever reached him in his solitude, for the window opened upon the court instead of the street ; and whatever rare tumult might be in the latter only came to his ears softened b}' the distance. So quiet was the gable that the house-sparrows gathered there in ntimbers, and their shrill, pert chirping seemed the only sound that did not discompose him. The sole pleasure of this secluded and laborious being was to see Hester push open the door of his attic, and, with her book under her arm, creep quietly in and climb upon a tall chair which stood at a corner of the press. There sh5 watched him spreading the delicate gold-leaf upon the crimson or blue morocco of his bindings, and stamp them carefully with his elegant devices. Very sel- dom any conversation passed between these two ; but sometimes the child mounted upon a ladder, and sat on the highest step, which reached nearly to the ceiling, and there read aloud, in a low, pleasant murmur of a voice, which was as soothing as silence itself, from the book which happened to be the favorite of the day. That was the crowning point of his pleasure ; but he never sought it, and never put his sense of delight into words. If Hes- ter ever brought him any book to be mended, however old and stained and worn, he lavished all his art upon it ; pon- dering in his mind what new device he could discover to embellish it. The nursery rhymes and primers of Hester Morley were marvels in the decorative art of bookbind- ing ; though they lay unseen in her bedroom, upon soma shelves which he had made for her. The second marriage of John Morley was solemnized ii. a distant town, and afterwards hz took his young bride a short excursion, while his house was being set in order 32 HESlER MORI.EV S I'ROMISf. br her reception. During this time Hester ahnost lived n the attic, to the inexpressible delight of Lawson ; a de- iight, however, which was mingled with a profound and smouldering resentment against his master. He could not understand how he could need any companionship beside his child's. " Lawson," said Hester, one day recurring to a subject which had secretly troubled her ever since the visit of Mr. Waldron and the minister to John Morley, "do you think that God will be really angry with my father for be- ing married to another wife ? " " Ay, do I," answered Lawson, in deep accents and brief words. " But, Lawson," she said, her face growing pale and awe-stricken, " it is a dreadful thing to make God angry. Miss Waldron has taught me all about it at the Sunday- school. Don't you know what He did to Sodom and Go- morrah ? Suppose He sent clown fire from heaven, and burnt all the house up ? Or suppose He should strike my father and my new mother dead, like Ananias and Sap- phira ? I can't help thinking about it all day long, and at nights when I awake. What should God be angry for ? " Lawson stooped over his work, breathing softly on the gold-leaf, and smoothing it out carefiilly with his smooth- 2st finger, " If God is angry with my father," continued Hester, sobbing, " I think I should like Him to be angry with me as well. If Ananias and Sapphira had any little children, who v/ould take care of them after they were struck dead ? But I don't think He will be angry. Have j-ou ever seen my new mother, Lawson?" " You must not call her mother," said Lawson ; " youi mother is in heaven, with God." " But I've promised to be like her very own daughter A MONOMANIAC. 33 for ever and ever/' answered Hester ; " I dor't know what made me promise, only my father said I ought, and it would make him happy. Lawson, I would do anything to make my father happy. And I don't think she will be the same as the stepmothers in books. What was my own mother like, Lawson ? " W'th slow and quiet movements, for he seemed incapa- ble of any quick or energetic action, Lawson mounted the step ladder, and reached an old portfolio from the highest shelf From this he drew out an engraving, mounted upon board, and surrounded by an exquisite scroll of gild- ing and coloring : it was a woman's face only — a sweet, calm, colorless face, long and oval, with a placid serenity approaching to sadness upon it. The child and the work- man bent over it some time in silence. "That was how she looked," he whispered, "the last time I saw her, just before she died ; and I promised, and your father promised, on our bended knees, that we'd neither have thought, nor care, nor plan, save for you and your happiness, Miss Hester. And this is the way," he cried, smiting his hands together with a sudden agony of passion which seemed impossible in so quiet and subdued a crea- ture, " that my master keeps his promise ! Yes. God and I do well to be angry." It might have provoked a smile to hear this puny, shiivelled, insignificant workman identify himself and his impotent resentment with God and His anger. But there was no one to smile, except Hester, who looked up into his face with wide open eyes of terror and amazement. "Miss Hester," he said, more wildly, " trhis is how it is. It is seven years ago, and IVe been toiling ever since to make a dotiox you. ^Miy I've only taken eighteen shil- lings a week wages from your father, while he gets six or seven, or sometimes ten pounds a week by my work ! 1 2* 34 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. found out a new way of bevelling the edges, which nobody knows how to do save myself. There was a very nice lit- tle fortune for you already. Everybody was saying John Morlcy is rich. And so this bold, laughing, flirting, flaunt- ing madam has married him for his money, and she will make il fly like chaff before the wind. We shall all be poor again. I've been keeping down my poor mother and my- self, when I might have made money for us both." "Is your mother very poor? "asked Hester. " Yes. She is living with my sister in Burgundy, " he answered ; " both of them are widov/s, and they are quite poor, but for what I send them, and I haven't sent them as much as I could." " Is my father very rich, Lawson ? " asked Hester again. " He would have been by the time you wanted yoxxs: dot" answered Lawson. " I don't know what a dot is," said Hester. " It is the money you will want to marry a good husband with,'' he replied ; " and now you will be poor, very poor. It's all over, and I've been a fool, and John Morley is a fool." He threw himself half across his binding press, and covered his face with his hands, while Hester stood by looking doubtfully at his downcast attitude, and going over in her mind the strange things he had been saying. '• Do you think my own mother knows ? " she asked at last in a hushed voice. " Ay ! does she," answered Lawson ; " many and many a time she comes up here, and walks about with her soft, quiet feet, which I couldn't hear at all if there was any noise in the room ; and she looks over my work, and pushes the right tool towards me, when I don't quite know what to do for the best. Oh, she knows all that goes on in 'be old house she has left. Don't vou think she is A MOXOMAMAC. 35 often and often with you, Miss Hester, wiitching over \ou in your little bed, and sitting by you in the parlor of an evening, when you're reading? Do you never feel her near you ? " " I think I do,'" whispered the child, pressing close to the visionary man, and laying her small fingers upon his warm living hand. '• She may die yet ! She may die yet ! " he muttered to liimselfj " people die easily sometimes. Then vve should be all right again. There's no room for two mistresses in one house. I shall never feel her near to me when the other is here. My best work is over. I shall do no more good in the world as long as the other one is alive." He continued muttering to himself at intervals, while he burnished the gilding under bis hands. Hester moun- ted to her high seat upon the step-ladder, and sat watch- ing the evening clouds, which could be seen slowly sailing towards the west across the field of sky which was visible from the window. Now and then she sighed as a child seldom sighs. The sun went down, and the distant cor- ners of the attic grew dusk}-, and filled Vvith shadows ; and when the child awoke from her long reverie, cold and troubled, she fancied readily that in the darkest of the gloom there stood the soft, light outline of a figure clothed in white, whose dim face was calm and sweet and sad. It was her mother ; but she had entered into a covenant to be as a daughter to her lather's second wife. CHAPTER V. FLEETING SUNSHINE. THE motives which had determined the second Mrs. Morley to become the wife of a man fifteen years her senior, and altogether different to the beau ideal of a hus- band which her girlish fancy had painted, were as complex as the motives to such marriages generally are. In the first place she had attained the age of three-and-twenty, yet, though very pretty and engaging, had met with no real opportunity of escaping from the life she hated ; that of a governess in a middle-class boarding-school. There was a dreadful possibility that her attractions might fade away before she met with an establishment worthy of her; and she longed to be the mistress of a house of her own. On the other hand, John Morley had the reputation of being rich for his station, and he was a handsomer and more polished man than any of the younger men with whom she was brought into contact. Except one memory, which was sentimentally brooded over in her heart, no one had so nearly touched her frivolous affections as this grave, melan- choly, handsome man of middle age, who had abandoned himself to a passionate devotion to her. She felt some- thing of jealousy and triumph in thinking of the young wife, whom he had sorrowed for so austerely, and who was at last forgotten in her grave for her sake. As the last reason, she fancied that the toil and monotony of school life had already stolen away something of the softness and FLEETING SUNSHINE. 3/ bloom of her fair face. On these grounds she had deter- mined upon becoming John Morley's second wife. Very naturally she resolved to put his attachment to the test, and not to spare it. She found the new house of which she was the mistress, gloomy, and poverty-stricken in aspect, and she set her heart upon beautifying it. It was a large, rambling old place, much too large for the small family dwelling in it ; and she forecast her plans for turning it all into a habitation suitable to herself. But here she met a sudden and unexpected check, even in the first weeks of her married life. John Morley assured her, with a hundred protestations of his love, that he could not give her permission to do as she pleased with the dreary, half-furnished rooms. One room should be her own, he said, the largest in the house ; and she might buy what- ever she chose for it. It was a compromise which was disagreeable to her ; but she resolved to make the most of it. Upstairs there was a large apartment, extending from the front of the house to the back, and wainscoted with panels of oak throughout, which had been hitherto used as a warehouse. This she fixed upon, insisting upon the fulfilment of her husband's promise ; and upon it she lavished all her taste and caprice, while John Morley looked on and laughed, as one laughs at a child playing at keeping house. It was a pleasant time for Rose. She enjoyed the unconditional permission given to her with the full enjoyment of one who has always been obliged to look closely to her expenditure ; with a gay good nature she gave up her plans of embellishing the rest of the house, while she concentrated herself upon this room allotted to her. John Morley's home grew full of sound, in the place of its unbroken stillness. The blithe laugh of his young wife rippled from room to room, blended with the quieter but happy tones of his little girl. Now and then there 38 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. came to his ears notes of music from Rose's piano over- head, short, merry tunes, tinkling through the empty rooms, with a suggestion of dancing steps accompanying them ; though there was no one to dance except Hester, whose small feet had never before been set to music. The time was as blissful for John Morley as for his second wife, or rather, immeasurably more so. The pity was that the girl was no more than a school- girl, with nothing but a school-girl's idea of happiness. She was good-natured, and good-tempered, and quite wil- ling to do what she could to please her husband. But it had never entered her mind that his companionship alone would be sufficient for her. She had no wish whatever to reign over her new household unseen and unenvied by her neighbors. As soon as her drawing-room was fur- nished and decorated after her own taste, she longed to receive guests in it, who would admire and praise it to her satisfaction. There John Morley, reserved and self-con- tained, made a stand. He wanted no witnesses to his happiness. The people of Little Aston were not of his kind ; there were none among them who could becoms his associates, or whom he would choose to be the friends of his wife. On the one hand were the worldlings, the people who wasted their time at the card-table or in the dance ; on the other were the members of the church, ig- norant and ill-bred, with whom he had nothing in common beyond the religious conventionalities of church member- ship. He was separated from the world and the church alike. His wife might welcome to his hearth the old min- ister and his equally aged wife, whose gentleness could never offend or displease him ; but there was no other person whom he could receive into his house with the cordiality of friendship. Mere acquaintances John Mor- ley could not understand. To eat bread at his table was FLEETING SUNSHINE. 39 a pledge of living friendliness between host and guest Oil this point no charm, or persuasion, or rebellion, could a\nil his wife anything. He was like a rock; and the poor, silly girl, with her empty mind and light heart, beat against it in vain. After the first novelty had worn away, John Morley, " though retaining his passionate and proud love of his young wife, fell back into his old studious habits ; lost himself, and her, and all his new life, in the books which came almost daily to his hand. If she invaded his quiet room where he sat all day long, and which was too heavy and sombre for a butterfly creature like her, to ask him for some new indulgence, or to display some new posses- sion, he put down his book only for a few minutes, and soon grew absent if she prolonged her visit. He had no thought of any unkindness in this neglect. Hester's mother had been willing to sit hour after hour, his silent companion, ready to hear him if he should like to read aloud some sentence which pleased him more than others, a sentence which to her stood alone, with none before or following it ; and he had taken it for granted that Rose would do the same. Since she did not do it, but avoided his dull room, he did not complain ; but it never occurred to him to alter his own habits. Besides, after the lapse of a few months his eyes were opened to the snare into which he had fallen. He had been guilty of a blunder, he would not call it a sin, which he had formerly blamed harshly in others. He, a chief member of the church, a deacon, had entered into marriage with a worldly woman. John Morley's creed was colored by his gloomy tem- perament. He began to look upon Rose, whom he had made his nearest and dearest companion, as a soul which still walked \n darkness, under the t\'ranny of Satan ; and whose destiny was an eternal separation from all goodness 40 HESTER MORI.EY'S PROMISE. and happiness. The gayety and charms of his young wife began to make his heart ache. He saw her treading mirthfully along the path leading to ruin and perdition. The possibility of eternal punishment, which he had calmly and philosophically considered from a distance, 'was brought into his own home, he had himself taken it to his heart ; it was the only dowry his wife had brought him. In the quiet of his room this thought presented itself to him with innumerable and stinging variations — that the voice which he heard singing and babbling about his house would one day wail in hopeless anguish, and that the heart which he had won for himself would be pierced through with unutterable and unavailing repentance. It is no marvel that John Morley set himself with his whole heart and mind to the task of enlightening and con- verting this beloved, but lost, soul. He argued with his wife ; he read to her ; he prayed for her. He called in the minister, as he would have called in a physician had she been stricken with some malady. Rose was frightened at first, and yielded readily to tears. But after a while she grew indignant, and then weary. Never before had it been suggested to her that anything was amiss in her. She had been christened and confirmed, and had been a communicant of her church. She ran over the Command- ments, and found that she had kept them from her youth up. Certainly if she stood in any kind of danger the whole world was full of souls who were in equal, if not greater, peril. All this commotion was the result of hav- ing married an austere and narrow-minded man, who first shut her out from all the pleasures and enjoyments of her age, and then surrounded her with imaginary tenors. She began to harden herself against him ; and resolved ta bring up Hester after a fashion opposed to the strict rule of her father. FLEETING SUNSIUXK. 4 1 If there was any influence which could have woii over the worldly spirit of Rose Morley to the grave but peace- ful religion into whose sweet safety John Morley vainly strove to drive her, it would have been the simple faith of tlie child, who knew nothing of the technical phrases of any creed. Like the child Christ, Hester both asked and answered questions in such a manner as to startle and trouble the giddy mind of her young stepmother. But how could this gay and thoughtless girl help growing ft'eary of her monotonous life, with a husband always bur- dened with spiritual anxieties for her, and a child who cared less for the plays of childhood than for the thoughts and pursuits of older years ? She found herself altogether out of her element — a mere butterfly, which had flown heedlessly into a damp and chilly cave, where it could only fold its wings, and lose the brilliant hours of the summer which was swiftly passing away. The merry laugh and the tinkling of music ceased in the house ; her step grew languid, and her voice low ; the blue eyes were dimmed, and the cheeks faded ; but John Morley saw in the change only what he wished to see — the pain and travail of a soul which was struggling into life. CHAPTER VI. GREAT FOLKS. MR. WALURON'S parliamentary duties deprived the cliurch at Little Aston of his presence, and that of hi:; daugliter, during a considerable portion of each year. The church and the minister were perhaps a little more at their ease during their absence ; but they felt all the increased importance of their personal attendance at the chapel, and their return was anxiously looked forward to. It had become a point of etiquette for Mr. Watson to pro- ceed at once to Aston Court as soon as the rumor of their arrival reached his ears, in order to congratulate himself and them upon their reunion with the little church of which they were the most conspicuous pillars. They had come down from London upon the com- mencement of the long autumnal recess, and Mr. Watson set out the next morning upon his visit of homage. Aston Court was about a mile from Little Aston, but most of the road lay through the fine old park which surrounded the newly-built mansion. Mr. Waldron was a utilitarian, and had sold off the deer which had belonged to the former owner, and divided his park into regular divisions, for the grazing of cattle and the growth of ha^^ The new house was plain, square, and massive, flanked by two smaller, but equally formal, wings. The windows of plate glass were of uniform size, distributed along the front of the building at even distances, and one large entrance door, GREAT FOLKS. 43 with a jjortico, stood in the exact centre of the ground floor. The garden stretching before it was hiid out in long, straight borders of the same breadth and length ; and the trees separating it from the park were kept well clipped. The usual reception-room, which was the dining- room of the mansion, was a large handsome apartment, but heavy and dull. Its principal decoration consisted of two life-size portraits of Luther and Melancthon, excel- lently painted ; the former hard, acute, and intrepid ; the latter soft and feminine, with mournful blue eyes which seemed weary of gazing upon life. There was also above the fireplace a richly illuminated and gilded testimonial, signed by a thousand Nonconformists,— inscribed to David Waldron in gratitude for his eminent services in the House of Commons in defence and advancement of the cause of Nonconformity. The middle of this apartment was filled by a long wide table, similar to those seen in committee rooms, and covered with dark leather ; a number of leather- covered chairs were ranged along the walls. Curtains of deep crimson damasks, always drawn a little over the win- dow, shed a solemn light into the room — a twilight which was not mournful gloom, but rather a wealthy and grand obscurity. It was into this reception-room that the minister was ushered. It was Saturday morning, and on the next day Mr. Waldron and his daughter would occupy the large curtained pew in the corner of the chapel, which was appropriated to their use. Miss Waldron was seated at the table, a small insignificant person to look at, but the daughter of David Waldron, M. P. She received her pastor with mingled fervor and condescension, and invited him to a seat beside her. Mr. Waldron soon joined them, and a close conversation, a sort of religious gossip, about the affajrs of the church and its members, ensued. 44 HKSTER MOR lev's PROMISE. " Brother Morley is married again, as you know," said Mr. Watson, after some other subjects had been discussed, "and he is beginning to feel sorely troubled about his young wife. She remains the same worldly, thoughtless creature she was before her marriage." *' Ay ! ay ! " answered Mr. Waldron, shaking his head, " we gave in too soon there. You and I, as well as John Morley, were smitten with the young woman's beauty." " Father I " interrupted Miss Waldron, in a tone of reproof. " It is true," continued Mr. Waldron ; " I never felt so checkmated in my life as when she appeared suddenly in the very midst of our expostulation with John Morley. But we must get her into the church. There must be ways and means of winning her over. We will put her into Miss Waldron's hands." Miss Waldron was one of those persons who are never called by their Christian names even by their nearest relatives. It is possible that, in conversation with her, her father or her brother might sometimes address her by it ; but it was not known beyond her own family circle. There seems something significant in this suppression of the name by which one is enrolled under the banner of the cross. " By what means shall I get at this young woman ? " asked Miss Waldron, not at all unwilling to undertake the conversion of Rose Morley, and entering into it as a bus- iness. " I scarcely know," answered Mr. Watson, in per- plexity. " There is my Sunday-school class," continued Miss Waldron, "and my Mothers' Meeting on Monday, my Wednesday evening Bible Class, and my Saturday night Female Prayer-meeting." GREAT FOLKS. 45 " I am afraid we could not get her to attend any of these," replied the minister. " Why not ? " inquired Miss Waldron. " She is quite an educated person," he said, timidly, " and has all the manners of a lady. She has been a gov- erness, and plays ver}' well, and can draw. She holds herself rather above the rest of our people. They are a little unpolished, you know." " I do not see then what can be done in such a case," said Miss Waldron, with a stiff and chilly air. " I recollect," said Mr. Waldron, " she has a good deai the manner of a lady : and very pretty she is, too. John Morley has a sweet-looking little girl by his first wife ; I like to see that child in chapel. Miss Waldron, I think your only way of getting at her will be to call upon her. You might invite her to return your call. It would do you no harm, and, under God's blessing, might do her a great deal of good." Miss Waldron mused with an impenetrable face. " Do, my dear j'oung lad}'," urged the minister eagerly, seeing a possible avenue by which gospel influences might reach Rose Morley's benighted soul ; " your rank and po- sition would give you consequence in her eyes ; she is a girl to be touched by them." " Mr. Watson," she said, with some severity, " we be- long to different spheres altogether." " I know you do," he hastened to say. " And," she continued, lifting her hand to enjoin silence while she finished speaking, " there would be a danger of fostering her pride ; but I will be on my guard against that. I do not desire to shrink from any cross, and I will call upon her. What else can be done for her soul may occur to me ; and it is possible I may go so far as to invite her here for conversation with me upon her spiritual wel- 46 TIESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. fare. But that is in the future. For the present you may leave the young person in my hands." Mr. Watson bowed, and thought it would be judicious to say no more upon this subject. " Your son," he said, in a hesitating and deprecating tone, as if an.xious to express his interest in him, yet doubtful how the great man would take it, " is all well with Mr. Robert Waldron .? " The father's face clouded at the mention of this name, but there was no anger against the timorous minister in his reply.' " No, no, my friend," he answered, frankly. " I did wrong in sending my boy to Eton and Oxford. There never was a more hopeful lad, full of good intentions and desires, before he went from home. There were as many signs of grace in him as in Miss Waldron ; but the saying is fulfilled, 'One shall be taken and the other left.' Yet in part, if not altogether, it is my sin." "It will be all well with him yet," said the minister, in a gentle tone of encouragement ; " our prayers will not be unanswered, though the answer tarry. Is he with you ? " " We expect him, but only for a few days," said Mr. Waldron ; " our household ways are too strict for him, and his habits are such as I cannot tolerate under my roof. Yet he is only gay, not vicious, I trust. But let us talk about something else ; my son is no pleasant theme to me." About an hour later, Mr. Watson, passing by J'^hn Morley's shop, looked in for a few minutes to announce to him the arrival of the Waldrons and their expected ap- pearance at chapel the next day — intelligence which made so much impression upon John Morley that he remem- bered to repeat it to his young wife as she sat moping GREAT FOLKS. 47 and dull at the tea-table. It came as a little gleam of light from the outer world, and the effect produced by it would have been astounding to the abstracted husband could he have been made aware of it. Rose had retained a lively impression of the great man whom she had seen and spoken to before her marriage ; and she had often cast furtive glances at his large, empty pew in the chapel, to which she accompanied her husband twice every Sun- day. Mr. Waldron was by far the greatest man she had ever seen. The next morning Rose made a very careful and elab- orate toilette • and even John Morley, in the midst of his anxious Sabbath thoughts of her as one still upon the brink of eternal peril, could not check the pleasant and flattering admiration which her beauty produced in him. He felt inclined to believe, against all reason and revela- tion, that she was too fair to be doomed to any misery either in this world or the world to come. With her hand resting on his arm, he walked proudly up the old-fashioned street. The close carriage from Aston Court passed them by ; and both he and Rose caught the eye and the hurried salutation of the great ]\Ir. Waldron from his seat beside his daughter, who looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. The chapel was better filled than ordinary, and the minister preached with more than usual animation. At the end of the service, while all the congregation were standing up, but hanging back till the owners of Aston Court should take their departure, Mr. Waldron presented Mrs. Morley to his daughter, and said, in a voice loud enough to be heard half through the place, " Miss Wal- dron intends to call upon you at half-past eleven o'clock precisely on Tuesday morning next." CHAPTER VII. MISS WAI.DRON. AT half-past eleven o'clock precisely on Tuesday morn- ing, Miss Waldron, attired in a gown of some dark- brown stuff, with a brown bonnet and shawl to match, opened the door of John Morley's shop with such a jerk as to set the little bell tinkling furiously. It caused Mrs. Morley to jump up nervously in her costly and tasty drawing-room on the floor above. She had dressed herself and Hester in very becoming and very light morning dresses, of a pale tint, which would not have been unfit for the handsomest room in Aston Court; and, thus prepared, she awaited the announcement of her distinguished visitor. But Miss Wal- dron positively declined to penetrate farther inlo a trades- man's abode than the room which opened out of the shop. It was only because a religious conversation might be liable to interruption in the shop itself that she did not in- sist upon Mrs. Morley receiving her call there, as a pro- test against the wild supposition that there was anything like equality between them. But MissWaldrcn had taken up her cross this morning, and was willing to bear it even into John Morley's back parlor. Rose entered the dark, dull room to which she had been summoned with a pretty bashfulness, half matronly and half girlish ; and Miss Waldron met her with an awk- ward embarrassment, for fear of this young person feeling too free with her. When the first stilT courtesies had been exchanged, Miss Waldron took her seat uncomfortably MISS WALDROX. 49 upon the edge of a chair, and looked steadil}', almost stern- ly, into the smiling face of Rose Morley. " I have called upon you," she said, in an exhortatory /oice, " at the united request of my father, who is a deacon, and Mr Watson, who is the pastor of the church at Little Aston. They desired me to see if anything could be done for you. You do not attend any of my meetings, so I have come to see you here." " I did not know that you had any meetings,'' answered Rose, apologetically ; " but I do not think I should feel at home in any of them. I was not brought up to going to chapel." She spoke nervously, and seemed on the verge of shed- ding tears. Miss Waldron felt satisfied that her very first words had made an impression upon this frivolous object of Mr. Watson's pastoral solicitude. " Ah ! " she said, " you were brought up in the dark- ness of the Establishment ; but now you are brought to the light you ought to love the light. A very eminent minister told me that, by my birth and rank. I am set as a candle upon a candlestick, and not put in a secret place, or under a bushel, that they which come in may see the light." She paused, and looked down into her satchel with a sigh, as if exhausted with shining too brilliantly ; while Rose, puzzled and shy, could not think of anything to say in response, and Hester, from her usual seat in the old arm-chair, listened and looked inquisitively at their visitor. "Ah ! my dear young" — she was about to say "per- son,'" but her eyes fell upon Rose's sweet face and elegant dress, and she checked herself, leaving a blank in her address, — "I came here to-dav, not out of idle compliment to you or your husband, but to awaken you to the danger of your condition. It has been well said that we who have the bread of life should not only invite our fellow sinners 50 HKSTER MORLKV'S I'KO.MISK. to partake, but should carry it to them and compel them to eat. You are perishing, you are famishing before my eyes for lack of food, and I must force you to take from my hands what will save you. It is a necessity which is '.aid upon me." Rose's trouble and perplexity were increased indefi- nitely by this speech, and she looked from Miss Waldron to Hester, and back again to Miss Waldron. "I scarcely understand," she said, blushing deeply; *' you know I have always lived among Church people, and I never heard any one talk in this manner before. I am sure you are very kind, but I don't understand clearly about the bread and the light. I have been confirmed, and I used to take the Sacrament sometimes ; always at Christmas and Easter. I am very stupid I know, but I scarcely understand you." " Do you feel no unsatisfied cravings of your immortal soul ? " asked Miss Waldron. "I don't know," answered Rose, with increasing shamefacedness ; " there are a good many things I am not satisfied with. We never have any friends to come in and see us, and we never go out anywhere, except to Mr. Wat- son's. I expected to be a great deal happier, and more free, when I was married ; but I am not so. Mr. Morley has no taste for company, and I am shut up here day after day, till I feel more lonely than I could tell you." " But do you not feel the load of your sins ? " pursued Miss Waldron. '' I am sure I'm not very sinful," she said, pouting a little ; " I'm not idle, or ill-tempered, or cross. Little Hetty knows that. Oh, no! Miss Waldron, I don't break the Sabbath, or steal, or kill, or — or anything else that breaks the Commandments. No ; if I had any sins I would own them. But I am only silly. Yes ; I know I am not MISS WALDROX. 51 the clever person Mr. Morley thought me before he mar- ried me ; and he is disappointed, and I am very dull. I could not bear it but for little Hetty. Little Hetty, my darling, come and kiss me this minute." In the presence of this strange visitant, who eyed her so coldly and rigidly, the poor, silly, little soul of Rose Morley felt a sudden need of having the warm arms of the child round her neck, and her fond young lips pressed to her mouth. Hester slipped down from her chair, and kissed her stepmother affectionately ; then standing beside her, she turned her face towards Miss Waldron. " Indeed she does not understand," she said, quaintly and confidentially ; " we two have talked about it often and often, and she does not feel like being a very great sinner. We know we are, because we've been taught it over and over again ; but she does not. If we hadn't been taught it so often, we shouldn't have believed it all in a minute. You wouldn't believe you were the chief of sin- ners if nobody had taught you so, would you ? " A dull red flush suffused Miss Waldron's cheek and brow as she listened to Hester's explanation of her step- mother's benighted state. She could not meet the clear frank gaze of the child. "I was once a sinner," she answered, "when I was a little girl like you ; but I became a member of the church before I was much older than you are. Ever since I have had one single object in life — the good of my fellow-crea- tures." She remained silent for a minute or two, with closed eyelids ; while Hester, stroking her stepmother's hand gently, looked with a child's steady gaze into Miss Wal- dron's face. Rose Morley felt more bewildered and em- barrassed than ever ; and dismissed from her mind al' idea of offering her guest any refreshment. 52 HESTER MORLtVS PKUMISE. "I am going now to my tract district," said Miss Wal- dron, recalling herself to the present moment. " I trust you will think over seriously what I have said to you ; and may the thorns not choke the good seed. Yours is a very •^teresting case. I have here a small book, written by myself, which gives an account of a young woman who died of a broken heart, but whom I visited on her death- bed, and brought to repentance. I will present it to you, Mrs. Morley. I am about to order a book from your husband, which you can bring down to Aston Court your- self, when it arrives. It will be a nice walk for you and Hester ; and we can converse again upon this subject. I am always at home till eleven o'clock in the morning, for I employ two hours after breakfast in reading and medita- tion." She rose to take her leave, offering her hand conde- scendingly to Mrs. Morley, who was in a flutter of amaze- ment and timidity. If there was any doubt as to Rose's silliness there could be none as to the sweetness of her temper. She could pout a little, and she lost her buoyancy in the dull atmosphere of her new home ; but there was no canker of ill-humor or pride in her nature. She was q-Jte unconscious of any impertinence in her visitor, and was perfectly willing to carry anything down to Aston Court for her. In her simple heart she gave Miss Wal- dron credit for being as saintly as she claimed to be ; and with a real hope that she might find in her a guide and friend, who would make clear to her the mysteries of her husband's creed, she looked forward eagerly to the oppor tunity of meeting with her again. CHAPTER VIII. A LITTLE RIFT. WHETHER Hester or Rose Morley felt the most childish pleasure in the prospect of a visit to Aston Court it would be difficult to say. The latter, with her sweet temper and imperturbable self-complacency, could not be sensitive to any impertinence which did not take the form of an -open insult; so that she looked forward with delight to the moment she would find herself received upon any terms in the mansion of Mr. Waldron, Hester had been there two or three times at the annual treat of the Sunday scholars, and her imagination had been struck with the larger dimensions and greater magnificence of the house as compared with her own home, which she so rarely quitted. The memorable morning came — a soft morning towards the end of September, with a fine and tender film of mist hanging about the autumnal trees, and hiding the distant prospect. Already the dark green of the foliage, which had grown almost sombre with the summer's sultry heat, was beginning to brighten with the tints of autumn. A thick, fine dew spangled the grass. The shadows cast by the trees were less clear and sharp than when the sun had shone through a drier atmosphere. There was a brisker activity among the birds, who no longer screened them- selves from the heat amidst the innumerable leaves, but fluttered busily about ; while the rooks from their rookery amidst the trees which surrounded Aston Court wera 54 HESTKR MORI.EV'S PROMISE. winging their way in battalions towards tlie corn-fields, many of which were already cleared of their harvest sheaves. Here and there, from among the short stub- ble, started up a covey of birds, with a whirr of wings and a swift flight out of danger; while the hares crept timidly along the tall grass, which had shot up again in the rich soil of the park since th^ hay harvest in June. To Rose and Hester, coming from the dusty heart of the town, which was nearly as close and crowded as the centre of some populous city, this park was a very garden of Eden ; and they entered it with buoyant steps. The face of John Morley's young wife had put on its sweetest smile a)id fairest grace. There was not a line upon it to betray the weariness and growing discontent she felt with her dull life. In fact she did not feel it dull at that mo- ment, and she was the creature of the moment. Her hus- band, and the new home of which she was mistress, were as completey blotted out of her mind as though they had no existence. The world consisted only of herself and Hester, and this beautiful park, bathed in the soft light of a September sun. She sang aloud and blithely as she trod lightly along the path, with Hester, as happy as herself, tripping at her side. Suddenly Rose Morley stopped, with an exclamation of surprise, and with a movement as if she were about to take flight — a pretty and graceful movement which, with hei heightened color and parted lips, lent to her an addi- tional charm at a moment when an additional charm was not needed. They had just turned a bend in the drive, which was hidden by a cluster of trees, and came unex- pectedly upon a young man, strolling idly along with ?. gun upon his shoulder. Though he wore a velveteen shooting jacket and thick boots, and had no gloves on, he had an air of ease and rank, almnr.*- amounting to dignity, which A LITTLE RIFT. 5 5 often characterises those who have never been in a de- pendent position. He was handsome, and his appearance was well cared for. His face resembled a little that of Mi \\''aldron ; but he was only twentN'-two years old, and his expression was more self-satisfied and careless than that of the busy great man. It said, as plainly as expres- sion could say, that he did not like trouble in any guise. His motto would be, " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die ! "'" " Rose ! " exclaimed this young man, in an accent of wonder, as he came face to face with Mrs. Morley ; and the next instant he stretched out his hands, and caught hers in them, as if to prevent her taking the flight which her movement seemed to threaten. " Robert ! oh, Robert ! " she answered with a bright smile and blush upon the face she lifted up to him, in an attitude of childish and forgetful delight, while he spoke again in quiet and hurried tones. " Whatever in the wide world brings you here ? " he asked, and a fine ear might have detected a slight tone of vexation in his voice. " It is two years since we bade one another farewell forever at Oxford, and I fancied that you were still there. Are you angr\' with me yet. Rose ? But no ; you are too good, too amiable, to be angry long. You were never angry with me, I remember, when my be- havior was worst. Rose, I never met such a dear girl as you ! " It seemed to strike him that he had never met with any girl as prett}-, for he fastened his eyes upon her face, and his own assumed an air of pleasure and satisfaction. " Upon my word," he continued, taking one of her gloved hands again in his, " you are prettier than ever, Rose. There is some change in you. What is it ? You have losr tliat little governess primness I used to tease 56 HESTKR MOKIKV'S PROMISE. you about, which never sat well upon your fece. And your dress is more tasty than it used to be. Have you come into a fortune ? Has that rich uncle you told me of died, and made you his heiress ? Tell me what wind has blown you into this part of the country ? " " I am married," said Mrs. Morley, with downcast eyes. " Married ! " repeated the young man, an exclamation which he followed by a low, long whistle, that brought his dogs bounding about him, but he kicked them away with something of peevishness and irritation in his manner. " Married, Rose ! " he repeated, gazing into her conscious face. " Ah ! well, we were no more than friends, you re- member ; and we can be that still. And who is the good man ? " He tried to speak in an easy tone of indiffer- ence, but there v/as an air of chagrin upon his face, which escaped the downcast eyes of Mrs. Morley. She blushed, and stammered ; but at last was compelled to speak re mctantly. " He is a very good man," she answered ; " his name is fohn Morley." " John Morley the bookseller ! " ejaculated the stran- ger. "Why, Rose, where are your old ambitions flown to? Do you forget that two years ago nothing short of some thousands a year would satisfy you, and I had not that to offer you ? I, a poor spendthrift, with a hard-hearted father, and not even an entailed estate, so that he could cut me off with a shilling if he chose. Oh ! what fools we were ! " He spoke in mingled mockery and regret, with a smile of bitterness, which it was impossible for Rose to comprehend ; for catching the brighter glitter of his eyes, and the curl of his lip, she smiled back again gaily. " Ah ! " she said, with one of her most childish pouts, " but nobody else cared a straw about me ; and I might have remained a governess all my life." A LITTLE RIFT. 57 "Perhaps so," he answered coldly; " but are you really the Mrs. John Morley I am running away from':' Miss Waldron said at breakfast she expected you this morning, and I made haste to take myself off; never thinking — who could think ? — that it was my old friend, Rose. We were no more than friends, were we? Do you remember our stolen walks together, when everybody believed you were safe in bed ? Ah, Rose ! you were not made to be a gov- erness." "No, I was not," she said; "oh! I remember well. But what brings you here, Robert ? Are you visiting at Aston Court .'' " "Ah ! " he said, with some embarrassment, " you only knew me as Robert Hall; but my full name is Robert Hall Waldron ! " He tried to speak as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to suppress one's chief name ; and Rose, v.-ho was not critical, accepted the explanation with no other feeling than one of surprise. " Then you are Mr. Waldron's son ! " she exclaimed. " Why you made me believe he was a shocking, cruel old ogre ! Oh ■ for shame, sir ! I have seen him, and spoken to him, and I like him very- much ; and I am sure, quite sure and certain, that he likes me. He was at our house yesterday, and he would make Mr. Morley call me to speak to him, and he said he should like to see me some- times at Aston Court, and he hoped Miss Waldron would be my friend. There now ! And you always told me he was such a dreadful, bad, hard-hearted old Turk ! " "Ah, Rose!" said Robert Waldron, "you are the same sweet-tempered creature as ever. I could swear to that gay voice of yours amidst a thousand — so clear, and merr\^, and sweet. I should like you to speak to me for- ever. Do you sing as vou used to do ? Will vou sing fot 3* ' • 58 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. us at Aston Court? It will not be so dull there now you are near us. You must let me come and see you in your own home, or I shall never believe you are married. I cannot feel that you are John Morley's wife. ' "Rut I am," she answered, with a clear little laugh; "and I have a daughter, too, Mr. Robert Hall Waldron. This is my very own little daughter, sir ! Hester Morley." He had not been altogether unconscious of the child's presence before, for it had imparted to him a feeling of more ease and freedom in this unexpected meeting with Rose. But now he looked at her more attentively. The grave and noble face of the child was full of wonder, which had something of a vague sadness in it ; and her large earnest eyes were raised to him with an expres- sion of innocent reproach. He felt in an instant that he had wounded her, and it was no part of his nature to hurt any one intentionally. There was no malice in his temperament. He had spoken perhaps slightingly of her father — a slight which Rose had not felt, and ha wished to efface the painful impression. " Hester Morley," he repeated, as if long familiar with the name, " the little girl I have seen sometimes at chapel ! Ah ! I know you again, you see. Your father is quite a friend of mine, as well as your new mamma. Do you love her very much ? " " Yes, very much," answered Hester, earnestly ; " and my father loves her dearly as well. We are a great deal happier than we were before." She spoke with a childish fervor which touched the im pressible nature of Robert Waldron, and for a moment made him feel hardly innocent in his interview with John Morley's silly young wife. Perhaps it would be better to let this first encounter be the last. Yet no harm could come of their intercourse except a little dissatisfaction and A LITTLE RIT-r. 5*; discontent on the part of Rose. There had been no posi- tive love-making between them in the old times ; but now that she was married, to a tradesman too, she night possi- bly compare him with her husband, to the disadvantage of the latter. Still, he did not quite like to lose sight of an old friend ; and his own home was very dull. The de- cision was too much trouble for him, and he resolved to cast it upon a chance. If this grave and innocent child gave him permission to enter their secluded home, he would take it as a sign that no harm could come of it. He would not for the world disturb the peace of John Morley or his wife ; but he could not quite make up his mind to see no more of Rose. Hester should decide it. " May I come to see you at your own home, little Hester?" he asked, with his most pleasant smile and voice. "Would you like to come very much?" she asked, with a wistful look into his eyes. "Very much," he answered. "Then we shall like you to come," answered Hes- ter, holding out her hand to him, as if to assure him of a welcome. Robert Waldron clasped the little fingers in his own, with a strange feeling of reverence for the child's faith in him ; and when he released them he took off his hat w^ith an unaccustomed deference, and bidding them good-bye, pursued his way along the park, while Hester and Rose Morley went on to Aston Court Miss Waldron received them with a distant approach to cordiality, which was more than enough to satisfy Rose. She enjoyed being in the spacious rooms, with a wide gar- den and park stretching before the windows. There was nothing narrow, confined, or sordid in this place of w-ealth : and her spirit expanded in it. She felt more at home, *' ? ••' " Yes," replied Hester ; " did you not hear her playing before you knocked ? " " I suppose she is too poorly for me to come in and see her ? " he said. "Oh, no !" she cried eagerly, "if you'd please to come in. Only you must take off your great coat, for it is cov- ered with snow, and you must not touch her with your cold hands. My father never touches her when his hands are cold." She had admitted him into the old-fashioned entrance, which had a kitchen grate, and many doors entering in: it, with the staircase running up one side of it; and she had already turned the key again in the lock, while Robert stood twirling his hat upon his hand, with an aspect of hesitating irresolution. Hester, after locking the door, approached to take from him his hat and coat. " You are sure I shall do no harm by seeing your mamma, Hetty ? " he asked, again leaving the decision 0/ his conduct to the unconscious answer of the child. 66 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. " Oh, no ! " she said gayly ; " she is not so very poorly, and she will be very glad to see you, and so shall I. Please to follow me upstairs." She tripped up lightly before him, holding the candle high above her head, and looking back now and then with a half-childish, half-womanly smile. He was in Rose's diawing-room, speaking to her, while Hester held both his hands to prevent his touching her, before he had well col- lected his thoughts. He sank into the seat Hester placed for him near the fire, feeling himself in a kind of dream, in which his mind or conscience dare not stir, for fear of dis- pelling the fleeting vision. He was afraid to think ; but from time to time he glanced, almost timidly, at the sweet pallor of Rose's face, and the clear but gentle lustre of her eyes. How much more lovely she was than when he had known her three years ago ! They had not much to say to one another ; but Rose sighed at times, and then his eyes were raised to her face with an air of perplexity and sadness. He took Hester upon his knee, and read to her that charming child's book, "The Story without an End." Though he read well, he was not conscious of a word be- yond the title; but he knew that Rose was listening; and Hester's arm round his neck, and her soft cheek upon his shoulder, made him feel weaker than a reed, with some subtle and clinging influence winding about him he knew not how. The sound of his own voice was the only sound that could be heard ; for if there were any footsteps in the streets on a Sunday night at this hour of Divine service, they fell noiselessly upon the snow. Suddenly, upon the utter quiet, there came the sharp and noisy bang of a door falling to in some part of the house ; and Rob- ert started nervously from his chair, and looked about him as if for some means of escape, or place of conceal meut SUNDAY VISITORS. (i^ " Why it is only a door slamming somewhere," said Hester, with a little laugh of amusement ; " I must go and shut it, or else it will be frightening you again." " Snail I come with you ? " asked Robert. " No, thank you," answered the child, assuming a fine tone of superiorit}', "/am not frightened. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, I must go and see that the kitchen fire is not gone out, and you must not go there with me." She lighted a candle, and went out into the dark pas- sage, screening the scarcely lit flame with her hand. Downstairs ran her small, nimble feet ; and then Hester almost uttered a shrill scream of terror. In the middle of *he lobby stood a bent and spare figure, more sprinkled with snow than Robert had been, and with a faint halo of light shining about it from a little lamp, which was on the point of dying out. In another moment she had recog- nized Lawson, whose sunken eyes were glancing restlessly around him, as he drew off his hea\y boots, and set them cautiously on one side. " Is that you, Lawson ? " asked Hester, her heart still beating fast with fear. "Yes, it's me," he answered; "I'm uneasy to-night, and I came down to see that all was safe. Let us look in here first." Upon the other side of the lobby was a door into Mr. Morley's own room ; and he stole noiselessly across the quarried floor, and opened it without a sound. There was the light only of a low fire, of embers glowing without flame, and everything looked dim and indistinct by it. He looked around the room eagerly and keenly, and then turned to Hester, who had fellowed him closely. " Miss Hester," he whispered, in thick and hurried tones, " I thought I should find your mother here." 68 HESTER MORl.EV'S PROMISE. " She is upstairs in the drawing-room," she answered ; "only Mr Robert is there, too." " No, .lOt her ! not her! " he said impatiently ; " I mean your own mother. Don't you know, deary, I've never set eyes on her since John Morley brought a strange wom- an mto the house — never ? Though my work all goes wrong, and my hand has lost its cunning, she never comes back to show me what to do. But to-night, while I was at chapel, it came all at once into my mind that I should find her sitting here alone in the house, crying and sob- bing, with her face hidden in her hands. I fancied she'd be there in her own old place ; but maybe she is upstairs in my work-room." "But didn't you know s/w was ill?" asked Hester, not venturing to call Rose " mother" in Lawson's hearing. "No. Ill is she?" he said eagerly ; "perhaps she'll die. Your mother died easily. Miss Hester. But I'm going upstairs. Will you come with me, little one '? " He called her " little one" in a tone of such strange and pathetic tenderness that Hester put her hand in his, though she was trembling with an undefined fear. They went out together into the snowy court first, to look up to the lattice window in the high gable. The snow hung about it with a ghostly gleam, and the moon shining \vanly upon its diamond panes made them glimmer as if with some feeble, unearthly light within. Lawson lifted Hester in his arms and mounted the outer staircase, which led to the old printing-office. Passing through this they came to the foot of the attic steps, winding up into the pale dark- ness above. Still carrying her in his arms, Lawson as- cended them swiftly but soundlessly, as if fearful of scar- ing away some timid and easily startled presence. The room was full of light from the moon, which shone directly upon the casement — a visionary light, in which the most SUNDAY VISITORS. 69 familiar objects assume an unreal aspect. There stood his press, and his tools growing red with rust ; and there the shelves of books, whose gilded bindings shone palely in the gloom. But the room was empty. There was no shadowy figure, sitting alone, with its tearful face hidden in the hands. Hester looked around with mingled dread and love of this unknown mother, so often felt to be pres- ent by the man whose heart she could feel beating strongly with anticipation. But neither of them could detect the form they sought in the dimness/ and Lawson put down Hester and walked to and fro in the attic, with gestures of lamentation and despair. " If she would only come again ! " he cried, wringing his hands ; " if she would but bring me back the cunning of my right hand ! But I have lost it, and nobody can re- store it to me, save her. Oh ! come back ! For the sake of your little child, come back ! " A fantastic paroxysm took possession of the usually silent and reticent man. He fell upon his knees, and prayed with groans and cries and strong wrestlings of the body, as if he could prevail by those. He called aloud upon the shadow to return and to take form again before his eyes. He bemoaned the loss of his art, as if it had gone from him forever, while Hester stood at his side, terrified yet brave, willing to welcome this vision, if his prayers should be heard and granted. But no answer came. The pale light fell steadily into the room, but it revealed no apparition. Lawson's voice grew faint, and his sobs feeble ; but no spectral messenger came to as- suage his passion ; and at last, worn out and exhausted he clasped Hester's hand again in his own nerveless fin- ders, and descended the stairs in silence. Upon the second floor there "was a door of communi- cation between the work-room and the rest of the house, 70 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. and through this Lawson and Hester passed. A thin line of light from beneath the drawing-room door shone across the farthest end of the passage, and caught Law- son's eye. "Miss Hester," he whispered, "just let me look into the other room, where the light is — the grand new room, you know.' " She is there," answered Hester, with a shrewd look upon her white face. " Ah ! but your mother may be there as well, who knows ? " persisted Lawson : " you open the door quietly, and I'll peep in over your shoulder. I saw her as plain as could be only an hour ago." Hester led him up to the door of the room, where Rose Morley was sitting, and turned the handle with the utmost caution. They gazed in together, unheard and un- seen. To Hester's surprise, Robert Waldron was no longer there ; but Rose sat in her chair before the fire, with her face hidden in her hands, and sobbing in deep drawn sobs. Lawson caught his breath, and grasped Hester's hand in an unconscious gripe of iron ; but she did not utter any cry. They stole downstairs again into the lob- by, and then Hester saw upon his face an expression of complete bewilderment and perplexity. Once more he peered into John Morley's dimly-lighted room ; and then, shaking his head doubtfully, he opened the outer door, through which the snow came drifting in in large flakes, and still with a troubled look upon his face he bade the child good-night, and went out into the quiet street. CHAPTER Xi DEEPENING SHADOWS. AGAIN the sunshine had forsaken the home of John Morley, or only visited it in uncertain gleams of fit- ful brightness. There were seasons when his young wife sought his dull room as if it were a safe refuge, or a holy sanctuary ; and sat there silent and inactive in the great antique chair, where Hester's mother had been wont to sit and watch him with fond eyes, while he worked among his beloved books. Once or twice, in his absence of mind, he had spoken to her without looking up, and called her by the other name, still cherished and familiar in his thoughts • and then Rose nad started up quickl}', and fled from the room, while he had been all unconscious of the blunder of his tongue. It was a very troubled though profound love which John Morley felt for this girl, so much younger both in life and heart than himself; but it struck deeper roots into his nature every day, in part because it was so troubled. Hester's mother had been his equal, and they had confronted the difficulties of life side by side ; mutual helpers, with the self-same thoughts and the self-same hope in the future. This love, which had possessed the equality of friendship, had been a strength to him — a serene satisfac- tion, which had been all-sufficing while it was his, but the jOss of which had robbed him of even his natural energy and content. But for Rose he took the position of a pro- tector and guardian ; he stood before her to shield her 72 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. from the unknown ills of the future. There was a charm and sweetness in this which had been lacking in the more equal marriage with Hester's mother. Even his anxiety about her spiritual welfare, — a little exaggerated by the speculative questions into which his mind naturally ran, — inv'ested her with deeper and more fascinating interest; and Rose herself would have been startled, and would have shrunk from him in dread, if she could have looked into her husband's heart, and seen how she engrossed his thoughts, his hopes, and his prayers. She was standing behind his chair one morning, look- ing down, he could not see how sadly, upon his bowed head, where white lines were mingling with the dark hair. She laid her hand upon it at last, softly and reverently ; and as he turned smilingly to her, he caught the expres- sion, half sorrowful and half frightened, imprinted upon her fair face. "Why, what ails you, my dear?" he asked, putting his arm about her, while Rose sank down upon her knees beside him ; " what is the matter with you, my Rose ? " " Nothing, nothing," she sobbed ; " only I am such a silly young thing, and you are so wise and good ! There is such a dreadful gulf between us two ; and it will always be there, forever, and ever, and ever ! I shall always be silly and wicked, and you will always be wise and good. Oh, why did you ever marry such a creature as me?" " Why ? " said John Morley earnestly ; " because T loved you with my whole heart ; and I love you still more, Rose, if that be possible, now you have been my wife for more than a year. But it was selfish of me — a man's selfishness ; and I do not know how to make you happy now you belong to me." " No, no, no ! " cried Rose, '' it was not selfish. Il was good, too good of you ! You said — or you might have deki'Kxim; siiAiJuws. 73 said — to yourself, * Here is a poor, giddy, thoughtless but terfly, just dancing and idling her precious life away ; and L a wise and good man, will take it into my own house, and give all my wisdom and goodness to the task of mak- ing it like myself now and in the world to come.' But you cannot ; no, you cannot. I ought never to have been the wife of a good man ! I ought never, never to have become the mother of little Hetty ! " " Yes, you ought," answered John Morley, stroking the soft hair and the burning cheek which would have dried up any tears, had any fallen upon it ; " my house is not the same since you entered it. Rose. You have made us nappy, Hester and me ; more happy than we can tell you. Is there anything that troubles you specially, my love? Tell me, and if it be within my power the trouble shall be removed. And if it be not, we will pray God together either to take it away, or sanctify it for your good." " No, there is nothing," answered Rose, kissing his hand again and again, " unless you could take me away from myself, unless you could make me somebody else but the silly, giddy, wicked, good-for-nothing creature I am ! If you could only make me like Hester's mother ! If you could only make me like Hester ! " Her voice died away in sobs, and her tears came in torrents now, while John Morley, distressed and bewil- dered, could only soothe her, as he would have soothed a child, till the first hysterical paroxysm had passed over, and he could place her in the old easy-chair, and hasten to bring some water for her to drink. She was very quiet and subdued during the rest of the day, and remained in the gloomy room with her husband, smiling faintly when- ever she caught his anxious eye ; but at other times regard- ing his grave face, and his hair streaked with grey, with an expression of mingled pity and dread. 4 74 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. It was only in the evening, when Hester's bedtime came, that she quitted her husband's presence to go up- stairs to Hester's room ; not to help her to undress, for the child had been long accustomed to do everything for herself, but to sit watching her, and waiting to kiss her when she was in bed. When Hester knelt down to pray, Rose bowed her head, and clasped her hands, as if joining in the child's inaudible petitions : a sign of grace which would have caused the heart of her husband to throb for joy. She laid her head down upon Hester's pillow with her lips close to her ear, after having put out the light, and spoke to her in the darkness. " Little Hetty," she said, " would you rather live with good people, or with people you love dearly, dearly ? " Hester answered deliberately, after pausing to consider the question : " I don't think I should love any but good people," she said. "But )^ou love me," pursued Rose, " and I'm not good. Would you rather have me as I am, or a very good mamma, as good as Miss Waldron ? " " Oh, but you are good," persisted Hester ; " and I'd rather live with you ten times better than Miss Waldron, however good she is. But if you're not quite, quite good yet, you've only to ask God." " I have asked Him," sobbed Rose, " and I'm more wicked than ever. Oh, Hetty ! if you had promised to live with somebody you didn't love, and there came afterwards some one ycu did love with all your heart, and wanted you to live with them, what would you do, little Hetty ? " Rose's cheek was crimson in the darkness, and her eye wasburnirg, while Hester was silent again for a few minutes, comii g to a careful judgment upon the case put before her. DEEPENING SHADOWS. 75 " I should be very, very sorry," she answered at last ; "but if I'd promised, I would keep my promise." John Morley's second wife said no more to her little step-daughter ; but she gave her a kiss as tender as her own mother could have given. Only had there been a light in the room, Hester would have seen a face wan as death, and blue eyes filled with terror, bending over her ; and she would not have fallen asleep so peacefully as she did, with pleasant dreams of her new mother 1 CHAPTER XII. A GREAT GULF. A FEW days after this singular conduct on the part of Rose Morley, she received a letter, informing her that a distant relative, residing a long way from Little Aston, was upon the point of death, and wished to see her once more. John Morley opposed no obstacle to the ful- filment of this desire, and gave his wife every assistance in his power. Her arrangements for her absence were very peculiar. She gathered together every small possession of her own, every little trace of her dwelling there, scattered up and down the habitation, and locked them up in the drawing-room, which, as we know, had been renovated and furnished expressly for her own use. In this way there was no vestige left of her late presence in the home, except an ominous and most mournful void. When John Morley en- tered his chamber for the first time after her departure, he started, with a vague and sudden fright, at its emptiness ; and his eyes sought in vain for some token of his young wife. There was the same sense of dreary chilliness as when all the mementoes of Hester's mother had been cleared away from the place which was to know her no more. Throughout the whole house it was the same ; there was no hint left that Rose had ever been one of its inmates ; except that an ever-growing gloom of absence and abandonment seemed to hang over every apartment. In his undefined uneasiness he thought of comforting himself with a glance at the gay, bright room, which was all hers ; A GREAT GULF. 'J'J but the door did not yield to his touch. It was locked and the key taken away. The servant, who had some secret suspicions of her own. stole to the door, after her master had left it, and put her eye to the key hole. There was no ray of light in the room, though it was full day \ it followed therefore, as a natural inference, that Mrs. John Morley had closed the shutters, and drawn the thick cur- tain, before she carried away the key, to insure no intru- sion into her room during her absence. She had set out early in the morning ; and the day, long and dull, dragged heavily past, both for John Morley and Hester. From time to time her husband traced her journey, saying : " Now she is at such a place ; " " At this hour she is waiting at such a station." As evening drew on he sat down to write his first letter to her ; a tender yet stately letter, with none of the unmeaning expressions which a man of another stamp might have used. It was an epistle fit for publication, choice and elegant in its phrases ; but it was no other than the transcript of his own orderly and elevated mind. Being also a religious man, writing to his wife, who would read the letter at the death- bed of a fellow-mortal, he added some thoughts, solemn, earnest, and devout, which surely could not fail to touch the heart of hearts, even of a giddy and careless girl. And his Rose was not that, he said to himself, with a quick and rare moisture of the eyes, as he recalled her kneeling at his side only a few days ago, with her humble confession of unworthiness ; and from the very depths of his soul there went up a fresh cry to God, one of thousands, that He would turn the heart of his wife towards himself. He directed the cover of his letter with a sort of pride in the characters which ran from his pen, " Mrs. John Morley." She bore his name, and belonged to him. The old glow came back as when in former days he had written 78 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. the same name, though to another person. His wife ! Wherever she went, or whoever admired her, she was still Mrs. John Morley. Good man as he was, he felt as much pride in her attractions as a more worldly husband would have done. It was not at all less sweet to him to think of her gaining homage and favor by her beauty and winsome ways. While he was writing to her the house did not seem quite so empty ; there was as it were an affirmation that she had been there, and would be there again in a few days. There was a fine pleasure in having to indite one of his letters to her ; and above all in addressing it to Mrs. John Morley. The man had a whole world of unconscious egotism in him. He was called away abruptly from this agreeable duty by the intrusion of some country-folk, who had come to ask his counsel concerning some question which perplexed them. It was no unusual occurrence with him. Next to the rector, who also was a bookish man, and often con- descended to enter his shop, though there was a church bookseller living in the Square, John Morley was reckoned the wisest man to be met with for ten miles round the town, whether in questions of law, physic, or religion. He was, moreover, more courteous than a doctor, less crafty than a lawyer, and more liberal than a priest. Whatever might be the vexed topic of the day it was necessary to discuss it with the well-read bookseller, and to see what new light he could throw upon it. It was a homage palat- able to John Morley, even when paid to him by gaping rustics. But to-day, even while he listened, and advised, and adjudged, there was a calm sweet under-current of thought, following his young wife in the progress of her day's journey. W'l en the hour came for closing the shop, it brought also the time appointed for attending a week-night service A (.JREAT GULF. 79 at liis chapel. He posted his letter on the way, with a silent blessing in his heart upon her who should open it. An unusual fervor was kindled in his spirit. He saw, close at hand, the answer to his many prayers. Rose would come back to him, from the solemn death-bed she was gone to witness, changed just as he would wish her to be changed, not in sweetness of temper, nor even in buoyancy of spirits, but weaned from the world, and purged from earthly tastes and longings. He almost regarded this death as being expressly ordained for the conversion of his wife. Wrapped up in the vivid realiza- tion of the scene now being enacted before her eyes, the words of the old preacher fell unheeded upon his ears, and when the hour's service was ended he awoke from his reverie with a start of surprise. Mr. Waldron joined him on his way home, and having some subject of church discipline to discuss, in which they were both interested, he entered the house with him. A tacit and cool intimacy, rather closer than a mere acquain- tanceship, had sprung up between them of late, which both would probably have been slow to admit. John Morley on the one hand, a scholarly, studious man, whose whole life had been given to dipping into varied studies ; and David Waldron, on the other, a hard-headed, parliamen- tary debater, caring little for general literature, but living his public life for the sole purpose of protecting and advan- cing the interests of his denomination. Sometimes the latter picked up thoughts and arguments from John Mor- ley, which told well in his own brief but weighty utterances in the House. So Mr. Waldron sat down familiarly upon the bookseller's hearth, and foot to foot and elbow to elbow discussed with him the questions which interested him most. The two men were so utterly absorbed in their con- 80 IIESTKR MOKLEV'S I'KoMISE. versation that neither of them heard a gentle rap, which was repeated two or three times, before the door was pushed open, and Hester appeared on the threshold. The little girl had been undressed, but she had put on her frock over her nightgown, and slipped her bare feet into her shoes. She stood still in the doorway of her father's room, holding a letter in her hand. It was a more extra- ordinary apparition in the eyes of John Morley than of Mr. Waldron. " What is the matter, Hester ? " asked her father hur- riedly. " Come in, Hetty," said Mr. Waldron ; '' come here, and speak to me. Why I've had a little girl of my own, so you need not be frightened at me." Hester advanced into the room, and shook hands with the great man ; and then she went on to her father's side with the letter she was carrying. " Father," she said, " I was just getting into bed when I found this letter oi^ the pillow, and a slip of paper with it to tell me to give it to nobody but you. So I thought I'd better b/ing it downstairs to you at once." It was directed to him in his wife's handwriting, but for an instant his mind was full of the argument with which he had been about to reply to Mr. Waldron. The child lingered at his side, with her eyes fastened upon the letter, waiting for him to open it ; but not until he had finished his reasoning, and brought it to a triumphant climax, did he rise from his chair and take the letter to the lamp to read it. " Hester," said Mr. Waldron, by way of improving the occasion, and speaking a word in season, " do you ever forget to say your prayers before you go to bed ? " " No," answered Hester, with a look of surprise, " never. Do you, Mr. Waldron ? " I A GREAT GULF. 8l It is possible that he did. At any rate he did not reply with the same promptitude that Hester had done, and he answered only by another question. " What have you prayed for to-night ? " he asked. " I asked God to-night," answered Hester, " to be good to all very wicked people, and change their hearts, — robbers, you know, and everybody who is very wicked. I used to wish that God would make Satan good. But I know better now." The color mantled the child's earnest face, as she gazed pensively, and somewhat mournfully, into the fire. She had pushed back her hair behind her small white ears, and stood motionless, with her arms drooping, and her head bent in an attitude of dejection and melancholy, which touched even Mr. Waldron's blunt nature. He was searching for something to say which should chase the gloom from her childish face ; when all at once, without sound or sign beforehand, John Morley fell heavily to the gi-Qund. It was as if some mighty invisible hand had struck him down with a blow. He had fallen backwards, and lay ap- parently lifeless upon the floor, grasping tightly in his fingers the letter which he had been reading. His face, always pale, had lost all that looked like life, and from under his half-closed eyelids the glazed eyes showed them- selves without lustre or consciousness. In an instant Hester was on her knees beside him, — neither helpless nor frightened, as other children might have been, but with the sad self-posession of a woman. She raised her father's head, and placed under it her little arm, looking up pitifully into Mr. Waldron's face. " The servant ! " cried Mr. Waldron, running to the door ; " we must send for the doctor, Hester," " There is nobody Tnlhe house but me," she answered, 4* ' S2 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. "unless Lawson is upstairs in the top* room. Martha is gone out this evening." " What can I do ? " he exclaimed, running back again, and stooping over the lifeless man ; " I cannot leave you alone. Is it a fit of any kind, Hester ? " " I don't know," she said " but please put your arm here, while I look if Lawson is upstairs." He did as she bade him, and she darted swiftly out of the room. Mr. Waldron's eyes strayed from the pallid face resting upon his arm to the half-unfolded letter still griped firmly in John Morley's stiffened hand. He had neither wish nor intention to read it ; but three or four words caught his eye unawares, which sent the blood out of his shrewd, hard face, and set his calm, honest heart beating heavily, like the blows of a sledge hammer. He drew towards him a cushion and hassock, and rested John Morley's insensible head against them ; while with some difficulty he loosened the closed fingers and released the letter. In his turn he carried it to the lamp, and held it with a shaking hand to the light. It began abruptly : *' I am the most wicked and shameful woman you ever knew. Oh, why was I born so wicked ? or why didn't I die when I was only a little child like Hetty ? " How good you were to me the other day ! You suf- fered me to kneel at your feet, and kiss your hand, — only you did not know how wicked I was ; and all the day long, while I sat looking at you, you never lifted up your head without a kind word and a smile for me ; your head which is going gray, and which ought to be held in honor by everybody about you. Oh, why did you not choose a wife who could not have been so wicked as to bring dishonor upon you ? You are so good and wise, — only not wise in loving a shameful thing like me. It is all like a dream, — a very horrible and dreadful dream, — from which I can never awake, and f^qd that it is only a wicked dream. If I qould only be wh^t I W4§ when you married me ! If I A CRKAT C.LM.F. 83 could only be what I was three months ago ! If I could only have seen beforehand how I was being led on, — how we were both being led on by Satan, — oh, I should hav^ turned back quickly, and found a shelter by your side. But it is too late now, — forever ! '• I have gathered up everything which could remind you of rae, and if I could I would have destroyed that room, which was mine, and which must remain under your roof. I did ask God if He could not destroy it, as He destroy- ed Sodom and Gomorrha. But even God cannot separate good from evil, — even He cannot punish me and spare you. " I do not go away to be happy. I go away because to stay longer in your home is to be guilty of a greater wrong against you. Robert takes me away with no thought of being happier, but because he can do nothing else. Oh, I pity you ; I am angry for you ; I could smite myself to death, if that would do you good. But after death is the judgment, and I am afraid of the judgment. " Oh ! why did you marry me .'' Hester told me once how his father, Robert's father, came to you, and exhorted you not to marry a godless woman. Yet you did. There was nothiiig in common between us. You took me out of the old, merry, careless life, and brought me into a new one, one where I could scarcely breath. It was all gloom, and darkness, and silence to me, till Robert came. And then there was a light which dazzled me, and I saw noth- ing. And now there is complete darkness, that utter dark- ness into which the outcasts are driven. Oh, God ! " " Oh, God ! " echoed Mr. Waldron, with a groan. There was no other word added to Rose Morley's letter, and no other cry was uttered by the lips of the man who read it. He laid it down, and tried to think; but his usually clear brain vvas in amaze, and his confused thoughts re- solved themselves again into the same simple, deep, unfathomable cry, which left everything to be divined by the heavenly Helper ; and once more his quivering lips breathed, " Oh, my God ! " " What is the matter .' " asked .» vjice beside him, and S4 HESTER MOREEY'S TROMISE. turning his gaze away from the letter in his hand, he sav» Hester at his elbow, straining her eyes to read her step- mother's writing. Lawson was looking on with a wild, half-crazy expression, and he too came forward as Mr. Waldron remained silent and stupefied. " What is the matter with my master ? " he asked. • Before Mr. Waldron could frame any reply, John Mor- ley gave the first token of returning life by heaving a pro- found sigh. Hester was upon her knees beside him again in a moment, pressing her small cold hands upon his burning forehead, and speaking to him in quiet tones. He lay still for a few minutes, but after awhile he pushed her on one side, and staggered to his feet. He confronted Mr. Waldron ; and the two men looked speechlessly into one another's eyes, having no need of words. The crushed and torn letter lay upon the table in the full light of the lamp. Neither of them looked at it, though both saw it, and both, in their fevered brains, were repeating the words written in it. Mr. Waldron at last tried to speak, but twice his voice failed him ; until by a great effort he cried, while still gazing into John Morley's face, " He is my only son." "Leave me," exclaimed John Morley, awakening to the full shame and grief that had befallen him ; " let me be alone ! W^hy do you all stand staring upon me ? Leave me to myself, I say." '• No, brother, no," answered Mr. Waldron, his voice broken by sobs ; " God is our only refuge till this calam- ity be overpast. Let us pray together, brother." He knelt down, and Hester knelt also. But Lawson remained standing near the table, where the letter lay open before him. John Morley himself had fallen back uito his chair, in a maze of anguish and dishonor. He lould not pray yet. In the whole universe there was no I A GREAT GULF. 8$ one but himself and the wife who had proved unfaithful to him. If there was a faint thought of God Hngering some wljere in the dark cells of memory, it was only of a Being, who either saw all these crimes without having the power to prevent them, or who was so far removed in a serene and selfish blessedness that He could pay no attention to the sorrows of His creatures. He felt as yet no need of prayer. But while he was thus lost in a stupor of despair, a prayer, mingled with sobs and tears, was being offered up for him by Mr. Waldron, who now for the first time* realized how very near a brother John Morley was to him. When he had brought his broken supplications to a close, he rose from his knees, and clasped John Morley's hand affectionately and humbly. But " he spoke no word unto him, for he saw that his grief was very great." A few minutes afterwards John Morley was left alone ; and Hester was crying herself bitterly to sleep upon the pillow were Rose Morley's letter had lain hidden all day. CHAPTER XIII. THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND. IN the dead of the night the child's slumbers were sud- denly broken by a light falling upon her closed eyehds. She awoke, and opened her eyes upon her father's face bending over her. He had placed his candle upon the chair at the side o^ the bed, and the light shone full upon him. His eyes were bloodshot and strained, and his face wore a scared and haggard expression, as if he was gazing spell-bound upon some horrible vision. He was grasping in his hand, which was already cut and blood- stained, a sharpened razor, the hard, bright steel of which was gleaming brightly. Never had Hester seen him thus visit her in her sleep before. She sat upon her pillow, and looked earnestly into her father's face, until he seemed troubled, and turned away uneasily from her childish scru- tiny. But he spoke after a little while, in hoarse and trem- ulous tones : "Child," he said, "it is sometimes better to die than to live." " Are you very angry, father } " asked Hester. He did not answer her, but stood looking down upon her with his bloodshot eyes. "I don't know what is the matter," she said, lifting up her hand and laying it on his neck, while he bent lower to receive the rare caress ; " I don't understand what has happened ; I am only a litt|e girl, but I am your own daughter ; tell me what is the matter, father." THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 87 " She is gone away," he answered, trembling and shiv- ering ; '• Rose has left me ! " "I know she is gone away," said Hester, drawing down his face to her lips, and kissing it; "but she only went away this morning, and she is coming home again soon." "No, never!" he cried, falling down on his knees, as if his failing limbs could no longer support him. "I shall never see her again ; she will never sleep again under my roof." As he spoke of it, the extremest tension of his anguish gave way a little. He continued kneeling at Hester's side, repeating dully in a half whisper that Rose would never sleep again under his roof The moment of tempt- ation, in which it had seemed better to die than to live, was past ; and with a man like John Morley could not re- turn. He turned himself, with blind and dumb disgust, towards the life that stretched before him, which he must traverse, bowed beneath his burden of shame. He dreaded to open his eyes or utter a word, lest a full tor rent of misery should break over him to overwhelm him at once. The image of Rose was before him, with all the fatal charms that had beguiled him into his second mar- riage; but behind it there rose a sweet, pensive, saintlike face, which had been fading from his memory, but now came back as if to reproach him. He felt that he ought to hate his second wife the more bitterly, because she had usurped and betrayed the place of Hester's mother. " Hester," he said, " we must forget that this woman has ever lived with us." As if he could forget ! He laughed harshly after speaking the idle words. Would not the remembrance of her, and the shame which was the only dower she had brought him, be the food of his thoughts night and day ? 88 HESTER MUKLEY's PROMISE. Would he not eat, and sleep, and read, with the remem- oranoe of her infamy always before hiin ? It was a hor- rible unheard-of thing to happen to him. He had known that such sins were, but only as a thinker and philosopher. He had contemplated them afar off, as one of the many social problems which were altogether apart from himself, and which could never enter the sphere where he dwelt. It was a loathsome leprosy, to be looked at from a dis- tance ; but it had never entered his heart to conceive of the tainted hand touching his, or the foul lips breathing the atmosphere of his own home. He felt himself caught in the infected meshes. He abhorred himself, and his dwelling; that dwelling from which Hester's mother had passed peacefully away into her hallowed rest. This woman had dragged him down with her own fall ; for he had made her " bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh." He put away, but gently and reverently, Hester's arm, which still lay upon his neck, and he turned aside his face from her kisses. He identified himself so fully with the woman who had dishonored him, that it seemed to him sacrilege to suffer the innocent young lips of his little daughter to be pressed to his. The paroxysm of passion in which he had sought her room, resolved that neither of them should outlive the first night of his shame, was past forever ; but none the less was his heart crushed down and hardened. A barrier seemed raised between him and his child. He had done her an irreparable wrong in put- ting into her mother's place a stranger, who had brought an ineffaceable stigma upon them both. For, in the time to come, he could foresee it clearly, the world would not be too carefa to remember, that it was not her own mother who had fallen into the slough. The sting of that thought pierced him yet more poignantly than any other. Hes- ter's mother would be dragged down from her fair and THE SLOUGH OF DKSinjXD. 89 holy place in the heavens, and be confounded with this lost, false creature, who had sunk so low into the abyss, that even he, forced to gaze down into it, could not fathom all the degradation and vileness of it. Hester was look- ing at him with the clear, pure, sweet eyes of her mother, and he could not endure to meet them. He took up the light abruptly, and left her to weep and sob in the dark- ness. For a whole week the house of John Morley was closed as if it had been the house of the dead. People who went by, and saw the shutters all up, and the light excluded, made haste to repeat to one another every detail which the town's gossip could supply. The servant of the desolated household had a few choice particulars to add to the com- mon stock. John Morley had shut himself up in his office, and refused to see any one, even Hester herself. But, at night, when he supposed ever}'-body else to be wrapped in sleep, he roamed to and fro restlessly in the house. It may be he sought then to discover if any trace was remain- ing of the residence of Rose in his home ; but, if so, he found none. The only memorial of her presence there was the closed door of the room, the key of which she had carried off with her, and which he could only enter by a 'orce and violence from which he recoiled. CHAPTER XIV. SINNERS AND JUDGES WHEN John Morley returned, as time compels all to do, to his ordinary life, there were some marked changes in him. Not only his face bore the scars of a mortal conflict, but his daily conduct still more plainly testified to the hard gripe of shame upon him. He with- drew peremptorily from every office in the church which brought him into prominence ; and would occupy no posi- tion in it, except that of the humblest member. He declined to give his counsel, as in former times, to the numerous clients who had found it less costly and less formidable to turn into John Morley's shop than to seek the doctor or the lawyer. He ceased to care for his busi- ness, was apathetic and forgetful. The gravity which had characterized him was become an unbroken and jo3dess gloom, which took sorrow to its heart, and prostrated itself before despair. On his part, Mr. Waldron also had suffered a severe shock ; but the sin of a son is not equal to the dishonor of a wife. Religious as he undoubtedly was, a righteous man who strove to judge righteously, the world's estimate of his son's conduct could not fail to influence him, and to ap- pease in some measure his anger and sorrow. Robert might at any time repent, shake off his sin, and come back to social life, to be welcomed there without reference to his youthful indiscretion. He might enter upon a public SINNERS AND JUDGES. 9I career as useful and more brilliant than his father's, and not a voice would be lifted against him. Mr. Waldron mourned over his son, but there was no bottomless depth of anguish in his soul. He could gaze down into the gulf ir,to which he had flillen, and see there a path, toilsome it might be, by which he could climb up again into reputation and honor. Miss Waldron looked upon her brother's sin as a cross expressly constructed for herself, and weighing more heav- ily upon her than upon any one else. She grew a hun- dredfold more terrific in her Bible classes and mothers' meetings ; and expatiated with extreme unction upon the judgments of Heaven. The religious poor generally enjoy being alarmed. They have been driven out of some of the strongholds of superstition, which are not without their charms ; and they like to taste again the thrill and creep of awe, with which they were wont to glance back over their shoulders for the hobgoblins of former times. Miss Waldron invited them to peep with terror into the mysteries of Divine judgment ; and she became popular with them. A great work began in her classes ; and she said that her brother's fall had been the conversion of many souls. IMiss Waldron took a profound interest in John Morley and Hester. She felt it almost as a personal insult that the dishonored husband would not suffer her to probe his deep wound. It was a symptom over which she shook her head ominously. But Hester was easily reached. She even carried her down to Aston Court one day, when she met her going out for a walk, that she might have a long uninterrupted opportunity with her, and make such an im- pression upon her tender mind as time would not be able lo efface. She set Hester on a high, straight-backed chair, opposite to the harsh portrait of Luther, and address- ed hei in deep and awful tones : 92 HESTER MORLEV S PROMISE. " You have lost your step-mother," she began. " Oh," interrupted the child eagerly, " tell me what has become of her, and what she has done. Nobody will speak about her to me, and they say I must never, never mention her name again." " She has done," said Miss Waldron, in a tone of con- centrated bitterness, " the greatest, vilest, foulest sin a woman can commit. She will never come back, and if she did, none of us ought to look at her, or speak to he- . In olden times she would have been stoned to death; yes, stoned to death ;. and you and your father would have been the first to cast a stone at her." " No, no," cried Hester, bursting into tears : " I know now what you mean. She is like that poor woman who was very wicked, and they brought her to Jesus ; and He said, 'Let him that is without sin first cast a stone at her.' And not one of them could cast a stone at her. It would be the same now if she was here, and Jesus Christ. There would be nobody that would dare cast a stone at her ; not even you, Miss Waldron. And now, if you please, I should like to go home." Hester did not linger for permission, but walked straight out through the glass doors, and along the ter- race, and up the park, her heart swelling with childish grief and indignation. When she reached her father's house, she crossed over to the opposite pavement, and stood for a minute or two looking at it with tearful eyes. It had always been a dull, gloomy, low-spirited looking house ; but now, with the large casement on the upper floor closed with shutters, it seemed more cheerless than before. The faded books in the shop windows, which had not been moved since Rose had fled, and the panes stained with the dust and the rain, were very mournful to look at; and they affected Hester as if they had been living thmgs, SINNERS AND JUDGES. 93 conscious of neglect. Her feelings were not very definite, but there was a sort of yearning pity towards the deserted old place, which seemed abandoned by the sun and all cheering influences. She wished to herself that she could comfort and revive the poor, decayed dwelling; yet it re- quired an effort to cross over again, and enter it as her home. There was not a sound to be heard within. She peeped into her father's room, and saw him sitting there in grey and grim silence, with his arms crossed upon his breast and his head drooping; awaiting in this attitude the entrance of any chance customer, which disturbed him but seldom, as his neighbors yet shrank from intruding needlessly upon his grief Hester closed the door gently, and stole up the creaking old staircase, and through the empty rooms to Lawson's attic. He was stooping over his press in the window ; but the ardor with which he had formerly pursued his work was dead, and his withered face was wrinkled with anxiety. Hester mounted to her old seat, which had been so long deserted, for while Rose had lived in the rooms below she had rarely ascended to Law- son's workshop, and never stayed there long. She wished Lawson to be the first to speak ; but he was in a silent mood, and for some time his work went on, without a word being spoken on either side. " Lawson," asked Hester, after a long perseverance in silence, "what do yott think about my mamma, my step- mother you know ? " " Don't trouble your little head about her," answered Lawson; "you just think about your own mother. I'll show you her picture again." "No," interrupted Hester, as he was about to reach down the portfolio, " I want you to tell me truly why peo- ple talk so about her. They point at me in the streets ; and I heard a woman say, * I hear that's her little girl, poor 94 HESTER MORLEY S PROMISE. thing ! ' 1 wish to know what it is all for ; and I mean you to tell me, Lawson," she added imperiously ; " tow am 1 to know what I ought to do, if I don't know what she has done? She was just as kind, and as good, and as pretty when she went away that morning as she ever was. Tell me directly, Lawson." She had descended from her seat on the step-ladder, and was standing before him drawn up to her fullest height, with her head thrown back in an attitude of child- ish authority at once amusing and graceful. Lawson sat down on a high three-legged stool, which was his ordinary seat, and confronted her, his sallow skin flushed with a dull red, and his eyes not meeting hers, but fixed upon some point behind her, as if he saw, and was speaking to, some person, who stood at the back. " I'd tear my tongue out," he said, " before I'd tell the child. But if I knew where that woman was, I'd follow her to the world's end, and strike her down dead. As long as she's alive, she's the master's wife, and I know you cannot come back till she is dead. Only give me time, and I'll see her dead at my feet." " Lawson, Lawson," cried Hester in affright, " who are you speaking to ? What are you speaking about ? " He lifted himself up slowly, and set doggedly to work again, turning a deaf ear to all Hester's questions and en- treaties. Before him on the press was a volume bound in purple morocco, the title of which he was lettering in gold. One after another, he took up mechanically his stamps of old English characters, and pressed them upon the gold leaf. He did it carefully, j^et with an air of abstraction, and his thin lips moved, as if he was mutter ing to himself. Hester had stolen away sobbing, and the attic was his solitary abode again. When at length he polished with his burnishing tool the title he had printed SINNERS AND JUDGES. 95 upon his work, he found there the single word, " Adulter- ess.*' An extraordinar}' and ghastly smile played upon his features, and he rubbed his hard yellow hands together with an air of satisfaction. But the costly binding was spoiled, and as he undid his own work an expression of perplexity and disquietude returned to his withered face. CHAPTER XV. A SUNLESS SPRING-TIME. THE brief season of Hester's childhood was ended. By small degrees household cares thrust themselves upon her ; and at a time when the daughters of other homes were still careless and irresponsible, she had begun to busy herself quietly about her father, watching for his wants, and providing beforehand for them. The old servant grad- ually lost her importance, and finding herself no longer regnant, she abdicated indignantly, and Hester, a woman already at the age of fourteen, supplied her place, without troubling her. father with the matter, while he seemed un- conscious of the change. As for her education, that was self-directed, and almost self-acquired. She had gone to no school ; for if ever the thought of it had been pressed upon John Morley, he had thrust it away with impatient agony. For the only good school in the place was the one in which Rose had been governess, and he would have felt less emotion in seeing his child dead in her coffin, than in knowing day after day, that she was gone to that school. He allowed her to choose and engage her own masters; and they came and went, and she received them and their instructions with a quamt, shrewd, old-fashioned womanliness, which often threw them into doubt as to whether she was indeed the young girl she seemed. It was an isolated life ; and Hes- ter grew so used to the shadowy, colorless tone of the old A '.UNI. KSS STRINC-TIME. 97 house, that she felt afraid of venturing out into the brilliant light and ceaseless stir of the outer world. In this heavy and stagnant atmosphere Hester's young nnture was compelled to unfold all the graces of girlhood which could struggle into existence. The blossoms were but pale and few, but they were very sweet, had there been any one to take pleasure in them : a quaint, quiet, demure, and pensive girl ; her heart feeding upon fancies half romantic and half religious. One thought and memory liv'ed within her — the memory of the fair young stepmother, and the thought of her mysterious crime. There was a memorial of Rose's brief sojourn under their roof, which was more directly beneath Hester's notice than her father's ; for the closed room, the key of which the unhappy wife had carried away, was opposite to her bedroom, in a part of the house which her father never entered. Since the night after his wife's elopement, John Morley's foot had never ascended the two or three steps leading to Hester's cham- ber, and the locked door, behind, which were hidden all the mementoes of Rose. This room was like a grave in the house. Never did a sound come from it, though Hester, while yet a child, had sometimes sat up in bed at nights, holding her hand against her throbbing heart, and listening, as if some one might be moving about that mysterious room. No light could penetrate into it ; and the shuttered win- dows looked blankly out upon the sky. She was not afraid of the place, but she was awed by it : the prev^ailing gloom and stillness of the whole house seeming to centre there in a perpetual silence and blackness, which was the monu- ment of Rose Morley's guilt. So long as that heart of darkness remained, the sun could not shine very brightly into any other nook of the dwelling. It was the eye of the house ; and that eye being darkness, how great was the ♦darkness ! 5 98 IIKSTER MORLFA's I'ROMISR. The years glided by, strengthening the fixed customs of the household. John Morley became formal and auto- matic in his habits. At a given moment of the morning his clouded and sad face and bowed figure emerged from his chamber, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and glided, shadowlike, into his sitting-room, where liis solitary breakfast awaited him. From that time until seven in the evening he remained brooding over his lot, with no distraction except the entrance of his few custom- ers. His business declined slowly but surely, yet he scarcely perceived it. In the almost sublime egotism of his grief, he was conscious only that time did not dissi- pate the clouds about him, but rather drew their sombre curtains more closely and thickly. At length, in the course of years, the sole custom left to him was that of the people of his church, most of whom were poor and little given to reading. It seemed also as if the fire of Lawson's genius was for ever quenched. The aristocracy of the country trusted no more rare and costly volumes to John Morley's binding-office. Now and then Lawson achieved a triumph, but success came only to him as a chance. Yet, in a little measure, his cunning returned when Hester brought her sewing upstairs into the sunny attic, and sat in the obscure window by his press, plying her needle busily, though with few words passing between them. Sometimes she set her own hands to the work,-under his directions, and gained a rare skill in it. But, for himself, his trembling fingers could not regain their delicate workmanship, and he felt that his occupation was gone from him. However, the current of life had drifted him into quiet waters, which, if they were not sunny, seemed very safe ; and the sweet young face of Hester, not quite round enough or rosy mough for her years, was a hundred-fold dearer to him tnan it could ever have been in the brightness and gayety A SUNLESS SPRING-TIME. 90 of ahappier girlhood. The chief changes in Hester's own existence were regulated by the sessions and vacations of parliament. When Mr. Waldron rested from his parlia- mentary duties in the seclusion of the country, Hester's religious duties became a little severe, for Miss Waldron expected her to attend punctually all the meetings for females, as well as occasionally to visit Aston Court for more private and personal instruction. Miss Waldron never forgot, and never suffered Hester to forget, that their spheres in life were totally different. She gave Hester gooseberries ta eat, while she regaled herself with grapes. It was something after the same fashion that she fed the souls of her scholars. There were promises and experi- ences too luscious for inferior palates ; grapes of Eshcol, belonging by right to the aristocracy of the church, among whom she was numbered by every claim which it is possi- ble to possess. By birth, by rank, by wealth, by early membership, by unremitting attendance at public woiohip, by indefatigable labors, and by every other qualific ition which the most exacting church could require, Miss vVal- dron laid claim to the finest of the grapes ; and thej were adjudged to her without a single dissentient voice. CHAPTER XVI. A POINT OF CONSCIENCE. HESTER'S eighteenth birthday was come. It was no- ticed by no one but herself, and she kept it by buy- ing a new bonnet in the place of an old one, which had seen long and hard service, and by contemplating her own face a little longer than usual, as it smiled and blushed back at her from the small round mirror which hung over her dressing-table. It was a spark of vanity quickly put out by the reproaches of her morbid conscience, and she went downstairs to fulfil the duties of the day more in the spirit of eighty than of eighteen. This same day Mr. Waldron found himself hovering about John Morley's shop, passing and repassing it in a singularly embarrassed and irresolute state of mind. There had not been much intercourse between them since the wrong committed by his son. John Morley had shrunk from all contact, and he had respected his feelings, though he could not sympathize with them. Sympathy was not Mr. Waldron's forte. He argued that if he had been able to support the thought of his son's sin, and, W'hile deeply mourning it, still not to suffer it to interfere with his faithful discharge of public duties, both in the church and world, John Morley ought also to have proved himself superior to his sorrow and disgrace. He had been a perpetual and jarring memorial of the past, with his grey face and white head ; and Mr. Waldron had been A rOIXT OF COXSCIEXCE. lOI naturally irritated by him, whenever he was residing neal Little Aston. To-day he felt it an awkward thing, though he was a great man and member of parliament, to enter John Morley's shop, and give utterance to the words he had carefully meditated beforehand. At last he marched boldly forwards, ringing the shop-bell furiously with his quick entrance ; and John Morley, gaunt and melancholy, the wreck of the handsome man he had once been, met him and looked him in the face with sunken eyes, which glowed with a dull and sorrowful flame. "I wish to speak to you alone, brother Morley," said Mr. Waldron, offering his hand, which probably John Mor- ley did not see, for he did not take it. "We are alone here," he answered. " No, no,"' replied Mr. Waldron, " we are liable to in- terruption here, and I have much to say to you." '"Father," said the voice of Hester from the room within, "come in here." John Morley complied by a silent gesture to his guest to enter, and he, removing his hat for the first time, passed in, and saluted Hester with the air of old-fashioned gal- lantry he had been wont to display towards her prett}' step- mother nine years before. She had been sitting in her great chair, which stood summer and winter in the same spot on the hearth ; and as soon as her quiet reception of the visitor was over, she resumed her seat, and took up her work again. Mr. Waldron stood opposite to John Morley, neither Hester nor her father asking him to be seated. The elder man, with whom life had been a pros- perous thing, looked ten years younger than he upon whom had fallen perhaps the heaviest buiden that can crush the spirit of a man. " Brother," said Mr. Waldron, in a voice which faltered more than it had done when he had addressed his maiden I02 IIKSTKK MORLEV'S PROMISE. speech to an inattentive audience in the House of Com- mons, "I am come here to ask a great gift. If the choice had been given me, there ,s nothing I would not have done to spare you and myself the pain we must beai .o- day. But my duty lay here and with you. Will you let me speak to you ?" John Morley bowed his head as his only reply. " My son," stammered Mr. Waldron, and John Morley shivered and shrank back, as if recoiling from a hand raised to strike him, "my son Robert, whom I have ban- ished from my house these nine years, is longing to return. He is ill and penitent ; penitent almost to despair. He implores to be no longer an outcast from his own home, and the place which will be his at my death. He is my only boy, and I am getting well into years, and my heart yearns towards him. When Absalom fled to Geshur after the murder of his brother Amnon, he was an exile but three years, when his father's soul longed to go forth to him. Do you hear me, brother Morley?" " I hear you," he murmured in a hollow and almost inaudible tone. " Oh, let me bid him come home ! " said Mr. Waldron urgei-tly ; " his sin was great, but it was the sin of a young man. It has been punished enough. For your sake, and for righteousness' sake, I have never received him under my roof since then — my only son ! It would be unnatural, unmerciful, unjust, if I refused to let him come home, now that he is broken in health, and contrite in spirit. My house is empty and desolate without him, and he is my heir. He will take my place when I am gone." There was no answer when Mr. W'aldron ceased to speak. John Morley stood with bowed shoulders and bent head, while his frame trembled like a child's, who knew not how to escape from the presence of some crue A Point c»f coxscilnci:. 103 tyrant. Hester's work had fallen from her hands ; and the faint color in her cheeks, which was never deeper than the delicate tint of a wild rose, faded altogether away. "Do you hear me?" asked Mr. Waldron, when the si- lence grew insupportable. "I hear you." muttered John Morley again. " Then why do you not answer me ? "' he cried impa- tiently. " I am not dependent upon your permission. I need not hav'e spoken to you at all about my son's return. But tell me that you will give your consent to his coming back to me, after all these years.'' " And she ? '' whispered the husband, with bloodless lips, and a face as of one upon the point of death from some slow torture. " Good heavens I " exclaimed Mr. Waldron, "he knows nothing about her. They parted, did you not know it ? only a few months after she fled. He has been alone ; he is alone now, — ill, repentant, suftering in mind and body. You have been well avenged, John Morley." " But the woman .'' " he breathed, with scarcelv a mo- tion of his wan lips. '• I know nothing of her," was the short answer. " I am not talking of her, but of my son " — He paused suddenly, for Hester had left her sear, and placed herself at her father's side, with her hand resting fondly and protectingly on his arm. '•You are talking of your son," she said in hurried tones, " and of your own desolation ; but you do not think what it has been here, in this home, to me, to my father. You have no right to speak of desolation to us ; you, who have had your duties and your pleasures as before. Look at my father if you wish to see what your son has done. Look at me. We have had no laughter, or smiles, or joy ful words, not one. these nine vear.s. If he is to come 104 liESTKK MOKI.EY S PROMISE. home again, why may not she ? Has she not repented, do you thhik? Would it be impossible to bring back our banished one as well as yours ? " " It would be impossible," answered Mr. Waldron, in a low voice. "Would it be impossible, father?" she continued. "If she came back, as his son comes back, penitent, and suffering, and broken-hearted, could we not take her in, the poor, contrite creature ? I think of her often," and Hester's voice almost failed her. " Is it impossible ? " " She can never come back," replied John Morley. " Oh ! it is not right," cried Hester, in her young en- ergy of passion ; " why should you receive your son back, if we cannot forgive her ? If he comes back forgiven, why should not we open our door to her?" "You are a child yet, Hester," answered Mr. Wal- dron. "Yes," she said, "but there are some things hidden from the wise and prudent, which are revealed to babes. I would not receive one, and cast out the other. If she should ever come back, broken-hearted and penitent, be sure I will not turn away from her." She spoke with a kind of gracious hardihood at which Mr. Waldron would have smiled any other time, but he was too deeply in earnest just now to be moved by any- thing apart from his purpose. He had made it a point with his conscience to obtain John Morley's permission for the return of his son ; and as yet he had said nothing which could be construed into consent. " Hester," he said, for John Morley looked like one half stupefied, " my son is truly repentant, and he implores your father to forgive him, and to suffer him to return home. He knows nothing, and has known nothing foi years, of that unhappy woman. If we could discover her A POINT OF CONSCIENCE. I05 we would do everything in our power to repair the past, as far as it ever can be repaired. Tell me, Hester, is your father merciful and Christian in prolonging the exile of my boy? " His voice and attitude were full of entreaty, which had lelinquished all the harshness of a claim. He listened for Hesters answer as for a sentence which would be the doom of his son. John Morley himself raised his lustreless eyes, and fastened them upon his daughter. " My father will not banish him from his home," she said, with a singular and solemn sweetness in her tone ; " what are we that any of us should refuse mercy to an- other ? x^re we not bound to forgive, who have been for- given of God ? " " No, no I " cried her father, " you do not knov/ what the wrong is, Hester. I cannot do it. He has cursed all my life. They have almost, if not quite — I do not know yet whether they have not quite — destroyed my soul ! These nine years I have caught no passing glimpse of God's mercy. I have been the song of the drunkard ; I have been exceedingly filled with contempt. Do not let me see him, Hester ; I could not look into his face, and both of us live after it." Like Mr. Waldron, he was appealing to Hester, as if upon her depended the sentence which would be final. She stood silent for a minute looking tenderly into his face, with tears in her clear, grey eyes ; and when she spoke there was a scarcely perceptible tremor in her voice, though her answer was steady and definite. " He must come home," she said ; " he would come, sooner or later, if you withheld your consent. But he must not nm the risk of meeting you. He must promise never to enter our chapel, or pass up and down this street and then vou will never see him. Let him come home, if ' 5* lo6 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. he will, but lie must not intermeddle with us. You would consent to that, father ? " " Yes," he answered, reluctantly. '• And you, Mr. Waldron ? " she continued. " Do you understand our condition, and will you agree to it? If he will but keep away out of our sight he will not greatly stir our old grief. You agree to it ? " '• Yes, yes ! " he replied, eagerly ; " he shall never come across your father, Hester. God bless you, child ! But shall we never see you ? Will you not come down some- times to see us, as you used to do ? Could you not for- give my son well enough to speak to him, and tell him that you have forgiven him ? You remember him, Hester ? " " I remember him well," she said, sighing ; " I have not much to remember. Yes, I forgive him, and I forgive her also. Only I do not wish to see him again. But if I knew where she was, I would seek her out, and let her know that I had not deserted her." " You will feel differently when you are a woman," said Mr. Waldron. Hester shook her head, with a faint smile in her eyes, and went back to her chair and her sewing. There followed a silence which told Mr. Waldron plainly enough that it was time to go. He looked round the room, dark, shabby, and bare, with the wear of nine years upon it since he had last stood within its walls. He glanced at John Morley, upon whom a premature old age had fallen, more decrepit than that of years. Hester herself, pale, subdued, and womanly, bore a burden of years which had pressed hardly upon her in the passing. He saw the work of his son for whom he had been pleading ; and his heart felt heavy in spite of his success. His own home might lose the light cloud which had overshadowed it, but what could ever chase away the thick gloom which had fallen upon this A POINT OF CONSCIENCE. IO7 hearth ? He had attained his purpose ; but he went away saddened, and occupying his shrewd head with schemes for the welfare of John Morley and Hester, which had little chance of fulfilment CHAPTER XVII. THE prodigal's RETURN. ROBERT WALDRON'S long banishment of nine years had not been without alleviation or enjoyment. He had satiated his restless love of travel, which had been the fever of his youth ; and nov/, at the age of thirty-three, he felt quite willing to settle down into the luxurious order of an English home, and to enter upon the pleasant occu- pations of an English gentleman. His father had by no means misrepresented wilfully his condition as one of re- morse and contrition ; he was convinced that his son was repenting in sackcloth and ashes for that long past sin, which was kept so vividly in mind by himself and John Morley. Nor had he been altogether deceived in this matter. There were seasons when Robert Waldron's vol- atile nature was plunged into profound depths of self-re- proach, very closely allied to repentance. At these times, having no reticence, he appealed to his father for sympa- thy, and made him the confidant of all the prickings of his conscience. But it was many years since he had seen Rose ; and but for the mystery of her utter disappearance, which kept alive a sort of interest in her fate, he would long ago have ceased to think of her. He wished to be at peace with both the world and himself; and therefore the recollection of his former folly stung him at times into a kind of paroxsym of regret and compunction. The difficulty of obtaining permission to visit Aston THE prodigal's RETURN. IO9 Court served to aggravate his home sickness. He very well understood the point his father made of asking John Morley's consent ; and in this he had more consideration for the injured husband than had Miss Waldron, v.ho feh her dignity infringed by the idea that her family should stand upon such terms with that of a tradesman. Read- ily enough Robert acquiesced in the conditions laid down by Hester. He promised to avoid any contact with John Morley, and never to go to the chapel where he worship- ped, nor into the street where he dwelt. Having bound himself by these promises, he turned his face homewards with all the gladness which his emotional temperament experienced in at last gaining a long-delayed pleasure. It was ,with a very keen feeling of delight that he caught the first glimpse of the formal front of his father's house, with its dark back-ground of trees. Mr. Waldron, a sturdy, hale old man not much aged since he had seen him last, was walking uf and down the terrace in expecta- tion of his arrival, and Robert called impetuously upon the coachman to stop, and sprang from the carriage to re- ceive his welcome. The father and son held one another's hand, in the strong, stern grasp which is the acme of Brit- ish emotion, and gazed without speaking into each other's face. Mr. Waldron could not suppress a thrill of pride in this fine, handsome man, no longer a youth, whom he could call his son ; and for a few minutes his satisfaction was both profound and untroubled. Yet, as second thoughts came, he felt a little disconcerted, for he had been picturing to himself a feeble, broken-spirited, shame- faced prodigal, coming back with the mournful confession in his mouth, " Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee." True, there was a moisture in Robert's fine eyes, and his mustache rose and fell with the tremulous motion of his lips ; but there was the rude glow of health, no HESTER MOKi.EV'S PROMISi^. and the sun-burnt hue of travel on his face. Beyond this and below it there was an indefinable air of general self- complacency, not in offensive obtrusiveness — it was no more than the gentlemanly self-approbation of one who for the time being has no special reason for diffidence — yet it was certainly very far removed from the mien of the prodigal, who needs the best robe brought forth, and shoes put upon his feet, and a ring on his hand. All these Robert had supplied for himself. He embraced his sister with the same affectionate agi- tation which he had shown in meeting his father ; and he expressed with warm, quick feeling his delight ih being at home. There had not been so lively a dinner hour at As- ton Court since he had left it. Miss Waldron, herself be- came almost gay, and laughed short little spurts of laugh- ter, like the first efforts of a fountain to play, after its pipes have long been closed up. Mr. Waldron found his taste and enjoyment of humor and repartee returning, and forgot that his son was a sinner, until Miss Waldron left them alone in the dining-room. They drew up their chairs before a comfortable fire ; and then there came one of those pauses full of satisfaction, when the heart is gather- ing to itself all the pleasures, rare and fleeting, of the first moments of reunion. Robert's face was shining with un- clouded happiness, when his father broke the pleasant silence. " Robert," he said, sharply ; and the son looked up to see his smile vanished, and his face overcast. " Yes, father," he answered, in some amazement. " Robert," repeated Mr. Waldron, " I was not pre- pared to see you so light-hearted. This is not what your letters led me to expect. I have a hard question or two to ask you, my boy, and it is as well to ask them first as last." THE PRODIGALS RETURN. Ill The air of gay and tender sentiment fled fiom Robert'3 face, which he turned partially aside from his father's keen scrutiny. " First of all," he said, " you must tell me truly, Rob- ert, what has become of that poor girl ? " " Father, I don't know," answered Robert, in a tone of irritation; " I can only repeat what I have said already. She left me at Falaise, five months after we went away, and I have 'never heard a word from her or of her since. I have done everything a man could do for my own peace of mind ; but I could never find the slightest trace of her. It was not that I wanted to see her again — we had been too miserable together for that — but I wished to make a provision for her. I would have given a good deal, either of time or money, to make sure she was not in want." "Robert," remarked Mr. Waldron, after a pause, "] thought you were a repentant man." " So I am," cried Robert, hotly ; " there are times when I could cut off my right hand, if that would undo what I did. But I cannot feel like that always ; it would have been unnatural to feel like that to-day, when I see you and my sister again. Perhaps to-morrow I shall have one of my fits, and then you will see if I am not repentant. Why will you not let me enjoy myself while I can .' " " But I do not understand fits," said Mr. Waldron, who had pursued an even tenor of unemotional life, both public, social, and religious ; " a man is a penitent until he obtains pardon. Then he becomes a religious man and a member of the Church, and steadily fulfils his duty towards God and man. There is no need of fits. Are you seeking pardon ? " "Not just at this moment," he answered; but his light tone changed to one of respect, as he caught sight of Mr. Waldron's anxious face. " Dear father," he added, 112 HKSTKR M()1 out of the country. But to-morrow I shall see him at chapel, and next week he will stand beside me at the grave of our old pastor. I had better go home and think it all over quietly by myself; and may God give me grace to prove myself a true Christian." He wrung Grant's hand convulsively, and took a last furtive glance at the grey, despairing face in the window opposite. Then he retraced his steps homewards, and, like Carl Bramwell, shut himself up in his room alone to think over the discovery of John Morley's crime and Rob- ert's danger. CHAPTER XXXII. HESTER'S SANCTUARY. MISS Waldron took care that Carl should have no opportunity of seeing Hester again until some of the excitement of his new position had worn off, and until she had established a stronger influence over him. It was astonishing how great an effect her clever platitudes had upon him. She possessed the art of investing common- place observations with a seeming profundity which might easily have imposed upon an older man than Carl ; while at the same time she surrounded him with those thousand minute delicate attentions which lie only in the power of a woman. Once or twice she drove with him to ^hn Mor- ley's house, and waited in the carriage at the door while he made a pastoral call ; by which means she insured an extreme brevity of visit, and had the satisfaction of learn- ing that Hester had not made her appearance. 1 How long she could have maintained this careful line I of conduct is uncertain, if Grant had not been impatient to introduce Carl more familiarly to John Morley ; and he took the first chance that presented itself Carl naturally chose to see a good deal of his future brother-in-law ; and though Grant was made welcome at Aston Court by all, even by Miss Waldron, who was fully awake to this weak point in her position, yet she could not forbid the young minister visiting him in his own rooms. A favorable op- HESTER'S SANCTUARY. 217 portunity occurred before long, when Grant invited him, without formality, to call upon John Morley. " I want you, if possible, to infuse a little hope into his nature," said Grant ; " and then, if I could induce him to shut up shop an hour earlier and take some healthy exer- cise instead of going to the prayer-meeting, we should make him a tenfold better Christian than he is. Don't you agree with me ? " "To be sure I do," answered Carl. "Miss Waldron wouldn't," said Grant, laughing; "but it stands to sense that when a poor fellow's liver is as bad as a liver can be, he cannot be as good a Christian as he ought to be. I'll make you see that as plain as print, Carl, if you will only attend." " Hadn't we better see Mr. Morley first ? " suggested Carl. " Well, I'm ready," he answered. " I don't need a hat just to cross the street. There a customer has gone in — a rare bird opposite — but if you like we will go aryd see Hester first. I am quite at home over yonder." He proved the truth of his last words by entering the house without knocking at the door. The lobby had a damp earthy smell, at which he uttered a significant " Faugh ! " He passed on without ceremony up the stair- case to Hester's little sitting-room, the door of which was half open. It was the same homely, austere, bare room where Robert had passed his weary hours of convales- cence. To Carl's student-eyes it was full of charms. The glitter of gilded bindings upon the bookshelves ; the pile of snowy work upon the table where Hester had been sewing, w-ith an open volume before her. A small thimble lay upon the page, so curious and rare a toy to Carl that he could not foi'bear to take it up and try it upon his own fingers, one after the other, until it fitted the least. He 10 2l8 HESTER MORI.EV'S PROMISE. wibhed that Miss Waldion would sometimes employ her- self with sewing. The open book was one of his special favorites : and several others upon the shelves were well worth his own reading. He put his liat down on the table near to Hester's work, and regarded the whole with a sin- gularly pleased smile upon liis lips. There were no more than two chairs in the room, Hester's and another. He took the other, and looked across to her seat beside the white work and the open book and the thimble lying upon the page. Miss \Valdron's kind admonitions were all lost upon him. He had been in the room, Hester's sanctuary, alone, for Grant had left him there while he went to seek her. Grant was not actually away more than a minute, for he had gone only to the end of the long passage, to the door which connected the workroom with the dwelling, and there shouted to Lawson, in his loud, sonorous voice, to ask if she was up in the attic. Hester's own clear tone had answered, inviting him to come up to her. He went back to fetch Carl. " She says we are to go up to her," he announced. " Who says .'' " asked Carl absently. " Who says ? " echoed Grant ; " good gracious, Carl, what a dreamy fellow you are ! Why, Hester says so, Hester Morley. I wonder at you. Come along with me." Carl followed him, almost with a guilty conscience, a sense of treachery and disobedience to Miss Waldron. Yet was it not decidedly his duty to become acquainted with Hester ? He would set so strict a guard over himself that he would not fall into the danger his kind sisterly friend apprehended. He knew indistinctly that they were passing through some remarkably dingy rooms and up a narrow staircase ; and then they came to a flood of sun- shine, and a glorified attic, with a young, lovely, gracefu' HESTER'S SANCTUARY. 2ig girl standing in the midst of the sunbeams, glowing and blushing with surprise, and looking into his face with sh})-, almost timid, grey eyes. It was time for Carl to shake off his absence of mind. It was perfectly necessary that he should conduct himself as a pastor. After uttering a few words, what he knew not, he looked round the curious apartment, and saw an undersized and withered-looking man standing behind Hester. When he met Carl's eyes he bowed profoundly, and with an ease that confounded the young scholar, who had made no study of any mode of salutation. It was a full minute before he could ven- ture to glance at Hester again, but when he did so, she had turned back to the binding-press in the window where Grant was looking carefully at her work. Carl drew a step or two nearer to them. " Mr. Bramwell," she said, "this is my own work. I have learned to gild the books after Lawson has bound them. This is Lawson, my father's bookbinder, and my oldest friend." Carl shook hands cordially with Lawson. " Mr. Grant ought not to have brought you up here the very first time." continued Hester, a little reassured. "I did not know you were with him, or I should have come down stairs to you." " I am very glad you did not know," said Carl, with difficulty. " I am not sure that I am altogether sorry," answered Hester, feeling a girlish sympathy with his evident embar- rassment, and talking the more fluently because of it. " You know I have seen you several times already, though I have not spoken to you and I do not feel as if you were quite a stranger. Besides, Mr. Grant has talked to me a great deal about you and your sister. I know all about 220 HESTER MORLEV S PROMISE. her ; and I do hope she will like me very much when she comes to live at Little Aston. Carl felt as if he should renounce his sister if she did not niake Hester her chief friend — after Miss Waldron, perhaps. " I think," said Hester, with a charming little toss of her head, ''it is quite as well you should know at once that I belong to the working classes. Yes, I work up here five or six hours a day, for poor Lawson's hand is not always steady enough for it. I am not at all an idle, elegant young lady ; Mr. Grant will tell you that. He sits by the press .sometimes for a whole hour watching me." What would not Carl give for such a privilege? He caught himself wondering whether he should ever do the same, and reproved himself sharply for it. " Hester looks upon me as an old married man," said Grant, with a laugh ; " and I believe I am the only one she ever sees, except her father and Lawson." A flush crept slowly over Hester's face until it deepened into a crimson hue of shame, so plain and so painful that both of them turned away on pretence of looking at the specimens of binding upon the walls. " She is as shy as a lapwing," whispered Grant in Carl's ear ; " I ought not to have said it." " We will go down stairs now," said Hester, after a moment's pause ; and she took off her large apron, and smoothed down the sleeves which had been rolled up above her round and dimpled elbows. " My father will be very glad to see you, Mr. Bramwell. For the last three or four years Mr. Watson could not come often to see us, and my father receives no other visitors, except Mr. Grant." Carl followed her down stairs, wondering at his own HESTER'S SANCTUARY. 221 silence and ihe difficulty lie felt in speaking to her. Relief came to him in John Moiley's presence, for the melancholy and reserved man brightened at the appearance of him and Grant. The fire and beauty of their early manhood, its freshness and buoyancy, had still a nameless charm tor him in the midst of his disease and gloom. He listened to their keen lively conversation, and allowed himself to be drawn into its current. Carl was conscious of talking well and aptly, and of interesting his host ; and he stayed so long that Grant was compelled to leave him. He scarcely knew how he had the courage and resolution to say farewell at last ; but he awoke from a confused trance as his foot struck against the massive door-sill of the entrance-hall at Aston Court, and he felt that the next minute he should be in the presence of Miss Waldron. Should he tell her where he had been, or keep it a secret from her? He felt guilty enough to know that he had gone very near the folly against which she had so emphatically warned him. Yet he was a free man, in bondage to no one. But did not any friendship, and especially a friendship so close and discriminating as Miss Waldron's, in some measure militate against freedom in its completeness ? Did he not owe a return of frankness and confidence to one who was so entirely, so sweetly open to him ? Yet, on the other hand, what had he to tell ? He could not confess that he had put his hat down on the table close to Hester's work, and tried her thimble on each of his own fingers. His veins tingled at the recollection. No ; there was nothing to say about his visit, and it would only give rise to misapprehension in Miss Waldron's mind if he mentioned it. With this reflection, amounting almost to a resolution, he went on into the drawing-room, where, the servant told him, volunteering the information with a covert smile, 222 IIKSTER MORLEY's PROMISE. he would find Miss Waldron. She greeted his arrival with the blandest of welcomes, and invited him to a seat upon an ottoman placed near to her own lounging chair in front of a window. She was herself in the shade of the curtains, which shed a becoming hue over her somewhat faded face. " You have been absent for some time," she said, soft- ly ; " it is more than an hour since I went to the library to look for the seventh volume of Kitto, and you were then gone away. Have you been making some visits among our people ? " " I went to see Grant," answered Carl, with an air of hesitation. " To be sure," she continued ; " I suppose he is now very busy with his preparations. Is there nothing I can do to help them on ? You know for your sister I should be delighted to do anything in my power ; only I suppose we shall lose you when she comes to Little Aston." Miss Waldron heaved a sigh, which spoke inexpressi- ble things, and remained silently musing, with a sad eye fixed upon the future* for some moments. She then re- sumed her conversation rather abruptly. "Then you only went to see Mr. Granrt" she said. " No, not exactly," stammered Carl ; " at least, I went only with the intention of seeing him, but he asked me to go across with him to Mr. Morley's. "Indeed!" said Miss Waldron, with a significant cold- ness in her tone ; and then she betook herself to silence, which extracted more information from Carl than the most persevering cross-examination would have done. " We went across," he said, in hurried accents j " and as Mr. Morley was engaged, Grant took me up stairs into the workshop, where the binding is done. Hester was there, but we stayed only a few minutes, and then we HESTERS SAXCTLARW 223 came down to see Mr. Morley. He is. as Grant says, a singular study ; and it is possible thnt 1 may do him good." "And get harm to yourself." she replied, forebodingly. " No, I think not," he said ; " but if it were so, should I do well to set my own welfare before his ? Ought I never to run any risk to myself for the sake of the souls of my people? We applaud those who go into a plague- house at the peril of their own lives ; and should not I, in my ministr}' to others, sometimes lose sight of my own soul?" " He spoke with ardor and agitation, while Miss Wal- dron fi.xed upon him a dull gaze of wonder and disappro- bation. " I do not agree with you," she said ; " no charge can be so important as that of our own soul. But I will pray for vou that you may not be overtaken in a snare. Would it not be a help to you if we met one another at the throne of grace at some stated time ? " Carl was perplexed, and looked question ingly into Miss Waldron's face. " I scarcely understand," he said. "I mean, shall we appoint a season when we may both pray in our own closets, with the knowledge that the other is similarly engaged at the same moment ? It is a great help to those who try it." Carl shaded his eyes with his hand, and steadily stud- ied the pattern of the carpet before he replied. A man of his age and temperament is often more bashful, not to say modest, than a woman of Miss Waldron's years and Jisposition. He did not raise his eyes, and he looked veiy much put out of countenance. " I think not," he murmured ; "there is such a solemn bccrecy in prayer between God and our souls. I feel as 224 HESTER MOKLEY'S PROMISE. if we ought to be alone before Him. Some may find it a help, but I think it would distract me." A silence of several minutes followed, which was be- coming almost terrible to him ; when at last Miss Wal- dron broke it in tones of profound emotion, — " Still I will pray for you," she said, " and watch for your soul. I proposed it for your sake only, that you might feel that you were not contending with the tempter alone. You are not alone, — you never will be while I re- main your friend." She rose, sobbing, and retired, it may be supposed, to her closet ; leaving Carl in an uncomfortable state of doubt as to whether he had not behaved like a brute. CHAPTER XXXIII. A PERILOUS PATH. THE marriage of Grant with Carl's sister was celebra- ted as soon as they could enter into possession of their pleasant house on the road to Aston Court. It was within a few hundred yards of the park gates, and in the direct route between the Court and the town. As soon as Grant returned from the necessarily brief tour of a young country surgeon, Carl quitted Aston Court, and took up his permanent abode in their new home. Miss Waldron had manifested a very charming interest in everything relating to Carl's sister ; and had added several ornaments and luxuries to her dwelling even be- fore having seen her. Nothing could surpass the em- phasis of her patronage and kindness to the young wife, upon her entrance into her new sphere. Oddly enough, there was a superficial resemblance between Annie Grant and Rose Morley, which struck painfully upon Mr. Wal- dron, though it escaped the observation of his daughter. She possessed the same slight and girlish figure, and the same fair hair and blue eyes ; yet the similarity of circum- stances and position, in the first pride and happiness of marriage, may have formed the chief resemblance between them. The same impression was produced by her on the mind of Hester. She had not been witness to the gay and innocent importance of a young wife since she had seen it in her stepmother. The old memories rushed back lik^: a 226 IIF.STER MORLEY'S PROMISE. flood upon her, and the old sadness, which had been lighter of late, once more returned to her face. It is probable that John Morley himself was oppressed by this likeness; for even his friendship for Grant and Carl, a passive, undemonstrative sort of friendship, was not strong enough to induce him to traverse the market- square of Little Aston, and approach the gates of Aston Court, in order to pay a wedding visit to the young doctor and his bride. Annie Grant went to see him, but her gay looks, her cheerful voice, and the bright colors of her dress, all jarred upon his morbid nature. After her visit, he had an access of melancholy which reacted upon Hes- ter. They felt that they dwelt apart in a charmed circle, which they could not pass, and which no other could en- ter. Yet there was one other encircled by the same heavy chain who could no more escape from it than they could. Robert Waldron stood aloof from all the small festivities of the honeymoon ; and his obvious melancholy strength- ened the link between him and Hester. These others, so glad and happy, and hopeful, what had they in common with her ? Their eyes were too dazzled with light to see clearly into the darkness where she and her father dwelt. She loved them with a love which exxluded envy, but fate placed her altogether apart from them all. She did not go so often as she might have done to Grant's house, or so often as Carl had, unconsciously to himself, hoped she would have done. He did not associ- ate with her in the pleasant familiarity he had looked for. To be sure his actions were now free from the hourly scrutiny of Miss Waldron ; but her kindly surveillance was not at an end. The distance between the two houses was nqt great, and there was no part of the town to trav- erse. She could come up in the most negligent and be- goniing morning costqme, or even with a shawl thrown A PERILOUS PATH. 227 o»<=i hei evening toilette, to spend only a few minutes with dear Mrs. Grant, at the most unexpected of hours. Her studies were growing more profound than ever, and Carl's Hebrew and Greek were in perpetual request. She soon knew the place of every book upon his shelves better than he did, and often employed herself with setting them in order for him. He felt that he ought to be grateful, and he strove to be so. It was impossible for him not to be pleased and flattered. Robert Waldron did not miss seeing his advantage, and making the most of it. Hester went the oftener to visit Madame Lawson, because she could take no pleasure in going to Grant's house ; and he did not fail to meet her there as often as he judged it prudent. It had become an unnecessary thing to make any excuse for seeing her thus, as Hester had fallen into a habit of taking it tacitly for granted. In a place so small as Little Aston it required some tact to prevent their meetings becoming known ; but he was a master of ingenuity. Besides, the entrance to the court was not commanded by any window, except those of the house where old Mr. Watson had used to live. The few inmates of the court were working folks, who had enough to do to mind their own business : and the woman of the house he gained over by judicious pre- sents. There was positively no danger, either to Hester or him, of their secret being betrayed. He considered himself advancing, with sure and steady progress, towards his end. Hester's new melancholy was rather a soft and tender sadness than the old. hard, gloomy monotony of the con tinual weight of dejection. There is a moment in the early dawn when the growing light seems to tremble and draw back a little, as if it would fain linger longer in the dark mantle of the night. Such a moment had come to 228 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. Hester. Her eyes had caught a light brightening on the horizon, and her heart had felt a glow of warmth reaching it ; and for a moment or two longer she wished to keep her eyes closed, and take back the familiar chill to her heart. She knew herself no more. Caprices, foreign to her hitherto, had gained the mastery over her. Some- times a passion of tears shook her ; at others a vehement desire to exhaust herself by action, when the binding-press in the attic seemed like a refuge to her. The shrewd old Frenchwoman fancied she could read the girl's heart like an open book ; and a hundred cunning little wrink.es net- ted themselves about her eyes and lips. She assured mi- lord Robert that before long it would be quite safe to tell Hester of his love. It was the hope, both of Mr. Waldron and Robert, that Grant's marriage might open the way naturally for once more inviting Hester to visit at Aston Court. The small festivities attending it might include her. When, therefore, Miss Waldron announced her opinion that it would be but a graceful courtesy to invite Grant, his bride, and Carl to dinner, with something of ceremony and state about it, Mr. Waldron gently insinuated that Hester, also, might be induced to join them, or rather that John Morley might listen to the invitation. Miss Waldron would prob- ably have scouted the idea with indignation, had not Rob- ert warmly seconded his father. She knew exactly how far she could venture in opposition to her brother ; and it was very plain that he had so set his heart upon this as to make contradiction dangerous. Tn consequence, Mr. Waldron was permitted to intro- duce the subject to John Morley, which he did in an in- formal manner at the close of a Sunday evening service, judging it best to take him utterly by surprise. Mr. Wal- dron had shaken hands with Hester, and looked into hei A PERILOUS PATH. 229 face with one of his half-fatherly glances of affection, when he turned to John Morley with an air as if he had but just thought of the matter. "Bythe-by, Mr. Morley," — he had dropped the epi- thet, brother, some time ago, — " Grant and our young minister, with Mrs. Grant, dine with us to-morrow. I think you ought to let my little friend Hester come with them. She wants some young society. Give me your promise that she shall come to-morrow." He waited with ill-concealed anxiety for the answer, and John Morley looked keenly but silently at him ; long- ing to inquire whether Robert was at Aston Court, for he knew nothing of his movements, yet unable to pronounce his name. " Should you like to go, Hester ?" he asked. Hester's heart had bounded with mingled surprise and pleasure at Mr. Waldron's invitation. For the last week or two time had been very monotonous and irksome to her, and she felt a girFs natural desire for some change. Besides there was no shock to her in the idea of meeting Robert Waldron, whom she had seen so often of late. " I should like it very much, she answered, " if you would not be grieved, father." " No, no,"' he said, hurriedly. " She shall come, Mr. Waldron, she shall come." John Morley drew his daughter's hand through his arm, as they passed through the chapel porch, and looked down upon her questioningly by the light of the lamp ha.-.jing ove* the entrance. "Hester," he said, with a new tone of tenderness in his voice, "Hester, they invite you now to their parties. Is it that you are grown up into a woman ? " "I suppose so, father," she answered, half gayly and half sadlv. 230 IIKSTKR MORLKV'S I'lvt^MISE. " How old are you then, child ?" he asked. "I am nearly twenty," she replied. " Twenty !" echoed John Morley. "And I have taken MO count of the years! Your mother was older than you when I married her ; and she has been dead these nineteen years. Have you any thought of being married, Hester? " The question was put in simple seriousness, but in the tone rather of a friend, than of a father, who might expect to have a voice in the matter. Hester's hand trembled a little upon his arm, but he did not perceive it. " How should I, father," she said. " Ah ! how should you ? " he repeated. " You see no one, and know no one. Yet, my child, I should like to know that you were happily married. When I think of it I feel that I have done you a great wrong. But you shall go this once to Aston Court. Have you any pretty dress you can wear, child .? " It was so extraordinary a thing for John Morley to concern himself in so frivolous a subject as dress, — his own or anyone else's — that Hester could scarcely believe she had heard him aright. Her wardrobe was scanty, for money was scarce, and becoming more so every month ; but she assured him, with an evasion very like a deviation from strict truth, that she should do very well. " Hester," he said, when they had reached a dark part of the street, and she could not see his face, though she could detect a sharp anguish in his voice, " do you know if his son is at home ? " " Yes," she answered softly, and pressing his arm to her side. "You will see him, and speak to him," he resumed, " I cannot. God forgive me in this, if I sin in it. I be- lieve it would kill me to meet either of them ; and I am A PERILOUS PATH. 23 1 n-'t fit to die yet. But they say he is contrite and repent- ar.t. I give you my consent to see him." The confession that she had already seen him trem- bled upon Hester's lips ; but the recollection of his pro- longed agony of despair sealed them. If she had had anything definite to tell him about Rose she would have had the courage to do it ; but to say only that she was lost would be simply to awaken the sharpness of his grief again. She resolved to pursue her course of concealment, and to hide everything from him that could add to his sor- row. It was a perilous path for a young girl to choose. Robert heard that Hester was positively coming to As- ton Court, with a delight which he could scarcely disguise. Ever since he had come to the conclusion that she, and she alone, could satisfy his fastidious notions of what his wife must be, he had longed to avail himself- of the advan- tages his position and surroundings gave to him. Hitherto she had met him only in Madame Lawson's garret ; and he wished her to see him in his own sphere, — the master of a position which must dazzle her young mind. He con- trasted with self-gratulation the sumptuous elegance and costly taste which he had introduced into his father's man- sion, with the bareness and poverty of her own home. All the next morning he sauntered about the handsome rooms, and the terraces, where still lingered much of beauty, even in the later days of autumn. He pleased himself with picturing Hester at his side, expressing more by looks than words her shy pleasure in this loveliness and luxury. By a curious perversity of reasoning, he had begun to regard a marriage with her as a fitting compen- sation for the wrong he had been giu'lty of towards her family. He felt sure that he could make his father ac- knov>'ledge the strength of his arguments ; but how could 232 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. lie convince John Morley ? He must secure Hester's love first. The evening came, and the hour when Hester should arrive. Miss Waldron had sent a carriage to Grant's house, for Carl was suflfering from a cold, which made it necessary to load him with most gentle attentions. She had, however, let Hester slip out of her mind ; and as An- nie Grant and Carl had no knowledge of her accepted in- vitation, they had, of course, come without her. Robert felt a wrathful pang of disappointment ; though he was not altogether sorry that Carl and Hester had not been riding in the same carriage. Mr. Waldron himself was keenly disappointed. The night was dark and foggy, and Hester had no one to escort her through the lonely park. Miss Waldron said she was sorry with a lurking smile of satisfaction, and busied herself to see that Carl had the warmest seat by the fire. Robert made no complaint, but went out quietly to order the carriage back to Little As- ton, and at the moment that he passed through the hall, the large doors were thrown open by a servant, and Hes- ter herself appeared upon the threshold. She stood still for an instant, with a glance, halffright- ened, into the great hall, which was brilliantly lit up. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breath came flutter- ingly with the speed at which she had been walking, and her large grey eyes were still deep and dark with the darkness through which she had come. The night, with its thick fog, looked black behind her, while the colored pavement of the hall and the stained glass of the lamp over her head, made the foreground rich in tone. The strong contrast of light and shadow, with Hester standing on the line which separated them, looking lonelv, embar- rassed, and timid, formed a perfect picture to Robert's f-yes. He hurried forward to welcome her, and the ser- vant drew back respectfully. A PERILOUS PATH. 233 " Is it possible you have come all alone V " he asked. " I had no one to come with me," she replied. " I went to Mrs. Grant's, but she was gone. I was obliged to walk on alone or return home.'' " Did you wish to come so much ? " he said, lowering his voice. " Are you, then, glad to be here again, Hetty ?" Her answer was not ready, and her eyes drooped till he could seethe nervous quivering of the long eyelashes. ^' I think I am," she said at last ; '' I am not sure. In some things it seems scarcely right to be here ; but still 1 am a little glad." The gladness was so qualified, and the qualification so conscientiously expressed, that Robert did not know whai to reply. "Go and take off your shawl," he said, touching it lightly with his hand • " I will wait here for you to take you in the drawing-room." He watched her intently as she followed his sister's maid up the broad low steps of the staircase with a subdued and quiet grace which was perfectly in tune with his matured taste. He paced up and down the hall, chafing at every moment she was away. There were twenty minutes yet till the hour for dinner, and he would keep her all to himself for that short period. Impatient as he was, he did not see her descend the staircase, and did not know she was close beside him, so noiseless was her approach, until she spoke in tremulous accents, and then he started violently. There was a scarcely-mastered excitement in herself which lent a color to her cheek, and when she placed her hand upon his offered arm, he felt that it was trembling. " We will not go into the drawing-room just yet," he said ; " I have a painting or tw'o to show you." He led her into a room which had been built especial- ly for his own use, since his return to Aston Court. It 234 IlKSTKR MORLEY'S PROMISE. was lofty and spacious, and waiiiscotted throughout by carved panels of some light wood wh.ich had a pleasant lustre upon its surface. There were a few good pictures and liere and there a handsome cabinet or book-case. Ai oue end was an organ which he had ordered to be mwlc for this particular place, that the volume of sound should suit the space exactly ; for he had become almost a mas- ter of music. A piano stood beside the organ. There was nothing of beauty or luxury lacking which his heart could desire ; and over all a soft light was shed by shaded lamps. He led Hester to the hearth, and placed her in a low chair before the fire. There he stood, with his arm resting on the mantel-piece, looking down upon her droop- ing head and shy, almost awkward, attitude of embarrass- ment. How poorly she was dressed, in her grey stuff" gown, with her sole ornament, a little silver brooch, fas- tening the collar round her graceful throat. There was not a maid-servant in the Court who could not have put on a smarter dress to go out on a visit. It would form an odd contrast with his sister's toilette, and the unfaded finery of the young wife. But he liked it well. The very poverty and simplicity of Hester's ajDpearance was charm- ing to him. Perhaps she guessed jjartly what he was thinking about as liis downward gaze scrutinized her, foi she glanced up to him with a smile of singular archness and sweetness. " I am not very fit for such a grand place," she said. Not fit for such a grand place ! Robert's heart bound- ed, and the blood tingled through his veins. What did Hester mean, wont as she often was to betray her thoughts with innocent frankness? Has she been thinking of her- self as — as — .' Robert could not finish the sentence in his own mind. What should he say to her? It would be something excessively significant, or excessively common- place. How much dare he say to her? A PERILOUS PATH. 235 The opportunity of saying anything was snatched from him ; for, while he hesitated, the door opened, and Mr. Waldron made his appearance. He did not see Hester until she rose from her low chair, and then he arrested himself with an exclamation of astonishment. "Why, Robert ! AVhy, Hester ! " he ejaculated. Robert was never at a loss as to what to say to his father, and now he found himself able to speak fluently. " I found Miss Morley just come in," he said ; " and as she was both cold and agitated by her lonely walk through the park, I brought her in here for a few minutes before taking her into the drawing-room." " Oh ! " was all that Air. Waldron could at first reply. He knew that his son must have seen Hester at the time that he was lying ill in John Morley's house; but he had no idea that any intimacy could have been founded upon that ill-omened introduction. He recovered, however, from his profound amazement enough to give Hester a most cordial welcome ; and then he conducted her himself to join the rest of the party. It was a more than usually pleasant evening both to Miss Waldron and Robert. She kept possession of Carl, and paid him every possible attention ; while Robert scarcely quitted Hester's side. This devotion did not escape his sister's observation, but it served her purpose well ; and she could not descry any danger in it. It kept Carl away from Hester, and threw him solely upon her blandishments. Robert's delight in Hester increased hour after hour ; and when the e\ening was ended, and she had gone away, this time in the carriage which also contained Carl, he resolved to ask his father's counsel ind consent to his marriage with John Morley's daughter before many more days had passed. CHAPTER XXXIV. A HUSBAND FOR HESTER, FOR several months past Mr. Waldron's first earthly wish had been, as we know, to see his son married. He was satisfied for his daughter to remain unmarried, as she adorned a single life by so much zeal and devotion ; and perhaps he was reconciled to it the more readily as his family name would not be transmitted through her to posterit}'. But already Robert had attained an age when a man grows more difficult to please, and more discrimi- nating as to feminine perfections. Hester ought to have been a hundred-fold more flattered by his preference than she could have been by the love of Carl Bramwell. Mr. Waldron's search after a daughter-in-law, whose price should be above rubies, was becoming an almost despair- ing pursuit; and Robert gave him no assistance. On the contrary, he appeared to be settling down into an indolent, self-indulgent bachelorhood. The day following that on which he had found Hester seated at Robert's fireside, with him leaning over her in a lover-like attitude that had struck him with amazement, the father and son walked out amicably together over the farm-lands belonging to Aston Court. Both felt that the time was come when they must speak to one another upon that which occupied their thoughts ; and Robert preferred doing so as far from the presence of Miss Waldron as possible. He accom- panied his father to the end of a stubble-field which was A HUSBAND FOR HESTER. 237 to lie fallow during the winter, and then he commenced the conversation in as composed a tone as it' he were mak- ing some agricultural observations. "I think, father," he said, "that it is time I married." Mr. VValdron planted his stick firmly into the soil, as .f he intended it to take root there, and gazed anxiously into his son's face. '• To be sure, Robert ; to be sure," he cried. " You were surprised to find Hester alone with me yesterday," he continued. " I was," replied Mr. Waldron, briefly. "Father," he resumed, stammering a little, "it was not at all the first time I have seen her of late. We know one another very well. The fact is, I happened to meet with her in the house of an old Frenchwoman." ""Vou don't mean the mother of John Morley's work- man ? " interrupted Mr. Waldron. " Yes," said Robert, '" I have met her there many times during the last few months." "Robert," interrupted his father again, with an expres- sion and tone the most severe he could assume towards him, "you cannot mean to tell me that you, a man of the world, knowing how ready the world is to gossip, can have taken advantage of Hester's ignorance to draw her into a clandestine intercourse with you .'' " "I have," owned Robert, in some confusion. " [ wonder how you dare to confess it," continued Mr. Waldron, leaning heavily upon his stick, as if his son's words had wounded him deeply; " she is so simple, so unsuspect- ing ! She did not knov; to what censure she exposed her- self. Suppose your sister had found it out ! " Mr. Waldron's face wore an aspect of real te-t:r ; but Robert smiled a little to himself. " I took care that nobody should know, " he said ; " you 238 JIESTICR MORLEY'S PROMISE. need not be afraid for Hester. But now you will not be surprised to hear me say that I love her more than any woman I ever saw ; ay, more than I ever supposed I could love. It seems to me that there can be no love in the world like that I feel for my little Hetty. " Robert's handsome face, with its new air of profound and passionate tenderness, looked handsomer than ever as he spoke ; and his father, regarding him fondly, fancied that any woman would forgive him any previous folly. " But have you forgotten the past," he said. " Forgotten it ! " he exclaimed ; " have you or my sister suffered me to forget it .'' Forget it ! Why, I have only to look into Hester's face with all its sweetness and beauty, and there I see my sin written legibly in its sad Hues, How can I forget, when it is Hester herself I love, in spite ot everything. " "But what can be done.'"' asked Mr. Waldron, desponcl- ingly. " I want to atone to her for all these years she has lost," he answered, with vehement earnestness. " I will make her after-life so bright that she shall forget all early sorrow. I will lift her out of the miserable confined lot that is hers, and give her a rank and wealth she could never reach with- out me. If she was but my wife I should have no fear for her happiness." " But it is morally impossible," objected Mr. Waldron ; " John Morley — " " He must consent," interrupted Robert, " if I only make sure of Hester. He is very poor, almost to bank- ruptcy. He is ageing fast, and Hester's future must be an anxiety to him. He is already reconciled to you, and has allowed her to visit here, knowing that she must meet me. If you will only help me, he will come round in time. He must — he shall." A HUSBAND FOR HESTER. 239 For a few minutes both father and son were plunged in profound thought. The rooks flew heavily above their heads, disturbed by their presence, and manifesting their discontent by hoarse cawing. Tlie young cattle came near enough to contemplate them with their brown eyes. There was a sharp struggle going on in Mr. Waldron's mind which was scarcely visible in his face, so long accus- tomed to hide his emotions. He was, as his old minister had told him, a proud man ; and he had sometimes re- garded John Morley as a person in a very inferior posi- tion. John Morley was, in fact, nothing more than a tradesman, and one in difficult circumstances ; and it was his only son, his heir, who wished to bring the daughter of the poor bookseller into his wealthy family as his wife. Yet Hester was so pretty, so simple, so clever ; she was so good also, that, but for the accident of her birth, there could be no one more worthy of being his daughter-in-law. Besides, Robert was very obstinate if he was opposed. He would refuse to look out for a more suitable wife, if he should deny him his consent and ass'starice. " I talked about it with Mr. Watson before his death," said Robert, at last breaking throuf,a the silence, " and he said he did not see any insuperable difficulties, or any in- surmountable objections in the way. He did not seem to see them so clearly as I did." " He was a timid man," replied his father, " and would agree to all you said. But how did he come to know of ' before me ? " "He saw me once or twice follow Hester into the court," he answered, '' and he had courage enough <:o speak very faithfully on the subject, I assure you. Well, he did not see why Hester should not in time become my wife. He said, however, that it would be more likely Xo come to pass if we only knew for certain that poor Rose 240 HESTER MORLEY's PROMISE. was dead. It is my firm conviction that she is dead ; but I can get no proofs." " Robert," said Mr. Waldron, earnestly, " you are los- ing sight of John Morley's implacable hatred. Ah ! my boy, you kept from me the history of that blow which al- most killed you last February. It was then you first saw Hester and fell in love with her. I do not wonder at it. But do you imagine that if he seeks your life, you can ever gain his consent or hers ? " " I think,"' answered Robert, "that his revenge spent itself in that blow. He is a good man, a religious man. He was hurried by a sudden passion into the attempt to commit that crime ; but as it failed, — luckily for me, — he soon repented of it, and was not sorry to extend his kind- ness to me. We have now something to forgive one an- other. I am more equal with him, and that is so much in my favor. Why else was he so hospitable and kind towards ma ? He visited me once, and spoke as a friend would have done. He knew Hester saw me often, and yesterday he allowed her to come once more to our house. I hard- ly dared to hope before ; but now with you to help me, I shall win Hester as my wife." His face, dearer to Mr. Waldron even than that of his daughter, shone with more gladness and hope than had been seen upon it for many years. His father could ob- ject no longer, but gave his hand a warm and fervent grasp. " I will help you, my boy," he said ; " yet I had my own little scheme for Hester, and it is possible it may prove in your way now. The moment 1 set my eyes on young Bramwell, I thought he would make a good husband for the little girl. They were both so young, so good, and so handsome. Our family owes John Morley a compensa- tion, and I fancied I had found it in liim I would have A HUSBAND FOR HESTER. 24I S^iven her a wedding dowry that would have made them ahnost independent of his Church, wherevei he goes. But now I hope he will not be in your way." He looked anxious lest he should himself have de- stroyed the chances of his son's happiness. Robert also was grave, counting up all the symptoms he had detected of love between Carl and Hester. They were very few, almost none. It had not escaped his notice that his sister was making herself foolish, as he termed it, about the elo- quent young preacher, ten years her junior, and he built some hopes upon that ; the more so as Carl came fre- quently to Aston Court and spent a good deal of time with Miss Waldron. Under other circumstances he would probably have manifested his disapprobation of such an intimacy with unmistakable plainness, but he hailed it as a sign that Carl preferred his sister's mature piety to Hes- ter's girlish prettiness ; and he was more than content to let the intimacy run a smooth course. " I am not much afraid of him," he said ; " yet I should have been quite as well pleased if you had chosen a more commonplace man for Little Aston." " I chose him for Hester," replied Mr. Waldron, in a tone which betrayed a lingering reluctance to abandon his favorite scheme ; " they are just suited for each other. I thought so last night. I wish you could give up this notion, Robert." " Never !" he exclaimed, vehemently. " I tell you I worship her. She is the only woman who can make me care for goodness or religion, or things of that sort. J have had enough to disgust me with it, but Hester makes it soothing and pleasant again. If I am ever to be an\-- thing but the idle, purposeless fellow I am, doing no good in life, it will be by winning Hester." - Mr. Waldron sighed deeply, buf he did not attempt to 242 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. explain his sigh. Robert's state of mind was still, as it had always been, a grief to him ; but he had come to the point of no longer pressing religious expostulation upon him. His sigh, however, included something more than that. There was a misgiving in it lest Carl, whom he had brought to Little Aston for the very purpose, had not already gained possession of Hester's love. But deeper still lay an unconquerable dread that it would be impossible to over- come John Morley's instinctive repugnance to give his daughter to the man who had brought so indelible a stigma upon his name. Every one else might plead the youth and thouglitlessness of the college lad, for Robert had been little more than that ; but could it be hoped for that dishon- ored husband should thus excuse him, or could ever be brought to look upon his conduct as the careless folly of a boy who had not learned to master his passions.^ They walked homewards in almost unbroken silence, and Mr. Waldron shut himself up in his private room to deliberate upon all the bearings of the matter. CHAPTER XXXV. CONSULTING CARL. THE more Mr. Waldron considered the subject upon which Robert had consulted with him, the more du- bious he grew as to the possibility of winning over John Morley, unless, indeed, Hester's own happiness should de- pend upon his consent. He endeavored to place himself in the position of the dishonored man ; but the power of seeing with other people's eyes cannot be acquired at the ige of sixty-eight. He saw his son, handsome, accomplish- ed, and rich, with a brilliant lot to offer ; and he could see Hester clearl}', as a very eligible daughter-in-law in every respect, except by birth. There had been always a pecu- liar softness in his heart towards Hester, — an anticipatory tenderness, perhaps. He would like exceedingly to have her always near to him. But John Morley was, as he al- ways had been, wrapped in an impenetrable mystery. He could no more understand him, members as they were of the same church, than Peter could understand his beloved brother Paul. Mr. Waldron glanced but briefly towards the world, though, no doubt, it would have something to say to such a marriage. Ten years ago its tongue had been busy with the story of Robert's sin ; and the world has a retentive memory for scandals. It would, perhaps, be easier to pacify John Morley himself than to satisfy its scruples, sometimes more exacting and delicate than those of an 244 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. individual conscience. But Mr. VValdron was not accus tomed to consider the world. He had long since turned his back upon it, and treated its opinions with contempt. If he approved of the matter, and the Church supported him, he could very well afford to leave all question of the world out of the transaction. To make sure of the pastor was one means of securing the approbation of the Church. He did not wish to star- tle or shock that small congregation of faithful men over whom he and Carl Bramwell presided. They were a sim- ple, uncultivated class, not accustomed to split straws, but it was within the bounds of possibility that they might be scandalized by his son's marriage with Hester Morley. There was a broad though undefined code of Christian morality written most plainly upon unsophisticated hearts which he was afraid of transgressing ; and upon this one weak point he yearned for the sympathy of his fellow- churchmen. It was not a formal approbation that he could receive or they give, but simply the encouragement of unchanged looks and undiminished reverence. He re- solved, first of all, to sound their young pastor. It was late in the November afternoon, and Carl was deeply absorbed in study, with that utter oblivion of the outer life which is known only to students. Certainly there was a pleasant impression of the previous evening hovering about him like a sunny mist, and mingling subtly with every movement of his thoughts. He came up from the depths at the entrance of Mr. Waldron into his study, with something of the bewilderment of a pearl-diver who has been long under the water. It was not for a moment or two quite clear to himself who he was, or who was the intruder coming in with all the freedom and ease of a pa- tron. " I wish to have a confidential conversation with you," CONSULTING CARL. 245 said Mr. VValdron, after a few minutes' desultory talk ; it is strictly a family matter. You are already well ac- quainted with the circumstances of my son's sojourn in John Morley's house." " Certainly," answered Carl, starting into a very keen, quick-eared attention. "You know, too, the whole history of his second wife," he continued ; " I am far from casting undue blame upon her, but she was a giddy, childish young woman, with no steady principles to protect her. There had been some love-making between her and Robert at Oxford, before she had ever seen John Morley. She was fully as old as he was, therefore, as a woman, she may be considered several years older. She came here, heard nothing of Robert for a year or two, and at last married for a home. Yon know the rest." " Yes," said Carl, his elbow resting on his desk and his hand shading his eyes. " Tell me," resumed Mr. Waldron, " what you suppose the consequences must be to my son ? He has long since repented of his sin. Is he to bear the burden of it his life through ?" " Nay," answered Carl, his lips parting with a smile of great tenderness ; " you, who are an elder in the Church, know the grace of God better than I can do. There is no burden of sin we may not cast away before the face of the Father." " But are the consequences to remain ?" asked Mr. Wal- dron. " Is he always to bear the stigma of his sin ? Is he not free to act as if he had never been guilty ? Ought the transgression to be forgiven by every man as well as by God ?" Carl paused. There was a swift current of sympathy and love running clear and unobstructed through his young 246 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. spirit which carried him irresistibly towards the side of mercy. He was as yet a mere student in human nature, and had no actual wrestle with temptation. He had not seen sin face to face. At present it was a veiled and awful form for him ; he had not beheld its hideous features, and received the ineffliceable memory upon his heart. "'None of the sins that he hath committed shall be mentioned unto him,' " he said in a lowered and reverent voice. " You yourself would act upon that," pursued Mr. Wal- dron. " My son is the same in your eyes as though he never was guilty of this sin." "Perhaps not altogether that," answered Carl ; "but who among us would enforce a penalty if God does not ? If He will make no more mention of his transgression, why should we ?" It was ^Ir. Waldron's turn to pause and reflect. His anxious face grew darker, and the knotted veins in his forehead became larger. He did not feel quite, sure of Robert's repentance, though he longed to believe in it. He wished to believe that his own prayers through so many years, had not faile(J in the court of heaven. Perseverance in an earthly court must have prevailed before this. He argued illogically. Because he had so earnestly prayed that his son might truly repent, his professed repentance must be sincere. "Mr. Bramvvell, "he said, suddenly, " what do yoa think of Hester Morley .?'' If Carl had been asked unexpectedly what he thought of the cherubim, he could not have been more stupefied or at a loss. He gazed blankly at Mr. Waldron, and did not reply till that gentleman repeated the question. " Oh ! I think she is very good,"' he answered somewha( CONSULTING CAKL. 247 coldly ; " she is a member of the Church, and an excellent daughter. My sister is very much attached to her.'' " You have not seen much of her ? " remarked Mr. Wal- dron. " Very little," he replied. "Would it astonish you;" said Mr. Waldron, hesita- ting ; " would it shock you in any way if you heard that my son, having seen her a good deal while he was ill this spring, was very anxious, nay, bent upon making her his wife ?" " Impossible !" ejaculated Carl, starting from his seat as if he had been shot. He took a hasty turn or two across his study, and then came back to his chair opposite his visi- tor. " I think I must have misunderstood you," he said with a ghastly effort at a smile. " Did you say that Mr. Robert Waldron wishes to make" the daughter of John Mor- ley his wife ?" " Yes," replied Mr. Waldron, briefly. "It is impossible !" said Carl. "Your son's sin de- mands great charity from us ; but he must not ask Hester to share the burden he has to bear all his life long. Oh, it would not be possible I" " But is my son never to marry ? " asked Mr. Waldron. " Yes ! " cried Carl ; " let him find some one with a spirit which would not be bowed down by such a burden. But Hester is too young, too ignorant of life, too simple- hearted. He would do well with a wife like his sister, strong in her own faith, and able to fight with him against his spiritual foes. Why should Hester's young and innocent heart be joined to one which must ever bear the sting of a sore repentance ?" " You are a young man, yourself," said Mr. Waldron, as Carl paused ; " a very young man. Tliere are scores, hun- dreds of marriages, — ay ! and happy ones, — where there 248 HESTER MORLEV'S I'ROMISE. has been an early folly like this. Hester would be rich, happy, and beloved. If John Morley should be reconciled to Robert, he would become a member of our Church, and would be ready to take my place in it when I am gone. Moreover, there was a something in Hester's manner last night which makes me hope that she is not averse to Rob- ert. You may have seen it yourself— a pretty, pensive, gentle pleasure in listening to him." " Yes," replied Carl, who had watched Hester furtively during the whole of the previous evening, and who had seen every little gesture and every expression of enjoyment that had escaped her. "Then if she loves him," resumed Mr. Waldron, "and if that folly of his youth should not be remembered against him now he is a man, I see no impediment- to their mar- riage. I see in it rather a compensation for the past. If John Morley's poverty and shame have come from us, sure- ly the honor of marrying his daughter into our family ought to balance it. Do you agree with me ?" CarFs restless hand moved absently among his papers. His face had grown pale, and his bright, keen sight, dim. Until this moment he had looked at John Morley's misery from the outside. By temperament he was profoundly sym- pathetic, and was touched to the quick by the feelings of others. But by this very law of his nature he had re- garded John Morley and his exaggerated grief from the point of view of the Waldrons, with whom he had been most closely associated. He had placed himself in the position of Robert, and pleaded for him all the excuses he would have sought for himself. But now he seemed to look into the very heart of John Morley, — that heart on fire, as Grant had once called it. That Hester Morley should love Robert Waldron ! That she should ever be- come his wife ! He pushed away the hair which had fallen i CONSULTING CARL. 249 over his forehead, and gazed fixedly at jMr. Waldron, who said, " Do you think with me ?" " I think," cried Carl, in an irrepressible frenzy, ' thjit the idea is monstrous! There are some sins which can- not be forgotten. It would be a horrible thing, in un- heard-of thing." " Perhaps you love Hester yourself," Mr. Waldron sug gested. Carl hastened to regain his self-control. Mr. Wal- dron's face was one of sharp and anxious scrutiny ; and he did not wish to subject himself to any more pointed questions. " I was thinking of her father only," he answered ; " 1 believe that to him it will appear more monstrous than it does to me." "Carl," said Mr. Waldron, in an accent of pity, "I like you ; ay, I honor and trust you. In bringing you here I thought it probable that you would love Hester. But this is my son's whole chance of happiness ; perhaps for the life to come as well as this. It may be his salva tion. You possess a better and holier happiness. Prom- ise me, at least, that you will not use your influence against him." " I have, perhaps, no right to influence her," answered Carl, sighing ; but I will commit her to His care who judges all men. If my prayers can shield her from peril, they shall not fail her." His heart sank a little after he had given this implied promise to stand aside while she was tempted with al that ambition and love could offer her. The sole weap- ons he could use in her defence were the prayers ^nc( teachings she would listen to from his mouth in the p.ubli.Q services of the chapel. CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW COULD IT END ? SCARCELY had Mr. Waldron closed the house-door after himself, having considerately forbidden Carl to quit his warm room, when a light rap at his study-door recalled Carl from his painful reflections upon the inter- view which had just ended. The second intruder was An- nie, who carried a little work-basket in her hand, and came in boldly with an air which plainly announced that she in- tended staying with him for a time. " Now, Carl," she said, " it is all nonsense you pre- tending you can study with that dreadful cold. My hus- band," — she uttered the word with a little bridling of the head, which showed that the title was still a new one, — "has been called out, and does not expect to be home till late. He said I was to come here and sit with you, and you were on no account to leave this room till bedtime. So I am going to order tea up here, and we will have a nice, quiet, cosy evening together, you dear old boy." She rang for the servant to bring the tea-tray and bright brass kettle up stairs, and was very busy for a time in making the tea and toast by Carl's fire. He sat upon the hearth, watching her with dimmed eyes and a colorless face. Annie was quick-sighted, and the weariness of his expression did not escape her, " Are you going to talk to me, Carl, or shall I talk to you ? " she asked. HOW COULD IT END? 23 1 "I would a great deal rather you talked to me," he an- swered. " I shall not say anything very wise, and I shall gos- sip," she said, threateningly. Carl leaned back in his chair, and stretched his feet out towards the lire. He could not make conversation, even to Annie, that night. His' mind was very busy, but very rambling, darting from one point to another of his interview with Mr. Waldron. Yet he was not sorry that Annie had invaded his solitude, and that her voice should prattle through the confusion of his thoughts. Now^ and then he caught a sentence of her lively gossip, and an- swered by a word or two. On her part she was weaving a very skilful and subtle web by which she might entrap his most secret sentiments ; but she might as well have gone directly to her point, so insensible was he to her del- icate handling. " She is very fond of me," said Annie, in a tone of great significance ; and, as he was thinking at the moment of Hester, the words startled him. '"She said last night she loved me like a sister." " I am very glad to hear it," he answered, earnestly. " I wonder how old she is," remarked Annie. Carl knew to a day Hester's age. She was four years and three months younger than himself He had seen the date of her birthday in a book which had been given to her years ago, but he did not give his sister the infor- mation she desired. " She perhaps looks younger than she is," said Annie ; " I think she is very good ; don't you, Carl .? " " Yes," he answered, in a very subdued tone. " And she thinks you," continued his sister, " the ver}- best, the very first, the most eloquent of men and minis 25- iii:sri:R morley s promise. ters. or course I agreed with her, but she said I was never to tell you so, Carl." Carl's face grew crimson, and with the gesture most flimiliar to him, he shaded his eyes with his long hand ; there were tears, he could not tell why, standing in them. Annie nestled to his side, and laid her head upon his shoulder. " Dear old fellow," she said, " I daren't quite say that she is in love with you; but she is not far from it. And I am not quite sure that I should like it altogether. She is not exactly what I fancied your wife would be. I should think she cannot be less than six or seven years older than you ; but she is very good and very rich, and her father is a great man among our people. Still I am not quite sure that I should like my brother Carl to become her hus- band." Carl had suffered too severe a shock that evening to be staggered by this one. The deep flush faded gradu- ally away from his face, and the tears dried under his eye- Irds, but he could not command his voice sufficiently to speak to Annie. " So now," she said, kissing him affectionately, " your mind is prepared for it. I don't believe you have vanity enough for the notion to enter your head of itself, clever as you are. It would be a very grand thing for you, but 1 don't exactly see how it would turn out in the end. You are very fond of her, Carl." " She is my friend," he answered, with parched lips and dry throat. "Ah, yes!" said Annie, sagely; "but everybody knows what such friendships generally come to. I don't mean, Carl, that you might not go on very comfortably as a friend ; but Miss Waldron will not. Mark my words, and make up your mind about it. Only if I were you, un- now COULU IT END? -DJ less I really cared for her, I would not let her come here so often. I should think you could easily put a check upon that. It is not nice generally for men to marry wo- men older than themselves, but she is everything else you like; isn't she? I wonder what Mr. Waldron and Mr. Robert will think of it ! " Carl felt glad that his sister's head was still lying upon his shoulder, and that she could not see his face. A pro- found sense of the derision with which at times life seems to flout and make a mock at us, filled his mind, and he laughed a short hoarse laugh, which grated upon his sis- ter's ear. " Why do you laugh, Carl .' " she asked. "I was laughing at Mr. Waldron," he answered, check- ing himself. " Why,*' continued Annie, " would you really marry Miss Waldron if you were sure she would marry you ? I was talking to Hester this morning ; she came up here to fetch a book she had lent me, and I asked her if she had noticed anything peculiar in her manner last night." " What did she answer ? '' asked Carl, with increasing interest. " She was shy, as she always is, of speaking out her mind ; but she said there was no doubt Miss Waldron was very fond of you." " Fond of me 1 " repeated Carl ; " did Hester say any- thing else ? ■' " She said what a pious woman Miss Waldron is," continued Annie ; " everybody says the same. But now, my dear boy, do not be rash in any way. I am a whole year older than you, and I'm married, you know; so listen to what I have to say to you. A great many pious wo- men are excessively disagreeable, I can tell you ; they are so good that ii does not seem worth while to be amiable. 254 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. They may have a good deal of treasure laid up, but they have no small change for everyday use. One of your great divines said himself, that good nature was some- times better than grace in a wife. Now I am afraid I have not so much treasure laid ujd as Miss Waldron, but I am not unpleasant to live with; at least James says so. Don't be in any hurry, in any way." Carl fell into a train of troubled thoughts again. His friendship for Miss Waldron was pure and chivalrous, founded upon the gratitude he felt for her very gracious and flattering regard for himself. No idea that she cher- ished a sentiment one degree warmer than his own would ever have entered his mind, had not Annie placed it so plainly before him. But now that his eyes were opened he saw it distinctly, and knew that he could never be blind again. He passed in review the incidents of the preced- ing evening, and then his thoughts were brought round once more to the first painful subject which had occupied them. " Annie," he said, in a very low and troubled voice, "do you think it possible for Hester ever to love Robert Waldron ? " "It looked very like it last night, Carl," she answered, gravely. " But, good heavens ! " cried Carl, forgetting his dis- approbation of any words at all approaching the nature of an oath, "the thing is impossible." '' I have been thinking about it all the morning," re- sumed Annie, "and I partly understand how it can be. Hester has lived so apart from the world that she is still like a child in many things ; and, Carl, as for sin ! why, she looks at it as the angels might do. Of couise we are bound to believe her corrupt and sinful, and all that sort of thing, I suppose ; but I say that Hester no more knows HOW COULD IT END? 255 how to distinguish between sin and sin than an ange would. It is clear that Robert Waldron does not shock her in any way, but that she is rather attracted by him than otherwise. I saw her look at him, once or twice yes- terday, with the open-eyed, wondering, unconscious gaze of a child. But at other times her eyes sank, and her face colored when he was talking to her. I am afraid she might love him." " But what could be the end of it ? " asked Carl, in a sharp accent. " Ah ! how could it end } " repeated Annie. She raised her head from his shoulder, and turned her ear listening towards the window. There was a distant sound of hoof-beats coming on at a rapid rate, and a bright smile broke upon her face. She kissed Carl hasti- ly, bidding him go to bed early that night, and left him to the undisturbed course of his meditatinne CHAPTER XXXVII. A DIRECT EFFORT. F^ROM the time that Miss Waldron had become ic- quainted with the fact that a Popish Frenchwoman dwelt in idolatrous darkness within sight of the very walls of the chapel, where the gospel was preached every Sun- day, though in a language unknown to her, she had re- solved upon making her the subject of one of those direct efforts which had often so signal an effect upon the poor women of her district and mothers' meetings. She order- ed from John Morley a packet of English tracts translated into French, and with these and a French Bible in her large satchel, she sallied forth, the morning after her fa- ther's interview with Carl, to seek the dwelling of the be- nighted foreigner. It was about midday, and Madame Lawson was regal- ing herself with a savory ragout, highl3--seasoned with gar- lic, which she was wont to have cooked in her landlady's oven. She had added to her repast a glass or two of good Burgundy, supplied to her by Robert Waldron, which she could only take at those meals when her son was ab- sent, for fear of his discovering the secret of her distin- guished visitor. She was in her most exhilarated mood. The noonday happened to be one of the rarely bright mo- ments of November, and the high window of her garret caught the sunshine, while all the court below was in gloom. There was no fire in the grate, but a warm chaf- A DIRECT EFFORT. 257 frette filled with wood-ashes from the oven stood under her feet. The three little bronze crucifixes over the etnpty fire-place shone full in the brightest of the sunbeams, and were the first objects upon which Miss Waldron's eyes fell as she entered the garret. Miss Waldron had not the proficiency in French which her brother possessed. She had never been out of her na- tive isle, and her father, entertaining a true old-fashioned British contempt of foreigners, had never invited any to his house. Her acquaintance with the language was, in con- sequence, almost limited to a perusal of Telemachus and the works of Madame de Genlis, which she had gone through with her dictionary and a master. Madame re- ceived her with a torrent of patois, of which she barely un- derstood one word ; but Miss Waldron was not to be daunted. She laid her packet of tracts upon the table and seated herself on a distant chair. " You are a Frenchwoman," she said austerely. Yes, Madame was a Frenchwoman from Bourgoyne, and she could not speak one word of English, — not one word. To speak English was like swallowing fish-bones. " You are a Papist," observed Miss Waldron, who had scarcely understood the previous remarks. Papist ! She did not comprehend what was Papist. " Your religion is Papist," said Miss Waldron, pointing to the little crosses and rosary. Yes, yes ; that was her religion. She was a Catholic. That v/as her chaplet ; she said her chaplet twice a day. sometimes oftener, if she was triste. When she felt very sad, she said a little prayer first, and then sang a song. Would she like to hear a song ? Without waiting for permission, the gay old lady start- ed off with one of her merriest songs ; her eyes growing smaller and brighter, and the cunning little wrinkles start- 258 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. i.ig out more and more wickedly at every line. Miss Wal dron could not catch a word of the song, but she trembled at the thought of what she might be listening to, and her face grew a dull red. She moved uneasily in her chair, and glanced towards the door. At the last line of the song Madame winked, — positively winked at her visitor; and then crossed herself in so sudden a manner that Miss Waldron was still more dismayed. "I am Miss Waldron," she said, entrenching herself behind the dignity of her name. Waldron ! Bah ! She could not speak such a word. But was it not the name of the fine young milord Robert who did her the honor of paying her a visit sometimes? Quite an English milord, but with a beautiful toilette and with rings on his fingers, who could speak French like a Frenchman. Miss Waldron was puzzled. It was not at all in Robert's line to visit poor old women ; yet she knew that he could speak French fluently, and it was not probable that another person, possessing equal proficiency, could be found in Little Aston. But what could bring Robert there ? The thought of Hester flashed across her like a ray of light. " He is my brother," she answered, slowly, and with some difficulty, as she pondered over a totally unprepared phrase. She had arranged beforehand a conversation which ought to have proceeded like a catechism, but she was completely thrown out. She stammered and hesitated, but at last she was compelled to put her question in a bald, unvarnished manner. " Does he meet a girl called Hester Morley here ?" she asked. The smooth .clean face of Madame assumed the inno cenceof a child, combined with virtuous indignation. She answered firmly in the negative, with a gesture of utter repu- diation ; but Miss Waldron's aroused suspicions w-ere not A DIRECT EFFORT. 259 to be rocked to sleep again. Hester came here, and she had learned that Robert did so too. What could it inean Could it have any meaning but one ? " I am afraid," she said, in very incorrect French, for she was agitated, and her tongue tingled to speak in strong English, " that you are a very wicked woman. I knew you were a Papist and a Frenchwoman ; but I am afraid you are worse. I came here with the purpose of doing you good, but I fear it is impossible. I shall speak about you to my father, Mr. Waldron, of Aston Court, who is a ma- gistrate. Madame Lawson could not understand many words of this speech, but she could see that the visitor was very greatly displeased. It occurred to her that she had come on a mission of suspicion and espionage, and she resolved to throw her off the scent. Her brown eyes, — eyes which betray nothing, met Miss Waldron's gaze, and a sinister air of intelligence spread over her face. " Mademoiselle Hester comes to see me sometimes," she said, very distinctly, " but never, oh ! never, when mi- lord Robert comes. There is a young priest at the chapel where Mademoiselle makes her prayers ; and in England, the priests marry. He is very handsome and young, like Mademoiselle Hester. It is possible he may marry him- self with her." Miss AValdron's heart sank very low. That such a calamity was possible she could not conceal from herself; but it had never been put into words and uttered in her hearing. She was lost in distressed and perplexed thought, not able to ply the old woman with clever questions. Madame regarded her with a crafty smile. Grant had once brought Carl to see her, but the visit had made little inipression upon her, except as awakening an odd interest in 'he priest who could marry if he chose. She was 26o IlKSTKR MOKLEY'S PROMISF. conscious that she had made a happy hit, though she did lot know exactly where it wounded. " Does Hester love the young priest ? " asked Miss Waldron at last, unable to cloak the inquiry more skilfully. " It is necessary to love one's director," she answered, with a leer full of insinuation ; "and he is so handsome, like la petite. It is also his duty to love all his people." Both Madame and Miss Waldron had been too en- grossed to catch the sound of the stair-case creaking under a footstep ; but at this moment a sallow and withered face, with two eyes set in it like burning lamps, appeared at the half-open door. Madame uttered a little scream, and dex- terously snatched the bottle of Burgundy from the table, putting it by a sleight of hand, into its hiding-place under her bed. But the new-comer paid no attention to her move- ments. He had taken off his old paper cap, and fastened upon Miss Waldron a gaze which did not permit his eye- lids to wink. She experienced a very peculiar sensation of discomfort under the fixed scrutiny of these burning eyes. " It is my son, Madame," said Lawson's mother, intro- ducing him with an air of ceremony. " Can you speak English, my good man ? " inquired Miss Waldron. " Certainly," replied Lawson ; but before we go any further, may I ask what your name is ? " " Miss Waldron, of Aston Court," she said, with em- phasis and dignity. " So I guessed," he cried, clenching his hands ; " you are a lady, and I'd be sorry to frighten you. But it is as much as your life is worth to come here. I am Mr. Mor- ley's workman, and love Miss Hester. I knew her mother and the second Mrs. Morley. Now you'll see you'd better I I A DIRECT EFFORT. 26t not come here again. This is my house, and I will have nobody in it belonging to you or yours." " I came here to convert your mother," said Miss Wal- dron, with great courage. "Then she must go unconverted," he said, his tone rising to a higher pitch ; " if you and yours are to go to heaven, then me and mine must go elsewhere. It is not safe for you here. John Morley and me are waiting — waiting till the right time comes ; for there is deadly hatred betwixt us and you. You had better go at once, while I warn you. I'm a quiet man, but you had better go." His voice had risen shrilly with each sentence, till now it rang in her '^ars with a shriek, which the children at play below hear'i, md stopped suddenly to listen. Miss Waldron seized h' r sa'jhcl and fled ; and, as she hurried through the court the wi'idov.- above was opened violently and her loos^-n^d packet of tracts fluttered down about he like a Ho.lf^ of frightened dp^es. CHAPTER XXXVIII. SOMETHING MORE THAN A FRIEND. AS Miss Waldron issued from the low passage leading to the court, Carl was hurrying past with long strides, and with his head bowed down as if heavy with momentous thoughts. She uttered a cry of joyful relief, and almost flung herself upon his arm. There was so evi- dent a fright, both in her flurried manner and the startled expression on her face, that Carl gazed about him and peered down the narrow alley to ascertain the cause of it. She sobbed hysterically ; and having sufficient presence of mind to take advantage of the opportunity, she did not attempt to control her agitation, as she must have done had she been compelled to pursue her way alone, or had she met any other acquaintance. She leaned heavily and helplessly upon the arm of the embarrassed Carl. The street was quiet, but he glanced up and down it with a feeling of dismay. There needed but one or two observ- ant passers-by to attract a whole crowd about them from the surrounding houses. The key of the chapel vestry was in his pocket, and the chapel was on the other side of the street. " Would you like to sit down for a few minutes in the vestry ? " he asked. " Oh, yes ! yes ? " said Miss Waldron, between her sobs. Carl led her across the street, and once again he cast SOMETHING MORE THAN A FRIEND. 263 a keen glance about him. There were only a few children to be seen at play. But no ; coming up the pavement was a light and tall figure, dressed in a soft grey dress which he knew very well to be Hester's. She was on the sunny side of the street, dazzled perhaps by the white wintry sunshine ; for she did not seem to see them in the shade, though he was a long time in fitting the key into the lock, in the hope that she would recognize them, and he could make a sign to her to come across to them. Miss Wal- dron did not see her. " There is Miss Morley," said Carl ; " shall I run over and call her to come to you ? " "No," answered Miss Waldron, plainly enough, and without a sob this time ; " I would much rather not see her at this moment. I have something very extraordinary to tell you, Carl." The name Carl seemed to fall from her lips unconsciously in her state of excitement ; but he felt a nervous tremor at the sound of it. He opened the vestry door and went in, with Miss Waldron still supporting herself upon his arm. He placed her in his own chair beside the table, and stood opposite her before the empty fireplace. Above it hung usually the portrait of a distinguished divine of their denomination, in a full-bottomed wig and white bands, at the back of which was a small looking-glass where the pas- tor of the church could take a stealthy glimpse of himself before ascending the pulpit. Carl had turned the portrait with its face to the wall the preceding Sunday ; and now, instead of the smooth and pious physiognomy of the eminent minister, he saw his own troubled features, with the straight eyebrows knitted and the lips pressed sternly together. Miss Waldron began to sob less deeply, but she sat with her head averted, and with an air of modest confusion which almost drove him frantic. 264 HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. "Do you feel better?'' he asked ; "can I do any for )'ou ? " " I am better," she answered, faintly ; "in a minute or two I will tell you all." For that minute or two Carl set himself to conquer his impatience and irritation. Why should he feel so different to-day from what he had felt only the day before yesterday ? She was his friend still ; and he had only heard Annie's partial, and no doubt absurd, notion that she was some- thing more than a friend. A true friendship between man and woman ought to be able to bear a greater shock than the misapprehension and misconstruction of others. He almost detested himself for the ready and ridiculous vanity which had caused him to give credence to the story ; yet the hot blood mounted to his beating temples as he caught a side-long glance from Miss Waldron. " Carl," she said, in a voice as if it was still necessary to gasp for breath at each word, " I may call you Carl now, I think." What could he answer.? He bowed his head gravely, but without raising his eyes from the floor. " I am a little older than you," she continued, with a frank air, " and I am so used to hear your dear sister call you Carl. That is how I slipped into it. To call you Mr. Bramwell now would seem formal. I am thankful it is only you who have seen my agitation. It is foolish and silly, I know, but then 1 am nothing but a weak foolish woman." " You have been very much alarmed," remarked Carl, falteringly. " Oh ; exceedingly ! " exclaimed Miss Waldron, her hand pressed upon her heart ; "and I am so grateful to the i^rovidence which sent you here at this moment. It is but .• lother proof that our steps are all numbered." SOMETHING MORE THAN A FRIEND. 265 On his part Carl felt no particular thankfulness for having been found on the spot at that special moment ; but he rebuked the thought as it suggested itself to him. " I must tell you all," said Miss Waldron, " but to you only. It must be a secret between us two. I would not have my father made uneasy for the world ; and if I need any counsel or protection, you will give me both. I can count upon you, dear Carl.'' '• Certainly," he replied. Miss Waldron's narrative contained several details not to be found in the preceding chapter, all tending to cast a lustre on her own conduct, such as might be supposed by an uncharitable spirit to have existed only in her own im- agination. She omitted also the mention of Madame's suggestion with respect to Carl himself, though she was tearfully eloquent in connection with her suspicions con- cerning her brother and Hester being in the habit of seeing one another in the old Frenchwoman's garret. Here Carl possessed a knowledge of which Miss 'Waldron was igno- rant ; and nothing appeared more probable to him than that Robert Waldron had seized upon any opportunity of meeting Hester. But that she should consent to these clandestine interviews was a sure, convincing proof that he had won her affection ; and she had fallen into the snare through dread of her father. Could this be the sorrow which old Mr. Watson had foreseen for Hester ? Had he received some hint of the miserable attachment she had formed ? What could he do in the matter ? With his darkened face reflected in the little sacred nirror, Carl let these first thoughts run riot in his brain, while Miss Waldron meandered on in a gently purling stream of sentiment, which, to speak the truth, did more credit to her heart than her head, and which murmured idly against Carl's ear as a brook laps unheeded against 12 266 HESTER MORLKV'S PROMISE. the granite base of a rock. He had no notion of what she was saying. He was dethroning the image of Hester from its pure, sweet, girhsh suprentacy, and setting it beside the image of Robert VValdron. The mere thought of such a union shocked him. He turned away from it with revul- sion, as if it were a crime. It flashed suddenly across him that Hester had been intended for him ; he knew it, and felt sure of it. Their spirits were of one kind ; their hearts beat with the same pulse. If she had only waited a little longer before surrendering the treasure of her love ! But she had cast away her pearls, and had no longer any to bestow upon him to whom they would have been wealth beyond price. Carl suffered more intense pain this morning than he had done the night before while listening to Mr. Waldron. There had been the consolation of doubt then, but there was none now. Hester met Robert clandestinely, and it must be because she loved him. " I ought not to have been alarmed, even then," said Miss VValdron ; " I ought to have stayed myself upon a promise." " Certainly," replied Carl, not hearing what she said. "But I am only a feeble woman," she continued; "we are not like you and others, with your strong minds. I am afraid you will despise me for the future." She had never before pleaded her feminine feebleness, but now she looked up to him with an api^ealing and help- less gaze. From Hester's eyes such a glance would have penetrated the profoundest depths of his heart ; but from Miss Waldron it had no such effect. " Despise you ! " he said ; " oh, no ! why should I ? No doubt you had cause for alarm." " And you will esteem me, and — care for me as much as ever? " she asked, with a recurring sob. I SOMETHING MORE THAN A FRIEND. 267 " To be sure," he replied ; " why do you trouble your- self afresh, Miss Waldron ? There is no more cause for fear. As soon as you feel yourself equal to the exertion, I will see you safe home." "Carl," she said, in a bashful and hesitating tone; "if you really feel that we are friends, ai.d especially now we have a secret between us, and I have only you to look to for advice and protection, I w^ish you would leave off calling me Miss Waldron. You may call me by my name, Sophia." " But nobody calls you Sophia," exclaimed Cail, with alarmed earnestness. " But I will allow you to do so," she answered, conde- scendingly ; " it is less distant, and more friendly. To the rest of the world I remain Miss Waldron ; to you I am Sophia. Carl murmured his thanks indistinctly. It needed a great effort to save him from a lack of courtesy. But she was a good woman, a member of his Church, a lady, and the daughter of his patron. All these titles gave her so many claims to his respect ; and even if it were true, as Annie had intimated, that she distinguished him with her preference, that was no reason whatever why he should treat her with impoliteness or ill-temper. There was a mingled sense of shame and sorrow for her which lent to his manner a sufficient gentleness to blind Miss Waldron"s eyes, already dazzled with self-importance. She intimated that she was now ready to undertake the walk home ; and leaning confidingly, but not too heavily, upon his arm, they traversed together the watchful streets of Little Aston and the glades of the park, while unutterable sentiments filled the heart of Sophia Waldron. CHAPTER XXXIX. TEN YEARS AFTER. IT was a noticeable sight, and one fraught with tacit in- ferences, which had greeted Hester's eyes as she turn- ed the corner of the street and saw Carl and Miss Waldron about to enter the chapel vestry upon a day and hour when there was neither a public service nor a more private meet- ing of any kind. She had not chosen to recognize them ; for the question asked by Annie, whether she had not observed something peculiar in Miss Waldron's manner towards Carl, had been rankling in her mind ever since ; and the pain it created there set her on her guard, both against herself and them. She was in a transition state of moods and emotions, of which she could not breathe a word to any one. From the first moment her eyes had looked upon Carl's face, with its fine, clear, happy, and good aspect, so differing in its charm from the handsomer features of Robert Waldron, she had felt that there were other classes of men in the world than those she had met in her narrow sphere. Hitherto she had found no man strong- er in nature than herself; for in her heart of hearts Hes- ter knew herself less weak in the presence of trial and temp- tatioi than any of the people about her, with the exception, perhaps, of Grant. She was, though Mr. Waldron and Robert did not suspect it, little pliable to outer influences, and not easily moulded into a form foreign to herself Bui Carl was stronger than she. She looked up to him from TEX YEARS AFIER. 269 beneath the long fringe of her brown eye-lashes, mentally acknowledging him her superior. Sunday after Sundav she listened to him critically, and never caught a false tone or an affected one. She found her mind pondering over his thoughts, and confessing her belief in them. She began to feel as if she was his sole listener ; the congregation might be there, but they could not comprehend him as she did. A very sweet and subtle impression had taken hold of her, that Carl had been more eloquent for her than for any one else in his church. Now and then, when he had allowed his genius a higher flight than ordinary, and had soared far above the heads of his simple flock, his kindled eyes had sought hers and held it in a fascinated gaze, while he elaborated and concluded his thought ; and there had seemed a secret understanding between them, more perfect than that of words. But now Hester discovered that there was a second listener, with whom, perhaps, Carl had a still more intimate and delicate unison ; who might have the privilege of suggesting the themes of his eloquence, and who certainly could converse with him familiarly about his sermons. When Annie had plainly hinted at Miss Waldron's preference for her brother, Hester, yielding to a very natu- ral and feminine feeling of jealousy, had observed that she was a very pious woman. It was all she could say. To her Miss Waldron had ceased to be imposing or clever ; and she never appeared engaging. Hester scarcely cared to put herself into comparison with her on the score of beauty ; and she felt that she was her superior mentally. But in goodness ? In the one thing needful to a good man like Carl, how far she fell behind the acknowledged Saint of the Church at Little Aston ! Hester humiliated herself all that afternoon ; and, in consequence, was not so pleasant a companion to Lawson -'/O HESTER MORLEY'S PROMISE. as usual. She set vigorously to work to root out the tares from her heart, one of them being her young love for Carl, She made a number of vows, every one difficult of perform- ance. Her busy hands did not pause because of the inward storm ; but Lawson saw more than one tear stealing down her cheeks as she smoothed the gold leaf with her delicate ringers. He was himself excited, and could scarcely refrain from telling Hester of the occurrence of the morning. But her cloudy brow, and her mouth set into a firm line of decision and of secret conflict, silenced him. During the last few months she had grown out of the pensive, and almost timid child, into a mistress, who was gentle and gracious in her manner it was true, but who knew her own dignity and upheld it. When she spoke to him this after- noon, her voice was set in a clear but mournful key ; and her words were few. Lawson did not dare to tell her how he had encountered Miss Waldron in his mother's room, and had forbidden her ever to intrude there again. He would leave it for Madame to relate in her own way. At six o'clock Hester descended from the work-room and made tea for her father, still busy with herself She could not decide whether she would go to the week-night service at chapel, or stay at home to pursue her melancholy task of rooting up the tares. She debated the point until it was almost too late, and then she dressed in a panic, and sped in frantic haste up the dark street. The fine morning had merged into an evening of thick, cold rain, which was falling heavily, and splashed upon the pavement as she hurried along. Scarcely a creature was to be seen. Here and there a resolute worshipper, like herself, was trudging along under a wet umbrella, but she knew that the congre- gation would be a small one. And then it all at once oc curred to her, with a chill colder than the rain, that very probably Carl himself would be absent, as he was not ver) TKN VKAKS AFTKR. 2/1 .veil. She stopped at the door to regain her breath, and to listen if she could hear his voice within. Two or three persons passed her ; one of them a poor woman shabbily dressed in a widow's garb, who paused to look inquisitively at her from under her rust\- crape veil. Then Hester went in, caught for a moment the full, grave, searching gaze of Carl from his low reading desk, and going on to her accus- tomed seat, she sank upon her knees, with a strange, almost intolerable, sense of pain. For once Hester did not hear a word of Carl's sermon, though she caught the sadness and unwonted languor of his voice. As she left tlie chapel she saw the carriage from x\ston Court still waiting at the door, though Mr. and Miss Waldron were already seated in it. She crossed over the street, and hid in the archway of the court opposite, sim- ply to wound herself with the sight of Carl driving away with her rival. While she stood in the rain and the dark- ness, he would be whirled off in comfort and luxury. Hester felt for the first time how poor she was. Miss Waldron was rich as well as good, and Carl had made a wise choice. The worldly sneer had scarcely risen to her lips when she shrank from it instinctively, and drove the suspicion back to the unworthy regions from whence it had come to assail her. She watched the little congregation dropping away by twos and threes ; and suddenly recalled to mind a child- ish play of the lost Rose, who had often amused her by watching the creeping sparks die out of a smovildering piece of paper. Why did the memory of Rose return to her now ? Carl was just coming out of chapel, the last of all, and ran through the rain to the carriage, into which he sprang with the freedom and familiarity of one quite at home with those inside. She saw it roll away down the street, and then she prepared to follow, slowly and sorrow- fullv, through the beating of- the storm. 2/2 HESTER M(JKI.EV S I'KU.MISK. But had Carl been the last to leave the chapel, wheie a few lamps were still burning, though they were being put out one by one? Hester cast a last look towards it, and saw the poor widow in her shabby mourning, sitting desolately upon one of the steps of the portico. She was in a mood for lingering. She was in a mood, too, for pity and compassion towards any form of suffering. There was also a fine, and very insidious sense of pleasure in the idea of engaging in some good work, while Miss Waldron was wrapped in luxury and enjoyment. She would be, for the moment, beating her on her own ground, iiester re- crossed the street. The stranger was crouching upon the lowest step, with the rain driving full upon b'ir. She 'seemed to have reached this place, and then fallen, fur she was lying along the stone in an attitude of complete helplessness. Hester stooped, and laid her hano" i..\d towards Hester, but did not touch her, in a n^n*-J y-' " '-e which awoke within her a vasfue alarm. TEN YEARS AFTER. 273 " Speak to me," cried Hester : *■ are you ill ? What can I do for you ? " As she spoke the last light was extinguished in the chapel, and the outer doors were closed and fastened by some person within. The noise seemed to arouse the stranger. She rose to her feet, but staggered, and fell back against one of the large, square pillars of the portico. The continued silence and the agitation of this woman gave a shape to Hester's vague suspicions. A quick ter- ror and chill ran through her frame. The darkness which now gathered about them was a welcome veil ; a screen behind which might be acted scenes that must shun the day. The rain also, and the emptiness of the street, seemed to draw closer the curtain which ought to conceal the wretched creature at her side. " Tell me only who you are," she whispered, in a tone of mingled pity and terror. " Hester ! " moaned the shadow, which she could scarcely distinguish in the dense darkness of the night ] and there was no need for any other word to pass through the faltering lips. Hester sank down upon the steps, and with blank, be- wildered eyes, gazed into the blackness which hemmed them in. The poor lost Rose had come back at last ! The sinful woman whom she had urged Robert Waldron to seek out, and whose mysterious aisappearance had been a continual care to her. Her father's wife stood be- side her ! She felt her cheeks burn and her veins tingle. Now she had a vision of her sin which she had never had before. For a few minutes her woman's heart, — a heart which had known womanhood but for a little time, — cried out in strong condemnation of the sinner, as well as the sin. She felt that she could not forgive her all at once ; nor speak to her any words except those of ^ liehteous 2/4 HESTER MORLEV'S I'RUMiSK. anger and abhorrence. She knew now that she ought not to have married her father at all, unless she had felt for him such a love as would have lifted her ujd forever out of reach of the temptation by which she had fallen. Yet, thought Hester, after the first paroxysm was over, had not God brought them together thus, on the very threshold of His own house of prayer, to teach her tiiat if He did not cast her out, neither ought she, who might herself be tempted, and who was not without sin } She bowed her head upon her hands, and a passionate prayer went up irom her burdened heart for help and wisdom in this hour of extreme need. " What am I to do with you ? " she asked, speaking at last to the silent and motionless figure at her side, — stand- ing there like a voiceless ghost from some other world, which could utter no word until a question was put to it. " Oh Hester ! " she cried, " I could live no longer with- out seeing you and my home. You cannot thi'-'k what it is to be away ten years, and never hear a word, not a syl- lable, of those who belong to you. Would my husband forgive me, do you think ? Only so far as to let me hear him say so before I die ? I cannot live very long. Is he less angry with me ? Does he ever speak of me V " " No," said Hester, " he has not forgiven you. He never mentions your name." " Oh, my God! " wailed the lost woman ; " but I must get his forgiveness before 1 die. What is to become of me? I want to hide somewhere ; anywhere out of Rob ert's reach. He is trying to find me ; and I vowed to God when I left him that I would never, never look upon his face again. Do you know why 1 God keep you ever from a repentance hke mine. Shelter me somewhere, little Hetty ; hide me. You promised once that you would be always like my own daughter to me. Hester, you could TEN YEARS AFTER. 275 not turn away from your mother, however sinful she had Ljcn." The doleful words were wailed into Hester's ear, as she still gazed into the darkness. Rose had crept towards her, and stolen her arms round her waist. She did not push away the clinging arms, but she could not answer. " I am very young still," murmured Rose ; " no older than Miss Waldron, who was at chapel just now. I thought your father would be there, and I should see how changed he was. I am going to die, Hester. Yesterday the doctor in London said there was no hope for me ; so I resolved to come back home, to you and my husband. He is a just man, and a merciful man. He cannot help but forgive me before I die. I believe that Jesus has par- doned all my sins." In the voice of Rose, which was one to be remembered for a lifetime, there was a tone of hope as she spoke the last sentence, and she pressed her arms more closely about Hester. " Yes," she said, " I was very wretched, and I thought, when I did not see your father to-night, had I not better go back to London, and end my life quickly as women like me do. But then the preacher spoke, and a strange, strange peace entered into me. He looked towards me, where I sat behind you, Hetty, and he said, ' Our souls have no sins which the charity of Christ cannot coven' Then I resolved to trust myself to the charity of Christ, and to yours, little Hetty." Her voice was lost in sobs, long-drawn and painful, md her head sank upon Hester's lap. Hester's hand fell •oftly, with its cold touch, upon the fevered forehead. " If Christ will r^^ceive you," she said, with a thrill of awe as she looked up into the dark sky, as though she half expected to see a light from heaven breaking through the 276 JIKSTER MUKI.KY's PROMISE. black clouds, "who am I that I should cast )ou off? 1 will give you shelter for this night at least." Yet she did not move, nor help Rose to rise, but let her still lie there sobbing, with her face, which no eye could have seen, buried in her lap, as if she would fair hide it even from the night. Hester was thinking of Rob ert Waldron, in his lu.vurious home, repenting with a com fortable penitence, which left him free for many pleasures and which was scarcely more than a welcome gloom, where he could withdraw when the brightness of his life wearied him. But this misery, this poverty-stricken, ill- clad, friendless, dying misery, was the true result of the sin of which both had been alike guilty. She shuddered, and Rose felt it; for she loosed her clinging arms, and would have fallen lower at her feet, had not Hester's hand pressed her head down gently upon its resting-place, as a mother's hand caresses the bowed head of a sorrowful child. She had forgotten the cold and the rain, or felt them only as fitting better this dreary hour than light and cloudless skies would have done. But now her hand fell upon the wet clothes of the woman whom she had prom- ised to shelter, a woman upon whom the doom of death had been passed. She lifted Rose up tenderly, and drew her trembling arm through her own. No eye saw them. Not one of their towns-people met them in the deserted street. In the darkness and dreariness of a winter's night, Rose Morley returned to her husband's house. CHAPTER XL. HER husband's HEARTH. THERE was on the left hand of the house door an empty room which was rarely entered, and Hester left Rose there until her father and the young girl whom she kept as her only servant should be gone to bed. It was already near the hour when John Morley retired to his own chamber, where he sometimes read or wrote until later on in the night. Hester took off her wet cloak, and went into the room where he was sitting alone. There was a newly-quickened love mingled with a dread of him, stir- ring in her heart. The grey, despairing face, and the silvery hair of her father touched her to the quick this evening. She stood behind him for a minute or two, and then laid her hand, which had so lately rested upon Rose's forehead, upon the snow-white head. It was the very atti- tude and caress of Rose herself on that day, now many years ago, which had never died out of John Morley's memory ; and he laid his head down upon the desk before him with a sigh of profound regret and despair. " Father," cried Hester, earnestly, and kneeling down beside him, " is there nothing that can make you happy ? Is there nothing that could happen to bring you comfort ? " John Morley shook his head in silence. •' But this is horrible," she said. " Surely, surely God never meant you to pass your life in a grief like this. Surely He has kept some consolation in His hands ior you." 278 HESTER MOREEV'S I'ROMESE. " All things are possible with Him," he answered ; " but yet holier men than I have passed through long lives under blacker clouds than mine. There was Cowper. God has not smitten me with an Egyptian gloom like his. For me there is a hope in the world to come, where the weary are at rest." " But is there no hope for you sooner?" asked Hester. *' li there nothing which would make you glad ? " " Nothing ! " he replied. " I have a habit of sorrow now, Hester, and I cannot shake it off. It is a poisoned garment, if you will, but to tear it off would tear my living flesh. No, no ! There is no more gladness for me in life." Could she tell to him her heavy secret .'' An unuttera- ble terror seized upon her at the very thought. She re- membered the moment when her father, with the glare of madness and suicide in his eyes, had awakened her from the profound sleep of childhood, telling her it was better to die than to live. She recollected the stealthy, murderous blow which had nearly killed Robert Waldron. Her heart failed her. Overhead was that closed room, which had been a constant testimony against Rose ; and now Hester invol- untarily held her breath and listened as if she heard some sound there. John Morley listened also ; but there was nothing to be heard, as there never had been since Rose had fled. He sighed weariedly, and turned over the leaves of the book without reading them. The striking of the house-clock seemed welcome to him ; and he bade Hester good night, and left her alone in the gloomy room. H-^ster waited until she heard him lock his chamber door, and then she fetched Rose to the warmth of the fire still burning in the grate. In the dark room Rose had not realized that she was indeed once more in her husband's house. But this was his hearth. Here was his chair standing where it had been used to stand in her days of in- HER HUSBAND S HEARTH. 279 nocence, gone forever. There was his open book, with the leaves still fluttering as if they felt the movement of his fingers. This was the light he had been reading by, anc the air he had breathed. It was her husband's hearth, and she had been a curse to it. She was come back to it in secret, and with trembling. She felt now how impossi- ble it would be to face him, to look into his eyes, and to hear his voice. She glanced about her for some refuge to hide herself in — herself, a scared, abject, frightened wretch, who ought to steal away into some hole to die alone and unseen. fler wild despairing gaze round her husband's room met th'=; sweet, grave compassionate eyes of Hester. " Sit here, poor mother," she said, drawing nearer the fire her own mother's chair, which in the lost days Rose had always given up for her little step-daughter. She sank down upon it, her lips moving without a sound, and hei white face turned towards H®5ter. Hester had not seen it before. It was the same face as that of the gay girl she had once been ; but that face disfigured and marred and aged by shame. The soft lines were hardened, and the brightness had grown dim, and the freshness had become sullied and tarnished. Hester could not bear to look at it ; and as she moved to and fro, ministering to her sore ne- cessities, she did so with averted and downcast eyes. The hours of the night wore away very slowly. Some limes Rose fell into a feverish slumber, broken with sobs and starts. She v/ould not go to bed, and Hester did not urge it. What she was to do with her, Hester did not know ; and while she watched her uneasy rest, she tried to shape out some plan for her future life. To seek any home for her in Little Aston would be madness, as every one would know her and the story of her shame. To send her away, whom she had so earnestly and so long soyght to find, seemed impossible, ten times impossible, if, as she said, 2So HKSTER MORLEY's PROMISE. there was no hope of her life. It would be practicable enough to keep her in her father's house, for John Morley's automatic habits could be counted upon to a moment. There were rooms in his house which he had never entered within her memory, and which he would never think of vis- iting. The cost of her maintenance there would be less than anywhere else, and money was very scarce with them. But she recoiled from the idea of suffering her to dwell by stealth and unforgiven in her husband's house, to sleep un- der the same roof Hester recalled her father's melancholy cry, " She will never sleep under my roof again. " More- over, now she guessed somewhat more clearly the heinous- ness of Rose's guilt. She could not keep her unknown to her father, in the shelter of his dishonored home. From time to time Rose woke up and murmured little scraps of her sad history. She had taken no special care to conceal the traces of her flight, yet it had happei.ed so that she had left Falaise and wandered into a remote coun- try district, where she had lived cheaply, as one can do in France, for some years upon the money which was in her possession. When it was gone she had entered into a situ- ation as lady's-maid, and so returned with the family to Eng- land, three years ago. She had always passed as a widow. Her last situation she had given up only two months be- fore ; and since then she had been living in poor and solitary lodgings in London, with no society but the memory of the past ; which had grown day by day into stronger force, un- til it had driven her back to Little Aston in the forlorn hope of casting herself upon her husband's forgiveness. Hester shook her head sadly at these last words. There was no chance, whatever, that John Morley would forgive her. " You do not yet know what you have done," she said, with unconscious severity. " If you could see him you would know better what he has to forgive. He may for- HER HUSI!AM/s IIKARIII. 28I give you before you die. But I dare not tell him that you are here; I dare not mention your name to him." "But it is so many years ago ! "' cried Rose, clasping her thin hands together. " Many years ago ! " echoed Hester ; " no ; it has been every day of those ten years. The grief has been new every morning. Ah ! I understand it better now. Every day he has felt himself deserted and betrayed. Oh, ray father ! my poor father ! " She covered her face with her hands as if she could no longer endure the sight of her who had wrought her fath- er's misery. But a slight sound caused her to look up. Rose was wrapping round her the shabby cloak, still damp and soiled from the rain of the evening. Her wan face was flushed, and her eyes, burning with inward fever, had lost their former distress. "I am going away," she said, "and I will not come back till T crawl here dying. I must see him again, and hear him say he forgives me ; and if he sees me dying at his feet, he will say it. But I will go away for a little while, Hetty." "But where will you go?" asked Hester. " Oh, I don't know,'' she cried, wringing her hands ; " why does God let women as wretched and lonely as me live? I could never put an end to myself, for I'm afraid to die. And now I shall go away, and it will come creep- ing on and on. and I shall know it is there, and there will not be a voice to speak gently to me. Oh! little Hetty, cannot you help me ? " "Yes," answered Hester, taking her bonnet and cloak from her feeble hands ; " I will help you. If my father ever heard you had been ill in misery and solitude, it would only add to his pain. You must stay somewhere near to me, poor mother, so that I can nurse you and comfort 282 HESTER MORI.EV S IKoMIS!-:. you. Think of God rather than of my father. You have separated yourself from him, but you have not separated yourself forever from God. You belong to Him still." In tones as soft and soothing as those a mother uses to a suffering child, Hester spoke these words to Rose. She placed the poor forlorn creature in her mother's chair again, and smoothed gently the locks of light hair, now thin and grey, which had fallen in disorder over her face. Rose slumbered again fitfull}', crying out in her dreams for her husband's forgiveness. Once or twice Hester started with terror, thinking she heard his step upon the stairs ; but the dreary night wore away without surprise. As soon as the late dawn began to glimmer upon the un- curtained window, she awoke Rose and took her up stairs to her own room, where she would be safe from all eyes. CHAPTER XLI. THE OLD NURSERY. IT was as Hester drew up the window-blind in her own room, and her eye fell upon the melancholy-looking outbuilding opposite it, that a practicable plan for the shelter of Rose presented itself to her. The old nursery, which at some remote date in the past had perhaps been the scene of childish sports and laughter, would be a ref- uge well fitted for her safety and concealment. Still she resolved within herself to ask her father's consent, though her habitual independence of action might very well have acquitted her conscience from the necessity of seeking it. She wished to feel that she had his sanction. She thought that at some future season it would prove a consolation to him to know that he had himself given a refuge and shelter to Rose. At breakfast, with lowered eyelids and a voice which betrayed her intense anxiety, she made her request to John Morley. " I met a poor woman last night at chapel," she said, " a stranger in the town, without friends. She has been a lady's maid for some years, but she is now in great desti- tution. She thinks of getting her living by needlework, but she can scarcely do more than earn bread by that. I wisli we could help her, father." *' It is very little that we can do," he said, mournfully. 284 iiKSTiiR mokl?:y's promise. •■ Yes, we can do a great deal, she answered ; " what she dreads most is associating with drunken and ignorant poor people. I don't think poverty is so bad in itself; but it is bad when you are compelled to live among low people. I don't mind being poor in the least, while we are togeiher, father." " What can we do for her then, Hester ? " asked John Morley. " There is the old nursery in the yard," she said, with a feeling of desperate resolve, " it is only filled with rub- bish now, but there is a good grate in it, and the roof is whole. If a few panes were put into the window, and I found some old furniture for it, it would be quite a home for the poor creature. We might even ask a small rent for it, if you thought that was best." '' Hester ! " ejaculated her father, in a tone of reproach. " Then I may do it," she answered, eagerly ; " oh ! you will never repent it, dear father. You do not know what good may come of it. She will never come into your way, poor thing ! You will never see her, I am sure ; for she is afraid of being seen. She has been very unhappy in her marriage, and she is afraid of ever meeting her husband again. No, you will never see her." Hester was speaking to herself rather than to him, in a manner which might well have excited his suspicions. But John Morley saw nothing of her agitation ; he was plunged into more personal and more perplexing contemiDlations. " Hester," he said, " I am in sore need of money. We must raise near upon ;^2oo before the beginning of next vveek. I have some heavy bills to meet." For some years past John Morley's method of conduct- ing his business had been by drawing bills, which aiway* came due so long before he had the money to meet chein Hester had been very early initiated into these anxj'-ues. THE OLD NURSERY. 285 *' How can we do it ? " she asked, with some natural disquietude at the mention of a sura so large. " There is but one way that I can see," he answered ; '•' we must mortgage the house. Yet it is the only property I could leave to you if I died ; and it came to me with your mother. Everything has gone wrong with me since I lost her. I would not do anything with it without your consent, Hester." " Don't think of me, father," she said, " and don't trouble about me. If that is the only thing we can do, let us do it at once. Who would lend us the money upon the house ? " " I don't know," he replied, with a helpless shake of the head. " Father,"' she continued, with a beating heart, " I know who would do it, and it might be kept a secret, so that all the town may not talk about it Will you let me tell the person I am thinking of?" •" Who is it ?'" he asked, in a low voice. " Mr. Waldron," answered Hester. " Mr. Waldron ! " he repeated ; " I could not receive any favor from him. It would be like taking money for my — Oh, Hester ! life is very hard." She understood his half-uttered sentence perfectly ; and her heart ached for him and the broken-spirited, desolate woman hidden away from his sight. " It would be no favor," she said earnestly ; " we should pay the interest of the money, or he should have the house. You should not see him yourself, but I will in your place. You could write to him, you know, and I will take your letter, and explain everything to him. He would not think he was doing you any favor ; I will take care of that. Then nobody would know except ourselves and him.' 286 HESTER morley's promise. " I cannot make out how the business has fallen away so much," sighed John MorIe\'. Any one seeing his melancholy and abstracted face, and hearing the mournful tones of his voice, would very easily have understood why customers were few and their visits brief in John Morley's shop. No one chooses to do his shopping where he meets with a face and voice adapted to a house of mourning. Hester understood it better than her father, but she could not make it plain to him. She knew, too, that he tacitly agreed to her plan, and she said no more about it. For the rest of the day she was busy over the more pressing duty of getting Rose's refuge ready before night-fall. When it was over, she lit a fire in the grate, so long empty and cold. The nursery looked but a poor place after all her care. The walls were discolored and stained, and the rafters of the sloping roof were black with age. There was a little bed in one corner, with the softest mattress and pillows off Hester's own bedstead. Two chairs stood one on each side of the narrow fire-pla^e, with a small round table between them. It all looked bare, dingy, and forlorn. In the solitude of her long lonely hours, the occupant of this room would have time for re- pentance; but there seemed no place for atonement and reparation. What could she do in this poor refuge and hiding-place? In the dusk of the evening Hester led her stepmother to the only home she could provide for her. Rose stood motionless in the centre of the litde room, looking about it with searching and troubled eyes. " It is the best I can do," said Hester anxiously , "we are very poor." " Poor !" echoed Rose. She said no more, and her face grew paler and more troubled ; but afterwards there rested upon her worn fea- tures an expression of solemnity amounting almost to THE OLD NURSERY. 28/ dignity, such as had never been seen upon them in her bright girlish days. "God bless you, Hetty," she cried; "you are better than a daughter to me. This is the place where I am to die, seeing you to the last ; and your father. He cannot be relentless, when you are so good. Oh ! my darling, my darling ! you are like an angel from heaven to me." She flung herself on her knees and threw her arms around Hester, with tears of profound anguish, and sobs such as might be wrung from tortured lips. When Hester quitted the old nursery. Rose waited foi some minutes without stirring, in the attitude of one who listens eagerly. Then very cautiously she stole to the door and opened it a little way to look out into the yard. The house opposite seemed to tower above her very high and very black in the darkness, with one window lighted up in the highest story of the gable to the right, and another on the ground floor of the gable to the left. She knew their meaning well. Lawson was still at work in his attic, and her husband was sitting in his old place with his books about him. She could remember him so well ; the thick brown hair just catching a tinge of silver, and the studious handsome face which had been wont to brighten with a smile as sudden as a flash of lightning when he met her eye — a rare smile, reserved exclusively for her. She won- dered to herself whether he had ever smiled so upon his daughter. Since she had seen Hester, she had felt a little more comforted about her husband, and a little less remorse- ful. He had not been so deserted or so lonely as she had pictured to herself. He had watched his child growing up at his side. There came a pang, an unreasonable pang amounting almost to jealousy, at the thought that he had grown forgetful of her and her sin in the companionship of Hester. In the brief space of her married life she had 288 HKSTKR MORLEY'S PROMISE. fostered a profound jealousy of Hester's mother. And now, as she looked down into the yard towards the lighted window behind which he was sitting, an unconquerable Ionising seized her to steal down the crazy staircase, anc in amongst the blackened stems of the lilacs and the dwarfed laburnunvs, to look once more upon her husband whoso love sh2 had bartered for the boyish passion of Robert Waldron. She listened again, but there was no movement, no sign of life in the yard below. On the other side of the house lay the street and the busy world of which she had taken her last farewell. For to venture out into these streets and to show her familiar face among the townspeople would be to banish herself forever from the home where she had come to die. Was she positively come to die here? Was she never more to sleep on any other bed but this until she fell into the last awful unbroken sleep? Were these walls and this narrow court the only spot of the wide world on which her eyes were ever to look again ? She stretched out her arms and raised her bent figure to its fullest height. She felt no pain, nothing but the feebleness, often worse than pain, which is the result of long mental suffering. The London physician had perhaps been deceived by her symptoms, which, possibly, she had exaggerated to him. She might live many years yet. But to live — what was that ? To die was dreadful ; but she could not choose to live. She tried to send back her thoughts to the time when she fancied she had loved another better than her husband ; but it was in vain. The thought of John Morley was there quick and poignant in her inmost soul ; but Robert \\aldron was forgotten. She must see her husband. Still she lingered and listened, watching the gleam through the uncurtained window, and the black naked boughs of the trees standing out clearly against its feeble light. She THE OLD NURSERY. 289 turned back and looked at her own faded face in a small glass which hung against the wall, over a litde toilet-table. If her husband could only see it and read in it the story of her bitter repentance, would he not forgive her? But how much would his forgiveness mean ? Was it possible tha*. he could be reconciled to her ? That he could receive her again ? Call her his wife, and restore her to her forfeited place? No, no ; that could never be. He might look upon her again, and pardon her if she was in the hour of death. But if life were strong within her, and many years lay before her, would he not spurn her from him, and refuse to lay his finger to her burden of shame ? At length she hurried down the steps and into the dreary little garden. She crept stealthily towards the win- dow, lest she should enter into the revealing light, and her husband should lift up his eyes and see her standing without in the chill of the wintry night. Her face, wan, faded, and withered, approached cautiously the uncurtained panes. The room — she had seen that last night, with its ten years of added dinginess and decay. But who was thi.s aged man, with a head bowed and white with years, who was bending over her husband's desk, and turning, from time to time, anxiously to the great account-books she had hated years ago. Her husband could not yet be fifty years old, a man in the full vigor and strength of life. The lamp beside him was covered with a shade which cast a gloom over the rest of the room, while it threw a full light upon him. The thin, shrivelled hands, the rounded shoulders, the grey and hollow features, the white hair — Rose saw them as in a dream. He got up at last, pushing away his books, and took his stand upon the hearth, with his back to the fire and his full face turned towards her. She drew back with a creeping thrill of terror. " Hester," she heard him say, " I have finished my letter 13 290 HESTKR MORLEV'S PROMISE. to Mr. Waldron. But if it were not for your sake, I would sooner let things take their course than ask him to lend me money. Ay, I would sooner die ! " Rose waited to hear no more. She cast one terrified glance at her husband, and then she fled back in a panic of fear to her hiding-place. '• Oh ! what have I done ? " she cried, in a frightened whisper, speaking as if some one was near enough to hear her ; " he was a good man, and a prosperous man ! I did not know what I should do. God forgive me ! He never will ; but God, in His great mercy, forgive me ! " She counted no more upon her husband's foroiveness. What there was in his face she did not know, but it had cast out all hope from her heart. For the first time, look- ing into the deep gulf of her husband's wrongs, she knew that it must be forever fixed between her and him. Per- haps in the last hour he might lay his hand in hers, and let her feel its warm forgiving clasp, as she went down into the dark valley of separation. But only in that su- pren)e moment of death. Life, if she lived, must be a per- petual banishment from his presence. CHAPTER XLII. A LESSON FOR HESTER. THE next morning, Hester, with her father's letter in her hand, wended her way slowly across the park to Aston Court. She felt a natural reluctance to the merest chance of meeting Robert Waldron, towards whom her feelings had undergone a great revulsion. Until now he had claimed from her an undefined and rather pleasant pity, mingled with admiration. If Carl had not come into her narrow world, her sentiment for Robert would have bordered upon a girl's first love for a seeming hero ; and her heart, free and tender, might have centred in him its interests, and possibly its affections. But with Rose at home, with this dark sad shadow at her side, she recoiled from the idea of seeing him again for the first time. To her infinite relief she just caught a glimpse of him leaving the park on horseback by another route. Mr. Waldron then would be alone, and she could ask him not to let his son know of the transaction. She quickened hei" steps, and took the nearest way to the room where he was gen- erally to be found in the morning. It led past the win- dow of the breakfast-room, where Hester saw a vision of Miss Waldron sitting near the fire, and Carl in close con- versation with her. She nodded to Carl, whose face was turned towards the window, and hurried on. Mr. Wal- dron was at that moment walking along the farthest end of the terrace, and Hester started to run after him. The 292 HESTER MORLEV'S PROMISE. color which this exercise brought to her pale cheeks gave her the beauty she lacked ; and as Mr, Waldron turned sharply round, he acknowledged to himself that Robeit's love had sufficient excuse. To Hester's extreme aston- ishment, he drew her into his arms, and imprinted a sol enin kiss upon her glowing face. She had not the faintest idea that he was saluting her for the first time as the daughter of whom he had fondly dreamed these last two years. " My dear," he said, drawing her hand upon his arm, and covering it with his own, " I was just thinking of you. You are often in my thoughts, Hester, — how often you would be surprised to know." No opening could be more propitious. In a few inco- herent sentences Hester stammered out the purpose of her visit, as she walked down the terrace, leaning upon his arm. He opened the folding doors of his room, and led her into it, seating her in a chair close to his own, and regarding with delight her downcast face, and her long eyelashes now beaded with tears. Nothing could have pleased him more ; no overture could have come more op- portunely. At the very moment when he was planning some mode of approach to John Morley, he had himself sent Hester to ask his help. " Hester," he said, '• your father has given me the greatest pleasure I have known for a long while. I am right glad he did not go to anybody else. What ! are we not brothers ? Have we not been members of the same Church these thirty years? He has acted like a Christian in coming to me. I will return at once with you to your home. This is the right thing. I find great pleasure in this." He rubbed his hands heartily, looking down upon Hester with a smile of approbation. Already he was A LESSON FOR HESTER. 293 thinking oi what house would be near enough to Aston Court, where he could bask a little in the freedom and gentleness of her presence whenever he grew slightly wea- ry, as he did sometimes, of his daughter's piety. " I was very much afraid ot coming," said Hester, with a sigh of relief, and raising her eyes to his with a smile that enchanted him. His daughter-in-law promised fair to become his idol. " Afraid of me ! " he repeated, his austere face beaming with pleasure ; " whatever could make the poor child afraid of me ? Am I so very terrible to you, Hester .'' " " Oh, no ! " she said ; " but you are the greatest man 1 ever have to speak to ; and I don't know anybody else who would have been bold enough to come to you as I have." " Bold ! " cried Mr. Waldron ; " she calls herself bold ! And asks simply for two hundred pounds ! I wish it was two thousand, and you should have it at once. Come, let us go to your father, and set this business to rights. But as for a mortgage on his house, that is all nonsense." " We must not go to him, said Hester, earnestly ; " and he will never consent to take any money from you except upon a mortgage, for which he will pay interest. I know my father, and he will not listen to any other proposal. He would put his affiiirs into some lawyer's hands immedi- ately." " But what then does he want me to do ? " asked Mr. Waldron, disappointed. " He has written to you," she answered, "and given a fair statement of his debts. What I want is to ask you to advance any sum of money you think will bring us through our difficulties ; though I am sure I don't see how they can end." She spoke very dejectedly, and ^h. Waldron longed to tell her what a brilliant lot lay at her feet for her accept- 294 HESTER MORLEV's IROMLSE. ance. But he dared not do it yet. He opened John Mor- ley's letter, and read it carefully, seeing from it far more clearly than the writer how complicated his embarrass- ments were. He determined to avail himself of the new confidence established between him and Hester, in order to advance the happiness of his son. " 1 must deliberate over this," he said, " and I shall want you to come up again several times, I dare say. You may take the money home with you at once ; but still there will be papers to draw up, and I should like to know more about your affairs, as far as your father chooses to confide them to me. You will not dislike coming several times ? " " Oh ! I shall like it,'' she said frankly ; " I would spare my father any trouble that 1 could bear for him." There was a fond and truthful devotion in Hester's manner which penetrated to Mr. VValdron's heart; and a treacherous doubt crossed it as to whether his daughter was really as devoted to him. " And you are very poor, Hester? " he said. " Very poor," she answered, gravely. "You would like to be rich ?" he asked. "Dearly," she answered; " I should like to be as rich as you are, Mr. Waldron. I like a house as large and grand as this, and I think I could spend my money like any lady in the land." " Like any other lady," he corrected. " No," she said, " I am no lady. I belong quite to the working-class." If she belonged to the working-classes, Mr. Waldron wished that all the other ladies of his acquaintance, includ- ing his daughter, did the same. When the interview came to an end, he insisted upon taking her to see Miss Wal- dron, and himself conducted her to the breakfast-room_ where she still was, though she was alone, Carl having A LESSON FOR HESTER. 295 c.iken his departure. Hester was not sorry to see M'ss Waldron, as a new interest centred in iier, now that slie had to regard her as Carl's possible future wife. She was received with a distant condescension intended to keep her in her place, which Miss Waldron was afraid of her forgetting, since she had been invited to dinner