ELECT LIBRARY No. 137 
 
 fT s : 
 
 
 STREET&SMITH - PUBLISHERS -^ NEW 
 

 GIFT OF 
 M. G. Luck 
 
I Have Lived and Loved 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 .BY 
 
 Mrs. FORRESTER 
 
 STREET & SMITH CORPORATION 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York 
 
(Printed in the United States of America) 
 
 e c. e 
 
 c * ' 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 BY MRS. FORRESTER. 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A BOWER of roses in the midst of a charming, old- fashioned 
 garden, and leaning back, half reclined, with one arm raised, 
 the open palm supporting her head, the most beautiful woman 
 God ever made. 
 
 Thus John Brandon desc^bed Vanessa as he saw her for the 
 first time. 
 
 li When she saw me,'' he added, " she started up with a lovely 
 blush, and a look half as though she had been caught in some 
 guilty act. half as if terrified by the apparition of a monster 
 about to devour her. I was the monster/' and John Brandon 
 laughed. 
 
 It is not, however, from John Brandon that you are to hear 
 Vanessa's story, but from one who knew far more of her than 
 he was ever destined to know. 
 
 Vanessa rose, blushed, beautifully to his eyes, agonizingly to 
 her own consciousness, and stood for a moment speechless and 
 confounded. He smiled and addressed her with the easy grace 
 of a man of the world; she responded with the diffidence and 
 confusion of a woman who for the first time in her life meets a 
 man with any pretension to rousing her interest. 
 
 For this pearl lies perdu in the heart of the country; the 
 furthest excursion she has ever made from the place of he* 
 birth is to a small town twenty miles distant. And that o'nly 
 once. 
 
 Now that she has risen, John Brandon sees that she is tall, 
 "divinely tall;" as tall as himself, which is not far from five 
 feet ten. But she is so exquisitely proportioned that, far from 
 looking too tall, she would make any other woman, were one 
 present, appear too short. 
 
 " I am afraid I startled you," says Brandon, standing 'at the 
 gate of that paradise of which the Peri is inside. " May I conie 
 in and explain ?" 
 
 And, without waiting for the permission which she is too em- 
 barrassed to give, he enters. 
 
 " I came to see Mr. Went worth, but ike is out, and I was told 
 that if I would ' step down the garden.' I should find you. 
 
 M75902 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 rode over from L~- : my name is Brandon. You may have 
 
 Ktar.l your father speak of fie. We were very great friends 
 
 Vanessa is embarrassed. She knows nothing of society nor 
 its ways, but her innate good breeding suggests to her that it 
 will not be complimentary to her guest to tell him that, until 
 this moment, his name has never fallen on her ear. 
 
 " My father lives so much in his books." she says, half apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 " Ah!*' and there is a slight pause. " We were bosom friends 
 at Oxford they used to call us David and Jonathan, and, 
 afterward, we traveled together. But that is twenty years ago. 
 Somehow we drifted apart. I don't think, though, that he will 
 have forgotten me. It was flnly yesterday that I heard his 
 name mentioned, and I felt quite sure there could not be two 
 Ivan Wentworth's, so, on the strength of that, I rode over to- 
 day." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 Vanessa is deeply interested: this is quite an adventure a dis- 
 tinct sense of gratification creeps through her as she finds her- 
 self talking to a man, a real man, not a dried-up old mummy 
 or an inferior, who. to Vanessa's idea, is no more a man than 
 the lackey was to the yrande dame who originated the oft- 
 quoted epigram. And she can read the admiration which his 
 eyes unsparingly express as well as though she were a woman of 
 trie world: for experience in a case of this sort is quite unneces- 
 sary even to the most innocent and ignorant of Eve's daughters. 
 
 *' I dare say papa will not be very Ion jr." Vanessa says; and 
 even whilst she speaks there is a sound of the crunching of 
 gravel, and in another moment the friends of yore are face to 
 face. There is a grasp of hands, a light in both men's eyes, as 
 if the parting had been of twenty weeks or twenty days instead 
 of twenty years. Ah! those friendships made at public school 
 and college are cemented by something stronger than later-day 
 bonds! Men who were friends as boys are pretty sure to be 
 friends to their dying day unless a woman comes between 
 them, and even then they reunite when the cause of estrange- 
 ment is vanished and forgotten. 
 
 Vanessa steals away not because she would not fain stay, 
 but that a sense of diffidence and slyness makes her feel de trop; 
 lie walks off toward the house, whilst John Brandon's eyes 
 regretfully follow her graceful, rather stately movements. She 
 makes her way at once to the old-fashioned, low, latticed- win- 
 dowed room where she is certain of finding Susan. Susam is 
 nurse, housekeeper, cook, groom of the chambers, friend, con- 
 jiddiite. all in one one of tliose delightful old friends and serv- 
 ants whose irreparable loss at an advanced age is mourned 
 occasionally now in the columns of the Times; who used to be 
 in almost every household, and who. in twenty years' time, will 
 be no more than legendary ghosts; traditions ransacked from 
 the limbo of forgotten things by some great-grand mo ther." 
 
 " Susan," says her beautiful young mispress, as sh.- advances 
 
* IfAVE LIVED AND LOVED. $ 
 
 vnth quickened steps to where her nurse, spectacled and brsy, 
 sits repairing the household linen M ST -..sun. wiiat do you think?' 
 
 Susan looks up over her glasses with an expression of affec- 
 tionate interest. 
 
 " There is a gentleman in the garden with papa!" 
 
 And Vanessa's large dark blue eyes dilate as she recounts this 
 extraordinary fact. Jt is extraordinary enough to make Susan 
 drop her work into her lap, cry, " Lor', my dear!"' and remain for 
 a minute, with her mouth half open, regarding her nursling. 
 
 " They were friends together at Oxford/' pursues Vanessa, her 
 excitement rather growing than decreasing; " they used to be 
 called David and Jonathan, and they traveled together, and he 
 heard papa's name mentioned somewhere and he knew it must 
 be papa, and so he rode over." 
 
 " Lor, my dear!" reiterates Susan. " Well I never! What's 
 the gentleman's name V" 
 
 Vanessa makes a thoughtful little pucker in her brow. 
 
 41 He told me," she says, musingly. "But I was so surprised 
 I didn't quite catch it." 
 
 * 4 Did he come in along of your pa?" inquires Susan, with 
 deepest interest. 
 
 "No. That reminds me. He saul some one told him to step 
 down the garden. Who could it have been ? It wasn't you V" 
 
 "Me, my dear!" and Susan bridles a bit. "Well, I hope I 
 haven't forgotten my manners so far, though we don't see com- 
 pany, as to send a visitor off by himself to look for the lady of 
 the house. It can't have been Hepzibah, because though she's 
 gawk enough to have done it, she'd have been sure to run to me 
 with her mouth wide open if she'd seen a stranger. It must have 
 been old Peter, who's got no more manners than a pig." 
 
 "Of course I ought to have apologized," says Vanessa, rather 
 concerned. " It was very rude and unceremonious; but he didn't 
 seem to think anything of it, and I was so taken by surprise." 
 
 " I dare say you'll see him again, and you must tell him then," 
 returns Susan, consolingly. "But," as if struck by a sudden, 
 thought, " if he was at college with your pa, he can't be a very 
 young gentleman." 
 
 "No," says Vanessa, musingly, "I suppose not. And yet, 
 somehow, he did not seem old not as old as papa by ever so 
 much." 
 
 Susan looks up shrewdly. 
 
 " Is he a married gentleman, my dear?" 
 
 Vanessa's face falls a little. 
 
 " I don't know. I shouldn't think so," more cheerfully. 
 
 "Here conies your pa up the walk, and in a hurry," cries 
 kusan, rising and putting down her work. " Now, I shouldn't 
 wonder if he isn't thinking of asking the gentleman to stop or 
 something." 
 
 The next moment Mr. Wentw.orth hurries in. 
 
 " I've asked Mr. Brandon to stay till to-morrow, r ' he says, 
 looking a little guiltily from one to the other. " I suppose It can 
 be 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Susan is one of those delightful people, who are what is called 
 " good at a pinch/' 
 
 " III see about a room at once, sir," she says briskly. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Susan,' 7 replies her master, gratefully. 
 " But " hesitatingiy ' there's dinner to be thought of. Lon- 
 don people, of course, always dine," he adds ruefully, bethinking 
 him of their own customary homely tea. % 
 
 At this even Susan's cheerful face falls a little. 
 
 ' Have you got anything in the house?" asks Mr. Went worth, 
 nervously, with an imploring glance, 
 
 " There isn't a bit of butcher's meat," answers Susan, looking 
 rather unhappy at being unable to come to her master's rescue, 
 feeling, indeed, as servants used to feel, that the honor or dis- 
 grace of the house was theirs as much and more than the head's. 
 "But," brightening, rt there's a chicken killed early yesterday 
 morning, and a beautiful hand of pork, and I can make a nice 
 pudding." 
 
 The vicar's thoughts traveled mournfully back to past years 
 in which he had been entertained at Hospitable boards. Phan- 
 tom visions of soup, fish, entrees, rotsts, cross his perturbed 
 brain. But there is no help for it chicken, hand of pork, and 
 pudding must be his guest's f&re to-night: it shall, however, be 
 garnished by the sauce of a hearty welcome. 
 
 "Well, you'll do your best," he sa3 T s, trying to speak cheer- 
 fully. *' It is five o'clock now. i suppose we ought to dine at 
 seven. I think that is the time people generally dine. Well, 
 I must be going back to him." 
 
 And the vicar departs, almost sorry that ho has been tempted 
 to offer hospitality to his old friend, since his capabilities are so 
 far behind his aspirations. 
 
 John Brandon would fyave laughed at the idea that a roast 
 chicken, with a beautiful young woman to look at and talk to, 
 was not good enough for any man, even though he was a bit of 
 an epicure and accustomed to be a trifle critical about his dinner. 
 One can have a good dinner any day, but one does not meet a 
 dear old friend a dear old friend with a lovely daughter every 
 day. 
 
 Meantime Susan bustles about, wakes up sleepy Hepzibah, who 
 is dawdling in the kitchen, with a vengeance, whilst Vanessa, 
 extremely anxious to help, but fearful of being in the way, fol- 
 lows her about at a respectful distance. Suddenly she has an 
 i rat ion. 
 
 ** I'll go and tell Peter to pick a dish of peas, and some lettuce 
 for a salad, shall I?" she says. 
 
 do, that's a lady," rejoins Susan: " and just you tell him, 
 rny dear, not to send in all the old bullets, but to pick some 
 ;ig ones.'' 
 
 Vanessa sails away on her errand, and impresses strongly on 
 old Peter that he is to bring in none but the youngest and 
 freshest peas. 
 
 Why, that's downright, waste!" he grants, ''and what's to 
 become of the others? They won't be no younger to-morrow f 
 anyhow." 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. a 
 
 " We have company" says Vanessa, solemnly, and even Pet?r 
 is overawed by the significance of that expression. Then Va- 
 nessa returns to Susan. 
 
 "My dear." says the latter, who is busy making a pudding, 
 " it's "just come to me that Mary Ann could help us. Now I 
 haven't a moment and I can't spare Hepzibah' though it's little 
 use she is to anybody " (Susan can never keep from having a 
 thrust at her subordinate); " but now if you would just step up 
 and see her I dare say she could let us have something to help 
 the dinner out with. For, after all, what's a chicken among 
 three ?" 
 
 " Oh. I won't eat any," says Vanessa. 
 
 "That 'ud never do. Why, you would look like a country 
 miss a-m%kin' your dinner off biledpork, or else he'd see through 
 your doing it, that you thought there wasn't enough. But Mary 
 Ann's got all sorts of things in tins and pots that she tells me the 
 quality thinks a deal off nasty messes, I say. Patty something 
 or other and such like. Now if she could let me have one or two 
 and tell me how to serve 'eni up 
 
 "But, "-.puts in Vanessa, dubiously, "we can't take the 
 squire's things." 
 
 " Why, bless me, my dear, of course I mean to return 'em, and 
 I'm sure your pa wouldn't -stand for a few shillings for the sake 
 of an old friend." 
 
 " I'll go at once," cries Vanessa, rather excited at the idea. 
 " Where's a basket ?" 
 
 "No, don't you take a basket," replies Susan; "it wcr 
 IOOK well^if the servants was to see you carry one up and bring 
 it back with you. Mary Ann 'ull find some one_to send down 
 with the things." 
 
 It is a warm afternoon, and Vanessa has nearly three quarters 
 of a mile to walk to the Hall. The drive from the lodge-gates to 
 the house is half a mile long. By the time she reaches her 
 destination her cheeks are flushed and she is uncomfortably 
 warm. She does not go to the front door, but round to the win- 
 dow of the housekeeper's room. Inside, she sees the portly 
 figure of Mrs. Marter, or Mary Ann. as Susan calls her, for they 
 are sisters. 
 
 "Why, my dear," she cries, at sight of Vanessa standing at 
 the open window, " is that you?" 
 
 Even Susan herself has not a warmer love or admiration for 
 the child both have known and petted from infancy than Mrs. 
 Marter. 
 
 "Yes," answers Vanessa, sitting on the ledge and letting her- 
 self down into the room. 
 
 "Why, how warm you are! Now why do you go tearing 
 about on a day fit to brile the life out of you r" 
 
 " Because something's happened," says Vanessa, mysteriously, 
 " Only think, Mary Ann, we've got company; a gentleman from 
 London to dine and stay the nig lit." 
 
 " Why, whatever will you do ?" cries Mrs. Marter. " I do Slops 
 Bf ~? Susan's got something to give him fit to eat/* 
 
b I HAVE LIVED AND LOVET>. 
 
 " There's a chicken and a hand of pork and a puddly/' 
 Vanessa. 
 
 "Why, don't tell me that's all?*' ejaculates Mary Ann, who 
 Aas the strong sense of the proprieties that befits a housekeeper 
 in a " high family." 
 
 " Yes, that's all there is, but Susan thought that perhaps you 
 could lend us something. Of course,'" rather loftily, " we shall 
 return it." 
 
 44 To be sure I can." cries Mary Ann, busy with her thoughts. 
 "Now it's just lucky that Sir' Bertram's coming home to-day 
 and I've got something in the house. Now," enumerating, 
 " there's a fine bit of salmon a slice off it won't be noticed, and 
 I could spare half of one of my ontrays and ' 
 
 "Oh, no," interposes Vanessa; ''it must only be something 
 that we can return.'' 
 
 After a good deal of discussion^ in which Vanessa stoutly op- 
 poses Mary Ann's generous wishes, it is settled that she will take 
 a slice of salmon, a, pate defoie gras, a dish of strawberries, and 
 nothing more. 
 
 " Now- then, I'll get one of the men to carry the basket down 
 to the vicarage, says Mrs. Marter. " He'll be there as soon as 
 you." 
 
 But Vanessa insists on carrying the treasures home herself. 
 She is a proud young lady who does not at all like the idea of bor- 
 rowing provisions from the Hall, and she feels that were any 
 of the servants to know of this little episode, she would be low- 
 ered forever in their eyes. So, in spite of all Mary Ann -can say, 
 Vanessa hangs the basket on her arm, and proceeds, half tri- 
 umphant, half ashamed, on her way home. She feels as though 
 4-very man. woman, or child whom sVe may meet will know 
 that she is carrying off the squire's property, and even the knowl- 
 edge that it is to be religiously restored" to the uttermost far- 
 thing, except, of course, the strawberries, does not quite console 
 her. 
 
 What, then, is her consternation when, half way down the 
 drive, she perceives Sir Bertram's carriage rolling" rapidly to- 
 ward her! The instinct of Mother Eve to hide herself possesses 
 her panic-stricken soul; but there is noplace to give her shelter. 
 Fain would she conceal the basket, but it is a great, big. uncon- 
 cealable affair, and she wears only her close-fitting cotton frock. 
 Her face crimsons; she looks straight in front of her as the car- 
 riage dashes past, making no acknowledgment of the salutes of 
 the men on the box, nor glancing at the inside of the brougham 
 to give a bow of welcome to the returning squire. 
 
 It is the first time in her life that she has ever felt the emotion 
 of shame, and now she wishes from her heart that they had 
 rather set bread and cheese before the stranger than descended 
 to the ignominy of borrowing his dinner. 
 
 When the carriage has passed she breathes again; the violent 
 beating of her heart subsides. She is still hot with a heat that 
 even the July sun is not responsible for; but she feels that the 
 worst is over 
 
 Is it? To whom t then, belongs the tall command fr ig orin 
 
I WAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 7 
 
 just issuing from the lodge at the gates to whom if not to th 
 squire, Sir Bertram Mmself. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HE is within fifty yards of her she cannot turn aside or re- 
 trace her steps no criminal detected in a heinous offense could 
 feel more abjectly wretched and guilty than proud Vanessa. Sir 
 Bertram, as he approaches, lifts his hat with stiff courtesy and 
 stops to speak to her. Until this moment he has simply thought 
 of her as the vicar's daughter; a country girl: the occasional 
 playmate of his granddaughters, but, in the blushing, embar- 
 rassed girl before him, he for the first time recognizes a charm- 
 ing and beautiful woman. And Sir Bertram, though he despises 
 women, has a great eye for beauty, and is always willing to look 
 upon the sex as toys, more or less expensive. He has never be- 
 fore been at the pains to show Vanessa any courtesy or attention 
 beyond the civil patronage of the squire to the vicar's daughter, , 
 and how thankfully would she to-day have dispensed with his 
 politeness. 
 
 "That basket is too heavy for you," he says; " let me take it." 
 
 At any other time Vanessa would have been struck dumb by 
 such condescension now it only adds to her agony. She stands 
 blushing and stammering but holding fast to her burden. 
 Enviable in her eyes would have, seemed the Spartan boy who 
 possessed a cloak wherewith to conceal his shame and his suffer- 
 ings. But Sir Bertram, in his irresistible, autocratic way, lays 
 his hand upon the basket and takes it from her. The most 
 absent of men could scarcely fail to perceive Vanessa's con- 
 fusion, and Sir Bertram has the eye of a lynx. He is pretty 
 sure that her embarrassment is in some way connected with the 
 basket. Is she carrying off some of his peaches? Doubtless 
 since the beginning of the world her sex have been fruit-stealers. 
 One of the lodge-keeper's boys is within hail. Sir Bertram sum- 
 mons him by a gesture. 
 
 "Carry that to the vicarage c<i refit ////," he says, and the lad 
 departs holding it with ostentatious care, as though it were a 
 cup brimful of liquid. 
 
 Now that the possibility of the squire seeing its contents is 
 removed, Vanessa breathes more freely, but there is something 
 forced and unnatural in her manner which does not escape her 
 companion. 
 
 " I have come from London to-day, 1 ' he says, affablv, turning 
 to walk with her. " I saw your friends Mabel and Edith last 
 night," 
 
 " Are they quite well ? I suppose the} 7 are enjoying the season 
 very much," hazards Vanessa. 
 
 The boy is out of sight now, thank Heaven! 
 
 " As much as your sex always enjoy excitement and dissipa- 
 tion," replies Sir Bertram. He is surprisedto find himself talking 
 to her as though she were a woman of the world. " I have no 
 doubt you," looking critically at her, " would think yourself in 
 paradise If you coulcHhave a, glimpse of town life." ., 
 
fc I^HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Vanessa turns her beautiful eyes to him with quite a solemn 
 look. 
 
 "I think I should," she says, and sighs. Has she not had 
 dreams and cravings after pleasure and society and the good 
 things of this world ? S 
 
 " Some day perhaps it may be your turn," remarks the squire, 
 briskly. 
 
 She makes no answer to this impossible suggestion. 
 
 At every step he takes in her compahy Sir Bertram finds him- 
 self more impressed by her grace and beauty. 
 
 ' I hope, "..lie says, with an approach to geniality of which 
 Vanessa had never* conceived him capable 4< I hope .that my 
 being at the Hall will not frighten you away from it. Pray 
 come up to the gardens or the house as you are accustomed to 
 do in my absence." 
 
 * Thank you," murmurs Vanessa, her confusion returning as 
 she wonders whether, if he knew about the contents of the 
 basket, he would be as polite and condescending. 
 
 " I shall wish you good-bye here," he says, pausing as they 
 come in sight of the Vicarage gate, and he stops and holds out 
 his hand to her. \ 
 
 A sudden instinct comes over Vanessa that she must tell him 
 the reason of her errand to the Hall it comes over her with an 
 overmasteriiTgT^ower, fighting against shame and timidity it is 
 the revolt of an upright nature against deceit. 
 
 Seeing her turn from white to red, and back to white again, 
 trembling, tears coming to her eyes, Sir Bertram's curiosity is 
 aroused. 
 
 " Sir Bertram," she utters, and every word is wrung from her 
 with a pang, ' 4 1 must tell you. I hope you will not be offended. 
 I hope you will not think me very mean my father does not 
 
 know anything about it and " Here her embarrassment is 
 
 painful to witness, and Sir Bertram, hard as he is, is moved by 
 the sight of beauty in distress, 
 
 " Pray do not agitate yourself," he says, in quite a kind voice. 
 " Why, what can you have to tell me ?" And again his thoughts 
 travel to his peaches. k ' I am quite sure." with an air of gal- 
 lantry she is too wretched to remark, ''that I shall not find 
 fault with anything yon may have done." 
 
 Vanessa has begun her self -inflicted ordeal there is no going 
 back now. 
 
 " An old friend' !<3f papa's came unexpectedly to see us to-day,'* 
 she relates in gasps. ' ' Papa asked him to stay the night, and 
 and we had scarcely anything for his dinner, and Susan and I 
 thought (papa knows nothing about it) that perhaps Mary Ann, 
 Mrs. Marter, could help us, and I went to ask her to lend us 
 something. It is to be returned," adds poor Vanessa, blushing 9 
 still deeper crimson. 
 
 Sir Bertram looks at her with an amused smile. 
 
 ' 'But, my dear lady," he utters, with great courtesy arid 
 kindness too, "to whom should one apply when one is in a little 
 difficulty but to a neighbor ? I am too charmed that Marter was 
 able to be of use to TJOU at least I hope she was." 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LQVtiD* ^ 
 
 4 ' Y ;n are very kind," says Vanessa, fixing nei eyes for a mo-, 
 ment en his with a good feeling and confidence that he has 
 never before inspired in her; "but it seemed to mo afterward 
 that it, was rather a mean thing to do. Papa, I am sure, would 
 not have approved of it only that everything* is to be returned, 
 except," still goadec on by that terrible impulse of truthfulness, 
 '"the strawberries, and as ours are nearly over 
 
 " As yours are nearly over,'' continues Sir Bertram, smiling, 
 " you must in future come and share mine.*' 
 
 Is it possible that this is the awful Sir Bertram, tin object of 
 ner fear from childhood up ? 
 
 " You are very kind," she stammers again. 
 
 When a man whois not accustomed to saying or doing kind 
 and pleasant things finds himself launched on a new and strange 
 course, he is generally so pleased with himself /t hat he wishes to 
 prolong the sensation. 
 
 " 1 shall look upon it as a proof of friendship if you will treat 
 me in a neighborly manner, and come to me if I can serve you 
 in any way." 
 
 Thus Sir Bertram, and then he takes her hand, dofTs his hat, 
 and leaves her. 
 
 Vanessa is not accustomed to adventures or sensations, and 
 the last hour has given her more than she has had in her col- 
 lected life before. She flies home at full speed, and going straight 
 to the kitchen, where Susan is still busy (Hepzibah has disap- 
 peared), she flings herself into a chair, puts her arms on the 
 table, and, to the dismay and consternation of her nurse, who 
 has been rejoicing over the contents of the basket, bursts into a 
 passion of sobs and tears. 
 
 his house, 
 
 uiisupported 
 
 by evidence, that women are deceitful and untruthful; and he 
 is exceedingly surprised to find one of the sex so actuated by in- 
 stinctive honesty as voluntarily to betray herself. 
 
 "It is strange, too," he muses, "that I never remarked her 
 beauty before. I do not think there is a handsomer woman in 
 London." 
 
 And then an i$ea crosses his brain of so astounding a nature 
 that he stands stock still, whilst the blood runs a shade faster 
 through his veins, and his even pulse beats a thought quicker. 
 Certainly if Vanessa had not made her shameful revelation that 
 idea would never have taken shape in Sir Bertram's brain. A 
 beautiful woman that was common enough but a beautiful 
 woman with a strong sense of honor! Why should not such an 
 one become Lady Orford, and make him the envied of all men, 
 and give him a direct heir to his fine property, thus cutting out 
 the heir-presumptive, whom he hates as men can only hate the 
 man who is to inherit all their good things ? The thought has 
 so intoxicating an effect upon him that he addresses the head 
 gardener, who at this moment approaches him, with a geniality 
 which that functionary has never before beheld in him, and 
 which surru*iKP_Q hjm not a 
 
10 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVEL. 
 
 ""Well, Macfariane, how are the gardens looking? A good 
 show of flowers this year, eh ? By tlie way. I want a man sent 
 down to the Vicarage at once with some of your best grapes and 
 peachos your best." with emphasis, ''and" my compliments to 
 the vicar.'' 
 
 This is the first time in Mr. Macfarlane's life that he has ever 
 received such an order. Sir Bertram is not given to making 
 presents to the vicar, as far as his experience goes. 
 
 Yes, Sir Bertram/' he replies. ' ; Would you care to look 
 round the houses this evening?" 
 
 " Not to-night not to-night," answers Sir Bertram, and he 
 walks away into the house and shuts himself in his study to pur- 
 sue his strange and fascinating thoughts. 
 
 Sir Bertram is by no means indifferent to women, nor does he 
 shun their society: He despises them, but he is none the less in 
 the ho bit of making playthings of them. The Sir Bertram who 
 comes occasionally to the Hall, goes rigidly to church twice 
 every Sunday when there, and never has a petticoat inside his 
 doors except those of his daughter and granddaughters, is a very 
 different man from the Sir Bertram of London, Paris, and Vienna, 
 although no one can say of him that he parades his vices (eccen- 
 tricities, as some people euphemistically call them) before the 
 eyes of the world. There lu- is a man of fashion, with somewhat 
 the manners of the old school: a clever, sarcastic, cynical man, 
 of whom women are horribly afraid, though eager to profit by 
 his proverbial liberality to the sex. It is a favorite axiom of his 
 that a man must either be loved for what lie is or what he has, 
 and he thinks that the man who has enjoys the superior advan- 
 tage. Once in his life, and only once, has he been loved truly 
 and sincerely, and that was by his gentle wife. But he had 
 wearied of her; he despised her. and could never forgive her for 
 not having borne him an heir. Marriage had been so irksome 
 to him that he refused to enter upon that estate again women, 
 so long as they were not sure of a man. and had to win his lib- 
 erality by amusing and currying favor with him, were pretty 
 certain to be well-behaved and not exacting. As for their love, 
 he did not valu* it an atom: it rather lent piquancy to the situa- 
 tion that all the time they flattered themselves they were cajol- 
 ing and deceiving him he saw through and laughed at them. 
 Sir Bertram, you see, is not one of those nice old gentlemen who 
 make age venerable and beloved. The term, however, "old 
 gentleman" scarcely applies to him. He is sixty-one, hale, 
 wiry, vigorous, and he does not look his age by three or four years. 
 
 His musings, which he pursues over his wine after dinner, be- 
 comes more and more agreeable to him he. who so rarely re- 
 solves suddenly or acts on the spur of fancy, has almost settled, 
 that he will hold out tlie scepter to this humble Esther. He 
 draws a picture to himself of the beautiful, blushing girl sitting 
 opposite to him as Lady Orford. and the picture pleases him ex- 
 ceedingly. To-morrow morning he will dispatch a note asking 
 the vicar and his daughter to dine. It does not occur to him for 
 a moment that Esther may refuse to take advantage of the out- 
 stretched scepter, nor that indeed there can be any factor in the 
 
~f SAVE LIVED AND LOVE1\ 11 
 
 affair but Sir Bertram OrforcTs will. Nor. to his idea, is there 
 anything shocking in a marriage between May and December, 
 any more than there is a scruple in the mind of an old Turk who 
 acquires a new slave. A title, diamonds, fine clothes, and 
 Sumptuous living are to him an ample exchange lor youth and 
 beauty. Neither has he any fear of rivals after marriage. In 
 his opinion no man is ever deceived or outwitted unless he will- 
 fully turns his back and shuts his eyes a woman must have op- 
 portunity or what can she do V If a husband permits his wife to 
 /eceive young men in her drawing-room when he is not present; 
 to dance; to have an intimate friend of her own sex whose house 
 is always open to her; he is a fool who courts dishonor and de- 
 serves contempt. 
 
 Lady Orford would ha\e none of these opportunities. A sensi- 
 ble man does not leave his wife to her own devices any more 
 than he leaves diamonds or his check-book to the mercy of 
 strangers and possible thieves. * ' 
 
 Since, for the last sixteen years, women, even young and 
 handsome ones, havaangled for Sir Bertram, it is perhaps not 
 surprising that he expects to find a young country girl, with no 
 prospects, ready to mount to a seventh heaven of ecstasy at be- 
 ing invited to share his throne. 
 
 I left in y beautiful Vanessa showering tears thick and fast be- 
 tween her ringers on the kitchen-table, little thinking how her 
 shame has turned to her glory in the- squire's eyes, and only con- 
 scious of a sense of agonizing, overwhelming disgrace. Being 
 possessed of sufficient temper to vindicate her earthliness, she 
 makes unhappy Susan the victim of her wrath and misery. 
 
 " Why did you persuade me to do anything so mean ?" she 
 sobs. " It is all your fault. I never felt so miserable in my life 
 I can never look him in the face again." 
 
 At this point her sol -s redouble and her whole frame is con- 
 vulsed. 
 
 " Why, deary me!" cries Susan, aghast, * k whatever has hap- 
 pened? Why, Miss Nessa, my dear, don't take on like that!" 
 
 And she looks despairingly from Vanessa to her culinary 
 operations, which will not admit of being left, whilst she soothes 
 her nursling. 
 
 " Of course," pants Vanessa. " it was mean and horrid to go 
 and ask for the squire's things it was like stealing. And then 
 to meet him and be found out and have to confess.'' 
 
 From her redoubled grief at this point it is evident that the 
 most poignant reflection is the last-mentioned one. 
 
 Poor Susan turns pale even through the flush with which the 
 kitchen fire has illumined her cheeks. 
 
 44 Why. lor', my dear, what do you mean?" and she positively 
 trembles, for every one stands in awe of the squire. 
 
 44 1 was carrying the basket and I met him, and he took it 
 from me," gasps Vanessa. 
 
 Susan is fain to catch hold of the table for support. It is not 
 nly her concern for her young lady's distress, but an awful 
 thought seizes her that this masterpiece of sagacity on her 'part 
 Wi which sb' j had been pluming herself may have a*st her sister 
 
12 / HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 her situation Sir Bertram is a very hard man, as 
 knows. 
 
 ' Why," she falters, " he never went for to open it, did he?" 
 
 " No," answers Vanessa; " but it was all the same I had to 
 tell him/' 
 
 4 'Whatever will become of Mary Ann!" ejaculated Susan, 
 despairingly. Then she too feels the want of a victim, and adds, 
 irascibly. " I don't know what possessed your pa, I'm sure, to 
 ask the gentleman to stop without finding out first whether there 
 was anything to give him to eat/' * 
 
 Vanessa has not until this moment thought of Mary Ann's 
 share in the transaction. Susan's words so terrify her that she 
 leaves off sobbing and looks up aghast with her lovely, half- 
 drowned eyes. 
 
 " Did the squire seem very angry ?" asks Susan, faintly, 
 
 ." answers Vanessa; " he was quite kind I never thought 
 he could be so kind. He said what was the use of neighbors if 
 they couldn't help each other in a difficulty." 
 
 "Lor' a mussy me!" utters.Susan, with a. petrified air. " Why, 
 my dear, are you sure you understood him* right ?" 
 
 " Of course I am, v responds Vanessa, pettishly. " But that 
 does not make it any the less mean or horrid to have done it." 
 
 Susan, however, takes a different view of the situation, and 
 goes about preparing the dinner with renewed ardor. 
 
 " Oonie, deary," she says, presently, seeing that Vanessa re- 
 mains in her despondent attitude " go and bathe your eyes and* 
 put on your musling frock, so as to be ready for dinner." 
 
 " I am not going to dine," replies the young lady, with great 
 decision. '* Do you think I would touch any of his nasty horrid 
 things after the misery I've suffered about them ?"'' 
 
 '- Why, my dear, 'twill look so odd if you don't. Come, there'a 
 a lady, go and get yourself ready." 
 
 Vanessa shakes her head. 
 
 '' No," she persists. " Besides, they won't want me. They 
 will have plenty to talk about, and I might be in the way." 
 
 " Well," observes Susan, " I should have thought, never meet- 
 ing a gentleman from one year's end to the other, you'd have 
 been pleased to see one and hear him talk." 
 
 ''What's the use of gentlemen tome?" utters Variessa, with 
 unaccustomed pettishness. and she pushes back her chair, and, 
 rising, marches out of the room. 
 
 It is with considerable chagrin that Mr. Brandon, on being 
 ushered by his host into the dining-room, finds only two covers 
 laid. All the time that he has been talking to the vicar his eyea 
 have furtively been seeking the flutter of a skirt in the distance, 
 and, though the conversation has been interesting enough, he 
 has been somewhat anxious for the dinner-hour, when he should 
 see and speak to that shy, beautiful creature again. 
 
 "I hope I have not driven Miss Went worth away," he says tc 
 the vicar, with an intonation of disappointment that shrewd 
 Susan's ears do not fail to catch. For Susan, mistrustful of Hep- 
 zibah, has electe 1 to wait at dinner, thinking only of her mas 
 fcer's honor a^d glory, and nothing of her own dignity* 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 13 
 
 *' Where is my daughter?" asks Mr. Wentworth, looking in- 
 quiringly at Susan, 
 
 " Miss Wentworth is rather feeling the heat, sir," replies that 
 excellent woman, mendaciously, " She asks to be excused from, 
 dining to-night," 
 
 If Susan has taken immense pains over this banquet, she is 
 amply repaid by the justice that host and guest do to it; by the 
 look of pleased surprise in the vicar's eyes as the various delica- 
 cies are put before them, and the compliments which Mr. Bran 
 don pays to the excellence of country fare. Susan, by the end 
 of dinner, has fallen in love with the stranger he is quite the 
 ^gentleman, fine, handsome, upstanding, pleasant, friendly she 
 finds a whole string of epithets for him, and is enthusiastic in 
 praise of him to Vanessa, whose appetite, having got the bet- 
 ter of her temper, had brought her down to the kitchen, where, 
 in spite of Susan's remonstrances, she insists in dining off such 
 of the comestibles as are strictly Vicarage property. She is 
 thus engaged when a tap comes at the door and one of the gar- 
 deners from the Hall appears with the squire's offerings and his 
 polite message. 
 
 As Susan says, with more emphasis th^in originality, you might 
 have knocked her down with a feather. She goes hastily out, 
 shutting the door behind her, to exclude from profane gaze the 
 voluntary Cinderella^ and to draw a glass of beer for the squire's 
 messenger. 
 
 When she returns and takes the contents from the basket, she 
 is more wonder-stricken than ever. A couple of bunches of 
 grapes which she declares remind her of the picture in Scripture' 
 history of the Children of Israel coming out of Canaan with their 
 samples of its fertility (aforesaid picture representing two stal- 
 wart men bearing on a pole between them a bunch of grapes, 
 each of which is as big as a turkey's egg*), and a dozen of the 
 largest, loveliest peaches, whichjnake Vanessa's eyes glisten. 
 
 " Well!!!" utters Susan, hearing a long sigh, the expression of 
 half a dozen different emotions. -Then after a prolonged gaze at 
 her nursling, she remarks, " I shouldn't wonder if the squire 
 hasn't gone and fallen in love with you!" 
 
 At which Vanessa bursts into a peal of laughter that nt^kes 
 its way into the dining-roorn and distracts and tantalizes John 
 Brandon horribly. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A GLORIOUS sunset floods the lattice'tl panes of the bay- win- 
 dowed dining-room the vicar and his guest are still sitting over 
 their wine and the magnificent dessert; the former has not been 
 so pleased or excited this many a year, and the latter, having 
 spent all the season in London, finds the country a paradise, in- 
 complete, however, at this moment without its Eve, whom he sus- 
 pects to be lurking in the garden. Yes, in the distance, behind 
 yonder tree, he is certain that is the flutter of a white skirt. He 
 is dying to propose, an adjournment to the garden, but his host 
 seems so happy sipping his port and leisurely enjoying his grapes. 
 
14 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 that John Brandon, who is the best-natured man in the world 
 has not the heart to disturb him. Fortune, however, which i* 
 always doing one person a good turn at the expense of another, 
 favors him. The capricious goddess lakt-s the form of the ex 
 cellenjt and homely Susan. 
 
 " 1 am sorry to disturb you, sir,'' she says, in a low voice to hei 
 master, " but they don't flunk Widow Junes can last the night, 
 and she keeps on asking for you." 
 
 In an instant the vicar lias risen from his chair. 
 
 4i I will go at once.' 1 he answers. Then, turning to Brandon, 
 he adds, *M know that in so solemn a case you " 
 
 " Of course, of course," assents the other heartily. % 
 
 44 Ask my daughter to come down at once," utters the vicar, 
 hurriedly; but Brandon, rising, says: 
 
 4k 1 see Miss Wentworth in the garden, and will join her 
 there." 
 
 As he walks across the lawn through the balmy, flower-scented 
 air, a sense of pleasure steals through his veins. The heavens 
 are still aglow with the glory of the vanished sun a great, per- 
 fect peace is on everything; for a moment it crosses his mind to 
 wonder how men can prefer the din and tumult, the loaded air, 
 the feverish unrest of life in cities to the delicious calm, the re- 
 poseful happiness of the country. He has not time to remember 
 that it is not always summer even here, and that one is not 
 always hastening feo'join a lovely young woman who inspires an 
 ardent interest in one's breast. 
 
 He comes upon Vanessa standing midway down the path look- 
 ing at the gorgeous sunset. She has not heard his footsteps on 
 the grass, and starts as he comes up to her. He first answers the 
 questioning look in her eyes, which says, " "Where i my fathei ?" 
 and then adds on his own account: 
 
 44 Why did you deprive us of the pleasure of your society at 
 dinner?'' 
 
 He speaks with the peculiar modulation of voice that men use 
 toward a woman whom they either love already or feel thein- 
 Belves capable of loving; and Vanessa, who all these years has 
 been dreaming of lovers and heroes and knights, recognizes the 
 intonation at once with a little thrill of pleasure. Perhaps John 
 Brandon is not much like a hero, but he is a decidedly well- 
 looking gentleman, and he is the first man who has ever stood 
 to Vanessa in the position of a possible lover. His words, and, 
 more than his words, the tone of them, bring a smile to her lips 
 and a light to those lovely eyes which at this moment are aflame 
 from the red glow in the heavens. 
 
 4 ' I thought," she says, developing in a moment the instinct of 
 coquetry inborn in ner sex " I thought I might be in the way. 
 You and papa would have so much to talk about." Then, with 
 a look direct into his eyes, which are level with hers, and with 
 a half-restrained eagerness in her voice which is immensely flat- 
 tering to him, she utters, "It is not really true that papa and 
 you were at college together? You cannot be as old as he is'r" 
 
 For the first time in his life it occurs to John Brandon to rs 
 
* HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 15 
 
 gret his age, and to wish that he could take ten, nay, fifteen 
 years off it. 
 
 " I am afraid," he answers, smiling, " that there is but a few 
 months' difference, a year at most, between your father and 
 myself." Then returning to his caressing inflection of voice 
 " Will you, after that confession, banish me to the limbo of 
 fogydorn, and cease to feel the slightest interest in me?" 
 
 " Oh, no," answers Vanessa, with one of her beautiful smiles, 
 thinking to herself meanwhile that, though he is really so un- 
 fortunately old in years, still in heart, even in looks, he is quite 
 young enough for for anything. 
 
 "Forty-three," resumes Brandon, in a melancholy tone. 
 "And the worst of it," with a smile hovering about his lips 
 "the worst of it is that I do not feel old; indeed, until this 
 moment I don't believe I ever realized the dreadful fact of my 
 age." 
 
 "Oh," says Vanessa, looking quite pained and embarrassed, 
 for she is exceedingly sensitive and sympathetic, and would con- 
 sider it a crime^ratner than a blunder to wound any one's feel- 
 ings, " 1 am so very sorry. I did not mean I 
 
 "You flattered me," returns Brandon, gallantly, "by what 
 you said. What greater compliment could you pay to me than by 
 refusing to believe my age ? And I am quite young enough,' 1 
 dropping his voice, "not to be proof against beauty and 
 charm." 
 
 He is not altogether pleased with himself when he has said 
 this. He feels a burning desire to make love to the beautiful 
 creature at his side, and yet he is distinctly conscious that he 
 ought not to treat her as he would one of the many young girls 
 he meets in society who are open to a flirtation at a moment's 
 notice. Therefore not pausing to let his last words make their 
 point, he hurries on, changing his voice to a matter-of-fact 
 tone. 
 
 "And so, your father tells me, you have lived all your life 
 here in this quiet country spot." 
 
 " Yes," answer Vanessa, sensibly disappointed at his change 
 of tone; " I have never been away from it." 
 
 " Now, do you know." pursues Brandon, "it is almost Impos- 
 sible for me to realize the position. Some one who has lived in. 
 Arcadia all her life; has never seen the city, nor been to a play, 
 nor witnessed a spectacle of any kind whatever, nor even seen 
 a thousand persons collected together." 
 
 " Ah!" interposes Vanessa, eagerly, "but I know it all just as 
 well as if I had seen it. I have read about it in books, and then. 
 Edith and Mabel described everything to me." 
 
 " Edith and Mabel ?" inquiringly. 
 
 " Sir Bertram's granddaughters." 
 
 "Now," smiles Brandon, " I shall have tt* ask who Sir Ber- 
 tram is?'' 
 
 "He is the squire Sir Bertram Orford he lives at the 
 Hall," and Vanessa indicates the direction of Sir Bertram's seat 
 by a gesture of her -head. 
 
 "Oh! is he yoar squire? I have met him I know him 
 
16 ^r HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 slightly." Then, feeling a shade of disappointment as he thinks 
 of shooting-parties and a troop of probable young gallants 
 come down from the Hall to adore and make love to the vicar's 
 daughter. " After all, then, if you do not go to town, town is 
 brought to you, and you have, I suppose, no end of gayeties and 
 festivities in the shooting season." 
 
 Vanessa answers him by a little laugh that shows her pearls 
 of teeth to perfection. 
 
 " Gayeties and festivities!" she echoes, and laughs again. 
 
 " Put surely Sir Bertram has shooting-parties ? 
 
 "Never," answers Vanessa. "He does not shoot himself, be- 
 cause once, a great many years ago, he shot a friend's eye out, 
 and he never touched a gun afterward. Not a creature ever 
 comes within his gate except his daughter, Mrs. Vaughan, and 
 her daughters, Edith and Mabel?" 
 
 " Really!" utters Brandon, somewhat perplexed, as he remem- 
 bers Sir Bertram's reputation as a host and entertainer at his villa 
 on the Thames. 
 
 " If you were to see him," pursues Vanessa, " you would quite 
 understand it. He cannot bear the sight of women or girls. 
 We always have to fly if we see him coming." 
 
 " Really!" utters Brandon again, in a tone still more indicative 
 of surprise. Report tells a very different tale of Sir Bertram 
 from Vanessa's. 
 
 " I am forgetting, though," she continues, " you said you knew 
 him." 
 
 "Only slightly," returns Brandon. " I have met him once or 
 twice at the houses of mutual friends in town." 
 
 " He is a horrid, disagreeable, stiff, pompous old man," says 
 Vanessa, candidly. "We hate him." 
 
 " Does we include his granddaughters?" 
 
 "Oh, they hate him much more than I do. " Then," naively, ' 
 " th^y see so much more of him." 
 
 The after-glow has passed into twilight, and now the moon is 
 rising and making lovely lights and shadows in the Vicarage 
 garden. 
 
 "Let us sit here," says Brandon, pointing to. a rustic bench, 
 and Vanessa complies. This is certainly the pleasantest even- 
 ing she has ever spent the novelty of the situation increases 
 the delight of it; after all her dreams, she is really sitting here 
 with a man beside her a man who tells her plainly with bis 
 eyes, in a language which she understands by intuition, that he 
 derives the keenest pleasure from her presence, and that he finds 
 her fan*. 
 
 " So, then," he says, regarding her with an expression of 
 deepest interest, "you are only half Arcadian. You know all 
 about the world and its doings, though only by hearsay." 
 
 " Yes," she answers, with a touch of conscious pride, " Edith 
 and Mabel tell me. every thing." 
 
 *Brandon smiles, wondering to himself how much that every* 
 g comprises. 
 "?:; '. :?ow," he says, " would you not like to see all these g?.T 
 
" HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 11 
 
 doings with your own eyes ? Would you not like to take part in 
 them yourself ?"' 
 
 ' '*' Ah!" utters Vanessa, with a long-drown sigh. She does not 
 even know herself how much that sigh expresses. 
 
 " Suppose," says Brandon, his eyes kindling a little as certain 
 rapturous thoughts strike him. " suppose I were to persuade 
 your father to bring you up to stay with me in town ?" 
 
 "Oh!"' and Vanessa looks full in his 'eyes with some such an 
 expression as a slave might wear whose master offered her 
 freedom. 
 
 " She is a woman all over,* thinks Brandon. He makes the 
 reflection in no spirit of detraction, for he is of those who think 
 the so-called weaknesses of women their greatest charm. Most 
 brave, honest, manly men do. A woman who did not want to 
 be loved and admired, who did not long eagerly for pleasure, 
 would have been only half a woman in his eyes. 
 
 " Would you like it?" he asks, and again his voice falls to that 
 tender intonation. 
 
 Would she like it? Her face tells him that, but her voice is 
 choked by the beating of her heart. Then suddenly the light 
 dies away from her eyes, and she utters mournfully : 
 
 " He would not be persuaded I know-he- would not." 
 
 "We shall see," says Brandon, confidently enough. "Here 
 he comes. Ifwill not broach it to-night, because, after his sad 
 errand, perhaps " 
 
 And here the vicar joins them. 
 
 Susan, as she brushes her nurseling's locks that night, is all 
 eagerness to hear about " the gentleman." With the inherent 
 passion of her sex for match-making, she already sees in him a 
 suitor, a possible husband for her young lady. 
 
 " Did you find out if he was married, my deary?" is almost 
 her first question. 
 
 " Why, of course he is not," returns Vanessa, superbly, who, 
 from her inner sense of the fitness -of things rather than from 
 her own knowledge of the world (as derived from Edith and 
 Mabel), is perfectly certain that no married man looks at women 
 other than his wife with such eyes nor talks to them, in such a 
 voice as Brandon has used. 
 
 " No," says Susan. ** He hasn't got the look nor yet the ways 
 of a married gentleman." 
 
 For, in Susan's day, bonds set less lightly on wedded folk than 
 to-day. 
 
 " He seems a very nice gentleman," tentatively. 
 
 " Yes," answers Vanessa, half lost in reverie. " Susan!" start- 
 ing up suddenly and forgetting tha> her nurse has hold of her 
 by the hair until painfully reminded of the fact, " what do you 
 think?" 
 
 " Lor', my dear," cries Susan, " whatever do you start up on a 
 sudden like that for ? Why, you've made me tear out a hand- 
 ful!" 
 
 " Never mind," returns Vanessa, indifferent to pain in her ex- 
 citement; " he said," her face all aglow, " he said he would try 
 to get papa to take me to London to stay with him. Oh! Susanr 
 
18 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED: 
 
 marching up and down the room, " I shall die of pleasure if I 
 fo, and," suddenly flinging herself on the bed, "I shall die of 
 disappointment if I don't." 
 
 "Well I never!" cries Susan, wrought by sympathy to an al- 
 most equal pitch of excitement. " But there,^ with the triumph 
 Af successful prophecy, " I always said it. Mary Ann knows it 
 she can prove my words I always said ' The first gentlemen 
 As ever claps eyes on Miss Nessa,' I says, says I, ' he'll be carry- 
 ing of her off/ Ask Mary Ann if them was not my very words." 
 
 *' Susan," interrupts Vanessa, sitting upright on the bed, 
 **ughing but radiant with pleasure, '* don't be an old goose!" 
 
 *' I see it all," continues Susan, the mantle of prophecy still 
 draping her; " you'll go, and then you'll marry him and be one 
 of the grandest and handsomest ladies in London. You'll go to 
 Court, and you'll take the shine off the squire's granddaughters 
 and a good many more of 'em. I'm sure's he's a great gentle- 
 manhe looks it even though he is plain Mister, but it isn't 
 always the titled folk as is the best families." 
 
 If Vanessa affects to chide her nurse, she is not the lees 
 pleased, not to say dazzled, by her predictions. 
 
 Sir Bertram, who at this moment is coldly drawing out the 
 details of her future life (should he see fit to put into execution 
 the idea that has stricken his imagination), would-be very much 
 surprised and disgusted if he could be aware that the very day 
 which has given him this inspiration about extending the scep- 
 ter to her has also, by a strange coincidence, brought a rival into 
 the field a rival who has succeeded, too, in taking what in Sir 
 Bertram's eyes is of no account, the fancy of the young lady. 
 Fancy! "The bow-string and sack for women with fancies," 
 the old Turk would have ordained could he have had his cruel 
 will. Indeed, from his ideas about women, there is no doubt 
 Sir Bertram ought to have been a disciple of Mohammed. 
 
 Susan is gone, and Vanessa stands on the open casement, 
 lovely, love-desiring as Juliet. She stands there in the hush of 
 night, looking with rapt eyes at the fair sky, weaving dreams of 
 the future, the future that seems like some enchanted land to 
 the eyes of her soul. "What does it hold for her! love? rapture i 
 Yes, of these she feels joyously confident. To see the world 
 to taste its pleasures to love and be beloved this is the ex- 
 quisite mirage the blue vault of heaven offers to her dazzled 
 eyes. 
 
 And these ideas, cries some skeptical reader, come hot-pressed 
 to the mind of a country girl who for the first time in her life 
 talks to a man and sees that he admires her. Need they be new 
 ideas? Dp you think that because a woman does not come in 
 contact with men the desire for love never burns in her heart? 
 Do you think the dreamy young girl who loves solitary rambles 
 and gazes by night at the stars has no aspirations, no yearnings 
 after some other, fuller life, vague though her thoughts of it maj 
 be? Do you think that when spring and sunshine come, waking 
 all nature to quicker life, the hearts which Fate has left to soli- 
 tude dp not cry aloud for their share of joy and love, do not 
 agonizingly rebel against their forlorn and barren doom ? &9 
 
Z--tl'AVE LIVED AND LOVED^ 19 
 
 has Vanessa desired and rebelled, but to-night heaven seems t 
 have opened for her, and the future is one vast garden of sun- 
 shine and promise. 
 
 She stands at the window, her glorious hair making a gold 
 mantle over her white dress; unconscious as Juliet of a lover 
 lurking in the garden. Brandon, not accustomed to early hours, 
 has asked permission of his host to stroll another half hour in 
 the air with his cigar, promising to look to the bolts and bars 
 on his return. 
 
 " We do not trouble about those," the vicar has told him smil- 
 ing " we have no thieves here, and no treasure to steal." 
 
 Brandon has finished one cigar, and finding the night so ex- 
 quisite, can yet not make up his mind to leave it, when, in the 
 distance, he sees Vanessa's figure at the window. Stealthily he 
 creeps from tree to tree, until he is beneath the shadow of one 
 near enough to let him see distinctly her upturned face. Could 
 any man with a spark of poetry in him behold a beautiful 
 woman standing by moonlight at a window and not think of 
 Juliet? 
 
 She cannot see him, and he leans against the tree's trunk and 
 looks his fill. 
 
 " Ah, my poor fellow!" he says, presently, apostrophizing him- 
 self between smiling mnd sighing, <; at forty -three one is past 
 playing the part of Romeo not because one is past feeling it, 
 Heaven knows, but because it becomes ridiculous. An elderly 
 Romeo! Twenty years ago I could have done it well. I should 
 like to do it now, but what an old fool she would think met 
 After all, though," turning his eyes away for a moment from 
 the picture of Juliet and looking far away as one does when deep 
 in thought, " does a man love better at twenty-three than forty- 
 three? His blood is hotter: that would make him a better lover; 
 but I think forty-three loves longer and deeper, and so might 
 make the better husband. Yes, Romeo must be young, 
 but " 
 
 Brandon turns his eyes wistfully back to Juliet, and leaves his 
 sentence unfinished. He has been going about the world for five- 
 and-twenty years he knows as much of it as priest, doctor, and 
 lawyer ?all in one, but he has a simple, honest, straightforward 
 nature, and in spite of all he has heard, read, and experienced, 
 believes in God, and does not despise women. He is unmarried, 
 not from contempt and hatred of that state, but because he was 
 rejected by the only woman he had ever, up to this moment, de- 
 sired to marry. Twenty years ago, when he would have fain played 
 Romeo to her Juliet, she was, he remembers at this moment, 
 something in the style of Vanessa, but not near, not near so 
 lovely she is a large and portly dame now, who presented a 
 daughter this season. Truly men have the best of it in this 
 world; they may have a Juliet when they are twenty-three, 
 thirt} 7 -three* : forty-three, and so on even up to seventy-three. 
 
 The moon still shines on half the latticed casement the other 
 half remains open, but Juliet is no longer there. Brandon has 
 strolled away to the further end of the garden, has lighted 
 another cigar, and ia sitting deep in thought on that same bench 
 
20 HAVE LIVED ANP LOVZB. 
 
 where, three hours since, Vanessa sat beside imn. 3ven if it 
 wore possible, he is .saying to himself, to win her love, it would 
 be most unfair to attempt it until she has seen something of the 
 world, has mixed with other men (men against vvhom John 
 Brandon, in his honest, diffident heart, thinks he would not 
 have the smallest chance). She is young and" imaginative, 
 th listing for pleasure it is quite probable that here, in the 
 country's heart, without a single rival, she might listen to his 
 w<M'i>-.^ . 3 grow to think she loved him. And if he could keep 
 her here, she might never know what gallant young 
 
 Rom eos were wandering up and down the world in perpetual 
 search of Juliets; but Brandon has none of Sir Bertram's Oriental 
 ideas -indeed, if you wanted to find two men who offered the 
 most thorough contrast to each other, you could no : ; have sue- 
 Uu better than in choosing the two who to-day became as- 
 pirants in their hearts t Vanessa's hand. 
 
 Brandon breaks off his reverie, determined to seek no unfair 
 advantage, and bent on inducing the vicar to bring his daughter 
 to London. 
 
 At breakfast next morning he gayly and boldly broaches the 
 subject. 
 
 il Wentworth," he says, in his cheery voice, *' now that I have 
 enjoyed your hospitality, you must come and taste mine. Miss 
 Wentworth and I have hatched a little conspiracy to carry you 
 off to London, and only think, my dear fellow, what an oppor- 
 tunity for you to go to the British Museum, and get valuable 
 references for the great work!" 
 
 Brandon sees the hand of the presiding genius, stretched at 
 this moment toward the sugar basin, tremble; sees the faint color 
 flit through her cheek, and her eyes dart an eager look at her 
 father. 
 
 " What'" says the vicar, half smiling, half perplexed. " Why, 
 my dear Brandon, you are joking!'' 
 
 " \Ve shall settle it all for you." answers Brandon, gayly 
 " you shall have no trouble, I will leave you a w>.ole week to 
 turn it over in your mind, and then I shall come back for your 
 answer. ' 
 
 Half an horn* later he is bidding host and hostess farewell at 
 their gate, as he has to be in London that night. He gazes for a 
 moment into Vanessa's eyes as he bends from his saddle to take 
 her hand once more, and there is a fire in his eyes that makes 
 them tell even .more tales than they told last night tales emi- 
 nently pleasing to the fair maid who reads. 
 
 She 1 ; s betaken herself to that bower in the garden where 
 first he saw her. and thither, a few Moments later, -comes thf 
 vic<tr, hurrying. He is unusually excited; an open letter is ir, 
 his hands. 
 
 "Read this, my dear," he says, ant* v anessa with some won- 
 der takes it from him and obsys 
 
 " DEAR, <V\_ ,TWORTH ' (she reads); "Will you ana you* 
 daughter give m^ the pleasure of your company at jiinnet 
 
/ HAVS LIVED AND LOVED, : 
 
 to-night at eight o'clock precisely? I am here alone. Tha 
 brougham shall bring you and take you home. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 "BERTRAM ORFORD," 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 FATHER and daughter exchange glances there is, indeed, a 
 look almost of consternation upon both their faces too much 
 honor is sometimes overwhelming to those upon whom it is 
 thrust suddenly. 
 
 Vanessa has been to the Hall now and then to dine with 
 the squire's granddaughter in the middle of the day, on which 
 occasions his august majesty has never deigned to be present; 
 and, now afid again, the vicar had been invited to dine during 
 Mrs. Vaughan's stay. There had 'been no sending of carriages, 
 however, to fetch either of them: thus this sudden condescen- 
 sion is felt by both to be not only startling but embarrassing. 
 
 " I suppose we must go," says the vicar, looking doubtfully at 
 his daughter, 
 
 " But I have nothing to wear," exclaims Vanessa, her femi- 
 nine instinct triumphing at once over every other thought. 
 
 " Sir Bertram will not expect any very great display of dress, 
 I dare say," answers the vicar, in a nervous, flurried manner," 
 " and we must not run the risk of offending him since he is so 
 kind. I will go and write an acceptance." 
 
 Vanessa is quite excited. A new era seems to have com- 
 menced in her life. She has retired to this bower to dream 
 about Brandon; to recall his looks and words; to feast on the 
 thought that a being from the outer world has seen her a being 
 who lives habitually in the sight of beautiful and well-born 
 women, and has yet not despised her; to dwell with rapture on 
 the thought of going to visit the great city; but this command 
 to dine at the Hall drives everything else out of her head for the 
 moment, and she hastens to seek Susan jind to consult with her 
 upon her toilet for the evening. 
 
 Susan is in a jubilant and triumphant frame of mind; she is 
 no longer surprised at anything she indulges in an innocent 
 kind of self-glorification at her own sagacity, and reiterates at 
 intervals with ever-increasing emphasis that she knew how it 
 would be all along. She even goes so far as to consider herself 
 the humble instrument of this honor, for she says: 
 
 " If I hadn't thought of getting you to go up to Mary Ann, 
 why. you wouldn't have met the squire, and, if you hadn't have 
 met the squire, he couldn't have been so took with you." 
 
 But this allusion to her shame and suffering of yesterday is 
 unpalatable to Vanessa, and she hastens to change the subject. 
 
 A more beautiful creature than the girl who, in her simple 
 muslin dress, with the knot of white roses in her hair, enters 
 the Hall drawing-room that evenmg would be hard to find. She 
 trembles and feels agonizingly shy, but it is with the graceful 
 shyness of modesty, not the shyness of awkwardness. Sir Ber- 
 tram recognies and approves it; personages, I am told 3 are 
 
32 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 gratified by seeing that they inspire awe, and are far more prepos- 
 sessed by timidity in subjects than undue confidence. Here, at 
 all events. Sir Bertram is autocrat and king of the castle. It 
 pleases him to live in semi-state at the Hall; therefore, though 
 he almost invariably dines alone, the appointments of the table 
 are as imposing as though he were entertaining a party the 
 silver stands in array on the sideboard, rare flowers 'ornament 
 the table, the finest fruits the hot-houses produce are served for 
 their master. 
 
 This morning Sir Bertram has requested Mrs. Marter to be par- 
 ticularly choice in her menu, and to direct her attention espe- 
 cially to the sweets. 
 
 " Young ladies," he observed, and his features actually relaxed 
 jnto a smile, " think most of that part of dinner." 
 
 At this, Mrs. Marter, making mention of the interview later 
 to her sister, described herself as being reduced to that state of 
 moral and physical weakness when a feather would have been 
 sufficient to prostrate her. But she, who was as quick at seeing 
 through a milestone as Susan, drew her own auguries at once. 
 
 Vanessa experienced a kind of enchantment of the senses as 
 she sut at dinner, surrounded by beautiful and luxurious objects; 
 flowers such as she had never seen before massed together in 
 profusion, and wafting new and delicious perfumes toward her. 
 From the broad windows stretched the wide and lovely view 
 the sky was one golden glory. The squire had insisted on 
 her tasting his champagne, and even the few dainty sips she 
 had indulged in had sent a pleasant exhilaration through her 
 veins: made her eyes sparkle, -and dispersed her first shyness. 
 Was it a dream or a reality? The squire, monster and ogre of 
 all her previous thoughts, transformed into a genial, courteous 
 host; talking to her without a trace of condescension or patron- 
 age in his manner, and exerting himself to amuse and interest 
 her! 
 
 The vicar, most absent of men, accustomed to eat in unbroken 
 silence, was lost in abstruse reflections, and the squire was there- 
 fore at liberty, wjthout discourtesy to the father, to confine his 
 attentions to the daughter. And, without Vanessa being aware 
 of it. he \vas watching her narrowly; observing her every ac- 
 tion, scanning her every feature, weighing her graces and beau- 
 ties in his cynical mind, and. strange to say, not finding her 
 wanting. To say that he was falling in love with her would be 
 inappropriate so soft an emotion had no part in Sir Bertram's 
 nature; such sense as he had she stirred; the possession of hei 
 beauty would be flattering to his pride: she had all the elements 
 of a charming and lovely woman whom wealth and rank would 
 set as silver sets diamonds, bringing stray stones together into a 
 superb ornament. Whilst they yet sat at dinner he resolved 
 that Venessa should be Lady Or ford. 
 
 That young damsel, as he held the door open for her when she 
 repaired to the drawing-roonf, was not without some intuition 
 of the impression she had produced on the squire, and a sense 
 of power made a certain triumph tingle in her veins such as th 
 first taste of it gives to those who love and are born to wield it 
 
f HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 38 
 
 Ami Vanessa, though circumstances had placed her in so lowly 
 and isolated a position, had the instincts ascribed to a young 
 empress. She threw herself into a low chair near the window, 
 and looked out over the terrace a*hd across the park. She would 
 have liked to fly to the housekeeper's room and pour her wonder, 
 surprise, and admiration into the sympathizing ears of Mary 
 Ann, but something told her that a gait divided her from yes- 
 terday: that now she was Sir Bertram's guest she could not be 
 Mary Ann's at all events, whilst the squire was at home. 
 
 And now, leaning back in the luxurious chair, her fa,ce fanned 
 by the soft west wind, her eyes fixed on the last paling cloud 
 that erewhile was so vivid a red, her thoughts turn again to Bran- 
 don. If he were but the squire! If? Why not if earth were 
 paradise at once! What pleasure would run through John Bran- 
 don's veins if he knew how Vanessa was thinking of him! But 
 later he would have reflected, " I am the only man she has seen 
 she wants to love it is the emotion that charms her there- 
 fore the first man she meets with the smallest pretension to 
 pleasing a woman would succeed in fixing her fancy. But how 
 about afterward when she sees other men ?" That is what John 
 Bandon would have said: what later on he did say to himself, 
 and his estimation of 4lie situation was perfectly correct. 
 
 Vanessa is not left long to reverie the hard, thin voice of the 
 squire, modulated by considerable effort, breaks on her ear. 
 
 " Deep in thought!" it says. "I wonder if one might venture 
 to ask the nature of your reflections ?" 
 
 Since it would be impossible for her to reply, " I was wishing 
 that you were Mr. Brandon," we may forgive her for not ad- 
 hering to the truth on this occasion. 
 
 "I was thinking," she answers, "how lovely this view is, 
 and how nice it must be to live up so high instead of down be- 
 low.'' 
 
 4 Do you think you would like to live here ?" says Sir Bertram, 
 in so meaning a tone that Vanessa's cheeks and throat are 
 flooded with crimson in a moment. To hide her embarrassment 
 she almost turns her back to her host and exclaims, with un- 
 necessary eagerness: 
 
 "There is the moon coming up behind the trees. How 
 lovely!" 
 
 "Shall we take a turn in the garden?" asks Sir Bertram. 
 " Your father has found some wonderful book in the library, and 
 is lost to everything else." 
 
 Vanessa expresses her willingness, and the squire proceeds to 
 ring the bell. 
 
 " I am going to send for your hat and shawl, "he says, but she 
 tells him that she has not even brought any. He, however, not 
 being animated by the recklessness of young folk, but having, 
 instead, a rooted mistrust of the climate of his country, puts on 
 his hat, hangs a light coat over his arm, and, thus prepared, 
 steps out on the terrace where Vanessa is waiting for him. 
 
 Sir Bertram has no intention of frightening his quarry by too 
 hasty a pursuit, but as he is quite determined to possess her, 
 goes to work slowly, and, as he thinks, surely. He intends te 
 
34 / HAVE LIVZD AND LOVED. 
 
 appeal to those feelings and senses in her which in his opinion 
 are the strongest motive-power in her sex vanity, ambition, love 
 of luxury and di When she is fully alive to how much 
 
 there wi!l he to c iady Orford, he has no doubt of 
 
 his suit being succ -essful. He has always employed the sam-3 
 tactics with \vonu n. in .sting them with a calculating lavishneas 
 and generosity, and to this lie has owed the apparent success 
 with them which has surprised and not unfrequently disgusted 
 men with far more pretensions in themselves to please tke fair. 
 He is coldly aware that any symptom of love or passion in a 
 man of his age must be necessarily repellent and disgusting to 
 a young girl, and he has quite sufficient self-command, im- 
 
 i though he is by her beauty, to assume nothing warmer 
 than a paternal and kindly manner which shall gradually win 
 her confidence without alarming or shocking her. He is quite 
 conte. his time. It is all very well for youth to snatch 
 
 at whi : ; It covets; but elders may trip or stumble, and must walk 
 qui- the object of their pursuit. 
 
 feelings this' evening, though of an entirely differ- 
 ent nature from those of yesterday, are decidedly agreeable. 
 
 ide and vanity are extremely gratified by the attentions 
 of the greatest personage whom ehe has ever .seen or known. 
 For the awe and respect in which Sir Bertfam. is held in his own 
 domain exceeds that which is offered to many a potentate by 
 his subjects. Has not she herself trembled before him ? And 
 here, to-night, she is walking fearlessly beside him a favored 
 guest one whom he is unmistakably pleased to honor. What 
 woman would believe me If I said that Vanessa failed to con- 
 nect this strange and sudden change with her own beauty; 
 failed to guess that the squire, in condescending; almost for 
 the first time to take any particular notice of her, had found 
 that she was fair? She had her looking-glass, besides the con- 
 stant eulogies and glory if yings of Mary Ann and Susan to tell 
 
 much all she wanted was the opportunity of comparing 
 
 :' with other women to know what the degree of her beauty 
 was. 
 
 Vanessa has no desire to " blush unseen; " she wants to be ad- 
 mired, and more, much more, to be loved. Certainly she has 
 no ambition to be loved by the squire; but she 'likes immensely 
 to Jbe treated with distinction by him, and thus to win increased 
 respect and consideration from others. Sir Bertram talks pleas- 
 antly to her; tells her ftiuch about the world, especially those 
 vanities and trivialities of it which he knows to be so pleasing^to 
 the female ear. and, before they return to the house, he has 
 made a proposal to Vanessa which causes her eyes to glisten and 
 her red lips to part with an exclamation of delight. How would 
 
 she like to drive over to B , that seaport town which she 
 
 once before visited in company with Edith and Mabel? The 
 squire, it is to be supposed, is like the rest of the world, a little 
 sensitive on some points he does not speak of these young 
 ladies to Vanessa as hi* granddaughters. The weather promises 
 to hold fine -if it pleases her, he will send on horses to-nior- 
 low, and. - the folio WIP~ day, they will s^-t at half part 
 
I HAVE LTVED ANT> LOVED. 35 
 
 ken and drive over. He is confident the vicar will not make any 
 objection. 
 
 I cannot expect any reader who leads at all a gay and fashion- 
 able lite, nor even one v.-ith whom excursions and parties of 
 pleasure are occasional incidents, to imagine how delightful this 
 proposition was to Vanessa, who lived year in, year out, with 
 nothing to break the monotony of he/ life. Sir Bertram was 
 charmed to see her delight and excitement at the proposal; if 
 she was, so eager for pleasure, he had a very excellent chance of 
 success by ministering to her appetite. He had one very shrewd 
 conviction, however, and that was that he must keep other men, 
 younger men, away from her until she was Lady Orford. After 
 that he charged himself, in perfect confidence, with the care of 
 his honor. 
 
 Vanessa went home full of triumph and excitement, entirely 
 shared by the faithful Susan. When she fell asleep she dreamed 
 that she was up at the Hall again, but the squire had turned into 
 Mr. Brandon. She could almost have cried for disappointment 
 when she awoke to find it was only a dream it had been so 
 transcendently delightful. 
 
 Saturday came and brought lovely weather. Punctual to a 
 moment tna squire's barouche, with its fine black horses, rolled 
 up to the Vicarage door, and Vanessa and her father mounted 
 into it; she obeying Sir Bertram's gesture and taking the seat of 
 honor beside him, although she would fain, from a sense of 
 duty, have relinquished it to her father. The radiance of hap- 
 piness added fourfold to her beauty; she had a delicious sense 
 of importance as she drove through the village and saw the 
 wondering stares of the courtesying and bobbing folk. The 
 gwift motion through the air and the swing of the luxurious 
 carriage were new and agreeable sensations: the fine liveries of 
 the servants and the footman's powdered head pleased her eyes 
 and gratified her pride. Sir Bertram, watching her quietly, 
 read her like a booK.and thought what an easy bird a pretty 
 won- an is to catch. Then, you see, he knew nothing about John 
 Brandon; nor did he further know 7 that Vanessa was one of 
 those women who. though they delight in pleasure, excitement, 
 and the vanities of life, would "no more be induced to marry a 
 man they did not love than to sell themselves to the powers of 
 darkness. If such women can feel the intensity of. love, they 
 Buffer in an even greater degree the intensity of repulsion, and 
 would almost rather endure death than submit to an embrace 
 from a man they do not love. 
 
 If Vanessa, as is quite probable, had her little suspicions that 
 the squire's amazing kindness was not entirely disinterested, 
 she had no more idea of encouraging his suit than if he had 
 beery her own grandfather instead of Edith's arid Mabel's; but 
 that was no reason why she should not enjoy the favors which, 
 just at present, he seemed inclined to shower upon her. < 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock when they drew up with a clatter at 
 the door of the principal hotel, where the landlord, apprised of 
 their intended visit, stood on the steps to receive them with be- 
 coming honor. As she descended from the carriage, there 
 
26 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 flashed upon Vanessa like lightning the memory of an incident 
 which occurred on the only occasion when she had ever been in 
 
 B . She had driven over with Edith, Mabel, and their maid 
 
 some three years ago in the wagonette, and as they reached the 
 door a gentleman was standing on the steps smoking a cigar, 
 which, as the young ladies advanced, he removed from hig 
 mouth. Vanessa, looking up, beheld a being who presented so 
 remarkable a likeness to picture of St. George which she had 
 always been desperately in love with in default of a living hero, 
 that in her admiration and surprise she stumbled up one step, 
 and would have fallen but that he sprung forward to assist her. 
 His eye's met hers as he just raised his hat, having helped her to 
 regain her balance, and they certainly expressed as much ad- 
 miration intentionally as hers did Unintentionally. She did not 
 see him again, but ever afterward he did duty in her imagina- 
 tion for everyjiero, knight, or prince of whom she read. To-day 
 she half expects to see him standing there still, but there is only 
 the landlord, with a couple of satellites in somewhat shiny black 
 raiment, 
 
 Vanessa does ample justice to the luncheon prepared for them 
 according to the best lights of the hotel cook. Sir Bertram, 
 whose theory it is that women have all the meaner vices, in- 
 cluding greediness, does yet not object to see them eat so long 
 as they eat gracefully and ungluttonously; and, on this head, he 
 can find no fault with Vanessa, who has the instincts of a lady 
 to her finger-tips. 
 
 Luncheon over, the squire proposes a stroll to look at the shops 
 and the sea the vicar makes a call on a learned friend who 
 lives on the outskirts of the town. A good many of Sir Ber- 
 tram's acquaintances would be considerably surprised to see 
 him standing patiently on the pavement whilst his fair corn- 
 pa i lion flattens her nose with eager delight against the trumpery 
 little shop-window. At first, in shyness and fear of him, she 
 had offered to pass them by without lingering, but he had caught 
 the yearning look in her e yes. and said at once, in his best and 
 most reassuring manner: 
 
 '" We have come out for a day's pleasuring r and I know what 
 one of the favorite amusements of ladfes is. so pray, my dear" 
 (quite paternally), "gratify yourself to your heart's content." 
 
 So Vanessa takes her fill of rapture, and with difficulty re- 
 presses the oh's and ah's which rush to her lips at the sight of 
 so many treasures. Perhaps the jewelers shop pleases her the 
 most. 
 
 " A poor show," observes Sir Bertram, with sont contempt. 
 
 Now what is your idea of the prettiest object here?'' and, with- 
 out hesitation, Vanessa points to a somewhat old-fashioned gold 
 locket with a spray of turquois forget-me-nots set in the center, 
 
 " Your taste is good," the squire says, approvingly " that is 
 really the only pretty thing in the window." 
 
 She smiles, liking to be praised as every woman does who is 
 what John Brandon calls " a woman all over. 1 ' 
 
 Presently they come out upon the sea, and make their way 
 to the end of the short wooden pier. And there Vanessa stand^ 
 
I ~ HAVE LIVED AND *,OVE&- 27 
 
 fapt and silent, forgetful of the squire and of everything and 
 every one on earth. She stands and looks at the dark- blue water 
 flecked with green and purple, dsincing, shining, glittering in 
 the sun, and the wild yearning sweeps over her which the sea 
 kindles in some hearts. It fills the happy with a mighty sense of 
 power and rapture; to them it is like a pulse beating madly with 
 joy, with all the strength, vitality, and buoyancy of youth; to the 
 wretched it is full of cruelty and mockery, overwhelming them 
 with a sense of immeasurable despair. Vanessa's heart is filled 
 
 ith a mad yearning for happiness and pleasure she is carried 
 out of herself; she leans her arms on the wooden balustrade and 
 looks into the sapphire waters with entranced eyes, as though 
 they pierced the waves and saw some Paradise beneath. 
 
 And the squire, who no longer experiences sensations himself, 
 ftnd-is as blase as most men who have lived much and thought 
 much, and off whom time has worn what small veneration they 
 once possessed, watches her with a certain curiosity, if without 
 any particular sympathy. Sympathy! nay, no word in the 
 vocabulary could be less appropriate to describe Sir Bertram's 
 i'eelings at any time than that. 
 
 He would have defined the girl's passionate yearnings as the 
 strong animal instincts of youth; wonder inspired by the un- 
 known, the unexperienced; curiosity struggling against igno- 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THIS was one of the few days which Vanessa had passed in her 
 life worthy to be marked with a white stone. Could she foresee 
 the strange transformation her life is to undergo the mingled 
 pains arid passions, raptures and agonies that lie before her 
 would she shrink back terrified, or would she go boldly out to 
 meet her fate? Promise a young and passionate heart love, and 
 bliss through love, and what will it reck of any after-pang! 
 
 Sir Bertram, having resolved that this lovely girl should be 
 his, laid himself out consistently for the achievement of his pur- 
 pose; put aside his autocratic airs, and forebore to launch the 
 withering sarcasms, the cynical strictures, which he, as a rule, 
 indulged in. 
 
 As they were nearing home, he produced from his breast 
 pocket a morocco case and presented it to Vanessa. 
 
 " When one goes on a jaunt one buys fairings," he says, in the 
 mellowest tone he can command. 
 
 Vanessa's face flushes with delight and surprise as she opens' 
 the case and finds there the locket with the forget-me-not spray. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Bertram! Oh, papa!'' 
 
 The squire reflects how often he has spent hundreds of pounds 
 on nrjewel and not won a fiftieth part of the gratitude that 
 beams from the lovely eyes now gazing into his, It convinces 
 him more than ever that women ought to be slaves, looking to 
 one hand alone for their pleasures; not allowed to rove about in 
 freedom, growing capricious, insatiable, intolerable in their 
 vagaries like wild, irresponsible animals (as they are); corrupted 
 
88 I HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 by admiration, an. I devoured by overweening vanity and i'n* 
 puderit confidence in the unlimited power of their own beauty. 
 
 As Vanessa and her father sit over their "high tea" that 
 evening, the vicar says, breaking from one of his accustomed 
 reveries: 
 
 " Do you know, my dear, I think we have been rather in the 
 habit of misjudging Sir Bertram. The thought really concerns 
 me." 
 
 4i Yes/' replied Vanessa, eagerly, " I'm sure we have. I am 
 quite sorry for all the names I have called him. He is quite * 
 dear old man, and I will never say another word against him.'* 
 
 Three or four days pass again the vicar and his daughter have 
 dined at the Hall the squire has paid a visit to the Vicarage, 
 bringing in his own hand an offering of choice fruit to Vanessa, 
 and spending nearly an hour seated beside her in that bower 
 where Brandon first espied her. He, Brandon, is not in any dan- 
 ger of being forgotten by her when a girl's heart is ripe for love, 
 and she has seen and spoken with a man who stands to her in 
 the light of a possible lover, however different he may in poinl 
 of fact be from the ideal she once conceived, it would take some- 
 thing more than a trip to the sea or the attentions of an elderly 
 beau like Sir Bertram to wrest her thoughts from him. It is 
 with the keenest pleasure she has ever experienced that she 
 reacfs a letter which her father hands her one morning at break- 
 fast: 
 
 " ?!Y DEAR WENT WORTH, You are still, I hope, turning over 
 in your mind the possibility of paying me a visit here. I suppose 
 It can hardly be managed just yet, because, when you do come, 
 you must stay at least two or three weeks, and there isyoursul> 
 stitute to be arranged for. The season is all but over, and next 
 week I go to Goodwood, having a month since agreed to make 
 one of a party for the races. But I am longing to show Misa 
 Wentworth the wonders of town, and, by the way, don't you 
 forget the benefit to be derived for the magnum opus by your 
 ^isit. I wonder whether you will vote me a bore if I run down 
 on Thursday for a day or two ? I have fallen in love with your 
 rural dwelling-place; the pure air there seems to give me fresh 
 
 life. I discovered, after I left you, on my way back to L , a 
 
 charming little inn about six miles from you, and I am going to 
 send a horse there, so that 1 can ride over and see you of a day* 
 and thus not run the risk'of wearing out my welcome, as I hope 
 to repeat my visit once or twice during the summer and autumn* 
 I promise not to interfere with your graver occupations per- 
 haps Miss Wentworth will take pity upon me and let me dawdla 
 about and enjoy the dolce far niente in her company. 
 
 " Yours ever, JOHN BRANDON." 
 
 Vanessa looks, as she feels, delighted. 
 
 "'But, papa," she cries, " why should he not come here?" 
 
 " I think," answers her father, unconsciously betray ing a little 
 of the combined selfishness of the man and the book worm, kt I 
 Hiink his suggestion ife a very good one." 
 
 " I dare say, ' remarks Vanessa, her head already teeming witfc 
 
l^HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 2ft 
 
 plans tor his amusement, " the squire will ask him up to dinner 
 one night, if he knows that he is here." And her fancy draws a 
 Charming picture of herself and Brandon standing out together 
 on the terrace in the glories of the golden sunset, looking first at 
 the earthly paradise before them, and then perhaps in the 
 soul's paradise of each other's eyes, whilst the squire and her 
 father sit over their wine in the dining-room, as befits elderly 
 gentlemen. She persists in ignoring that Brandon and her 
 father are contemporaries, though she perfectly well remembers 
 that the squire is old enough to be her grandfather. She counts 
 the hours until he shall come she stands in front of her glass 
 pinning up and pulling down her auburn locks a dozen times be- 
 fore she can decide what style becomes her best. When he ar- 
 rives, she greets him like an old friend, jmd Brandon finds the 
 glances of her lovely eyes terribly upsetting to his honorable 
 theories about not taking advantage of her ignorance of the 
 world, and his exceptional position as the only eligible man of " 
 her acquaintance. He sees and knows that, if he uttered words 
 of love, she would listen to them; he burns to speak them, yet 
 refrains, but what his lips hesitate to reveal his eyes unsparingly 
 betray. What man can look at-a beautiful woman whom he al- 
 ready loves with cold, unexpressive eyes ? If there be o"ne so al- 
 together self-contained, it is not Brandon. He arrives between 
 two and three, and intends to ride away again at seven. Being 
 tlje most thoughtful and considerate of men, it has occurred to 
 him that to entertain him may tax their powers too much he 
 has therefore made known by letter the intended time and dura- 
 tion of his visit. 
 
 He and Vanessa are sitting under the shade of a big tree. Her 
 lips are rippling ovef with gav talk, and her eyes beam smiles 
 upon him. Brandon is unusually silent his whole attention is 
 concentrated in watching her. And, indeed, she has a face so 
 perfect that you may look forever without discovering a flaw, 
 and so varying in expression that it defies you to weary by long 
 gazing. 
 
 "I have been quite gay since you were here," she tells him; 
 " the most wonderful event has occurred." 
 
 " Really?" he says, smiling. " You pique my curiosity/' 
 
 ' 'Do you remember," she proceeds, her eyes brimming over 
 with laughter, " that I told you our* squire was a horrid, dis- 
 agreeable old wretch, and that I hated him?" 
 
 "I do," smiles- Brandon. " And I remember pitying him for 
 having inspired you with such a bad opinion." 
 
 "Well," says Vanessa, gayly, " he is changed a complete 
 transformation has come over him. He is quite a dear, and I 
 love him." 
 
 Lest the reader should at any time be surprised by this 
 maiden, shut up in the country, expressing herself like a woman 
 of fashion, I must recall to him that she is the bosom friend of 
 two young ladies who are in the world's charmed circle, and 
 whose ideas and expressions she is apt to imbibe and imitate. 
 
 ''He is qiiite a dear now, is he ?" echoes Brandon. "And 
 what has he done to change your opinion so suddenly ?" 
 
90 Jf HAVE LIVED AND LOVED 
 
 " Until this time," says Vanessa, " he was always horrid and 
 disagreeable: l<e took no notice of me, and, Indeed, I used to 
 nm away and hide if I saw him coming, but this time" exult- 
 inglv " lie lias asked us twice to dinner, and was so kind and 
 pleasant, not a bit like what lie was or what I fancied him; he 
 sends us tli!' most lovely fruit, and on Saturd ay only think! 
 
 he drove us over in his carriage to B to spend the day. I 
 
 never spent such a delightful day in my life. And " taking the 
 locket at her white throat between her fingers " he bought me 
 this." 
 
 Brandon has not the smallest difficulty in reading between the 
 lines. 
 
 " The old wretch!" he says to himself, and a sick shudder goes 
 through him, "how horrible! how monstrous!'' His thoughts 
 change the expression of his eyes, as, looking at her, he feels 
 the horror of her young beaut y " being given to a heartless old 
 roue. 
 
 Vanessa glances at him in surprise. 
 
 " Why do you look like that?" she says. 
 
 " Like what!" and Brandon smiles and shakes off the disagree- 
 able sensation that just now possessed him. 
 
 "I do not believe," observes Vanessa, "that you heard what I 
 was talking about. You were thinking of something else. I 
 was telling you of the squire's kindness, and you looked as if 
 you saw something disagreeable behind me. " I haven't got a 
 caterpillar or anything horrid crawling on me, have I ?" putting 
 vp her hand. 
 
 "No," he laughs. "But you are mistaken. I heard every 
 word you said. You told me that the squire had changed from 
 a horrid old monster to * quite a dear.' Now what," looking 
 keenly at her, " what do you suppose has changed him so ?" 
 
 "I cannot think," answers Vanessa: but even whilst she 
 speaks, having an honest and straightforward nature, the warm 
 blood rushes to her cheek, half at her own consciousness, half at 
 the meaning of his tone. 
 
 Brandon, incapable of the cruelty of continuing to look at a 
 blushing \voman, averts his eyes. 
 
 " There is a caterpillar, though," he says, espying one crawling 
 on the arm of the bench. " What a handsome fellow!" 
 
 " Do not touch it!" exclaims Vane'ssa, shuddering. " I loathe 
 caterpillars. Is it not strange," she adds,- " that being a country- 
 girl I have a horror of insects ? I do not mind mice or frogs, 
 but an insect crawling on me makes all my blood run cold/' 
 
 Her blush has faded; the cause of it is forgotten after this 
 momentary distraction, and they fall to talking of other objects. 
 
 Presently Susan is seen advancing with a tray of peaches, 
 grapes, and strawberries. 
 
 " Sir Bertram has just sent you these, miss, with his compli- 
 ments," she says. " 1 thought you would like me to bring them 
 out now." 
 
 Vanessa falls into raptures over the peaches and strawber- 
 ries. 
 
 " We will have a feast," she exclaims to Brandon, with glis- 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND CLOVED. 3t 
 
 tening eyes, preparing to help him to the best of the tray's con- 
 tents; but, to her innrjense chagrin, he excuses himself. Why 
 does he ? he is particularly fond of fruit. Somehow he feels 
 that Sir Bertram's fruit would set his teeth on edge he is cer- 
 tain that the old man is trying to buy Vanessa as old men buy 
 love, or what does duty for it, with gii'ts. 
 
 As he rides thoughtful!}' home that evening, his scruples about 
 declaring his love to Vanessa become fainter. Surely any fate 
 would be preferable for her than to fall into the clutches of that 
 hard, cruel old man, whom he knows so well by reputation, He 
 can scarcely fancy that a lovely, warm-hearted creature could 
 be induced to marry such a man, but pretty women are like but- 
 terflies; and titles, jewels, and riches are lights at which they 
 are very much given to flying. To-morrow he has promised to 
 stay later and dine at the Vicarage; he is sorely tempted to 
 promise himself that in the twilight, if he and Vanessa find 
 themselves together alone, he will tell her something of the love 
 for her of which his heart is so full. Absence has made her im- 
 pression upon him deeper, and when he sees her again, he feels 
 that she is yet more than in absence he had dreamed her. 
 
 The next day finds him once more sitting beside Vanessa 
 under the big tree. The warmth of his heart is stealing into his 
 words and looks. Vanessa is radiant with happiness. He bends 
 toward her there is undoubtedly something of the lover in his 
 attitude, when Sir Bertram and the vicar are seen coming to- 
 ward them. Sir Bertram sustains a severe shock at this spec- 
 tacle it takes him utterly by surprise his anger is kindled in a 
 moment. A serpent in the Eden which he thought his! the ears 
 of the future Lady.Orford being polluted by the admiration of a 
 strange man 1 A dull rage possesses the soul of the autocrat. 
 
 Brandon and Venessa rise the girl puts out her hand, which 
 the squire takes, without looking at her companion. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Sir Bertram?'' says Brandon, quietly, about to 
 offer his hand naturally, if reluctantly, to his acquaintance. 
 
 " How do you do, Mister Brandon ?" returns the squire, in freez- 
 ing accents, ignoring the half-extended hand, 
 
 John Brandon has none of that morbid sensitiveness which 
 makes some men rather look out for slights. He is, besides, on 
 terms of intimacy with men who occupy a considerably higher 
 station in the world than Sir Bertram, but there is something so 
 strangely rude in the latter's manner, an -air as of a superior 
 being resenting a presumptuous familarity, that the warm color 
 rushes to Brandon's cheek, and he turns away and addresses 
 himself to the vicar. 
 
 Vanessa, accustomed 10 the squire's manner before his regen- 
 eration, does not remark anything particular. She hastens to 
 offer her thanks for his present of yesterday, and, meantime, 
 her father and Brandon have walked a little way apart. 
 
 ' You know Mr. Brandon , do you not ?" Vanessa says naturally, 
 to the squire. " He tells m< he has met you." 
 
 " I know him insomuch that he is my wine-merchant," re- 
 plies Sir Bertram, with an acc-en* as contemptuous and indif 
 
32 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 ferent as though he said, " he is my butler/' or " he blacks my 
 boots." 
 
 Vanessa turns pale a pang goes through her heart she feels 
 as though she had been made the victim of some cruel decep- 
 tion. To her idea a wine-merchant has much the same status as 
 a grocer or a linen-draper. What education she has imbibed on 
 the subject of social relations is from Edith and Mabel, who 
 always speak of trade with an irrepressible widening of the 
 nostrils and contraction of the bridges of their little noses. 
 Trade is low people connected with business are unknowable, 
 unless (there is a rider to their verdict) unless they are so 
 enormously rich that they are refined and purified by the amount 
 of their go!4 
 
 Sir Bertram sees, with extreme satisfaction, that his maneuver 
 has been successful he has lowered Brandon in Vanessa's eyes 
 there is quite a look of shame and trouble in her face. 
 
 " I came," he says, altering his voice to a pleasant and friendly 
 inflection, " to beg you sfiad your father to dine with me to-night. 
 I find,'' with quite a gallant air, " that your presence at my table 
 spoils me for my own company." 
 
 "Thank you," replied" Vanessa, " but Mr. Brandon is dining 
 with us to-night, and we cannot leave him." 
 
 Her dream of the squire inviting their guest to the Hall has 
 vanished into thin air she is not sure that she any longer de- 
 sires such a consummation. 
 
 " I am sorry," says Sir Bertram, as though he never for an in- 
 stant entertained the faintest idea of including Brandon in his 
 invitation. 
 
 And yet he had sat next him once at a select dinner given by 
 Lord W , and voted hini afterward a very pleasant fellow. 
 
 This, however, was not for Vanessa to know the squire in- 
 tended her to receive the impression, as she did, that Brando*, 
 belonged to a class as wide apart from his as the poles. Pres- 
 ently he seated himself beside her on the rustic bench, and re- 
 mained a considerable time talking to her. He was gratified to 
 see that she wore the locket he had presented to her. 
 
 " I hope/' he said, " that when our friendship becomes better 
 cemented, you will let me bring you something much more 
 suited, not to adorn, but to be adorned by you." . 
 
 He speaks with his grand air, perfectly courteous and friendly, 
 entirely devoid of any lover-like accent. 
 
 Vanessa is flattered and not repelled. The vicar returns after 
 a time, but not Brandon. He is inexpressibly ruffled he 
 scarcely ever remembers to have been so annoyed by a 
 trifle. It is not until Sir Bertram ha departed that "he rejoins 
 Vanessa. A strange alteration has taken place in her manner. 
 She seems shy, embarrassed; her pretty, confident, familiar 
 manner toward him is gone she scarcely looks at him, has little 
 to say, yet seems afraid of a pause. And when she sees her 
 father in the distance, she runs to him and brings him back with 
 her. 
 
 What in the name of fortune can Sir Bertram have said or done 
 to hsr ? i - Le thou&lt which *-%cks John Brandon's brain and 
 
JL HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 33 
 
 makes him absent and distrait for the rest of the evening. Has 
 he proposed to her ? and, great Heaven! is it possible she can have 
 accepted him ? Brandon's conscience is too honest and clear 
 even for the thought to cross him that the squire can have said 
 anything to his detraction. He had assigned the correct motive, 
 jealousy, to the latter's rudeness toward himself, but Sir Ber- 
 tram must indeed exercise a strong influence over Vanessa if the 
 expression of his displeasure was able to effect such an instant 
 and complete change in her .mood and manner. The hour of 
 sunset came; then twilight; the moon rose and JuKet was there, 
 as lovely as ever he was even with her for a few minutes, but 
 to-night she was not Juliet, only a beautiful ice-maiden, and 
 Brandon could find no words with which to thaw her. His fire 
 could not melt her coldness; on the contrary, her coldness extin- 
 guished his fire. 
 
 He was going back to London to-morrow a chill feeling smote 
 him that he would never return his romance had been brief, 
 and was ended now. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, looking almost sorrowfully at Vanessa's 
 lovely face. 
 
 " Good-bye," she answered. She did not say: 
 
 '* When are you coming again V 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VANESSA stands again at her window and looks out at the 
 moonlit night. She has no questions to ask of the stars to-night; 
 no hopes for the future kindle her eyes; no heavenly visions 'of 
 given and requited love.- A sense of bitter disappointment 
 gnaws her heart. She had dreamed of a hero and found a 
 wine-merchant. Never, surely, were two words in the English 
 language so hideously married. Wanted a Romeo. Found a 
 wine merchant. She still writhes under Sir Bertram's con- 
 temptuous words and accent. Slle does not know that no well- 
 bred man^despises another because of his occupation, and that 
 sneers at Trade are reserved for parvenus and nouveaux riches. 
 Nor does she for an instant suspect that this assumed disdain was 
 partly a ruse of Sir Bertram's, partly an outcome of jealous 
 anger. Speaking to a woman in society, he would have chosen 
 any weapon rather than that; but, with Vanessa, he was toler- 
 ably sure of producing his effect. This time last night how happy 
 she was! how proudly her castles reared their crests against the 
 sky! what happy riot of hope and pleasure ran in her brain! She 
 half loved already half thought herself beloved a future brim- 
 ful of joy and pleasure was witMn her grasp. Where are her cas- 
 tles now V Ruined, crumbled, lying in dust and disgrace. She is 
 half indignant with Brandon for his presumption how dare he 
 counterfeit the gentleman so well! how dare he offer to make 
 love to her! Then she remembers that, after all, he and her 
 father were at college together, and her brain becomes wearied 
 and perplexed by a host of contradictory ideas. 
 
 "Papa!" she "says next morning at breakfast. A nervona 
 Ireincr disconcerts her; blushes are ready to fly through her fair 
 
34 -T HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 skin, but the vicar is the most absent of men, and scarcely evei 
 <.-es the person who-addresses him. " Papa! when did you firsi 
 know Mr. Brandon ?" 
 
 Her father makes a violent effort, and pulls his mind out of 
 the rut of thought in which it is crawling. He has to repeat her 
 words before he quite realizes the sense of them. 
 
 "When did I first know Brandon? We were at Eton to- 
 gether. His father's place in Blankshire was near- my grand-' 
 father's." 
 
 ' Who was his father?" asks Vanessa. 
 
 The vicar passes his hand for a moment across his brow be- 
 fore replying. 
 
 "He was C'olonel Brandon a very extravagant man. Ulti- 
 mately, the place had to be sold he and John's elder brother 
 cut off the entail between them. I forget what became of Will- 
 iam Brandon, but John went to India and made some money 
 there, and came home, and, he tells me, set up as a wine-mer- 
 chant, and is doing a very good business." 
 
 "Then he ivas a gentleman!" exclaims Vanessa, with some 
 ' eagerness. 
 
 Her fatheftooks across at her with a surprised air. 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear ? He was and is a gentleman,'* 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " Do gentlemen go into trade ?" and, this time the blood runs 
 riot at its own sweet will in Vanessa's cheeks. 
 
 " A gentleman." returns her father, " thinks no honest way of 
 earning an honorable living beneath him. Why, my dear, did 
 you suppose that there were only two sorts of gentlemen? 
 Squires like Sir Bertram and poor parsons like myself ?" 
 
 " No," says Vanessa, confused, "but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 The vicar for once concentrates his thoughts on the person he 
 is speaking to. and looks keenly at his daughter. 
 
 " Sir Bertram spoke of him in a slighting sort of way as his 
 wine-merchant," proceeds Vanessa, growing extreme^ uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 ' ' Sir Bertram did !" repeats the vicar, with unequivocal aston- 
 ishment. " My dear child, you must have mistaken his mean- 
 ing." 
 
 I do not think so."' says Vanessa, shaking her head. 
 
 " Well, well," remarks her father, as if the point was not worth 
 arguing. "At all events, disabuse your mind of the idea that 
 business is degrading to a gentleman. John Brandon is as true a 
 gentleman as ever stepped, and the associate of gentlemen. Lord 
 
 A . who was at Eton with usf is still one of his most intimate 
 
 friends." 
 
 Susan making her appearance at this juncture, the current of 
 the vicar's thoughts is turned, and he does not revert to the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Vanessa wends her way to her rose-bower, a third pleased, a third 
 feorry, a third indignant. The latter emotion is provoked by the 
 jquire. Why did he put such mean thoughts into her head? 
 5"ney were mean she would have called them snobbish had she 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED' 35 
 
 been conversant with the word and its application. She is 
 pleased because her taste and inclination in liking Brandon are 
 vindicated she is sorry because she feels that she has behaved 
 in a wav that must have been both incomprehensible and wound- 
 ing to "him. Then a sudden, burning shame overcomes her. 
 Wax it incomprehensible to him, or had he guessed the reason of 
 her altered manner? If he had, how he must despise her! Now 
 he has gone, gone perhaps forever ; aivi. at this thought, two 
 tears steal into Vanessa's eyes. Her romance had come to her, 
 and she had pushed it away with her own hands s lie might 
 never have another. She could still not help wishing that her 
 possible lover had been a gentleman at large: his occupation 
 rather tarnishes the gilt of her gingerbread. But now her ginger- 
 bread is gone altogether. Sir Bertram finds her silent and distrait 
 at dinner ; the vivacity which he considers her chief charm is 
 fled he connects the loss with Brandon, and feels bitter and dis- 
 pleased, fie does not, however, betray these emotions to his fair 
 guest. 
 
 "Your friends, Edith and Mabel, are coming the day after 
 to-inorrow," he tells her when dinner is over, arid, at this in- 
 telligence, her eyes brighten and all her face is illumined by 
 pleasure. 
 
 Sir Bertram has had many conflicting opinions about the ex- 
 pediency of having his granddaughters at the Hall. He by no 
 means relishes the thought of being addressed as " Grandpapa" 
 before his future bride, who is of the same age as themselves 
 nor does he like the idea of their inquisitive glances and surmises. 
 But on the other hand, they have both come. out this season and 
 are very full of the world's gayeties and vanities, and their eager 
 description of its pleasures will perhaps excite in Vanessa's 
 breast a desire to participate in them herself. If he could only 
 forbid them, under awful pains and penalties, ever to speak of 
 young men or lovers in her presence. 
 
 Sir Bertram has reflected, besides, that a visit from his grand- 
 daughters will supply the pretext for constant intercourse be- 
 tween the Hall and the Vicarage, and will show him more of 
 Vanessa's ^natural disposition than he is likely to see when he is 
 playing host to her alone and she is fulfilling the part of an ami- 
 able and obliging guest for his sole edification. 
 
 Three mornings later, Vanessa receives by hand the following 
 note : 
 
 "DEAREST NESSA, Your friends arrived last night, and are 
 dying to hug you. Come up as soon as ever you can after you 
 get this. The old Gorgon is quite amiable, and we have a sort 
 of an idea from the way he talked about you last night that he 
 is in love with you. This will be nuts for you. We have heaps 
 to tell you, and, if you don't come soon, our hearts will burst 
 from the impossibility of containing all the news that now op- 
 presses them. So fly to us just as you are. You are to spend 
 the whole day the O. G. suggested it himself. 
 
 " Your loving MABEL,." 
 
 Vanessa, who has lately been in a despOD<*\n~ \ugpd, recovers 
 
86 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 
 
 her cheerfulness on the spot, and prepares to obey the summon* 
 Half an hour after the receipt of the letter she enters the sitting- 
 room allotted by the squire to his granddaughters. She is re- 
 ceived by these young ladies with every demonstration of joy 
 they smother her with kisses between them they almost tear 
 her to pieces. 
 
 Edith is eighteen, not quite a year older than her sister, and is 
 unquestionably the prettier of the two, but Mabel is full of arch- 
 ness and vivacity, which makes her mdre attractive in the eyes 
 of some people. Edith is disposed to-be romantic; Mabel finds it 
 almost impossible to look seriously at anything, and is always 
 brimming over with fun and turning every one into ridicule. 
 She ali'ects an extravagant style of speech, and revels in adjec- 
 tives and superlatives. 
 
 " My adored Nessa," she cries, showering a second series of 
 embraces upon her friend, * *' how too delightful it is to see you 
 again! And now lovely you have grown! No wonder you have 
 turned the old Gorgon's brain. Tell us, my angel, is it true that 
 he is in love with you, as we suspect?" 
 
 Vanessa laughs gayly. 
 
 " What a goose you are, Mab!" she says. 
 
 "The madre," pursues Mabel, " is in a horrid fright. She 
 thinks the old gentleman is going to marry you, and do us out 
 of his money." 
 
 ' Mab!" expostulates her sister, with a side-frown. 
 
 " Nonsense!" retorts Mabel. " We have no secrets from Nessa. 
 And as if she would look at the old horror! Not but what I 
 think I should, if I were her. Oh, my love, if you knew," clasp- 
 ing her hands, " what a heavenly p]ace London is, and the de- 
 s of a season there, you would skip to the altar in the 
 twi: .kling of an eye with anybody who asked you that is, any- 
 body who had money v "1 would," chasser-ing all round the 
 room, "like a shot, because you can't really enjoy life without a 
 and." 
 
 Vanessa looks deeply interested. She thinks Mabel alludes to 
 the joys of love and companionship. 
 
 " But," she says, "if you have a husband, I hardly see that 
 you would care so much about London or the season." 
 
 Mabel stops in front of her. 
 
 " Chere ingenue" utters this minx of seventeen, " you misap- 
 prehend your friend. Let me enumerate to you the advantages 
 of a husband. In the first place, he enables you to flirt as you 
 could not possibly flirt without him; in the second, he makes 
 you ten times more admired than if you were unmarried; in the 
 third, he pays your bills, and, let us hope, looks pleasant; and to 
 wind up all, once you are married, you may say and do just 
 whatever you like, and nobody is shocked." 
 
 "Really, Mab," interrupts her sister, looking displeased, " you 
 are too much f OJP anything. If mamma could hear you, she would 
 Ibe exceedingly angry." 
 
 " I dare say," retorts Mabel, proceeding with a, pas seul ; "but 
 she is not likely to hear me. In company I am quite a well 
 brought up little girl without eyes and ears. I don't see any- 
 
*7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 37 
 
 thing that is going on under my nose, and I don't, of coarse, be- 
 ing very innocent, understand the things that grown-up people 
 talk about. However, Miss Prim, you know what I say is true; 
 and pray did not mamma sy herself that times were indeed 
 changed since she was young? for then the girls danced and 
 flirted and amused themselves, and the married women sat 
 and looked on." 
 
 " Edie," asks Vanessa, turning to the elder sister, " how- much 
 of what tliis madcap says is true ? Married women don't really 
 dance and flirt, 4o they ?" 
 
 " Unfortunately, they do," answers Edith, gravely. " It is an 
 awful shame, but girls are quite neglected nowadays in com- 
 parison, I mean." 
 
 "I don't mind a bit," chimes in Miss Mabel, "whether the 
 girls or the married women flirt, as long as I belong to the set 
 who have the best time. Just now it is the thing to be married, 
 so married I mean to be. Only think, my angel, that stupid 
 Edith might have been rolling, rolling in money now but for her 
 silly, idiotic, romantic nonsense. There's a man with thousands, 
 any quantity of thousands, a year who would have proposed to 
 her if she had given him the least encouragement; instead of 
 which she goes and falls in love with a detrimental, which, being 
 interpreted, is a penniless young man with a good-looking face 
 and no expectations." 
 
 Vanessa glances sympathetically at the elder sister, who blushes 
 faintly. 
 
 " Don't listen, Nessa dear, to the nonsense this child talks," 
 she says; " and now, Mab, pray hold your tongue for five min- 
 utes, if you can, and let somebody else get in a word edge- 
 ways." 
 
 " No, I sha'n't," cries Mabel. " I am going to tell Nessa about 
 nay offer. Fancy, my sweet love, only one offer all the season, 
 and I expected dozens. I always tHought when one came out, 
 if one was at all decent looking," surveying herself complacently 
 in a mirror, ' ' that almost every other man you met went on his 
 knees and said, ' Will you be mine ?' more for the sake of being 
 civil than anything else, and not really expecting to be taken at 
 his word, because, of course, all one wants is the pleasure of re- 
 fusing him. Dearest Nessa! only one wretched, measly little 
 offer all the season from a youth in the Foreign Office, with 
 about enough money to keep him in gardenias and cigarettes. He 
 was awfully in love with me, and after I had spurned him, I 
 looked every day in the Morning Post, expecting to see that he 
 had committed suicide, but he didn't. May Harley met him out 
 at dinner the next night, and told me he ate aid drank enor- 
 mously. I wouldn't have minded the drinking, because that 
 would have looked like despair, but no decent-minded man eats 
 after a disappointment. It's my belief that the young men of 
 the day are a very deteriorated race." 
 
 Vanessa laughs. 
 
 "My dear child," she says, " as if any man could possibly 
 think seriously of marrying such a madcap as you." 
 
 " I'm just the sort some men like," return^ Mabel, gravely, 
 
88 r-ffAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " I dare say it will be a man about the age of grandpapa, though 
 not such an old horror, of course, but some good-tempered and 
 pleasant old person who would let me do just as I like. By the 
 way. Nessa, I am dying to see grandpapa spoon you it will 
 throw a new light upon his character. Though, do you know," 
 mysteriously, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure Sir 
 Bertram is not within earshot. " I heard Hawkins say to Marter 
 that he wasn't quite what people down here fancied him, amd 
 that he had actresses and all sorts of people at his place on th 
 river. You know. Edie. he never would have us there on a Sum- 
 day, though mamma wanted to go down several times." 
 
 " I wish to goodness, Mab,'' interrupts her sister, impatiently, 
 " that you would go into the garden and take off some of your 
 Exuberant vitality, and let me and Vanessa have a little peace." 
 
 Mab stands pirouetting in the center of the floor. Suddenly 
 bringing her gyrations to a close, she says: 
 
 44 Weil. I don't mind leaving you together for an hour on one 
 condition that is. that I shall have Nessa all to myself for an 
 hour this afternoon.*' 
 
 Vanessa is accustomed to being bartered about between the 
 pair, each liking to tell her own stories and affairs without com- 
 ment, parentheses, or contradictions from the other. 
 
 So, after once more flinging her arms round Vanessa's neck, 
 and telling her she is quite the. loveliest creature and the greatest 
 angel in the world. Mabel takes herself off to beguile her hour of 
 waiting. 
 
 Edith is two months younger than Vanessa. Each of the 
 sisters likes to think she is the favorite of the vicar's daughter, 
 but, truth to tell. Vanessa would be extremely puzzled to decide 
 which she is fonder of. Mabel, with her great fund of spirits 
 arid gayety, amuses her, but Edith is more sympathetic. And 
 at this moment, when she is disposed to be somewhat sad and 
 sentimental, the society of Edith is more congenial to her. 
 
 Scarcely has Mabel left them when Vanessa takes her place 
 on the couch beside Edith, and says, in a pretty, caressing 
 whisper: 
 
 ' Tell me, darling, is it true what Mab says? Do you care for 
 some one ?'' 
 
 " Yes,*' answers Edith, leaning her cheek against her friend's 
 shoulder, "it is quite true. Oh, Nessa!'' in a mournful voice, 
 '.* it is dreadful to be in love when things won't go right." 
 
 44 Why shouldn't they go right?'* asks Vanessa. " If you love 
 him, and he loves you, what can anything else matter?" 
 
 '' It wouldn't matter here," answers Edith, " if we lived down 
 in the country and never went away from it, but you don't 
 know, darling Nessa, how different it is in the world. In so- 
 ciety, if a girl marries a poor man, her people hate it, and are 
 furious. She has to live in a wretched, poky way, quite differ- 
 ent from what she is accustomed to: and then, the worst of it 
 is ? the man gets to hate it, and to be discontented, and to wish he 
 hadn't married her. Not that I think Algy ever v; juld, but you 
 can't tell. There's Lady Blanche Hope. Last year every on* 
 was talking about her romantic marriage. Thev were the" mo* 
 
LIVED AND LOVlH. 39 
 
 devoted couple ever seen, and I met her this season, and she 
 talked to me so awfully kindly and nicely: I suppose she saw 
 "that Algy and I were fond of each other. ^She said, ' Don't, my 
 dear, marry a poor man. If you are obliged to live in London 
 and go into society, it is utterly fatal. I don't care how much 
 he loves you to begin with. The man feels being poor .worse 
 than the woman, and the moment he feels it, he makes you suf- 
 fer ten times over for every annoyance or restraint that is put 
 upon him." "' 
 
 " But,'" says Vanessa, " is he so very poor, and must he live in 
 London :" 
 
 " He is a younger son, and he is in the Guards," answers 
 Edith, shaking her head. " I will show you his picture." 
 And, going to her desk, she produces two portraits in different 
 attitudes of a very good-looking young man, in the undress uni- 
 form of the Guards. 
 
 " Oh!" utters Vanessa, drawing a long breath. Then, looking 
 tip curiously at her friend, she asks with unconscious naivete, 
 44 Are there many men like that in London V" 
 
 Edith smiles with gratified vanity. 
 
 " Not many .so handsome as Algy," she says. 4< But'' impar- 
 tially "there are great numbers of good-looking men. Oh, 
 Nessa!" she adds, with enthusiasm, " ho\v I should like you to 
 go to London, ami what a success you would have. Men would 
 rave about you." Then, returning to the subject of Algy, she 
 continues, dolefully : 
 
 44 It is too dreadful to be in love. When you are apart, you 
 never know a happy moment. Then mamma worries so about 
 the other man the man with money Mab was talking about. 
 3VIy people don't know it, but he really proposed to me." 
 
 " Did he ';" exrhmus Vanessa, with sparkling eyes. " Tell me 
 about him. 1 suppose, though, he is old and ugly." 
 
 " No. he isn't. He is about thirty, and really not bad -looking, 
 and he is rich, quite rich. Before I fell in love with Algy I had 
 
 most tragic solemnity. 
 
 " 1 swear," responds Vanessa, with all a girl's eagerness to 
 hear a secret. 
 
 4 'One day we were alone together and he suddenly caught 
 hold of me and kissed me. It was the most horrid sensation," 
 shuddering, " I ever experienced. Do you know I really think! 
 would rather have had a tooth out." 
 
 Both these sensations being unknown to Vanessa, site only re- 
 sponds by a look of sympathy. 
 
 4< But," she observes, after a moment's pause, <4 1 suppose you 
 would not have felt like that if it had been Algy?" 
 
 Edith laughs, and buries her face in her friend's neck. 
 
 4 * Not at all," she answers. " Quite the contrary." 
 
 14 Edie," says Vanessa, presently, trying to control her voice, 
 * tiid you ever meet any one called Brandon in London 7* 
 
40 / HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 "Brandon?" repeats Edith. "Brandon? Rather a nice- 
 looking, darkish man; not very young?'' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 At this moment the door is flung open, and Mab returns in a 
 state of wild excitement. 
 
 " It is only half an hour," exclaims Edith; " it isn't fair." 
 
 " Ah, but wait till you hear what I have got to tell you!" cries 
 Mab. Then* flying to Vanessa and nearly throttling her, she 
 says: 
 
 " My beloved grandmother! let me salute your ladysnip!" 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " THERE is no doubt," proceeds Mab, seating herself at 
 Vanessa* s feet, and speaking more calmly, "there is no doubt 
 that you are destined to be Lady Oxford. Nothing else could 
 account for the extraordinary fact I am about to reveal to you. 
 Five minutes ago I happened to go into the stables, when what 
 shoulcf I see in the middle of the yard but the coach getting 
 furbished and burnished up. 
 
 " ' What are you doing with the coach T I said to Simpson. 
 
 " ' Sir Bertram's ordered it for four o'clock this afternoon,' 
 said Simpson: 
 
 "I opened my mouth so wide at this that a butterfly flew into 
 it and choked me. You know grandpapa hasn't had a team out 
 for four years. I went off down the garden in a state of stupe- 
 faction, and met the old Gorgon coming up to the house. I was 
 obliged to ask him (I couldn't help it) whether he was going to 
 take us out, and he smiled benevolently, like a death's-head try- 
 ing to do the amiable, and said: 
 
 1 * I thought you you^g ladies would like to drive over to the 
 White House farm, and perhaps have tea there.' 
 
 "*At that, my loves, quite forgetting who I was interviewing, 
 I threw up my hat and said, * Hooray!' and instead of turning 
 me to stone by one glare, he grinned more than ever and walked 
 off." 
 
 Vanessa and Edith are almost as much excited by this ex- 
 traordinary intelligence as Mab. 
 
 " It must be you!" says Edith, looking with wonder and ad- 
 miration at her friend. " Tell us, Nessa, how did you and grand- 
 papa come to be so friendly ?" 
 
 Vanessa is on the point of relating the episode of the borrowed 
 dinner, but the sense of shame which always overcomes her at 
 the remembrance of it stops her, 
 
 " I met him the first evening of his return, she says, " and he 
 was very kind and polite, and sent us down some fruit in the 
 evening, and asked us to dinner next day." 
 
 "My only fear is," observes Mabel, with great solemnity, 
 scanning her friend's face, " that, not knowh^r what other men 
 are like, you might be induced to become hisjflride; and then 
 oh! my dear, when you see real men, you will drown yourself 
 in despair :5 
 
( HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 41 
 
 c * I have seen what other men are like," returns Vanessa, with 
 a shade of triumph " we have had one at the Vicarage." 
 
 " No!" exclaims Mab. " Not really!" 
 
 " Yesan old college friend of papa's." 
 
 " Oh!" utters Mab, contemptuously. " I don't call that any 
 more a man than grandpapa." 
 
 4 ' Was it the Mr. Brandon you were asking me about ?" inter* 
 poses Edith. 
 
 Vanessa nods. 
 
 > " Do you remember, Mab," continues Edith, "rather a nice 
 looking man who sat between us one night at the Greys V" 
 
 "Yes," responds Mab. "But," she adds, a trifle supercil* 
 iously, " I don't think he was anybody very much." 
 
 Vanessa flushes scarlet in a moment. 
 
 "" He is a gentleman," she says, warmly. 
 
 " Oh, of course he is a gentleman!" responds Miss Mab, " or 
 we should not have been likely to meet him. T only mean that 
 he is not to be considered as a,partiS J 
 
 ' ' Why not ?" exclaims Vanessa, irritated to find her f ormef 
 sentiments echoed by her friend. 
 
 " He is in business," replies Mab, coolly; " and unless a man 
 makes at least twenty thousand a year by business, he cannot 
 be recognized in our set as marriageable. One may be civil to 
 him, but " 
 
 " He was at Eton and Oxford with papa," interrupts Vanessa, 
 still more warmly " he is the son of a country gentleman, he is 
 
 a great friend of Lord A , and papa says that a gentleman is 
 
 never above making his living in an honorable manner." 
 
 Vanessa is not only championing her friend's position against 
 Mabel, but also against her own doubt of him, of which in the 
 last few days she has become very much ashamed. 
 
 " Oho!" cries mischievous Mab. ' "So the old G. has a rival, 
 has he ?" 
 
 " Do not tease her. How disagreeable you are, Mab!" ex- 
 claims Edith, to whom it occurs that Mr. Brandon, if not quite 
 a suitable alliance for herself or her sister, might make an ex- 
 cellent husband for the vicar's daughter. 
 
 "I didn't mean to tease you, darling," says Mab, rushing at 
 Vanessa and embracing her. " I wouldn't for the world. He is 
 quite nice, and I like, him very much, and I am sure I would far, 
 far rather have him than grandpapa. And he doesn't keep a 
 shop! Not that that matters. Why, Lady Maria Hanson was 
 delighted to marry her daughter the other day to young Wool- 
 shank, whose father is a linen draper!" 
 
 " But," protests Vanessa, " you seem as if you could think of 
 nothing but marrying and giving in marriage!" 
 
 " Because, my sweet love," returns Mab, " that is the only ob- 
 ject of a respectable woman's existence after she has once been 
 presented. It's a career ; it's like chosing a profession or going 
 into Parliament. Look at the glorious possibilities in front of a 
 girl. Why," commencing a fresh war-dance, for she can never 
 be quiet five minutes together, " I might be a countess by this 
 time next ^ear if I happened to take the fancy of^an^earl. It '3 
 
42 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 
 
 all done in a minute. lie meets you at a ball or a garden-party, 
 or in the Row; he falls in love with }'ou; lie says, k I cannot live 
 without 'this divine creature she in tost be mine." You rather 
 hesitnte, ami give yourself airs not to let him see that you are 
 dying to jump down his throat: he IK -'-oni'-.s madder, you consent 
 at last, your engagement is announced in the society papers, two 
 or three dowagers die of apoplexy from rage, their daughters 
 turn green with envy, your mamma pretends not to be at all ex- 
 alted, but rather gives people to understand that you really 
 ought to have done better; you behave with condescending affa- 
 bility to your friends, who cover you with embraces and say 
 every sort of horror of you behind your back; you get loads of 
 wedding-presents because you don't want 'em, and there you 
 are!" 
 
 There is no doubt that, in spite of her tender years. Miss Mab 
 has developed a good deal of the cynicism which she has inher- 
 ited from her maternal grandfather. 
 
 " Mab!" utters Vanessa^ aghast, " where did you learn to talk 
 in this dreadful, heartless manner V" 
 
 "In society, my love," returns Mab, laughing. ' Everybody 
 there hates everybody else; every one is jealous of every one; 
 every one wants to drag every one else down; the only happy 
 people are those who can stand on the top and kick the others 
 as they are coming up." 
 
 ' It sounds very clever," interrupts Edith, with some contempt; 
 " but. my dear," to Vanessa, "it is only grandpapa at second- 
 hand. Grandpapa and water. I have heard him say these 
 things dozens of times. Any monkey can imitate." 
 
 " Monkeys are amusing, at all events," retorts Mab, " which 
 is more than some people are." 
 
 The gong sounds at this moment, and Mab, forgetting her mo- 
 mentary wrath, cries : 
 
 " Now, my darling love, now for a real treat now to see the 
 old G. in his new part as the lovier." 
 
 Luncheon is rather an embarrassing ordeal for Vanessa, who 
 is quite conscious that three watchful pair of eyes are upon her, 
 Mrs. Vaughan's suspiciously and distrustfully; Mab's full of ma- 
 licious fun; Edith's inquiringly. To-day she has no control of 
 her swift blood a word from the squire sends it rushing through 
 her cheeks; every nerve quivers with painful consciousness. 
 Well pleased he notes this, and gloats over it, for people past 
 feeling themselves are ofttimes wont to enjoy the evidences of 
 extreme sensibility in others. His daughter's annoyance, in 
 spite of her assumed composure, is evident to him, and give* 
 zest to his enjoyment. Certainly he will make this beautiful 
 young girl Lady Orford, and his daughter will have to pay horn 
 age to her ladyship, or it will be the worse for her. 
 
 Efe does not intend to invite Mrs. Vaughaii to join their expe- 
 dition this afternoon. Vanessa is to have the seat of honor. 
 
 And when the time arrives and the young lady is mounted be- 
 side the squire, she feels a very delightful sense of exhilaration 
 and importance. She has never looked down upon life from 
 such a gjtfdy height before as the people run out_of their cot* 
 
TTLiFE? LIVED AND LO'ffru 48 
 
 tag'o.s to gaze on the grand spectacle, she feels herself quite a 
 great lady. She talks with animation to her companion, and Is 
 not a whit afraid of the criticism of his granddaughters behind. 
 The swift passage through the air, the sunshine, the clatter of 
 the horses' hoofs everything combines to make her feel happy 
 and blithe of heart. 
 
 Mab nudges her sister and gives her a significant look from 
 time to time the pair begin to feel ever so slight a falling off 
 of their affection for the vicar's daughter, who is being put so 
 ostentatiously before them. Until to-day she has always been 
 the humble friend: x now their grandfather seems bent on turn- 
 ing her head. But when, after dinner, they are all three walk- 
 ing with entwined arms in the garden, the momentary grudge 
 is forgotten, although the topic is still under discussion. 
 
 "I am sure he means something," said Edith. " But, Nessa, 
 you never could!" 
 
 "I nes T er saw the old G. so human before!" chimes in Mab. 
 44 But all the same, Nessa, if I thought you could be so disgust- 
 ing as to entertain any idea of the old horror, I could never 
 love you more." 
 
 To .which Vanessa replies by a peal of silvery laughter. 
 
 44 You must not encourage him too much if you don't mean 
 anything." says Edith, gently. 
 
 " Encourage him!" echoes Vanessa. " Why, Edie, you do not 
 seriously suppose that Sir Bertram could think I would marry 
 him, even if he condescended to ask me V" 
 
 " I hope I sha'n't be here when he proposes, if you refuse him," 
 utters Mab. That is, if you do. But," suspiciously, " I am not 
 so sure that you will. You look extremely delighted this after- 
 noon." 
 
 44 Of course I was delighted," cried Vanessa. "Why, I had 
 never been on a coach before, and it was the most heavenly sen- 
 sation I ever felt. Did you enjoy it too?" 
 
 44 I might have done if I had had a nice young man next me," 
 answers Mab. 4t It was not particularly exciting for Edie and 
 rue doing double gooseberry." 
 
 4 'It would have been much nicer if Mrs. Vaughan had gone, 
 and we three had .sat behind together," returns Vanessa. 
 
 " I'll, suggest it to him next time." laughs Mab. 
 
 44 Yes, 1 should think vou would dare," observes Edith, scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan, meantime, is feeling considerable uneasiness 
 about her father's intentions. , She has never seen him pay such 
 marked .attention to a young girl before. Nothing could be 
 more displeasing or unsatisfactory to her than that he should 
 marry, for, although the estate is entailed, Sir Bertram has a 
 considerable amount of personal property at his disposal, and 
 she has always looked forward to inheriting this. She is suffi- 
 ciently well off, but is any one, however rich, 'indifferent to the 
 thought of acquiring more? In any case it will be injurious to 
 her daughters' position as marriageable girls should their grand- 
 father m;irrv P. young wife. When Vanessa has taken her leave 
 
44 I HAVE LIVED ANT> LOVED 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan minutely cross-examines Edith and *Mabel about 
 the events of the afternoon. 
 
 " How did the girl behave?" she asks. '' I suppose she was 
 delighted with your grandfather's attentions." 
 
 If the sisters had Irad a momentary doubt of Vanessa in their 
 own minds, they will not acknowledge it to their mother, but 
 champion her stoutly. 
 
 " She was pleased to drive on the coach," says Edith. " But, 
 mamma dear, is it likely that any girl could possibly dream of 
 marrying grandpapa ?" 
 
 " Nothing more likely," returns Mrs. Vaughan. " A girl with 
 no prospects, and nothing on earth to look forward to!" 
 
 ''But you forget, mamma," interposes Miss Mabel, dryly, 
 "that she hasn't been brought up like we have." 
 
 " You were not brought up to be impertinent," remarks her 
 mother, " and yet you are so." 
 
 At this Mab reddens, and retires huffily from the discussion. 
 
 " There is no doubt/' proceeds Mrs. Vaughan, addressing her 
 elder daughter, "that she is very good-looking. Men, I suppose, 
 some men, at least, would admire her, though she is on a large 
 scale, and will get coarse in time." 
 
 " Oh, mamma! I think she is quite lovely," exclaims Edith. 
 " She makes nie feel so small and insignificant." 
 
 "If, "says Mrs. Vaughan, " I thought Sir Bertram had any 
 serious thoughts about her, I would invite her to stay with us in 
 town, and give her the opportunity of seeing other men." 
 
 * ' I rather fancy she has seen some one wtyiom sne ver^ 
 much prefers to grandpapa," dbser vet Edith, " a Mr. Brandon 
 an old friend of her father's, only that he is not old. We met 
 him once at the Greys'." 
 
 " Brandon!" repeats Mrs. Vaughan, thoughtfully. " Brandon!" 
 
 " I think he is a wine-merchant, but he is quite a gentleman.*' 
 
 "Oh!" And her mother looks interested. " But has he any 
 idea of her, do you know ?" 
 
 " I am not sure. She has only seen him two or three times." 
 
 " Try to find out," says Mrs. Vaughan, and then she rises, and 
 leaves the room. 
 
 But the days pass, and Vanessa hears nothing of John Bran- 
 don, and the squire's attentions increase, and Mrs. Vaughan be- 
 comes seriously uneasy. Though not a particularly meek- 
 spirited or nervous woman, she is afraid of her father, as most 
 people are. But there is so much at state that she plucks up 
 her courage, and resolves to broach the subject of Vanessa to 
 him. One evening, as they are sitting in the drawing-room, the 
 girls having strolled into the garden, she commences her attack. 
 Her heart flutters; it is some moments before she can command 
 her voice sufficiently to speak with even tolerable unconcern. 
 
 " Vanessa is growing a handsome girl," sjie remarks at last. 
 
 The squire braces himself up for action, knowing perfectly 
 well what is coming. 
 
 " Yes," he replies, in that peculiar dry voice wliioli people 
 who knew him well dread. 
 
f HAVE LIVED AND LOVK^ % 45 
 
 " A little too tall, perhaps, but that does not matter so much 
 now." * 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " You seem to admire her very much" trying to speak play- 
 fully. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan grows embarrassed. If one's interlocutor will 
 not take his share in the ' conversation, the position becomes 
 awkward. 
 
 " You must not turn her head," smiling uneasily. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 1 ' By encouraging false hopes in her. " 
 
 ' ' What do you call false hopes ?" inquires Sir Bertram, in his 
 dryest, most disagreeable tone. 
 
 '{I mean she might think you had serious intentions," returns 
 "Mrs. Vaughan, reddening uneasily. 
 
 "And suppose I have?" The squire transfixes his daughter 
 with his keen glance. j 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan regrets too late her rashness in making the 
 attack, but she cannot draw back now. 
 
 " It would be running a great risk, would it not?" she hazards, 
 nervously. 
 
 " Risk of what?'* in his most biting tone. 
 
 " Such a disparity m years, "murmurs Mrs. Vaughan w 
 
 "A man who lias ragjc and wealth to give to a penniless girl 
 has no disparities," says the squire, grimly. 
 
 " A young and handsome wife might cause you a good deal of 
 uneasiness." 
 
 " I have no anxiety on that score," returns Sir Bertram, with 
 a disagreeable smile. " When I marry, I shall take excellent 
 care of my wife." 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan feels herself worsted, and becqmes rather spite- 
 ful. 
 
 " You must keep Mr. Brandon out of the way," she says, try- 
 ing to smile with indifferent success. But she has the pleasure 
 of seeing that this shaft has gone home.* 
 
 "Brandon!" 
 
 For once Sir Bertram's curiosity gets the better of his dis 
 cretion. He has been painfully exercised in his mind more than 
 once on the subject of Brandon he could never forget the fel- 
 low^ lover-like attitude, nor the expression of Vanessa's face, 
 when he came upon them in the Vicarage garden that day. 
 
 " She seems to have a great penchant for him, from all I hear," 
 proceeds Mrs. Vaughan, with secret triumph; " but I dare say 
 she would contrive to forget him if you honored her by propos- 
 ing to make her Lady Orford." 
 
 " Very probably, I should think," says the squire, icily, deter- 
 mined to wreak his revenge on his daughter. " At all events, if 
 she is disposed to sell herself, I am disposed to make it well 
 worth her while. By the way, what day will your fortnight 
 here be up? Thursday? ah, yes. You will go by the usual 
 fcrainafrom L , I suppose?" 
 
 So, by ?i*eaking, Mrs. Vaughan has only got her dismissal and 
 
46 ^ I HAVE LIVED AXD LOVED." 
 
 her father's displeasure. Hut. at all events, she knows that her 
 worst fears are realized, for she docs not believe for one moment 
 that Vanessa will refuse to be Lady Orford when, the oppor- 
 tunity is given her. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IT is with genuine regret that Vanessa bids farewell to the 
 squire's .granddaughters. The advent of John Brandon had 
 brought a new element into her life when he departed, she was 
 conscious of a certain blankness, or void. Edith arid Mabel had 
 been able to fill it for the time, but now they were gone it came 
 back with ov^-po \vering force. There was no excitement now 
 in driving or dining with the squire, and she thirsted for excite- 
 ment and emotion; for something to raise her out of the dead 
 level of her une\ eiitf ul life. 
 
 What could there be but weariness for her in the society of an 
 old man. however rich and generous he might be 'i It was not 
 fine raiment or jewels, or dainty fare, or luxury for which she 
 hungered, but love: and nothing else would satisfy her. 
 
 It would be idle to pretend that she did not understand the 
 drift of Sir Bertram's attentions. Edith and Mabel would not 
 permit her to remain in doubt on that head it was indeed rather 
 flattering to her girlish vanity to think of having an offer from 
 a baroner, and she did not seriously realize the enormity she 
 would be committing in treating the pretensions of so august a 
 personage as she might have done those of a clerk or a curate. 
 To marry an old man! the idea only seemed laughable, and had 
 not got so far even as to be repugnant. And the squire, who 
 was wise in his generation, had never trenched upon anything 
 lover-like, but had contented himself with being friendly and 
 6ourteous. 
 
 A sense of weariness and depression settled upon Vanessa after 
 the departure of her friends; she took long rambles in solitary 
 parts of Sir Bertram's woods, where slie gave herself over to 
 reverie, and vented her sadness in long-drawn sighs. Some- 
 times tears came into her lovely eyes and stole down her cheeks. 
 Her sighs and tears were for v John Brandon; the fruit half of 
 longing, half of remorse. She wanted to love; she could have 
 loved him nay, she did. If he would only come back once 
 more, how differently she would behave to him from the last 
 time they met! She blushed when she remembered her cool, 
 strange behavior and his mystified, disappointed look. Of course 
 he would never come near her again. Oh! if he did come, what 
 a welcome would she give him! 
 
 A week elapsed, and the squire decided that the time had ar- 
 rived to settle matters, and to make arrangements' for his forth- 
 coming marriage. In two months' time the vicar's daughter 
 should be Lady Orford. As soon as all was settled, he would 
 
 the key in the lock of the casket and handed it over to him. 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED.* 17 
 
 As a little matter of form, he intended to make the flattering an- 
 nouncement of his intentions to the vicar firsthand then to the 
 blushing, trembling maid herself. 
 
 To understand Sir Bertram's confidence in the fulfillment of 
 his desires, one would almost be compelled to enter into his auto* 
 cratic mind and look down from that exalted position at the 
 humble persons he was condescending to honor. 
 
 Having decided upon the day and hour when he would make 
 known his resolve, he sent a note to the vicar announcing that 
 he would call at four o'clock in, the afternoon, and the vicar was 
 accordingly waifcmg in the drawing-room to receive him, utterly 
 unsuspecting the honor about to be thrust upon him. A man with 
 ordinary shrewdness might have gathered some idea of the mean- 
 ing of the sudden rapprochement between the Hall and the 
 Vicarage; but Ivan Went worth had only one idea in the world, 
 and that was fixed on the great work he one day hoped to give 
 mankind. He did not realize that he had a lovely, marriageable 
 daughter, or that any one was plotting to change the course of 
 life at the Vicarage; if he had thought at all about the matter, 
 he would have admitted that it was reasonable, to suppose a man 
 might love and want to marry Vanessa, but he did" not <hink 
 about it, or indeed anything else except the darling of his brain. 
 His attention, now and then dragged forcibly off it by his 
 clerical duties^jflew back like a spring the moment it was re- 
 leased. 
 
 So, lost in reverie, he awaits the squire's visit without the faint- 
 est curiosity as to its object. 
 
 The great man comes in with a smile on his lips and a pleas- 
 ing air of condescension. He is about to confer an honor on this 
 humble abode, and is prepared to do it in a princely and un- 
 grudging spirit. 
 
 " You, no doubt, conjecture something of tlie object of my 
 visit," he begins, as soon as he and the vicar are seated, and then 
 he pauses to give his chosen father-in-law an opportunity of look- 
 ing gratified and conscious. 
 
 The vicar racks his brain for a moment; that absorbed brain 
 which so often plays the traitor to him by running away from the 
 every -day things that ought to occupy it. Is it something about 
 the parish or the church, or some subject previously discussed 
 between them ? 
 
 " I confess," he says, a little confusedly, "that just at this 
 moment I do not quite call to mind " 
 
 Sir Bertram interrupts him. not very well pleased at his evi- 
 dent unconsciousness of the purport of his visit. But he tries to 
 retain his smiling and urbane demeanor. 
 
 "Then I must explain myself. You have not, I am sure, 
 failed to observe what an impression your daughter has made 
 upon me since my return to the Hall: She is a beautiful and 
 charming girl, and, I doubt not, as amiable as she is beautiful 
 in fact, she is quite fitted to adorn any station." 
 
 The vicar's mind has by this time completely torn itself away 
 from the great work and is centered on the squire's oration. It 
 does not, however, receive quite the correct impression, but as- 
 
48 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 sumes that his visitor may have conceived the intention of 
 adopting Vanessa. 
 
 "She is a very good girl," he replies, "and and, yes, I sup- 
 pose she is handsome." 
 
 "There are few more beautiful women in England," returns 
 Sir. Bertram, feeling already something of the pride of posses- 
 sion, "and when surrounded by the apanages of rank and 
 wealth, it will be difficult, I fancy, to find one to compare with 
 her." 
 
 " She has not had the advantages that I could have wished 
 for her." says the vicar, feeling a shade remorseful at not hav- 
 ing tried to do more for her in the way of accomplishments. 
 
 " She is perfectly well-informed," replies the squire, affably, 
 " and she sings charmingly. No doubt she would easily acquire 
 French, which it is important for a woman of fashion to be con- 
 versant with every advantage would be at her disposal." 
 
 The vicar is still further confirmed in his idea of Sir Bertram's 
 intentions. 
 
 "You would, I think," pursues the squire, with magnificent 
 patronage, " be aJble to intrust her to me with a feeling of per- 
 fect security as to her happiness and well-being." 
 
 Ivan Wentworth is a simple-minded gentleman, who has lived 
 for many years in great retirement, knowing and thinking very 
 little about men and manners. To him Sir Bertram is only a 
 respectable old gentleman, the grandfather of his daughters 
 playmates a man long past the time when men may be ex- 
 pected to think of young women in any but a paternal manner. 
 No rumors of Sir Bertram's liaisons, of his mode of life in cities, 
 have ever penetrated here ; that the old man would fain be wooing 
 and love-making does not occur to him. 
 
 " Am I to understand, Sir Bertram," he asks, simply, "that 
 you are expressing a wish to adopt my daughter ?'' 
 
 A dull red creeps into the squire's dry, brown cheek, and a 
 gleam of anger lights his cold eyes. In his heart he savagely 
 curses the vicar for a blind fool of a book- worm. It is by a very 
 strong effort of will that he still smiles as he says: 
 
 " If you like to express it in that form," he replies. " I pro- 
 pose to adopt her by making her Lady Orford." 
 
 At these words a strange transformation comes over the vicar's 
 face. It is one by no means flattering to Sir Bertram. He looks 
 shocked, appalled, and, for the moment, is quite bereft of speech. 
 His brain is perfectly clear now, and he is conscious of the full 
 horror of the thought of uniting a lovely, blooming child to a 
 cold, ungenial old man like the one before him. 
 
 " You seem surprised," remarks the squire, intones that all his 
 self-control cannot prevent from being harsh. 
 
 " I am indeed," almost gasps the vicar. 
 
 Sir Bertram feels his anger growing. He rises. 
 
 " I see Miss Wentworth in the garden," he says. " I will go 
 and talk to heivwhilst you accustom yourself to the idea." 
 
 The vicar does not attempt to detain him, but sits buried in 
 thought whilst the squire marches out and down the gravel path 
 
? HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 4$ 
 
 to join Vanessa, who is just making her way to her favorite rose 
 bower. 
 
 Ivan Wentworth is the most unworldly of men rank, wealth, 
 luxury, fashion, possess no charm in his" eyes. He lias never had 
 any ambition beyond that of being a scholar. Nor does it occur 
 to him that Vanessa is likely to "have any aspirations after the 
 world's pleasures. She knows nothing of them. How can she 
 covet what she has never seen ? He regrets having allowed !3fr 
 Bertram to go in quest of her. She will be shocked and terrified 
 at his proposal perhaps he ought to join them, and relieve her 
 of the embarrassmant she must be suffering. But the vicar i* 
 the most irresolute of men, and, in the end, he takes his hat, 
 and walks off in another direction, leaving Vanessa to her fate. 
 He had omitted to mention the squire's intended visit to her, so 
 that she is ignorant wij;h w T hat importance his call to-day is 
 fraught. 
 
 When Sir Bertram joins her, she receives him in her wonted 
 pretty, smiling manner, and he is reassured, and doubts not 
 that his suit will be welcome to the daughter, although the 
 father has taken it in so singular and unbecoming a fashion. 
 
 " I am glad to find you here," he begins, with some meaning 
 in his tone. * ' You were expecting me ?" 
 
 " No,'' Vanessa answers, simply. Then, wishing to be polite, 
 she continues: " But I am very glad to see you." 
 
 Sir Bertram is not inclined to beat about the bush. 
 
 " Are you V" he says, and takes her hand. 
 
 With that all the blood seems to recede from Vanessa's heart 
 and a feeling of the most horrible repulsion rushes through her 
 frame. She longs to drag her hand from his clasp, but is half 
 afraid of him; half afraid, besides, of wounding him. She knows 
 that the moment has come. In theory, the squire's offer had 
 been all very well. She had never Breamed how terrible and 
 hateful the reality would be. He has put off his paternal man- 
 ner, and she finds the change revolting. 
 
 He retains his hold of her hand, although she is white and 
 trembling; but these signs of fear and modesty are pleasing to 
 him he does not understand their real significance. 
 
 "You have guessed all along, I am sure," he goes on, " the 
 feelings that you have inspired in me. I only wonder how I 
 can have remained blind to all your beauties and charms so 
 long." 
 
 He draws nearer to her. Vanessa holds her breath an almost 
 irresistible impulse seizes her to spring up and rush away into the 
 house; to lock herself in her room away from him she, how- 
 ever, masters it. 
 
 " You are very kind," she utters, in a constrained voice, draw- 
 ing her hand and herself further from him. 
 
 Although Sir Bertram does not expect to win any real love 
 from a woman, he yet thinks himself entitled to a certain 
 amount of simulated affection, and the cold embarrassment of 
 the girl's voice does not quite please him. He, however, takes 
 the hint, and begina to treat the matter from its commercial 
 point of view. 
 
50 ^T^HAVE LIVED AND LOVED." 
 
 " It is unfair to the world," he says, " to deprive it of so beau- 
 tiful a creature as you; I wish to be the means of bringing you 
 into it, and of introducing you to all its pleasures and enjoy- 
 ments. I shall be able to deny you nothing as my wife, as Lady 
 Orford, you shall have advantages that will make other women 
 envious of you, and you will not, I hope, find me too exacting in 
 return." 
 
 Vanessa turns hot and cold as he speaks. She is realizing that 
 it will be a very serious thing to refuse the squire. His words, 
 although they contain promises of all the things she has most 
 desired, save one, do not tempt her; if he could give her ten 
 times as much, it would not weigh with her against the horror 
 he inspires in her as would-be lover and husband if he were a 
 duke she could not overcome her violent repugnance for the sake 
 of being his duchess. So long as he had been kind and paternal, 
 she had never guessed that she could feel such sickening disgust 
 of him. 
 
 " I I am veiy much honored by by your kindness, Sir Ber- 
 tram," she says, stumblingly, " but but I hope you will not b 
 displeased or offended. You have been very good to me, but 
 but it would be quite impossible for me to think of you in in 
 that sort of way." 
 
 Sir Bertram does not yet realize that he is going to be made a 
 fool of. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he says, almost gently, so bent on own- 
 ing this lovely girl that he is content even to brook delay 
 * marriage, we know, is a serious consideration for a young 
 Jady. Take time to accustom yourself to the idea give me op- 
 portunities of proving my devotion to you let us not decide 
 anything just for the present." 
 
 A dreadful feeling comes over Vanessa that he is trying to en- 
 tangle her into a sort of consent to his suit, and she resolves to 
 free herself once for all whilst there is yet time. 
 
 " I could never, never," she cries, with great energy, " think 
 of you in any other way than as a friend." 
 
 Sir Bertram is unmistakably froisse by these words. 
 
 " I hope," he utters, in a hard voice, " that you do not intend 
 me to take this quite seriously." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed I do," she answers, almost excitedly. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asks Sir Bertram, in a harsh, uncom' 
 promising tone, " that, up to this moment, you have been ig- 
 norant of the meaning of my attentions to you ?" 
 
 Vanessa hangs her head in silence, feeling terribly ashamed 
 and conscious. 
 
 " Was the possibility of my proposing to marry you never 
 mooted between you and and Edith and Mabel V" 
 
 His voice and manner are those of~a stern judge. Vanessa 
 feels like some wretched, unhappy culprit. 
 
 " Am I to understand," pursues the squire, growing still more 
 awful, ' that you thought it a jest to encourage the passion of 
 a man of my age and position V If so, let me tell you, young 
 lady, that by such conduct you not only disgrace your sex, but 
 
"- ti^VE LIVED AND LOVET> 51 
 
 that you will find 3*011 nave placed yourself in a very unpleasant 
 situation." 
 
 Vanessa has a fine spirit of her own, and Sir Bertram's threat- 
 ening tone rouses it. 
 
 44 You could hardly," she says, raising her head with a proud 
 air, "expect me to refuse an offer before it was made, and I 
 should have thought that niy being no older than your own 
 granddaughters would have protected me from any such ideas 
 on your part. You could not have thought/' indignantly, <k that 
 a girl of eighteen could love a man of your age; and if you 
 thought I would marry you without loving you, you must have 
 had a very bad opinion of me." 
 
 The squire sits biting his lips with Mortification, and yet, in 
 epite of himself, he cannot help admiring her more than ever 
 for her show of spirit. She has never looked so handsome. 
 But after such a decided expression of her sentiments, he feels 
 there is nothing more to be said it only remains for him to take 
 his leave with as much dignity as he can summon. 
 
 Sir Bertram rises, stiffens his back, erects his head, and says 
 in a voice as though his sentences were forced out by a spring: 
 
 " It is unfortunate I should have been so mistaken. I bid you 
 good day." 
 
 Vanessa follows his retreating figure with frightened eyes 
 she feels that she has committed the crime of lese-majeste, and 
 the wrath of the autocrat is very terrible. This is no longer the 
 smiling, affable old gentleman with whom she has been wont to 
 
 g\ay of late, but the squire with all his old terrors augmented, 
 he waits for a few moments with bated breath until she thinks 
 he must be clear of the house; then she flies to her room, locks 
 the door, and gives vent to her feelings by a burst of tears. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Bertram, bitter beyond all expression of words, 
 passes through the Vicarage gate on his way home. As he 
 emerges, he sees to his left at some little distance two men walk- 
 ing, engaged in earnest conversation. One is leading a horse, 
 and in him the squire recognizes the hated form of Brandon. 
 He strides away, fury added to bitterness; unmindful of the 
 heat, he walks at racing speed up the drive, to the Hall and into 
 his study, where he gives vent to a very effective string of curses 
 and imprecations, although there is no one present to be annihi- 
 lated by them. He begins to realize how sore his disappointment 
 is. and how much he had counted on the possession of the vicar's 
 lovely daughter. He is angrily surprised now to think that he 
 should have felt so certain of her: that he had not prepared him- 
 self against such a possibility. But who could dream of so 
 humble an individual declining such honor ? if he were willing 
 to confer, who could imagine that she would refuse ? 
 
 He had made his plans for the autumn and winter they were 
 to be spent abroad in company with his beautifuj young wife; 
 and he had dwelt with considerable pleasure on the coming 
 change in his life. Now everything was disarranged; where an- 
 ticipation had reigned, disappointment, blank dullness stood in- 
 steadhe was only a lonely old man, and no lorq;er an eager, 
 expectant bridegroom. 
 
52 7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVE&T 
 
 He cursed the girl who had humiliated him in no measurecl 
 terms; he longed to be revenged on her lie would give a very 
 large sum of money at this moment to do her some mortal in- 
 jury and disgrace. The thought of Brandon lent fuel to the 
 flames. Why was he here ? what was the topic that so deeply 
 engrossed him and the vicar? He, no doubt was the favored 
 rival. Then the squire cursed the vicar for not telling him that 
 his daughter already had a suitor, and thus saving him the mor- 
 tification of a refusal. Anon he lashed himself into fresh fury 
 by thinking that father and daughter had conspired to deceive 
 him into making the offer, that 'they might have the glory of 
 boasting how they had befooled him; in his anger, he was ready 
 to impute the most knp:obable thoughts and motives to every 
 one. Brandon, curse him! was gloating over his discomfiture, 
 and would spread the story in London of how he had been duped 
 by an insignificant hussy. He wished him joy of her. No 
 doubt one of these days his turn would come, and then they 
 would see whom the" laugh was against. 
 
 And the angry, disappointed man worked himself into such a 
 paroxysm of fury that unable to command his voice or features, 
 he remained locked in his room for hours, unmindful of dinner 
 or of arousing the servants' suspicions, or of anything save his 
 own wrath and spite. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BRANDON has tried to forget Vanessa; has even been abroad in 
 search of distraction. In vain. She has taken root in his heart, 
 and though he may chide his folly for hankering after the fair 
 maiden who, he tells himself, is too young, too beautiful, and 
 altogether too good for him, he cannot banish her from his 
 thoughts. At all events, he will see her once more. Why 
 should he not be her friend if he cannot be her lover ? So he has 
 come off suddenly, on the spur of the moment, to assure him- 
 self whether she is as lovely as he thinks her, and perhaps, 
 though he does not admit it even to himself, to see if his case is 
 quite hopeless. 
 
 When he is within two hundred yards of the Vicarage, he 
 espies his friend rapidly approaching." As the vicar recognizes 
 Brandon, a lock of intense relief and pleasure comes into his 
 face. ^ 
 
 " My dear fellow," he says, grasping the other's hand, " how 
 glad I am you are here! I was never so pleased to see any one 
 in my life. I am in a most curious dilemma; I fear I have not 
 done the right thing. Pray advise me!'" 
 
 Therewith Brandon dismounts, having a shrewd suspicion 
 that the beautiful daughter is in someway connected with the 
 vicar's perplexity. 
 
 " The squire has just been with me,'' proceeds Mr. Went- 
 worth, kt he came to ask me for my daughter in marriage. It is 
 monstrous, horrible! He is with her now. Poor child! 1 fee] 
 that I ought not to have allowed him to speak tojigt-gn the sub 
 
**~ ""I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 53, 
 
 ject. She will be shocked, horrified; but he is a resolute, im- 
 periousman. In my surprise 1 knew not how to act." 
 
 A deep flush comes over Brandon's face as the vicar speaks. 
 It is not that he is surprised at the intelligence; it is because he 
 has a dreadful misgiving that Vanessa may look upon the 
 squire's proposal in a different light from her father, and that 
 she niay be temptefl to exchange her dull life here for some of 
 the world's pomps and pleasures, even though th^ enjoyment of 
 them be coupled with so odious a condition as Sir Bertram him- 
 self. 
 
 '* Do you think," he asks, in a low, nervous tone, " that Miss 
 Wentworth* will be quite unprepared for Sir Bertram's pro- 
 posal ?" 
 
 The vicar stares at him. 
 
 "I am not surprised," Bralidon goes on. "You, my dear 
 Ivan, are so engrossed with your book that you do not. take 
 much notice of what is going on about you; but when I was 
 here before, I perceived plainly Sir Bertram's feelings for your 
 daughter and quite expected this denouement, And I think you 
 will find that Miss Wentworth was not without her suspicions.** 
 
 " You seem to forget," cries the vicar, aghast, " that he is an 
 old man, that her playmates and companions are his grand- 
 daughters.*' 
 
 " I live in the world," replies Brandon, "and see such mar- 
 riages every day: at all events with some frequency. There is 
 no incongruity in society's eyes when the man is as rich as Sir 
 Bertram and occupies sucn*k position. I only wonder $rour sus- 
 picions were not aroused sooner." 
 
 " How should they have been aroused?" cries the vicar, almost 
 indignantly. 
 
 "Why, surely, if it is only during the last two months that 
 Sir Bertram has sought your society and that of your daughter, 
 and if his whole demeanor has changed toward you since then, 
 you might have attributed it to some new state of feeling on his 
 part. I only hope," and Brandon's voice trembles in spite of 
 him, " that Miss Wentworth will not give a favorable ear to his 
 suit, for I confess there is something very revolting in the idea 
 of a lovely young girl being given a prey to a " 
 
 It is at this moment that the squire emerges from the vicarage 
 gate, marching in hot haste toward his own park. 
 
 " He does not look like an accepted suitor," cries Brandon, 
 breaking off 4iis former sentence and looking intensely relieved. 
 *' Well, I will go and put my horse up whilst you hear the result 
 of the interview from Miss Wentworth." 
 
 Vanessa is still sobbing when Susan taps at her door. She 
 makes no answer at first, then Susan, having tried the handle in 
 vain, repeats her summons. 
 
 "Miss Nessa, my dear, let me in," she entreats, in a cajoling 
 whisper, through the keyhole. 
 
 " What do you want ?" cries Vanessa, throwing open the door 
 and looking rather an angry divinity with her flushed f 
 knitted brows, and streaming eyes. 
 
 Susan ' ;?!:e a little awe-struck as well as mysterious. 
 
54 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " Ycmr pa is asking for you, and Mr. Brandon's come," she 
 says, still in a whisper. 
 
 At this, the pucker leaves Vanessa's brow; a wave of beauti- 
 ful color overspreads her cheeks, and a sudden thrill of gladness 
 goes to her heart. 
 
 "My dear," murmurs Susan, going up and laying her hand 
 on the girl's arm, " you've never bin and refused the squire, 
 have you?" 
 
 " What!" cries Vanessa, sharply, " would you have me marry 
 an old man like that :" 
 
 "No. no, my dear, of course not!" returns Susan, soothingly. 
 " Only it seems such an awful thing to refuse a great gentlemian 
 like him. Why,, whatever did he say?" 
 
 " Where is Mr. Brandon?" asks Vanessa, not answering her, 
 but going to the glass to see what ravages her tears have made 
 in her appearance. " Get me out a clean frock." And she pro- 
 ved s vigorously to bathe her eyes and cheeks, whilst Susan, 
 with feminine intuition, gets out her young lady's best and most 
 becoming dress. She, however, makes the mistake of laying out 
 the squire's locket. 
 
 " Put that horrid thing away, and never let me see it again!" 
 cries her young mistress, imperiously. 
 
 She is standing before the glass, twisting up her beautiful 
 locks with lingers trembling with impatience. She is in a great 
 hurry to see Brandon again. 
 
 By the time her toilet is finished he has returned to the 
 Vicarage. 
 
 " Well?" he exclaims, hurriedly, as he enters tlie room and 
 tinds his friend alone; but the vicar has not yet had audience of 
 his daughter. Presently she comes in, and greets Brandon with 
 a serene and smiling face. But, eying her narrowly, he detects 
 traces of tears in the slightly swollen appearance of her broad 
 eyelids. It is obvious that no explanations can take place now, 
 and the vicar, glad of the excuse of shirking anything unpleas- 
 ant, leaves them presently to wander in the garden together, and 
 goes to have an hour with his beloved book* 
 
 Brandon is devoured by curiosity. Although he is, as a rule, 
 the least inquisitive of men, and the most delicately sensitive 
 r.bout seeming intrusive or impertinent, he knows not on this 
 asion how to control his eagerness to hear what answer 
 Vanessa has given the squire whether she has refused him at 
 ail, refused him conditionally, or allowed him room to hope? 
 He is so preoccupied that, as he walks beside her, he is silent, 
 \mable to speak on any subject but the one that so engrosses 
 him. She is employing various little coquetries to overcome his 
 gravity and silence," but he is absorbed in fighting with his im- 
 perative desire to question her. It ends by mastering him. 
 
 " Well!" he says, quite suddenly and abruptly, devouring her 
 with his eyes, " am I to congratulate you?" 
 
 She gives a little start, and looks extremely confused. 
 1 What do you mean ?" she stammers, though of course *he 
 s quite well. 
 
LIVED AND LOVED. 55 
 
 " Are you to be Lady Orford ?" he asks, quite unconscious how 
 harsh and inquisitorial his tone is. 
 
 "Why should you think so ?" she says, her feminine nature 
 asserting itself sufficiently to make her rather pleased at this ex- 
 hibition of anxiety and jealousy on his part. 
 
 Brandon is too eager to know the truth to waste time \n beat- 
 ing about the bush. 
 
 " Your father told me that Sir Bertram had proposed to him 
 lor you," he replies. 
 
 44 And what did papa say?" Vanessa asks. 
 
 '* He said it was a horrid, monstrous thought!" cries Brandon, 
 " And so I say," 
 
 ** Did he tell Sir Bertram that?" inquires Vanessa. 
 
 " He ought to have done so," answers Brandon, warmly. 
 " But he was too utterly taken by surprise. 4< But," breaking 
 off, " for Heaven's sake, tell me what you said. That is the 
 point." 
 
 " What do you think I should say ?" utters Vanessa, affecting 
 indignation. 
 
 44 I think you would say * No,' he answers, vehemently. ** I 
 think you would feel insulted and degraded by such a pro- 
 posal." 
 
 44 Degraded ?" echoes Vanessa, proudly. 
 
 " No, no, pardon me I ought not to have used such a word. 
 It is natural that every man, young or old, should love you," he 
 continues, in a melancholy voice " a man's sense of his own un- 
 h'tness cannot, unfortunately, prevent his falling in love." 
 
 " I am very sorry," says Vanessa, in a penitent tone. " But I 
 think he ought to have known it was ridiculous. I was his 
 granddaughter's playfellow." 
 
 Brandon looks earnestly at her. 
 
 ** Still," he utters, ** you were not entirely without suspicion 
 of what was passing in his mind, were you ? When he changed 
 from a * horrid old monster ' to * quite a dear,' you had some little 
 inkling as to the cause of the transformation ?" 
 
 Vanessa turns her face from him, and stops to pluck a rosebud, 
 He seems to be waiting for her answer. 
 
 44 One would be very conceited," she says, carefully avoiding 
 his glance, " if one thought because because any one was kind 
 to one, that he wanted to marry one." 
 
 " A woman always knows when a man is in earnest," remarks 
 Brandon, continuing his eager scrutiny of her face; "she may 
 think sometimes that he is when he is not, but she cannot mis- 
 take the symptoms when he is." 
 
 " I have had no experience," murmurs Vanessa. 
 
 " 1 saw it when I was here before," pursues Brandon. " Sir 
 Bertram deigned to be jealous of my enjoying your society. 
 Tell me," suddenly, " what did he say to you that day to alter all 
 your manner to me ?" 
 
 The scarlet flames into Vanessa's cheeks she would rather die 
 than confess the ignominious doubts of which she has been so 
 bitterly ashamed ever since. Seeing her confusion, Brandon be- 
 comes more eao'er *ill. and repeats his question 
 
56 r HAVE LIVED AND LOVED 
 
 " Tell me," he entreats "tell me; I shall not mind; cn>y tell 
 me!" 
 
 ""No, no, there is nothing to tell," answers Vanessa, almost 
 vehemently, as if she feared her secret being dragged from her 
 by main force; " indeed there is not." 
 
 " But before he came," utters Brandon, " you were quite easy 
 and natural in your manner to me. You seemed, if I may be 
 vain enough to say so, quite contented in my society and 
 after you had been talking with Sir Bertram, you changed en- 
 ti^y, and were cold and constrained. I might almost have im- 
 agined he had been telling you some dreadful story to my dis- 
 advantage, only that " (with a frank laugh) " my conscience is 
 quite clear." 
 
 " I cannot think why you should fancy anything of the sort," 
 says Vanessa. 
 
 " Ah, but there was something," he persists. " However, I 
 must not press you, if you will not tell me of your own ree will. 
 But confess that it was natural I should think his influence over 
 you must be considerable to make you change so suddenly." 
 
 Vanessa shakes her head. She is determined not to admit 
 anything. 
 
 " After all," pursues Brandon, " though he is an old man, Sir 
 Bertram has a great deal to offer you, and I am quite sure there- 
 never was a woman who would enjoy the world's pleasures more 
 than you. Do you mean to go on living here forever in this 
 simple Arcadian style, and do you think it will always satisf v 
 you?" 
 
 "It does not satisfy me," answers Vanessa, with a deep and 
 genuine sigh. 
 
 " You seemed quite happy the first time I saw you," says 
 Brandon. 
 
 " Yes," murmurs Vanessa, and sighs again. 
 
 " Then what has changed you?" 
 
 "I do not know," she replies vaguely. "Edith and Mabel 
 have been here, and they have told me all about their life in 
 London. Perhaps it is that." 
 
 She cannot tell him that it is he who has nad the largest share 
 in making her dissatisfied with her life that it is he who has 
 turned dreams into possible realities, and awakened in her a 
 longing to love and be beloved. 
 
 There is a pensive, yearning expression in her eyes, as though 
 afar off she sees the goal of her desires. Every moment that 
 Brandon is in her presence he is falling more deeply in love. 
 He longs to speak, to tell her something of what is in his heart; 
 but suppose she, should treat his pretensions as she has done the 
 squire's! And the old sense of its being unfair to take advantage 
 of her ignorance of the world and of men comes back to him 
 with renewed force. 
 
 Vanessa is in a mood when she would like him to speak; the 
 repulsion which Si* Bertram inspired in her has reacted to Bran- 
 don's advantage, but he is not to know this. 
 
 With an effort he changes his tone, and says, lightly: 
 
 fi I suppose vour friends had a great deal to jell you about the 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 57 
 
 flights of their first season. I met them once; they are pretty, 
 unaffected girls, the younger one seemed full of lite and spirits." 
 
 " Yes," Vanessa answers, " Mab is very bright/' 
 
 "You have not forgotten, I hope," observes Brandon, "that, 
 vou promised to come and pay me a visit, and see for yourself 
 what London is like." 
 
 "I thought you had forgotten," and there js a shade of re- 
 proach in Vanessa's voice. 
 
 " I am not very likely to forget," he says. *' But you would 
 not thank me for asking you in August, when there is no one 
 and nothing to be seen." 
 
 " I dare say it would seem very gay to me. I should not know* 
 the difference. They do not shut the shops, I suppose, and there 
 must always be thousands of people about in a large city." 
 
 " Not the sort of people you would care to see or mix with," 
 smiles Brandon. 
 
 " But I should not know them, so it would make no difference. 
 I should like," with a gesture significant of weariness, " to get 
 away from here for a little, and to see something else." 
 
 "The country is just at its best now," says Brandon, "and 
 London at its worst. Would you exchange your lovely flowers 
 and this fresh, beautiful air for a stifling atmosphere and glar- 
 ing pavements ancthot rooms?" 
 
 " I think it would be a delightful change," and Vanessa 
 smiles. " One gets tired of the same thing when it goes on for- 
 ever and ever." 
 
 "At all events,' says Brandon, "you shall try. Wait until 
 next month, and I will do my very best to make London agree- 
 able to you." 
 
 All her face lights up with pleasure. 
 
 " Change!" muses Brandon to himself, as, later, he walks to- 
 ward the village inn. " Change! That is huriian nature, I su^ 
 pose; never to be satisfied with the same thing long." 
 
 He is to partake of high tea at the Vicarage, and to-morrow, 
 at his friend's earnest request, he has promised to come over and 
 spend a couple of days with them. It is very dangerous to his own 
 peace of mind, he knows; 'doubtless he will suffer severely for it 
 later, but at the present moment the greatest happiness he 
 knows, or cares for, is to be at Vanessa's side, and he flings pru- 
 dence to the winds as recKlessly as though he were twenty 
 years younger. 
 
 The vicar, seeing his daughter coming up the garden alone, 
 joins her. He is considerably embarrassed as to how he shall 
 approach the delicate subject of the squire. 
 
 "3Tou saw Sir Bertram, I suppose V" he says, quite confused 
 and almost blushing. 
 
 " Yes, papa," Vanessa answers, rather coldly. 
 
 "I am afraid" hesitatingly "it must have been rather 
 rather painful for you." 
 
 " Why did you let him speak to me, pj*.pa?"' sa - Vanessa, at' 
 fecting a lightly injured air. 
 
 " I was so surprised so confounded," replie a,r, apolo* 
 
58 1 HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 getically. " And he gave me no time for reflection 01 consider** 
 tion." 
 
 " lie is old enough to be my grandfather,*' continues Va- 
 nessa. 
 
 " Exactly so," agrees her father. "I cannot imagine how he 
 coulu ever have entertained such an idea. And yet, it was diffi- 
 cult to represent that to a man of his age. One is reluctant te 
 hurt his feelings. I hope " anxiously " you expressed your- 
 self as kindly as possible. It will, nr/ doubt, be humiliating to 
 him to reflect upon having committed a foolish action." 
 
 11 1 have no doubt he will be'our enemy for life," remarks Va- 
 nessa, whose mind is much more practical than her father's. 
 
 This suggestion disconcerts the vicar so greatly that he repeats 
 it to himself two or three times, and then falls into a reverie, of 
 which Vanessa takes advantage to leave him, and repair to her 
 room to embellish herself for the evening meal. 
 
 Brandon, on his return, finds the vicar alone. 
 
 " I have not been able to elicit much from my daughter," he 
 says, attacking the subject at once. " Except, of course, that 
 she was very naturally shocked and surprised. She seems to 
 think " hesitatingly *' that her refusal will make an enemy^f 
 the squire: but surely, surely no man would be so unreasonable 
 as to entertain ill feeling to people who have so innocently and 
 unwillingly offended hi in ?" 
 
 A man is always angry with any one who shows him that 
 he lias made a fool of himself," remarks Brandon. " I am afraid 
 there are a great many fools about. Look here, Ivan" sud- 
 denly 4 ' I suppose it has never entered your brain that I am in 
 love with your daughter ?" 
 
 4 ' You!" stammers the vicar, showing plainly by voice and 
 manner that this, too, is a revelation to him. 
 
 Yes," says Brandon, steadily; ** and so, probably, would 
 nine men out of every ten be who saw her. And, I suppose," 
 speaking with effort, but looking his friend full in the face, 
 4 'you are only one degree less shocked than you were by Sir 
 Bertram's declaration; for, if he is old enough to be her grand- 
 father, I am old enough to be her father you and I are nearly 
 the same age, Ivan." 
 
 " You. seem qiiite a young man compared with me," says the 
 vicar; " but I confess all this sudden talk of love and marriage 
 confuses my brain I know not what to think orsajV 
 
 ' 'That is because your brain is so occupied with one subject 
 that you can see and think of nothing else," returns Brandon, 
 " But, my dear Ivan, you ought to think about your daughter's 
 future. Is not the fate of a beautiful young girl, your own flesh 
 and blood, of more importance than a book ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes of course, of course," assents the vicar, looking a 
 little bit ashamed of himself. " I had not realized that she was 
 grown up. But have you spoken to her? does si - know any- 
 thing of of your feelings ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," answers Brandon, looking awa^ . " I do not 
 feel that it would be fair to try to win her affections until she has 
 seen other, younger men. But," suddenly, 
 
LIVED AND LOVKu. 59 
 
 if I could make her care for ine, should you object to me as a 
 husband for her, either on the score of my age or any other ac- 
 count !" 
 
 " No, no," answers the vicar, warmly" you are the greatest 
 friend I ever had. If you can win her affection, I should be 
 glad and happy. Only that," musingly, ' the idea is so new 
 and strange to me altogether, I scarcely seem able to grasp it. " 
 
 As Brandon rides away that evening, he is torn in two by .his 
 desires and his conscience. Shall he speak to-morrow, or shall 
 he forbear ? What a look she gave him from those lovely eyes 
 at parting! Did she know how much it said? His heart thrilla 
 with rapture at the thought of possessing her. But what if, 
 later, she should repent, and know that she had thrown herself 
 away? There ar3 some temptations, however, that are too strong 
 for a man. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN the moonlit night, Brandon and Vanessa are standing by the 
 gate leading into the meadow. The cows are taking their rest 
 long ago the birds have ceased their songs; a hush has fallen 
 on the night there is only the gentle rustle of whispering 
 leaves to break the silence. The moon makes a mirror of yon 
 water- pool; anon a breath of wind shivers it into a hundred 
 shining fragments the breeze goes by, and the pool is again a 
 silver mirror. 
 
 The swift and strong emotions that are hurrying through Bran- 
 dorrs heart give a troubledlook to his face: doubt, desire, honor- 
 able scruples, irrestible longing. Vanessa is smiling, serene, un- 
 ruffled; if her heartbeats a shade quicker than its wont, her face 
 gives no evidence of it. 
 
 She looks at the cows and the water-pool he looks at her, 
 aiid suddenly resolves to speak. His voice sounds strange to 
 his own ears as well as to hers the strangled emotion; the 
 tremulousness of it makes her turn involuntarily to look at 
 him. 
 
 " I dare not speak," he says, " and yet 1 cannot be silent. Tell 
 me what to do!" 
 
 His tone is imploring, as though he would say, " Put me out of 
 nay misery at once!'* She smiled shyly, perhaps, but certainly 
 invitingly. So Brandon goes on impetuously: 
 
 " You are so beautiful, and I love you so devotedly, and yet I 
 feel as if I were committing almost a crime in asking you to marry 
 me. because you are so much too young and too lovely too alto- 
 gether above and beyond me." 
 
 Vanessa, like most of her sex, is pleased to be treated as a god- 
 dess. She smiles encouragingly at him: with her eloquent eyes 
 she benevolently bids him not despair. Then he approaches a 
 little nearer and takes her hand ; his reverence still mastering his 
 passion. 
 
 "I would give all I have to make you mine,'' hu says, " and 
 yet I know I am taking an unfair advantage of you. Perhaps 
 you fancy that you like me a little do you '"" breaking off 
 
CO i HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 passionately " tell me: do you care for me just the least bit m 
 tne world ? I am not repulsive to you ? you do not shrink from 
 me ?' 
 
 And, as though to test what she can endure from him, he bends 
 forward and touches her lips with his. She trembles and draws 
 back a little, but it is from emotion and modesty, not from dis- 
 gust, and he knows the difference. 
 
 "My darling!" he murmurs, and then he releases her and 
 leans for a moment against the gate, trying to still his beating 
 pulses. She is looking away from him to hide her crimson 
 blushes. 
 
 But Brandon's troublesome conscience will not allow him to 
 take with a thankful heart and outstretched hands what the gods 
 have sent. 
 
 "I won't ask you to marry me yet," he says; "you must 
 see other men first you must be sure of yourself first. In six 
 months' time after you have been to Condon, you shall de- 
 cide." 
 
 Vanessa feels a shade disappointed no woman can ever under- 
 stand or feel flattered by a man giving her up, or offering to 
 give her up for her own sake. 
 
 ' Why should you think I do not know my own mind ?" she 
 says, in a low voice, looking for a moment into his face, and 
 then away beyond him. 
 
 " Because, my sweet," he answers, catching her hand, " if it 
 would be heaven to me to have you, it would be worse than 
 hell after you were mine to think you regretted it or that some 
 other man might have made you happier." 
 
 ''But I am sure," she says, with a pretty air of conviction, 
 " that no other man would make me happier." And she turns 
 a look upon him that bereaves him of judgment, and conscience, 
 and everything except love. 
 
 ' After that he throws prudence to thevind if a voice within 
 him tries to speak, he strangles it with passionate fury. He 
 abandons the idea of taking his bride-elect to London he refuses 
 to entertain the thought of a six months' courtship he is in ter- 
 ror of his life lest, between this and his marriage-day, she shall 
 see some younger, better-favored man he scans the little village 
 congregation to discover whether among it there is any good- 
 looking yeoman, who might please a woman's eye. He gives 
 specious* reasons for hastening the wedding he wants to take 
 his wife abroad before the fine weather goes he must be settled 
 in town again by the middle of October. 
 
 Susan is the person who demurs most at the haste she thinks 
 of the " trusso " which she weuld fain confection with her own 
 diligent fingers. Vanessa is dazzled by the pictures her lover 
 draws her of the sights to be seen most of all by the thought 
 of Paris; and the vicar, a little bewildered and perplexed, is still 
 father thankful at having a responsibility taken off his hands to 
 the seriousness of which he has only just been made alive. 
 
 Brandon, like all generous men, is looking forward to lavish- 
 ing presents and beautiful things on his loved one; he* there- 
 for*, knowing the vicar's purse to be slender, undertake*' the 
 
4* IT HAVE LIVED AND LOVEK. SI 
 
 ordering of a moderate trousseau, and has the bill so cleverly * 
 manipulated that it is not until Vanessa has learned by practical 
 experience the costliness of feminine attire that she guesses the 
 deception which has been practiced upon them. If ever a man 
 had reason to believe that he was going to be married for love's 
 sake, Brandon has. He is Vanessa's first love; she heaps upon 
 him all that adoration with which her ripening woman's heart 
 IB overflowingj Were he a thousand Romeos and. Adonises in 
 one, he could not be more pleasing in her eyes. She was thirst- 
 ing for love she loves, and is supremely blessed. 
 
 And Brandon, if he is more of a straightforward, matter-of- 
 fact English gentleman than of a romantic and idealistic lover, 
 has refined and delicate instincts which prevent him from jar- 
 ring the susceptibilities of an innocent and inexperienced young 
 maiden, whilst his passionate love forbids her ever to feel the 
 disappointment which an exacting woman sometimes suffers in 
 a lover considerably older than herself. 
 
 Vanessa turns away from the altar on her wedding-day beam- 
 ing with smiles; as for Brandon, his happiness almost oppresses 
 him. 
 
 Theirs was a honeymoon of the real old-fashioned sort, all 
 smiles, and love, and fair weather; there were no desillusions, 
 no bitter awakenings and passionate disappointments. The 
 bridegroom did riot find the bride an exacting woman of whom 
 he began to realize the possibility of growing weary: the bride 
 did not discover that the bridegroom was but a selfish man and 
 would-be tyrant who had only assumed a chivalrous and wor- 
 shiping demeanor until he obtained what he served for. They 
 adored each other; they were surrounded by the loveliest scenes; 
 everything was new and enchanting to Vanessa. She was not 
 capricious, but delighted with everything, grateful for every- 
 thinga beautiful, happy, satisfied* woman. She showed her 
 love in her expressive eyes, by a thousand fascinating little 
 gestures; without knowing it, she took all the world into her 
 confidence as to her feelings for Brandon, and we may imagine 
 whether this was bliss to a man who adored, but who yet felt 
 himself too old for and all unworthy of such an exquisite creat- 
 ure. At this time, every curled darling in the Household Brigade 
 might have tried his blandishments on Mrs. Brandon and only 
 encountered defeat and failure; there existed but one man for 
 Jier; all the rest were simple units going to make up the great 
 world. 
 
 So Vanessa was happy beyond the happiness meted out to 
 common mortals to indemnify her perhaps for, or to make 
 more bitter, the anguish and despair that the future held in store 
 for her . 
 
 Why do we suffer ? Why do we rejoice ? Why are we ever- 
 lastingly going up or down in the balances of joy and misery ? 
 Nothing is as good as it seems, nor yet anything so bad, We 
 are crushed with misery, we give up; life is a burden too griev- 
 ous to be borne, and then some little, sudden, unexpected gleam 
 of hope or pleasure comes to us and gives us power to struggle 
 OB. Or we are triumphant, radiant, a great piece of good fort* 
 
fa HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 une is ours, After all, the world is a very pleasant place; and 
 hey, presto, a horde of petty cares and vexations creeps in, and 
 steals away the honey from our flower. How can we live on 
 and smile and weave projects when in an hour's time we may 
 be lying stone dead, or shipwrecked in hope and heart nay, 
 much more, when beyond the grave there stretches that awful 
 uncertainty ? 
 
 But Brandon and Vanessa were supremely happy. The most 
 morbid and dyspeptic wretch would not have dared to air his 
 pessimist ideas in presence of their bliss; he would have crept 
 away and howled in anguish at such a living refutation of his 
 theory of universal misery, even though he took comfort in the 
 knowledge that their time would also come. 
 
 The middle of October saw Mr. and Mrs. Brandon installed in 
 their comfortable, old-fashioned, roomy house in Bryan ston 
 Square. It had been left to Brandon by a spinster aunt some 
 seven years before, and he had lived there ever since, and saw- 
 no reason for changing his habitation now. Had he married a 
 fashionable woman, she would probably have ''tip-tilted" her 
 nose at it, and insisted on exchanging it for a bijou residence in 
 a more desirable quarter, but Vanessa, who was quite ignorant 
 of locality in London, and had everything to learn, thought it a 
 palace, and was delighted with it. After a fortnight spent irv 
 Paris, her raptures about London were naturally modified, 
 though the idea of shops and theaters still presented enormous 
 attractions to her. When she had been a week in her new house, 
 she was surprised and horrified to find the time beginning to 
 hang heavy on her hands to feel a sense of weariness and list- 
 Jessness and a depression of spirits such as she had never known 
 . before. It was easily to be accounted for, though she was not 
 experienced enough to tracethe ctTuse of her malady, or rather 
 malaise. It was reaction the penalty demanded for having 
 been too happy. For six weeks she had lived in a whirl of 
 pleasure and excitement, among new scenes and almost cloud- 
 less skies most of all, she had been blest with the constant 
 presence of the man she loved. Now he was away the greater 
 part of the day, and she had to spend her time quite alone in his 
 absence. She was accustomed almost to live in the air, to run 
 out bareheaded into a garden fifty times a day, and now she 
 could not even walk out, because there was no one to accompany . 
 her, and driving about in a brougham was rather dull work, as 
 she had not yet learned, nor had the opportunity, to distract 
 herself with shopping and visiting. Added to this, there were 
 already fogs, and the atmosphere was gray and murky. She 
 could not settle to anything. 
 
 She played the piano a little, read a little, looked out of the 
 window a great deal, and yawned a great deal. There were no 
 domestic cares to occupy her. Mr. Brandon had an admirable 
 housekeeper, who still held the reins of government to the gen- 
 eral benefit of every one. Vanessa had nothing to do but to 
 amuse herself, and a very severe task she found it. She had not 
 at present a friend of either sex. Edith and Mabel happened fce 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 68 
 
 be in London, but they were not allowed to see or speak to her. 
 Edith had written to her. 
 
 il MY DARLING NESSA, I am so grieved that, though we are 
 passing through London, I dare not see you. Grandpapa has 
 forbidden us to hold any intercourse with you under the most 
 awful penalties. Of course we guess what happened, though 
 you may be sure he did not tell us. I should have flown to see you 
 at once, but mamma would not allow it, as she said it might ruin 
 our prospects if he found it out. What a shajne it is one can't 
 be happy one's own way in this worlcl! I don't think it's much 
 of a place, after all. They have been worrying me to marry him 
 the man I told you about but I won't." 1 would rather die! 
 I am not like Mab. Sir Thomas Belton paid her a great deal of 
 attention at a house where we were staying last week, and she 
 swears she will have him if he proposes. He is fifty, and very 
 plain, and one of his front teeth is black ! She calls him her 
 black pearl. You'll think me very selfish talking so much about 
 ourselves. I suppose you are awfully happy, having married a 
 man you are so fond of. How I envy vpu! I thought Mr, 
 Brandon so very nice the only time I met him! I can't tell you 
 how grieved I am not to be a*ble to see you, If I am ever inde- 
 pendent, you may be sure I shall fly to you at once. 
 
 " Your loving, ' EDITH." 
 
 Inclosed was a scrawl from Mab. 
 
 "My ADORED NESSA, I am quite rnad at not being able to 
 see you. Tm"s is the old Gorgon's revenge. I would give the 
 world to know what happened when you refused him. I have 
 captivated a rich old person, and if he proposes I shall accept 
 him. I don't believe in love. I suppose you do' just now at 
 all events. I suppose you are a dreadfully spoony couple. If I 
 marry the old person, I shall at once defy grandpapa, and come 
 and spend a week with you in Bryanston Square. It is such a 
 long way off that you couldn't possibly ask anybody for less than 
 a week. But I've no doubt it's charming when you get there. 
 Give my love to St. George. I call him St. George because he 
 rescued you from the dragon. Good-bye, my darling love. 
 
 " Always your devoted, MAB." 
 
 Never, at home in her quiet village, had Vanessa longed for 
 the companionship of these girls as she did now in the heart 
 of the country she had not realized what dullness and solitude 
 meant. She yearned for Susan in default of seeing her, she 
 would have liked to write her reams of letters; but Susan, as 
 she said herself, was "no scholard," and a letter to her meant 
 labor and sorrow. And Vanessa's letters would not have been 
 intended for other eyes. 
 
 As long as Brandon was at home, his wife was happy and 
 radiant as ever, so that he had no idea of her sufferings in his 
 absence, unti* one morning she astonished him, and herself, too, 
 by bursting into a flood of tears as he was bidding her good-bye, 
 flinging her arms round his neck, and imploring him J^iot to 
 leave her. He had an important appointment, and wa* com- 
 pelled to keep it, but all day long he wa* violently pertwbed in 
 
64 HAVE LIVED AND LCVEl>T 
 
 his mind After all, she was not happy after his beautiful 
 dream, the awakening he had foreseen was coming; she had 
 been pleased at first, like a child with a new toy, but already 
 she was desillusionnee and disappointed. He was as happy as 
 ever himself, or had been up to this disastrous moment; but 
 then his mind was occupied all day, and he had* his beautiful 
 darling to return to with fresh zest after his work. - 
 
 When he reached his office that morning he shut himself in, j 
 and, buried in a chair, gave himself over to reflection. He was 
 *of an equable temperament; not given to violent emotions, but 
 he could not shake off the bitter sense of disappointment and 
 foreboding which the scene of the morning had caused him. 
 He also had to pay for having been too happy. Being, how- 
 ever, possessed of a practical mind, he realized soon enough 
 what was the cause of Vanessa's disenchantment. She wanted 
 companionship, amusement, but most of all, air and exercise a 
 London house was to her like a cage to a wild bird. He would 
 fain have said to her as men are wont to say to a wife who com- 
 plains of loneliness, " Have some woman to stay with you! ask 
 your sister, your cousin, or your aunt!" but Vanessa had no rela- 
 tions and no friends of her own sex, except the two from whom 
 she was cut off by circumstances of which he must be the last 
 to complain. He had no near female relation himself. He 
 turned over in his mind his women friends. Those he would 
 have liked Vanessa to know and be intimate with were not in 
 town now. and there were others who had been friendly enough 
 with him in his bachelor days who would probably take no in- 
 terest in him now that he was married, and still less in his wife. 
 Something he must do tears in those radiant eyes there should 
 not be; he would neglect his business do anything rather than 
 that "she sjiould be dissatisfied and unhappy. He would be more 
 with her. Then came a thought which inflicted a strange pang 
 upon him. Would his society always be enough to content her. 
 
 After long ruminating, he conceived several plans for his be- 
 loved one's benefit, and confided them to her the same evening. 
 She was sitting with her head on his shoulder and his arm round 
 her, in their usual fashion her tears were forgotten like a 
 child's she was smiling, caressing, happy as he had always seen 
 her until this moaning. , 
 
 " I have been thinking about you all day, my darling," John. 
 Brandon says, tenderly. " I can't bear to see tears in those dear 
 eyes " (kissing them). " You are to be happy if you are not I 
 shall never forgive myself for having married you." 
 
 " But I am happy," cries Vanessa, impetuously, " the happiest 
 woman in the world as long as you are with me. I should like 
 to hold you so," flinging her white arms round his neck and 
 clasping him tight, ' ' so that you couldn't get away from me ever 
 again." 
 
 " I wish you could," answers Brandon. " But J am not rich 
 enough to cut business yet." 
 
 ** wfe could live in a^small house instead of a big one. v purrs 
 Vanessa, coaxingly. " Think how nice it wouixi be to be always 
 togethei r* 
 
7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED: 45 
 
 It is not for Brandon to tell her that satiety results from too 
 much companionship of married lovers he only caresses her 
 hair, and says it would be heaven upon earth. 
 
 " But," he pursues presently, " since, my dear love, I cannon 
 always stay at home with you, let us think how you are to be 
 amused whilst I am away." 
 
 Vanessa pouts, and swears that in his absence nothing can 
 amuse her. 
 
 He, however, returns steadily to the charge. She is to have a 
 nice y pleasant, confidential maid, who is to accompany her in 
 her walks, for she must go out more he has that very day or- 
 dered a victoria because a brougham does not give her air enough 
 he has opened a subscription at a library. Would she like 
 a dog ? and does she not think (this diffidently) that some les- 
 sons in music and singing would amuse as well as benefit her ? 
 He thinks she plays and sings divinely, but lie supposes that one 
 is always capable of being improved in these accomplishments. 
 
 After Vanessa has embraced him a thousand times, and as- 
 severated that she wants nothing in the world but him, she con- 
 sents to his suggestions, and in due course the superior maid is 
 found, and a pug-dog, which becomes the apple of her eye. She 
 enjoys her drives in the victoria, feasts her eyes in the shop- 
 windows every morning, talges interest in her singing lessons, 
 devours hundreds of novels, and, for the present, Brandon sees 
 no more tears, and only one want which he is unable to supply 
 the want of a woman friend. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN his bachelor days Brandon had a considerable circle of ac- 
 quaintance. But unless a man has a settled position in society, 
 or marries a woman who has, it is extraordinary how tins 
 circle narrows if he marrj.es. There were plenty of women in 
 society who had been pleased to know him and to be civil to 
 him he was a gentleman born and bred, and had good man- 
 ners. They did not want to marry him he was not rich enough 
 to give a cachet to his business but they met him in society; he 
 was never intrusive that was enough. But to know and visit his 
 wife was a very different affair he must drop out of their sphere 
 into his own place now, unless she happened to be taken up in 
 the proper quarter. Then, wine-merchant, horse dealer, 01 
 pedicure, what mattered his business or profession! 
 
 Brandon was the last man in the world to thrust himself or 
 any one belonging to him forward. This lessened his chances 
 of getting on considerably. He would have done anything in 
 the world for his wife "except run the risk of getting her 
 snubbed. But he asked some of the "good" men whom he 
 knew to come and dine, in the hope that, having seen how beau- 
 tiful and charming Vanessa was, they would send their women 
 to call on her. 
 
 And if it had only depended on the men Mrs. Brandon would 
 had a most refined and desirable circle about her; 
 
66 J HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 unfortunately, a man's good word is rarely of .much benefit to a 
 pretty woman. 
 
 The men told their wives about her: the wivc-s asked the in- 
 evitable question, " Who icas she T Sometimes the husbands did 
 not know: sometimes they replied that she was the daughter of 
 a country parson. Now it is eminently respectable to be the 
 Daughter of a clergyman more respectable than to be the daugh- 
 ter of any other professional man; but it does not carry any 
 great weight "with it unless the clergyman be a bishop or an arch- 
 deacon, or the holder of a rich family living. 
 
 '* But she might be a duchess!" the men said, with enthusiasm, 
 which, somehow, was rather displeasing to their ladies, and se- 
 cretly damaged Vanessa in their eyes. Two or three of them 
 left cards in Bryanston Square, but that meant nothing they 
 did not ask for her, nor invite her to their houses after she had 
 lft cards in return; and Mrs. Brandon did not even know them 
 by sight. 
 
 On the other hand, the wives of many city men, and rich Ty- 
 burnians whom Brandon knew, hastened to call upon the newly- 
 married pair, and to entertain them at banquets. Vanessa knew 
 nothing by practical experience of society, or of the different 
 classes of which it is composed; but she soon became aware that 
 these rich, well-fed, over-dressed women, who were sometimes 
 honestly jovial and vulgar, and sometimes had disagreeable 
 affectations of fine ladyism and pedantry, were not congenial to 
 her.- She remembered the teachings of Edith and Mabel, and 
 recognize 1 with secret heart-burning that, as the wife of a man 
 of business on a moderate scale, her social status did not entitle 
 her to mix with the people whom she would have liked to know. 
 She was delighted with the men who came without their wives 
 most of the men who came wnth their wives were offensive 
 and almost intolerable to her refined taste. She tried carefully 
 to conceal her feelings from her husband, for whom her love 
 continued undiminished. He was a perfect gentleman, she told 
 herself, man of business or not; but after a time when they were 
 invited to rich men's houses, she would say to him, coaxingly, 
 " Don't you think, darling, we are much happier at home to- 
 gether than at those long, stupid dinners?" And, if the feast 
 was not at the house of a client whom he did not wish to offend, 
 he consented to their having a previous engagement. By degrees 
 it began to be whispered in Tyburnia that Mrs. Brandon gave 
 herself airs, and the ladies there asked themselves with a differ- 
 ent accentuation, the question, " Who was she 9" not " Whotras 
 she ?'' The daughter of some paltry curate, with a hundred a 
 year, most likely! For they despised poverty as well-bred people 
 despise wealth when it is allied to vulgarity. 
 
 There was one visitor always feted in Bryanston Square, and 
 though he came of ten and stayed long, he never overstayed his 
 welcome. He was known to his intimates as Charlie Dallas. 
 His full names and titles were Colonel the Honorable Charles 
 Dallas, formerly of the First Regiment of Guards, from which he 
 retired soon after the Crimean war. with a wound and two 
 
LIVED AND ^OVELT '37 
 
 medals. He was agreeable, the reverse of rich, and he was fond 
 of pretty women in a Dleasant, fatherly sort of manner. 
 
 " I can't think/' he used to say, ; ' why old fellows like me 
 don't see that they disgust women by trying to make love to 
 them when they are only too glad to have ns for friends. I am 
 the friend of every pretty young woman who chooses, and it 
 makes my life very pleasant." 
 
 Colonel Dallas was distinguished-looking; his manners were 
 perfect; he always said the right thing, and the pleasant thing, 
 unless some one was rude to him, in which case any friend of 
 Charlie's would have bft'ered odds as to the offender coming off 
 second-best. 
 
 He had known and liked Brandon from a boy; but it was only 
 when he became the husband of a loved wife that Colonel Dal- 
 las discovered what an immense-regard he had for him. Va- 
 nessa charmed and delighted him she perfectly fulfilled his idea 
 of beauty and breeding in a woman she was vivacious, grace- 
 ful, gracious; all her instincts were delicate and refined per- 
 haps her chief charm lay in the fact that she was so delighted 
 with him and took such pleasure in his society. 
 
 The colonel was accustomed to be taken up by pretty women, 
 and made much of and thrown over when the particular friend 
 appeared on the scene, and he always knew how to retire with 
 an excellent grace; but here there was 110 throwing over; no par- 
 ticular friend he was always received with smiles, and speeded 
 with regrets; and Brandon welcomed him as heartily as Va- 
 nessa. 
 
 The colonel was very much exercised in his mind on the sub- 
 ject of his beautiful young friend. He loved and admired her 
 lie felt she ought to be in a different sphere, but he was ex- 
 ceedingly puzzled as to whether transplanting her would really 
 conduce to her happiness and to her husband's. She was devoted 
 to Brandon she seemed contented with her lot; and yet, now and 
 then, he fancied he detected in her symptoms of longkrg after 
 the pleasures and excitements of the world. 
 
 Vanessa was. in truth, conscious of secret yearnings con- 
 scious of a disappointment which she would not confess to her- 
 self. Hers was the disappointment of almost every young girl 
 who marries. The passionate lover had subsided into the kind, 
 tranquil, affectionate husband, and she, like most women who 
 have just begun to love, ^ould fain have kept the lover for five 
 years, or ten, or, perhaps, to all eternity. It is very hard on 
 women, no doubt, that having the same feelings as, if in a lesser 
 degree than, men (though men ignorantly deny this), that three 
 months' passion should I>e thought enough to last their lifetime, 
 and one love as much as any decent woman ought to want, 
 whereas men may indulge their feelings ad infinitwm. 
 
 Brandon was so kind and fond that Vanessa would have 
 thought herself a monster of ingratitude to complain; but ha 
 was certainly not the Brandon who had wooed her in her coun- 
 try home, and been her cicerone among those lovely foreign 
 scenes. He was secure he no longer thought her a creature of 
 illimitable perfections whom he had committed a crime in mar- 
 
Co I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED] 
 
 rying. He loved her perhaps better; she was the dearest, sweet- 
 est girl in all the world she was the only \voinan who existed 
 for him: but lie had got over the demonstrative stage and loved 
 her in a quiet, sober, sensible manner. But that is a manner in 
 which, as a rule, young women do not appreciate being loved. 
 
 The winter passed, and by the time the London season began 
 the colonel had taken the place of the superior maid in prublic, 
 and was Vanessa's escort. Many an older man than Charlie 
 Dallas might have compromised a woman by being her constant 
 companion, but everybody knew that Charlie was a man of honor 
 and " as safe as the bank;" besides, that was " not his line." 
 
 The steps of the pair were most frequently turned to the Row, 
 for Vanessa was never tired of this brilliant kaleidoscope, and as 
 the colonel knew every one and who every one was, it made it 
 extremely entertaining. It was from no selfish motives that he 
 refrained from introducing to her the many golden youths who 
 came up to him in "the hope of making Vanessa's acquaintance, 
 but from honest scruples about her husband's peace of mind. 
 He was so genuinely devoted to her that he would have done 
 anything to give her pleasure. 
 
 Just at first Vanessa was quite content to look. on and know 
 the names of the fashionable women who wore pretty frocks 
 and had a-chic air, and of the men who were so handsome and 
 well dressed, and at whose numbers she was astonished. She 
 had been told that Englishmen were a good-looking race; now 
 it was proved to her by ocular demonstration. By and by when 
 she observed that most of these attractive young people of both 
 sexes seemed to know and to enjoy the most pleasant and in- 
 timate relations with each other, she began to feel a little bit 
 left out in the cold. When one fine, May day the colonel took 
 her into the Mall and showed her the ladies going to Court in 
 their diamonds and feathers, with their big bouquets and smil- 
 ing, well-satisfied faces, a pang of envy shot through her breast. 
 For Vanessa had ambitious instincts, and a great love of and 
 desire for pleasure she had, besides, the innate consciousness 
 that she was fit to share in the world's galas. Colonel Dallas, 
 who was exceedingly shrewd, understood her feelings and was 
 more than ever exercised in his mind. He asked himself over 
 and over again what would be the result of giving her the entree 
 into society. She was as pure and innocent as she was beau- 
 tiful; but untested virtue counts for nothing she was simply 
 devoted to her hiisband, but when these handsome young fel- 
 lows, for whose idle hands it is Satan's especial delig'ht to find 
 mischief, began to make ardent love to her (as, of course, after 
 the manner of their kind and thetmstom of the day they would), 
 what about the good, well-meaning, middle-aged husband at 
 home ? 
 
 One day as they sat in the Row and two pretty women passed 
 talking with great vivacity to two gallant cavaliers, Vanessa 
 sighed, and said: 
 
 " How Jiappy all these women seem! How delightful it must 
 b6 to know every one every one nice, at least!*' 
 
 That evening the colonel took up his parable as tje and 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOV&D. & 
 
 Brandon were sipping their after-dinner claret. Vanessa iiad 
 just left them. 
 
 4 'You are a fortunate man, Brandon," Dallas began, though 
 the remark was made more with a view to opening the bail of 
 conversation than because he really thought his host what he 
 professed to think him. To be the husband of a very beautiful 
 woman was, to his experienced inind, rather a doubtful piece of 
 good fortune. 
 
 But Brandon answered in^the heartiest manner, evidently de* 
 void of all misgiving. 
 
 " You are right, colonel, I am." 
 
 " I don't think there is a lovelier woman in London,' 1 pursued 
 Pallas; 4< indeed, I am quite sure there is not." 
 
 " So am I," said Brandon, with emphasis.' 
 
 " Talk of and ," exclaimed the colonel mentioning the 
 
 names of some ladies who had taken double ftrsts in the ranks of 
 beauty, " why, they can't hold a candle to her." 
 
 " So I think," answered Brandon. 
 
 Now came the difficult part of the colonel's task. 
 
 " She ought to be among them; she ought to be in the best 
 society she is fit for anything!" And he paused, waiting to see 
 the effect of his words. * 
 
 Brandon met him more than half way. 
 
 '* That she is!" he said? " I only wi$ii to Heaven I could take 
 her into the society she is fit fdr; but you know, colonel, in 
 my position, it is not a very easy matter. I used to know plenty 
 of ~ women of the right sort, but I can't ask them to notice my 
 wife, and they don't seem inclined to do it of their own ac- 
 cord." 
 
 " Naturally," answered the colonel. *' When women are 
 obliged to admit a new beauty they do it with a tolerably good 
 grace, and even pretend to rave about "her, but, by Jove! they'll 
 keep her out as long as they can." 
 
 " I should be only too glad to| see her in her proper sphere," 
 said Brandon. " I would do anything to get her there short of 
 making her look small and subjecting her to rebuffs. You know 
 what biting snubs you well-bred people can give!" 
 
 " But," observed the colonel, fixing his eye on a picture in the 
 distance, " supposing now your wife had an opportunity of get- 
 ting into society, you wouldn't have any any scruples? You 
 know we live in in rather a fast age; a pretty woman is subject 
 to to h'm a good deal of admiration." 
 
 44 1 shouldn't have the smallest scruple in the world," replied 
 honest John Brandon. " God bless her! I'd trust her anywhere. 
 All I want is to see her happy and amused." 
 
 Perhaps the colonel thought his host over-confident. He 
 heaved a slight sigh. 
 
 " May I bring my niece, Hermione Fane, to call on her ?" he 
 asked, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " I should think it very kin^ of you," answered Brandon, 
 warmly. % 
 
 So there was nothing left for Charles Dallas but to arrange the 
 matter with his niece. It is very dangerous and imprudent to 
 
1 WAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 promise anything tar a lady, especially that she will be kind and 
 civil to an unknown member of her sex, but the colonel was 
 tolerably confident about his niece, who was a very kind-hearted 
 and pleasant little lady, and exceedingly fond of him into the 
 bargain. 
 
 The next afternoon he was ushered into her boudoir at six 
 5'elock. 
 
 ' 4 Is it possible," lie said, after kissing her, >4 that I am so fort- 
 unate as to find you alone! Where are all the soupirants ?" 
 
 Mrs. Fane is small, pretty, extremely animated, and beautifully 
 tkessed. She looks the blithest little mortal in existence her 
 path seems strewn with roses, and although all the world knows 
 there is one very *harp thorn among them, she steps on it with 
 such an unflinching smile that no one believes she suffers any in- 
 convenience from it. 
 
 *' How are you, ck j ar Uncle Charlie ?" she says, gayly. " I am 
 'not at home' to-day, but Peregrine is a wise man, and knows 
 that you are always to be let in. I will give you some tea, and 
 we'll have a nice chat. And pray, sir," archly, teapot in hand, 
 " what are these mysterious rumors I hear of you, and who if 
 the beautiful and unknown fair one by whose side you are dailj 
 seen, and with whom you disappear regularly at hincheon-time. 
 to some haunt beyond the ken of civilization ? You were watched 
 one day as far as the Marble Arch, and across Oxford Street, and 
 then they gave you up in despair." 
 
 " That is just what I have come to talk to you about," answers 
 the colonel, smiling. 
 
 * 4 Is it true," cries Mrs. Fane, " that she belongs to a cele- 
 brated shop in Oxford Street, and that you are going to marry 
 her'.'" 
 
 ''Yes, Hermy." replies the colonel, gravely. "Quite true. 
 Quite as true, at least, as everything else which they say." 
 
 'Uncle Charlie, you positively frighten me!" Mrs. Fane 
 looks prepared to take him au grand serieux. Colonel Dallas 
 sips his tea and eats his muffin with provoking deliberation, 
 whilst his niece scans him with anxiety. It is not an entirely 
 unheard of occurrence for a gentleman of his age to make a 
 'Uiance. 
 
 " Don't tease me!'' continues Herniione, beginning to smite. 
 44 Tell me the worst at once." 
 
 " My dear," observes the colonel, holding out his cup for 
 more tea, "it is very disrespectful of you to think your unclean 
 old fool." 
 
 "Oh, as for that," says Mrs. Fane, looking relieved, " love 
 makes a fool of ever}' body." 
 
 " Except of you.' : 
 
 " Except of nie," she answers, gayly. " But now, come, 
 you shall have no more tea, nor muffins." playfully snatching 
 the plate from him, "until you have spoken out. - Who is sher 
 where does she come from? ho** did vou meet her? etc., etc. 
 
 *t." 
 
 " Who is she? She is Mrs. Brandon." 
 44 Then it is tvn-- absjut the shop ?" 
 
/ -U:*VE LIVED AND LOVED. 71 
 
 " No not even though her name is Brandon." 
 
 " And is she a Mrs. :" 
 
 " She is very much a Mrs. She adores her husband, and he is 
 devoted to her.'' 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Charlie, and are you going to be tlie Mephisto to 
 come in and interfere with all this adoration V" 
 
 <4 1 trust not," answers the colonel, devoutly, as a secret qualm 
 comes over him whether indirectly he may not be helping. to 
 bring about such a result. 
 
 " She is a clergyman's daughter married to a very good fel- 
 low whom I have known from a boy, but at present she doesn't 
 know any one of the right sort, and I want you, Hermy, to stand 
 sponsor for her.'' 
 
 " My dear Uncle Charlie!" cries Mrs. Fane, dismayed, " don't 
 ask me to bring out a new beauty! Oh, if you knew what a bore 
 -it is to go about with these woman, and to be mobbed, and made 
 a show of, and to do a sort of sheep-dog business! It is so much 
 pleasanter to be on one's own account. I don't care for reflected 
 luster myself." 
 
 " My dear girl." cries the colonel, warmly, 4< I don't want you 
 to do anything to put yourself to inconvenience. All I want 
 is to get you to come and call on her with me, and ask her to 
 luncheon. When once you have seen her, I know you will like 
 her." " 
 
 " No, Uncle Charlie,'* replies Hermione, shaking her head, 
 " that would be impossible. No woman ever yet liked another 
 woman that a man wanted her to like. Still, for your sake by 
 the way, what on earth is vour motive ? If she is so lovely and 
 delightful, why don't you keep her to yourself V" 
 
 11 Because I am like my sex, unselfish," smiles the .colonel. 
 
 " Say becaase you're unlike your sex, my dear," retorts Ins 
 niece. ** Well, yes, I'll go, certainly. Not to-morrow, because 
 1 have to drive Lady W., nor the next day, because of the 
 Fancy Fair, nor Saturday, because I'm going to see Gerard play 
 polo: Sunday, of course, I can't, and Monday I must devote 
 to " 
 
 The colonel's face falls, and Mrs. Fane observing this, breaks 
 ofV. and says: 
 
 M Very well, I'll go on Monday. Come and lunch first, and 
 then we will drive off to where is it V Highgate Hampstead 
 Islington ?" 
 
 " It's rather more than a mile from your door, my dear. By 
 the way, why do you fashionable ladies always pretend that a 
 place you don't want to go to is such a long way off ?" 
 
 " Very \vel?, Monday, then. And I am to ask her to lunch, and 
 to~get some people to meet her. If-she doesn't go out much, I 
 suppose any day will suit her V" 
 
 '"'Any day," responds the colonel, warmly. "Thank you, 
 my dear. Good-bye!" And after kissing his niece, Colonel 
 Dallas departs well pleased, whilst Hermione wishes Mrs. Bran* 
 don at Coventry, or some place a good deal further off than 
 BiyanetOB Square, 
 
72 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CONTRARY to all precedent, Mrs. Fane took a violent fancy t3 
 Vanessa the moment she set eyes on her; declared her to be 
 perfectly lovely and charming, and insisted at once on fixing a 
 day for the luncheon party, Vanessa, on her part, had a diffi- 
 culty* in finding words to express how pretty,' how sweet, how 
 altogether delightful she found Mrs. Fane. The colonel was en- 
 chanted. 
 
 '* Now who shall I have to meet her?" said Hermione, 
 thoughtfully, as they drove away from the door. " I must get 
 two or three nice women, who may be useful to her and won't 
 be jealous, and*' laughing'*! must not have any seductive 
 young men on your account, to say nothing of the poor hus- 
 band's/' 
 
 " She is too fond of her husband to care about seductive young 
 men," replied the colonel. 
 
 *' Perhaps she has never seen any," remarked Hermione, skep- 
 tically. " I shall ask Mildred, and then, of course, if she comas, 
 Gerard will. If he were not so infatuated about her, he would 
 be sure to fall in love with the new beauty, but I think he 
 is quite safe. What lovely eyes! they seem to float in some 
 heavenly liquid! And what a wonderful color they are! You 
 really are a very good judge, my dear uncle. And she is 
 not the least conscious nor affected, I hope she won't get 
 spoilt.'' 
 
 As Vanessa is a little bit nervous about her debut, it is ar- 
 ranged that tfie colonel shall call for her and accompany her to 
 Mrs. Fane's -house in Grosvenor Place. When he arrives in 
 Bryanston Square, the victoria is already at the door, and Va- 
 nessa is walking up and down the drawing-room in a highly 
 nervous state, waiting for him. Excitement has given a, beauti- 
 ful little flush to her creamy skin the colonel is delighted to 
 find her looking handsomer than ever. She wears a very fresh, 
 white toilet; excellent and critical as is his taste, he finds noth- 
 ing to be improved or to alter in it. 
 
 He does not seem at all in a hurry to start, but takes a chair, 
 and begins to chat. 
 
 " Shall we not be late ?" asks Vanessa at last, having cast sev- 
 eral meaning glances at the clock. 
 
 " Lots of time," he replies. " People generally stop out in the 
 park until after two/' 
 
 He has an object in being a little late to-day, though he is 
 habitually the most punctual of men. But he knows that a 
 pretty woman creates a greater impression by entering a room 
 than by being found seated there. After all, though it is ten 
 minutes past two when they arrive, there are only three persons 
 assembled; the hostess, another lady, and a very handsome 
 young man, 
 
 "This is t 1 "> head of the house," says the colonel, smilingly 
 taking his ii^miew by the arm after Vanessa has been presented 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 73 
 
 by Mrs. Fane to Lady Mildred Belair. "Mrs. Brandon, let me 
 introduce Lord Ravenhold to you. Gerard, Mrs. Brandon." 
 
 He takes her Hand; gives her the frank, admiring glance 
 which men are wont to bestow on beauty, and says how glad he 
 is to have the pleasure of making her acquaintance. Then Mrs. 
 Fane monopolizes her, and Lord Ravenhold returns to the sofa 
 beside Lady Mildred. The other guests drop in one by one 
 they do not seem to pair until they get inside and luncheon h 
 announced. Vanessa finds herself between Lord Ravenhold, 
 who sits at the bottom of the table, and Colonel Dallas. The 
 'colonel is too hungry to talk. Lord Ravenhold divides his at- 
 tention equally between his -lunch and Lady Mildred, arid Va- 
 nessa lias time to look about her and take observations. There is 
 not the tenth part of the luxury and ostentation here that she 
 has seen in the houses of city magnates everything is elegant, 
 yet comparatively simple; there is not an atom of gene ; not a 
 trace of ' ; company manners;" every one is spontaneous, natural, 
 perfectly at home there is a freedom that would make the 
 under-jaw of Tyburnia drop, and yet it is unmistakably better 
 bred than the stilted affectation of politeness of people not 
 sufficiently confident in themselves. Perhaps there is too much 
 license in the manners of the society of the day: perhaps an as- 
 sumption of coarseness, slanginess, incorrectness of speech; but 
 it has its own cachet, and is as different from ordinary vulgarity 
 as French wit is from English. Vanessa could not observe the 
 rest of the company as minutely as she would have liked for the 
 reason that a good many curious and admiring eyes were turned 
 her way, and later, the colonel, having appeased his appetite, 
 began to talk to her. Once now and then Lord Ravenhold 
 turned and spoke a few courteous words, but it was evident that 
 his thoughts were centered on his right-hand neighbor. When 
 the ladies repaired to the drawing-room,. I^ady Mildred came and 
 chatted pleasantly to Vanessa; she was in high good humor; 
 perhaps because, in spite of Mrs. Brandon's loveliness, Gerard 
 Ravenhold had showed no symptoms of a failing allegiance to 
 herself. When the men joined them, the colonel brought up a 
 very good-looking young fellow, whom he introduced as Mr. 
 , Algernon Howard. 
 
 "May I come and talk to you?" says the latter, dropping 
 gently into the seat beside her as if he had known her all his life. 
 "I've heard so much about you. And I hope you know a' 
 little afyout me." 
 
 Vanessa looks at him with interest. This is Edith's "Algy" 
 about whom she has receive*' so many heartrending confi- 
 dences. 
 
 ' Oh, yes," she answers. " I have often heard of you." 
 
 "And you sympathize with me, doift you:' he says, confi- 
 dentially, bringing his good-looking young face close to hers, 
 "I know you do you believe ia love. You married for love 
 you wouldn't have old Sir Bertram. Quite right, I admire you 
 for it! "What a thundering old brute he is!" 
 
 For a moment Vanessa is a little bit taken aback at finding 
 these state secrets spoken of so lightly and familiarly by a stran- 
 
74 JL HAVE LIVED AND LOVKD 
 
 ger; but soon the ease of her interlocutor's manner comn-mni 
 cates itself to her. and she finds herself talking as naturally fcj 
 him as though they had been children together. 
 
 "Don't think me impertinent," murmurs Algy, ' for talking 
 about your affairs of course, Edie tells me everything, and I 
 know she tells you everything, so there ought to be a bond of 
 union between us, oughtn't there ?" 
 
 - " Yes." says Vanessa, smiling. What a good-looking lad he 
 is! she can understand Edith's repugnance to the rich lover. " T 
 am so sorry I never see her and Mab now," she continues. " At 
 least, I see them I meet them often in the Row, but I look the 
 other way, because I know they are not allowed to look at or 
 speak to me." 
 
 " What an infernal shame! It is all that old brute. I say, 
 Mrs. Brandon, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I'm so 
 awfully glad you didn't have him. Of course Edie has told me 
 all about you, and how beautiful you were, but I suppose word a 
 are poor, as they say, sometimes." 
 
 Mr. Howard makes his speech in such a modest deprecating 
 manner that Vanessa does not even feel embarrassed, But then 
 a genuine compliment is seldom embarrassing. 
 
 ** Have you seen Edith lately ?" she asks. 
 
 ' k I met her at a ball last night," he answers, eager to talk 
 about his own affairs, as young men in love are prone to be. '* I 
 only got one dance with her, but we did manage to hide for tov. 
 minutes behind a pillar and dodge her old mother. She's a regu- 
 lar mercenary old dev old lady, she is. They're worrying my 
 poor little girl out of her life to have that fellow Chatham. He 
 isn't a bad sort of fellow, and he's got lots of money, but Edie 
 don't care for that, thank God! She's as true as steel she swears 
 she'll stick to me, and I know she will. After all, money isn't 
 everything, is it, Mrs. Brandon ? It's awfully jolly to have it, 
 but what's the good of it if you're tied to some one you loathe. 
 There's an heiress my people are trying to cram down nay-throat, 
 but I'll see her blessed first. I wouldn't a bit mind being poor if 
 I could have Edie, and she doesn't mind. I'm not an extrav- 
 agant fellow, only, don't you know, one must do what other 
 fellows do. I'm trying not to smoke so many cigarettes, and I 
 only drink whisky and soda at my own expense, I mean." 
 
 Algy finds so interested a listener in ^Vanessa that he continues 
 to pour out his confessions it is charming to confide in. a beau* 
 tiful and sympathetic woman. Seeing the pair so engrossed 
 with each other, the colonel feels a little bit uneasy. He is not 
 in the secret of Mr. Howard's love-affair, and the lad appears so 
 impassioned and Vanessa so eagerly attentive, that the outside 
 world might well imagine them to be carrying on a little flirta- 
 tion en their own account. 
 
 'Do I bore you?" says Algy, presently, fixing his blue eyes 
 earnestly on Mrs. Brandon's face. 
 
 " No, no," cries Vanessa, ' it interests me beyond everything. 
 What is there in this world worth having in comparison wita 
 love?" , 
 
LIVED AND LOI T ED. 75 
 
 In spite of his passion for Edith, Algy cannot help being im- 
 pressed by the charms of his companion. 
 
 "What an aw awfully " (he has a slight stammer) " lucky 
 chap Brandon must be!" he remarks with enthusiasm. " You're 
 not like other pretty women do you know. Mrs. Brandon, 
 nearly all pretty women are mercenary/' 
 
 " Are they V" says Vanessa, smiling. 
 
 He is such a boy, so good-looking, so natural, that nothing he 
 jays seems to come amiss. After all, everything depends so 
 much more on the manner than the words. 
 
 "You do think Edie cares for me, don't you?" he resumes, 
 harping back to the beloved theme. 
 
 " I am sure of it," returns Vanessa, with immense emphasis. 
 
 The party is beginning to disperse now there is only the 
 Colonel left, talking to Mrs. Fane, and Lord Ravenhold and Lady 
 Mildred whispering in a corner. 
 
 " I suppose I must be going," says HJrs. Brandon, who has just 
 caught the colonel's eye for the second time. 
 
 "Must you ? What a bore! I should like to go on talking to 
 you for hours. When shall I see you again ? May I come and 
 call?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, do," she answers, a little bit embarrassed, being not 
 yet woman of fashion enough to think it a matter of course 
 that young men should call upon her in her husband's absence. 
 
 " What is the best time to find you ?" he asks, confidently ex- 
 pecting to be asked t< luncheon. 
 
 "My husband generally comes home about five," she says, 
 ** but then we o drive out after that " 
 
 Mr. Howard i little bit nonplussed. He has no idea of call- 
 ing when Mr. Brandon is i*t home. Three is a very objection- 
 able number, and you can't confide in a woman in the presence 
 of her husband. He does not, however, lose his presence of 
 mind. 
 
 " Thanks, I'll come," he says as she is rising, " and I dare say, 
 I shall see you in the Row one of these mornings." 
 
 "After all, I have not had a chat with you,'' exclaims Mr. 
 Fane at parting, " and I really must. If I look in upon you 
 to-morrow -at six, will you give me some tea, and then we can 
 have a nice little talk all to ourselves ?" 
 
 "I shall be delighted," answers Vanessa. 
 
 "You. are not to come and interrupt our tete-a-tete, Uncle 
 Charlie," and*Mrs. Fane turns to the colonel. 
 
 " Certainly not, my dear. Have you ever known me indis- 
 creet ?" 
 
 "Never never in my life! To-morrow, then," shaking 
 Vanessa's hand in a very friendly manner. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold and Lady Mildred have also risen to speed the 
 parting guest. 
 
 " May 1 come and see you-?" says her ladyship, who has been 
 asked by Ravehold's sister to be civil to the new beauty, and 
 Vanessa expresses her pleasure at the proposal very prettily. 
 
 "She is quite lovely," observes Lady Mildred, as the door 
 tloses ui> TMVs. Brandon. 
 
7$ i HAVE LIVED AND LOVED: 
 
 11 Is she?" says Ravenhold, looking fixedly at her ladyship, 
 He has very eloquent eyes, and they say distinctly, " I do not 
 see any one but you." 
 
 Lady Mildred smiles and feels benevolently disposed toward 
 Mrs. Brandon and the rest of the world. Meanwhile, the colo- 
 nel is putting Vanessa into her carriage. 
 
 "I will say good-bye," he says. "You have seen enough of 
 me for to-day." 
 
 " No, no, I have not," she answers, eagerly; " I want to- talk 
 to you about it all. Do come with me." 
 
 So he takes his place beside her. 
 
 'It has been delightful," she exclaims, as they drive away. 
 " I can't tell you hew I have enjoyed it, How nice everybody 
 was. and how kindr 
 
 "' Mr. Howard seemed to be very nice and kind," observes the 
 colon i-1, and Vanessa detects ,9, slightly injured tone in his voice. 
 
 ' He is in loA~e with Edith Edith Vaughan do you not know? 
 I have told you. He was talking about hev the whole time he 
 is so dreadfully in love with her and so unhappy." 
 
 44 Oh, then, it was vicarious ?" remarks the colonel, looking re- 
 lieved. 
 
 'What do you mean? Vicarious?" asks Vanessa, fixing her 
 eyes on him; but the colonel declines to enter into explanations, 
 and changes the subject. 
 
 " What do you think of Ravenhold ?" 
 
 " He is very, very handsome. And he seems devoted to Lady " 
 Mildred. Is he going to marry her ?" 
 
 " My dear child, what are you talking about ? She has a hus** 
 band already." 
 
 Vanessa blushes crimson, whilst a positively awe-struck ex* 
 pression comes into her face. 
 
 Tfce colonel feels embarrassed. 
 
 " They are very great friends very old friends," he says, hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 " Mr. Fane was not there?" remarks Vanessa, after a pause* 
 Her tone is interrogative. 
 
 4 He is very seldom in town." 
 
 " What is he like ? Is he nice ?" 
 
 "He is a lout," answers the colonel, with contemptuous dis- 
 gust. 
 
 4i I am sorry," exclaims Vanessa, sincerely. " She is so charm- 
 ing. Is she unhappy ?" 
 
 "She manages to get along. After all, that is about all the 
 most of us can do." 
 
 Vanessa is not accustomed to this pessimist strain from her 
 friend she looks rather unhappy. He, observing it, lays hia 
 hand lightly upon her, and says: 
 
 " I am a dyspeptic old person. I ought not to have eaten that 
 foie gras at luncheon. It never agrees with me. I know it, and 
 yet I can't resist it. But you, my dear may your path be 
 always strewn with roses! You have a good husband, and you 
 love" him after all, that is a very great slice of good fortune foi 
 one of us poor mortals," 
 
t HAYS LIVED AND LOVED. 7? 
 
 " Indeed it is," responds Vanessa, brightly. " See," shs cries, 
 in delighted accents, " there he is just going up the steps. You 
 can't think, darling " (this to Brandon as the carriage stops and 
 he helps her out), " what a delightful morning I have had." 
 
 Whether it is thefoie gras or the sight of too much happiness 
 that disagrees with the colonel, he declines to enter the house, 
 *nd, after bidding the pair a friendly adieu, strolls off toward 
 his club. . 
 
 "I suppose the ice is broken," he soliloquizes. '.'Ah! she'll 
 eee and hear some things now to astonish her. But she will soon 
 get used to it. I'm very glad Ravenhold is so taken up with 
 that woman. If he had not been, he would have made love to 
 her as sure as, fate." 
 
 It is well that the future is shrouded from our eyes, otherwise 
 the colonel's musings would have been of a less self-gratulatory 
 character as he walked clubward. 
 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 VISCOUNT RAVENHOLD was a very handsome young man in- 
 deed, and particularly attractive in the eyes of the fair, to whom 
 he was quite devoted. He was a keen sportsman, and some- 
 thing of an athlete;but there is no doubt that his favorite dis- 
 traction was filer le parfait amour : he was one of~the few men 
 who would have stayed away willingly from a hunt or a shoot 
 at the request of a woman with whom he was in love. He was 
 devoured by chronic heart-hunger the object of his passion 
 might change (did. in fact, not unfrequently), but the desire to 
 love always remained. He denied strenuously that he was fickle 
 or unfaithful, and swore that he should be the most faithful lover 
 created if 
 
 There were always ifs which* stepped in -and interfered with 
 his fidelity the most common if was if he could find the right 
 woman. Then he so often thought that he had found her, but 
 after a time she disappointed him. It was always her fault, but, 
 nothing daunted, he renewed his researches. 
 
 His grandfather, the late lord, had been endowed with the 
 same affectionate nature, and the indulgence of it had led him 
 into so many imprudences that he had got to be considered a 
 very wicked old man indeed. In half a century, a man who is 
 perpetually in love and is prevented from being so legitimately 
 by the ties which he has primarily contracted, must inevitably 
 get himself into considerable discredit with society, which, 
 whatever it may know and put up with in secret, insists on a de- 
 cent face being shown to it. The old lord declined to present a 
 decent face he outraged the world's opinion over and Oer again 
 in that one particular; ancj. so in time it ostracized him, for 
 which he, however, cared nothing. He was a gentleman and a 
 man of honor jn every respect, except where a woman was con- 
 ce'rnecl; the moment that a petticoat stepped in, honor, con- 
 science, prudence, were dispersed to the four winds of heaven. 
 He had been very successful in his loves because, added to good 
 locks f u 1 charm of manner, he had an indomitable wiflTwrnch 
 
78 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 
 
 always led him on to gratify his passions, though it never helped 
 him to restrain them. He begrudged nothing in the world to 
 the woman he was in love with for the time, and was the most 
 devoted and passionate of worshipers. Like Henry VIII., 
 would fain have crowned each new love at the expense of her 
 predecessor. In his time he had married three wives, all for 
 love, and had come to hate each of them with extraordinary 
 vindictiveness. His eldest son he detested for no better reason 
 than because he was to inherit the good things his father could 
 not carry away with him, but the heir died first. He liked his 
 grandson little better, and the only member of the family who 
 found favor in his eyes was his granddaughter, Hermione Dal- 
 las, known to us as " Mrs. Fane. She was high-spirited and full 
 of fun she amused him and was not afraid of him as most 
 people were. She was seventeen and her brother twenty when 
 the old lord was gathered to his fathers. 
 
 Up to the present time no open esdandre had tarnished the 
 young peer's escutcheon he had been within an ace of getting 
 into trouble more than once, but only within an ace. He was 
 very good-natured, very popular a much more genial compan- 
 ion than his grandfather; and, if he inherited those amorous 
 proclivities from his ancestor, how far was he to blame ? How 
 far are any of us to blame for failings or attributes that we dis- 
 tinctly inherit ? But it would be futile to stop and try to ar- 
 range this moral fifteen puzzle. I present him t you as he is 
 a very good-looking, charming-mannered young fellow, with ail 
 extremely inflammable heart; a man very dangerous to the 
 peace of mind of beautiful young ladies going about the world 
 with a tendency to the^same disorder. It was not, therefore, 
 without reason that Colonel Dallas congratulated himself upon 
 his nephew's wandering affections being chained for the mo- 
 ment, although he was confident in Vanessa's virtuous princi- 
 ples, to say nothing of her love for her husband. 
 
 " He is a dear good fellow," the colonel had been heard to re- 
 mark, "a much better fellow than ever my poor father was; 
 but he is devilish like him in some ways devilish like!" and 
 what those ways were, his interlocutor had no occasion to in- 
 quire. Ever}' one of the past generation knew what the old lord 
 had been. The rising generation would have found it quite im- 
 possible to be interested in what any dead old man had done, 
 however handsome or fascinating tradition might report him to 
 have been. " Faugh! how disgusting to think of old people 
 ever having been in love!" they would say. 
 
 Mrs. Fane took such an immense fancy to Vanessa that, in 
 spite of the whirl of gayety in which she lived, she found time 
 to see a good deal of her. And Vanessa, who was not. like 
 Hermione, rich in friends, became still more attached to the gay, 
 pretty, butterfly-like little lady even the colonel had to sink 
 into a second place. 
 
 Thanks to Mrs. Fane, Vanessa began to have a* circle of fash- 
 ionable acquaintances, and was invited to several balls. No 
 debutante ever rushed into gayety with more wild-delight than 
 Vanessa, who all her life had longed for pleasure. Dancing be* 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED 79 
 
 came a passion with her she had received this branch of her 
 education from Edith and Mabel, and was more than proficient 
 in it. Society was a word almost synonymous with heaven to 
 the vicar's lovely daughter. True, she saw a great deal that sur- 
 prised and even shocked her; she heard things in the beau 
 monde that made her cheeks blush and her ears tingle; but one 
 gets accustomed to everything. Scores of good-looking young 
 men tried to make love to her; but she was utterly impervious to 
 their best efforts, as a woman who has a real and honest love for 
 one man is to the advances of others. She treated their fine 
 speeches, their languorous or impassioned airs with a gay ridicule 
 which, however, had nothing in it to wound their amour propre, 
 and seeing she was hopeless for the present, as they said, they 
 danced with, flattered, and paid court to her, but took their seri- 
 ous intentions elsewhere. Mr. Brandon was always invited 
 with his wife: to evening parties, at all events; and, at first, he 
 frequently accompanied her, and was immensely and honestly 
 proud of her success. His eyes beamed with genuine pleasure at 
 Jier pleasure, and he made a martyr of himself with the best 
 grace in the world. No pang of jealousy crossed his honest 
 heart when she returned to his side, there was always a soft, 
 affectionate look in her eyes, which never shone there for any 
 one else. Late hours and standing about, with no particular 
 amusement except watching his beautiful wife, began to pali 
 upon him a little after a time, and Vanessa had rather remorse- 
 ful scruples about inflicting such frequent penance upon him. 
 So, occasionally, to spare him, she went with Mrs. Fane, and ha 
 was perfectly satisfied and contented with this arrangement, 
 and congratulated himself upon being able to seek his pillow at 
 the hour when the uneasy searchers for pleasure are beginning 
 their nightly toil. 
 
 Vanessa did not become a fashionable lady and lie in bed until 
 midday to recruit her shattered forces, but appeared bright and 
 smiling at the breakfast-table, declaring, in spite of her hus- 
 band's affectionate remonstrances, that the later she went to 
 bed the earlier she felt inclined to rise. Nor did she grow pale 
 and waxen; being thoroughly healthy, and having lived a quiet 
 life, the change and excitement rather did her good than other- 
 wise, and Brandon had no cause for uneasiness as to the effects 
 of her dissipation. And as they were to spend August and Sep- 
 tember at the Vicarage, if she should by chance lose any of her 
 lilies and roses meantime, she, would have plenty of leisure to 
 grow them again there. 
 
 I am disposed to think that her first season in London was 
 quite the happiest period of Vanessa's life, for who can call pas- 
 sionate joys alternated by fever of unrest and agonies of doubt, 
 happiness"? She loved her husband with devoted affection in 
 spite of the young Romeos and Lotharios wlib fluttered about 
 her, and felt no desire to exchange him for any oneof them. And 
 Brandon, who was not at all the sort of man to gc out of his 
 way to suspect or doubt, was tranquilly and happily contented, 
 and had not a shadow of fear for the present or the future. The 
 eeruples which had afflicted him last year had taken wings, arid 
 
80 r'HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 a happy, unclouded security dwelt in his breast. The sight of 
 Captain Lovelace's languishing glances, 01* Lord Juan's arm en- 
 circling his wife's waist in the waltz caused no Othello-like sen- 
 sation in his heart she was happy and amused ergo, he was 
 the same. 
 
 Although Vanessa was frequently at Mrs. Fane's house, she 
 rarely "encountered Lord Ravenhold there. In fact, his friends 
 saw very little of him unless they happened to be in company 
 with Lady Mildred Belair. Mrs. Fane spoke of him sometimes, 
 and lightly expressed a hope that he woujd not get himself into 
 trouble, and Vanessa, not knowing what to say, feeling that it 
 was very terrible and shocking for a man to be in love with a 
 married woman, yet not wishing to express disapprobation of 
 a brother to his sister, generally took refuge in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Fane interpreted her friend's silence quite correctly- 
 more than .that, she respected her virtuous and innocent ideas, 
 as she called them. Once only she said, turning very sharply 
 and suddenly to Vanessa: 
 
 " My dear, you are a very happy woman you have an excel- 
 lent husband whom you adore and who adores you. But sup- 
 pose now^, you were married to a brute whom you could not 
 help despising and who detested you and outraged your feelings, 
 should you think it dreadfully wicked to like any one else ?" 
 
 " But I should never have married him," answered Vanesa, 
 .gravely, opening her eyes a little wider than usual. 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Fane dashed up impetuously from her seat, 
 and, flying to the piano, began to play a wild tarantella with 
 great entrain. From that she broke into "Auld Robin Gray," 
 sang it with immense pathos, and then, rising, she went gently 
 toward Vanessa with a tear in her eye and a smile on her lips, 
 saying: 
 
 " I wish T had been T)orn a country mouse, or a vicar's daugh- 
 ter. Then, perhaps, I should have found my Darby. I should 
 make a first rate Joan." 
 
 At this juncture a visitor was announced. ^ 
 
 Hermione Fane, although she presented such a sniffing face 
 to the world, had a very unpleasant skeleton in her cupboard. 
 She kept him fast locked upr, and though the world tried to look 
 through the keyhole and the cracks, and listened attentively to 
 hear his bones rattle, it never succeeded in having ocular or 
 oral demonstration }f him. So it delivered the verdict that she 
 was a thoroughly mercenary young woman without a grain of 
 heart. The skeleton, as a matter of fact, was clothed in the 
 fleshy garb of a somewhat stout and coarse-featured young 
 man, Giles Fane by name, who was the husband of Hermione. 
 Society saw but little of him, a circumstance which it did not 
 regret, as he was neither agreeable nor amusing, nor, having a 
 ^ife, eligible. 
 
 There was only one person in the world who cared for him (or 
 perhaps- we should say two but of the second, more later), his 
 mother; and what man is there so loutish, so odious, so intolera- 
 ble that a tender spot does not dwell for hin- > Hs mother's 
 
~ * HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 31 
 
 breast? Lady Cornelia Fane doted on her son, but at r ,he same 
 tim.e he was her despair. She was a lady of great refinement, 
 and devoted to society her son was a hopeless lout, who ab- 
 horred it. No tutor, no maternal cares find admonitions, had& 
 ever succeeded in licking him into shape: he "loved low company, 
 and if he was compelled to keep any other made himself ex- 
 ceedingly unpleasant to it. People said it was very strange, as' 
 his father had been a man of great culture as for his mother, 
 she was thorough-bred to the tips of her fingers. The cause, 
 however, was not very far to seek only a generation further 
 back though the facts were not known to every one. Mr. Giles 
 Fane, the grandfather of the present man, had married in mid- 
 dle life a lady in his o\fn position. By her he had only bne 
 child, a daughter, who, in due time, grew up and married. 
 Mrs. Fane, after becoming a grandmother, died; and for some 
 years her husband mourned her loss. As he was verging upon 
 his seventieth year, being still a very hale old gentleman, he be- 
 came violently enamored of a buxom young woman, a daughter 
 of a laborer on his estate. As he had always been a moral, re- 
 spectable, church-going man, there was only one course open to 
 him, which was to marry the young woman. She was very 
 happy to honor him with her hand, and we may imagine the 
 gnashing of teeth of 4hs daughter, and her children, who had 
 always looked upon themselves as the heirs of Mr. Fane's very 
 fine property. 
 
 Within a reasonable time the old squire became the father of 
 a son, but his happiness at this event was sorely damped by the 
 conviction which had been forced upon him that his wife was a 
 very low and vulgar person indeed, and entirely unfit to make 
 the smallest pretense of being a lady. He, himself, from being 
 the most respected man in the county had fallen into disrepute 
 since his foolish marriage, and was shunned by all the ladies and 
 looked coldly upon as an old fool by most of the men. Mrs. 
 Fane would consort with the housemaids, and was on the most 
 familiar terms with the grooms she ate in a manner that re- 
 volted her husband, and had many little manners and customs, 
 natural to her class, but eminently shocking to a refined mind. 
 The culminating point was reached w^hen one day the squire, 
 returning unusually early from hunting, found her engaged in 
 a game of romps with one of the footmen. Of course there was 
 no more actual harm in this than there would be in Lady Hilda 
 having a bear-fight with Lord Tom Noddy or Sir Carnaby Jinks 
 (a diversion much in vogue at the present time). Mrs. Fane was 
 even less well connected than her footman, who was the son of 
 a small farmer . The result, however, was that the gentleman 
 was kicked put of the house, and the lady sent after him in less 
 violent fashion, nor was she ever allowed to come inside its doors 
 again. Her child was then six months old, and from that time 
 the one object of the squire's life was to bring up the boy among 
 the most refined influences, so that no taint of the mother's blood 
 might appear in him. None ever did, but en revanche it all 
 came out in his son, who, from earliest childhood, showed an in- 
 veterate love of low company, and, whenever^ he got the chance- 
 
82 J HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 would make his way to the stables or the keepers' and gardener^ 
 cottages* 
 
 ) When he was nine years old his father died, and he literally 
 became his own master, as he had even then a very much 
 stronger will than his mother. He was sent to Eton, but they 
 declined to have his company there after ten months' idleness 
 and insubordination. Left to himself and the society he loved, 
 he was a good-natured boor: force him into another sphere and 
 ne became intolerable. So he grew up to man's estate, utterly 
 declining to be or seem a gentleman he spent his time in shoot- 
 ing, hunting, ferreting, rat- hunting; his friends and associates 
 were his keepers and some of the leasWespectable of his tenants. 
 He would not have the county men at the Court nor any of the 
 men whom his mother wished to invite to share his excellent 
 shooting, nor would he even conform so far to her wishes as to 
 play host to the smallest party or to wear evening dress. As 
 long as she let him alone he was fond of her and good-natured 
 enough, and would have given her anything he had in the 
 world, but no longer. Her despair culminated when she heard 
 that he had a low entanglement, and, worse much worse had 
 promised to marry the girl. She fell into such a state of pas- 
 sionate grief that even Giles was touched, and consented to go 
 abroad with her for two or three months. 
 
 There they met Mrs. Dallas and Hermione, and, for the first 
 time in his life, Giles Fane found himself- able to talk to and be 
 amused by a young lady. His mother did everything in her 
 power to foster his prepossession, Mrs. Dallas followed suit, and 
 Hermione, who liked pleasure, and whose young life had been 
 considerably hampered by the want of money, was not alto- 
 gether averse to the idea of marrying a rich young man. She 
 saw only the best side of him he seemed very good-natured 
 she fancied that she would be able to turn him round her finger, 
 and Lady Cornelia made the very best of him and persuaded 
 Hermoine that he was devotedly in love with her, but too shy to 
 show it. Giles was coaxed and cajoled and flattered by his 
 mother into believing that Miss Dallas was desperately in love 
 with him, and was spurred on to proposing to make her Mrs. 
 Fane. Hermione accepted hini, and though it would be untrue 
 to say she was in love with him, she thought she liked him 
 enough to get on perfectly well with him, and had every inten- 
 tion of being a good and affectionate wife. Lady Cornelia hur- 
 ried on the marriage, terrified lest the smallest delay should give 
 her son the opportunity of changing his mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A SPEEDY awakening was in store for Hermoine. In a month's 
 ame she was fully alive to the fact that her husband was an ir- 
 reclaimable boor, and that he did not love, never load loved her, 
 A shrewd suspicion visited her that there was some other person 
 who possessed the hold on his affections that she could not ob- 
 tain. If he had been really in love with her, she might, nay, 
 doubtless, would have ifli>*acuad him considerably for his own 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND COPffST 63 
 
 benefit, though, at the best, he could never have been anything 
 but what is called a rough diamond. An excellent siniile, by 
 the way, for what pleasure is the rough stone capable of giving 
 to any beholder, though the possessor may know its intrinsic 
 value and speculate upon what it might be worth if it were 
 polished ? Soon after their marriage, Giles Fane took his bride 
 home to their fine old place, Orange Court, built in the time of 
 William and Mary. Any pleasure she might have had at first 
 in its part possession was soon destroyed by the experience of 
 her husband's home manners and customs. He resumed his 
 shooting jacket and short pipe; he returned with delighted zest 
 to the society of his former associates. The county called ii 
 admired and liked Mrs. Fane it invited the newly-married 
 couple, but Giles would neither receive visitors nor go to their 
 houses, and the bride could not well make her appearance alone. 
 Having a very fine spirit, she addressed some very bitter re- 
 monstranees to him^ at which he turned sullen ; told her that 
 she had been forced down his throat when he did not care a rush 
 for her, and that he knew devilish well what she married him 
 for. She might go where she liked and spend what she chose, 
 but this was his home; here he would be master and do aa 
 
 he liked, and no d d stuck up people should, come here to 
 
 turn up their noses at him. He kept his shooting for men he 
 liked and who had a right to enjoy it, not for a parcel of fools 
 whom he hated the sight of. 
 
 Hermione took pen and poured out her bitter indignation to 
 Lady Cornelia, who, half frighte..ied, half remorseful, came off 
 to the Court at once to mediate. Poor woman! she had meant 
 everything for the best, and it had most unmistakably turned 
 out for the worst: she was greeted on both sides with the most 
 passionate reproaches. Why, cried Hermione, had she con- 
 demned her- to this detestable fate ? Why had she pretended 
 that Giles was in love with her when she knew to the contrary? 
 Why had she not told her of his ways and habits, of his low 
 tastes and companions? On the other hand, her son said with 
 sullen fury that she had ruined his life; that she had married 
 him to a fine lady who was full of airs and graces and had the 
 devil's own temper, and that she had prevented his marrying 
 the woman he loved, and driven him into sin, because his she 
 should be and no other man's as long as he lived. 
 
 Lady Cornelia had that terror of an esclandre which is in- 
 herent in the breast of every well-bred woman she lived in an 
 agony lest her daughter-in-law should hear of the rival whom 
 her Ausband openly visited, and who, in fact, had him com- 
 pletely under her thumb and boasted of her influence, The 
 mother was bitterly punished for her schemes, though she 
 maintained to her own conscience that they had been entirely 
 designed for her son's benefit and happiness. She had, besides, 
 stings of remorse about Hermione, of whose feelings she had 
 not thought at all, but only that she was lucky, being a poor 
 girl, in getting a rich husband. She saw that there was only one 
 thing for it now, and that was to get the ill-roiatched pair apart 
 as much as possible, and she proposed to Hermione to have * 
 
& I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 town-house and to make it her principal home. Hermione, being 
 miserable, acquiesced. Lady Cornelia obtained carte blanche 
 fro in her son, who was absolutely indifferent to mone3 r , and the 
 ladies between them made a very luxurious residence of the 
 house in Grosvenor Place. But Hermione chafed and fretted 
 she felt herself disgraced and neglected her mother-in-law 
 might tell specious lies to the world and she might turn a smiling 
 to it, but her heart knew its own bitterness. No matter that 
 
 the man who repudiated her was a boor and a lout; it was equally 
 degrading to her that she had no influence over him and not the 
 smallest hold upon his affections. 
 
 La-ly ("''rnelia. who was most anxious that the world should 
 be kept in ignorance of the real state of affairs, insisted on their 
 spending Christmas at Orange .Court, and on this occasion, most 
 unfortunately, the knowledge of why her husband was indfffer- 
 ent to her was forced upon Hermione. She had been married 
 five months and he had already a low-born woman for his mis- 
 tress, and half the county knew it. Hermione did what nine out 
 of ten high-spirited women would have done she made a scene 
 (only, however, before her husband and his mother), and so vio- 
 lent was she that she nearly died of the excitement afterward, 
 ami the hope that Lady Cornelia had entertained of her son being 
 reclaimed by the softening influence of fatherhood was doomed 
 to disappointment. 
 
 Hermione, who had intended to rush from her husband's roof 
 forever, was prevented doing so by severe illness, the result of 
 her violent emotion, and, for some weeks afterward, lay almost 
 at death's door. As she gradually returned to convalescence. 
 she had plenty of time for reflection, and ultimately drew out a* 
 very sensible line of conduct for herself. Her first wild hatred 
 of Giles had subsided in time it would grow to contemptuous 
 indifference if she resolutely refused to think of her wrongs. As 
 to happiness in married life, that mirage had passed away for- 
 ever: better sooner than later, perhaps: and it only remained for 
 her to extract what pleasure she could from life. She had every- 
 thing that wealth could buy: she was a perfectly free agent, a 
 circumstance that made her the envy of most of her fair friends 
 she could surround herself with people she liked and who 
 liked her. Lady Cornelia stood stanchly by her, showed her the 
 greatest affection and attention, and, indeed, the two women 
 really came to like each other. After the season, she went 
 abroad: in the autumn she visited at country-houses; the air at 
 Orange Court was too strong for her she had 110 appetite, and 
 felt ill there. It was unfortunate yes, very; it was such a 
 charming place, and her husband was so devoted to it; but one 
 cannot live in a place where one always has a headache. 
 
 Nearly three years elapsed before Hermione bethought her of 
 once more visiting ker country residence. By this time she was 
 so perfectly indifferent to Giles Fane that nothing he might do 
 **ouid move any stronger emotion than contempt in her breast. 
 They had met periodically, at Lady Cornelia's earnest entreaty, 
 for the sake of keeping society hoodwinked, and they were 
 qr.ite c.' vi l to each other before people. Alor.e. they never ex* 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. S-) 
 
 Changed a syllable. It came to be a matter of course that 
 Hermione spent the month of August at Orange Court, when her 
 husband absented himself. She entertained royally whilst there, 
 bu& she and her. party had to leave before the first of September, 
 when Mr. Fane took possession with his friends. Hermione saw 
 no reason why she should not have some benefit out of her lovely 
 country-seat. Nothing hurt her now, not even seeing the reign- 
 ing sultana in church with a sturdy boy on each side of her. 
 That lady seldom attended divine service unless the legitimate 
 wife was at the Court. 
 
 Hermione had no other feeling for Giles now than contempt. 
 When a woman thoroughly despises her husband, he can no 
 longer wound or anne^ _^er, unless he tries to fetter her actions 
 or refuses to give her money. Giles Fane in these particulars 
 was a model husband. r He never asked a question, nor grum- 
 bled at a bill, and Hermione certainly spent money very freely. 
 It is possible that Giles, goaded on by the jealousy of his mis- 
 tress, might have been induced to annoy his wife, had she not 
 been so strongly backed up by his mother; but he felt he was no 
 match for the two. All he wanted was peace and quietness, 
 which, however, he was far from enjoying, as the- second Mrs. 
 Fane had a fierce, turbulent spirit. Stiy he remained devotedly 
 attached to her- in spite of the scenes to which she not unfre- 
 quently treated Ju'm. He went up to town for a fortnight in the 
 season for the Derby and Ascot, but though he was by way of 
 staying at the house in Grosvenor Place, it saw very little of 
 him. The races, the horse-show in the daytime, music-halls in 
 the' evening, were his amusements. The world said he was a 
 vulgar, uninteresting young man, and would have pitied Her- 
 mione had she Offered herself as a candidate for its sympathy. 
 But Hermione knew better. Never, how great soe'er your sor- 
 rows, ask the world's pity! Pity means contempt. It may at 
 finrt offer you a languid sympathy, and will then hasten to turn 
 its back upon you. Present a smiling face, seem to be fortunate 
 and happy, though you may be racked with misery, and it will 
 seek you and smile upon you. 
 
 Hermione smiled, and society envied and fawned upon her. 
 Her smiles' were natural enough now; she turned everything 
 into jest and was only cyclical upon one subject happy mar- 
 riages. She did not tell Vanessa to her face that neither her 
 happiness nor her love would last, but she told the colonel so, 
 and laughed at him when he doubted her. 
 
 Vanessa was puzzled about Mrs. Fane's relations with her hus- 
 band. She did not quite know the real story, because Colonel 
 Dallas was not. able to tell it her, and her husband did not know 
 it. Vanessa had not been brought up in the fashionable world, 
 and her ears were veiy sensitive indeed, and would have burned 
 with shame had many things that were common talk been 
 poured into them, and the colonel was the last man in the world 
 to offend modesty. Many of her new acquaintances were amused 
 anfl surprised at her innocence, but they respected it as gentle- 
 men invariably do. Men always take their cijg from the woniqp*, 
 
8fc I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 they are talking to it is very rare to find one who wantonly and 
 brutally offends a modest woman. 
 
 Late one afternoon toward the end of the season, Vanessa and 
 Mrs. Fane were drinking tea in the boudoir of the latter- they 
 had been driving together, and Vanessa's victoria was presently 
 to fetch her. They were conversing with eager interest about a 
 fancy dress ball to be given by a fashionable lady, which was to 
 be a bal masque until supper-time, when every one would have 
 to doff mask ano domino. Both ladies had received invitations. 
 *?jd were discussing their costumes with exceeding animation. 
 
 "I rather doubt its success," says Mrs. Fane. "Tsot one 
 Englishwoman in twenty could conceal her identity; not one in 
 five hundred disguise her voice. It is capital fun abroad, where 
 every one enters into the spirit of the thing. I have often com- 
 pletely mystified people who knew me quite well. I shall speak 
 nothing but French, or perhaps broken English, for Englishmen 
 are so dreadfully uneducated that very few understand French-" 
 
 " I am sure I could not deceive any one, ''replies Vanessa, " al- 
 though 1 should immensely like to." 
 
 ' r Of course not." laughs Mrs. Fane. "You are too tall, too 
 majestic: but a little person like myself can flit about like a gnat, 
 buzz, sting, and be off again in a second. Xo, my dear, your tri- 
 umph will be later, when you remove your mask an'J domino." 
 
 At this moment the door opens and admits Lord Ravenhold. 
 
 11 Am I horribly de trop f he asks, having greeted Vanessaand 
 brushed his sister's curly head with his mustache. " Were you 
 slaying your thousands or inventing a new fashion ? I know it 
 is worse to interrupt two bosom friends than two lovers." 
 
 We will forgive 3*011, as 3*011 don't offend very often," laughg 
 H>rmione. * You arc a perfect stranger, dear boy. Ring for a 
 brandy-and-soda." ' 
 
 " Xo, v shaking his head. " I only want refreshment for the 
 niind." And he sinks into a chair beside Vanessa. 
 
 "Tell us some news," says Hermione, settling herself to 
 listen. 
 
 " News! There never is am* in hot weather. Besides, I have 
 hardly seen a member of 3*0111* sex for two da3*s." 
 
 *' What has that to do with it?" asks Hermione. <% Have y< ,i 
 not been to 3*001- clubs?*' 
 
 *' I should not be likely to pick up any there," answers hei 
 brother. * The only place where I ever heap-news or scandal ib 
 in a hidy's drawing-room." 
 
 "What a monstrous stor3*!" laughs Mrs. Fane. "Well, we 
 need not interrupt our conversation for you. We were talking 
 of clothes, of course. Apropos, what are you going as? Edgar 
 Ravenswood or Faust? or one of the. parts suited to a handsome 
 young man ?" 
 
 " On the contrary," returns Lord Ravenhold, " I am undecided 
 between Quasimodo and L'Honune qui rit. The latter, I think, 
 would be a novelty." 
 
 " Don't be a goose, Gerard. But realh', seriously ?*' 
 
 " I don't think I shall go at all. Fancy a domino and made i* 
 July! I should die of the heat. ' 
 
* JTAVE LIVED AND LOW**- 87 
 
 "What character has Mildred chosen?" inquires Mrs. Fane. 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," he replies, mendaciously, having 
 just come from quarreling with her upon the very subject. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, the dressmaker is h^r " announces 
 the butler at this juncture. 
 
 " Oh, 1 must see her!'' cries Herniione, jumping up. " Will it 
 be indiscreet to leave you two together ? Do not make love to 
 her, Gerard. You will only waste your time.'' 
 
 Her parting shaft causes no embarrassment to either; they 
 smile; each has, or thinks he has, a permanent guest in his 
 heart. 
 
 '* My sister has a very light opinion of me," remarks Raven- 
 hold, as the door closes upon her. " She thinks I am bonnd to 
 make love to every woman I meet. But " looking at Vanessa 
 with a certain degree of earnestness " I am the most faithful, 
 the most constant fellow in the world, and though I am not such 
 , a barbarian as to be insensible to the charms of a beautiful 
 woman, they are powerless to shake my allegiance/' 
 
 If we assert a thing. Fate always takes caro to convict us of 
 falsehood the next moment; and even as he speaks, Lord Raven- 
 hold becomes aware for the first time how very lovely Mrs. 
 Brandon is, and what a very strong temptation to a man's fealty 
 it would be to see much of her. What a skin! What exquisitely 
 colored eyes! so brilliant, yet so soft. What a mouth! Lady 
 Mildred is piquant e, but the details of her face will not bear 
 scrutiny, and her complexion is undoubtedly her worst point. 
 At home in her judiciously darkened rooms one does not notice 
 this defect, but there are cross-lights and side-lights in other peo- 
 ple's houses. Mrs. Brandon's face is clear and smiling like a 
 Bummer's day. Could it ever be stormy and clouded with an- 
 ger ? Could her eyes ever dart fiendish' glances, her mouth wax 
 shrewish, her nose grow red after crying, like Mildred's ? 
 
 4 'One can only love one person at a time," returns Vanessa, 
 with a frank smile. " And that makes one perfectly indifferent 
 to every one else, as you say, except just in a friendly way." 
 
 After Lord Ravenhold's recent observation, it~is utterly un- 
 reasonable that he should feel the smallest shadow of pique at 
 Mrs. Brandon's words. All the same he does. 
 
 44 Love is rather disappointing, don't you think?" he remarks, 
 with a shade of melancholy that is not unbecoming to him. 
 
 " No," says Vanessa, smiling. "I do not think so at all." 
 She is half minded to tell him that, if he w^ere properly and 
 legitimately in love, he would find it an eminently satisfactory 
 state, but that people cannot expect to be happy when they are 
 transgressing laws social and divine. As if he had some intu- 
 ition of her thoughts, Ravenhold says, plaintively: 
 , " Fate is always playing at cross-purposes, and throwing thej 
 wrong people together or the right ones too late." 
 
 Vanessa gives a little deprecatory shake of her head. She 
 does not want to be hard upon him, because he is so good-look- 
 ing, and she cannot help feeling interested in him; but she ean- 
 Bot assent to rank blasphemy. Is not she a living instaao* of 
 the falseness nf his assertion ? 
 
88 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 "Yes," he pursues, sighing, " I know. You are an exception. 
 Well, it is very nice for you and aicfiilly nice .for him. By tha 
 way, I have never seen your husband. 
 
 " ' Twain halves of a perfect heart made one.' 
 I should very much like to see what the other half is like." 
 
 "Come and see us," says Vanessa, cordially; "my husband 
 will be delighted to know you.' 
 
 It occurs to Lord Ravenhold that a vist of ceremony for the 
 purpose of seeing Mr. Brandon will be dull work. 
 
 " After all," he says, I think I would rather come and see 
 you when he is not there. The sight of too much happiness 
 might make me envious and uncomfortable." 
 
 Now Vanessa, although she has made great strides toward be- 
 coming a fashionable woman, has not yet taken to receiving men 
 tete-a-tete, always excepting the colonel. , So she looks a little 
 bit embarrassed and says, rather shyly: 
 
 " Perhaps you would come with Mrs. Fane some day." 
 
 " Is Mr. Brandon jealous?" asked Ravenhold, unable to grasp 
 the idea of a woman in these days thinking it inconvendble to 
 entertain a man alone in her drawing-room. 
 
 "Jealous:' echoes Vanessa, laughing. "No, indeed." 
 
 " Ah, then you think I should bore you?" 
 
 " No, no," cries Vanessa, quite distressed. 
 
 " Then," observes Lord Ravenhold, gently but firmly, " I shall 
 come and see you by myself when I think Mr. Brandon is out. 
 You know you can always say ' not at home,' if you don't want 
 to see ine.' : 
 
 He is piqued. As a rude when he proposes to call upon a 
 woman, she seems pleasert and flattered hot one has ever made 
 the smallest reference to Mrs. Grandy. 
 
 Here Mrs. Fane comes tripping in. 
 
 " Has the time seemed long?" she says, archly. * What liV3 
 you been talking* about ?" 
 
 " I was* proposing," answers Ravenhold, deliberately, " to do 
 myself the honor of calling on Mrs. Brandon, and she has 
 given me to understand, in the kindest and politest way possible, 
 that she would prefer my staying away." 
 
 " Oh, Lord Ravenhold!" cries Vanessa, blushing and looking 
 unhappy. 
 
 "Quite right, my dear," laughs Hermione. "Keep the ser- 
 pent out of Eden as long as you can! Thie dear boy," laying a 
 caressing hand on his head, " does not look much like a serpent, 
 but he is one, and a very dangerous one too." 
 
 " No wonder," says Ravenhold, " if that is the strain in which 
 you speak of me to Mrs, Brandon, that she thinks r%e not sunl* 
 ciently respectable to be included in her visiting list." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LORD RAVENHOLD itas put Vanessa into her carriage and haa 
 returned to his sister's boudoir. 
 
 "Gerard," says; Hermione, half laughing, "I will not have 
 this. Yon 9** c > leave Mrs. Brandon quite alone," 
 
jr HAVE LIVED AND LUVEU, 81 
 
 " You flatter me!" replies Ravenhold. " Am I dangerous even 
 to the peace of mind of a lady who is quite wrapped up in her 
 husband? 
 
 " Being jour sister, I. am of course unable to estimate your 
 attractions at their full value," answers Mrs. Vane. " But there 
 is no doubt," affectionately, " that you are a very good-looking 
 young man, and there is no doubt," with a little sigh, '-that 
 when you take a fancy to a woman, she invariably recipro- 
 cates." 
 
 "Then," says Raverihold, laughing, "it will be a very good 
 corrective to my vanity especially as I have a little sister who 
 does her best to foster it to be snubbed by a pretty woman as I 
 have been to-day." 
 
 11 Did she snub you?" asks Hermione, with an interested air. 
 
 ' Most emphatically. She gave me distinctly to understand 
 that she did not want me to call unless a third person was pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " She has been brought up in the country, you know," re- 
 sponds Hermione, " and is not used to our manners and cus- 
 toms. All the same, dear boy, do not call. Leave her quite 
 alone. She is very happy, and, besides, Uncle Charlie would not 
 like it." 
 
 " Has Uncle Charlie any particular right or vested interest in 
 Mrs. Brandon, pray?" 
 
 " Yes," laughs Hermione " the right of thje finder." 
 
 "Tell me, Hermy," says her brother, " what sort of fellow is 
 this Brandon, who hae succeeded in awakening such an immense 
 devotion in Iris-wife's lovely bosom ?'' 
 
 44 He is a very nice, quiet, gentlemanlike, middle-aged man," 
 replies Mrs. Fane. 
 
 Ravenhold repeats her words thoughtfully. 
 
 "A very nice, quiet, gentlemanlike, middle-aged man! H'm! 
 That is hardly the description of a being capable of inspiring so 
 tremendous a passion." 
 
 " It is quite true all the same." 
 
 " The description or the passion ?" 
 
 "Both,." 
 
 After*aT moment's silence, Ravenhold speaks wish much more 
 energy than he has done hitherto. 
 
 " You know it can't last." 
 
 4 'Why not?" 
 
 " It's on the face of it. If he's a quiet, middle-aged mai^ and 
 ehe is, as she is, a gloriously beautiful woman, with every man 
 who comes near making up with her, why, of course he'll go to 
 the wall." 
 
 " Je n'yvoispas lanecessite," remarks Hermione, dryly. " It 
 is not always the good-looking young men who have all the 
 cakes and ale of female affection. They are generally too selfish 
 and too much taken up with themselves to inspire a lasting at- 
 tachment," 
 
 "That is reserved for the nice, quiet, middle-aged menr s 
 suggests Ravenhold, and Mrs. Fane nods assent, 
 
 '- Gerard," says his sister, after a minute's silence. 
 
90 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVElT. 
 
 " Well, my clear ?" 
 
 " Don't be too civil to Mrs. Brandon before Mildred. I should 
 be extremely sorry for Vanessa to have her for an enemy." 
 
 Ravenhold gives rather a petulant shrug. 
 
 " Really, Hermy. I think you are carrying a joke a little too 
 far." 
 
 "It is not a joke." 
 
 "As for Mildred and myself,'' he proceeds, "we are very 
 good friends " 
 
 ' Yes, I know." interrupts Hermione, dryly. "Well, then, 
 you had better keep so.'" 
 
 Good- by P." says her brother, rising abruptly. 
 
 ' Don't be cross, dear boy,'' utters Hermione, in a caressing 
 tone. 
 
 " I am not in the least cross," lie replies. 
 
 " All right," kissing him. " And, to please me, leave Mrs. 
 Brandon quite alone." 
 
 Lord Ravenhold frowns distinctly. 
 
 " I think you are really silly," he says, going. 
 
 " I dare say I am," she answers good-humoredly. 
 
 Two nights later Mrs. Brandon and Lord Ravenhold meet at a 
 ball. Lady Mildred is also there. The two latter are not yet 
 quite reconciled; there has been rather a serious breach between 
 them, and Ravenhold has not been so keen about making it up 
 this time as is his wont. The quick perceptions of Lady Mildred 
 have make her aware of this, and she, being proud, hangs back 
 more resolutely in consequence. Her ladyship is of a fiercely 
 jealous disposition^ When she twice sees Ravenhold waltzing, 
 with Mrs. Brandon, and employing that caressing manner to 
 her which it is his wont to use toward all pretty women when 
 his thoughts are not completely centered on one", a sudden rage 
 and hatred against Vanessa possess her soul. She is violent, 
 headstrong, passionate, unjust. When once her jealousy is 
 roused, neither prudence nor common sense have any control 
 over her. And she loves Lord Ravenhold in a reckless, furious 
 sort of way, and will not tolerate any thought of a rival. 
 
 Mrs. Fane had spoken wisely and well when she counseled her 
 brother against showing any attention to Mrs. Brandon in Lady 
 Mildred's presence. Perhaps, however, it would have been bet- 
 ter if she had refrained from cautioning him, for Ravenhold was 
 a little perverse, and opposition invariably spurred him on, par- 
 ticularly where a woman was concerned. I am not sure that this 
 was a peculiarity of his lordship's disposition alone; I rather 
 fancy it is about the commonest trait that we inherit from our 
 first parents; the one which we know was the caus of their 
 fall. 
 
 After dancing with Mrs. Brandon once. Lord Ravenhold had 
 gone to Lady Mildred's side; she received him with her head in 
 the air, made one or two cutting and insolent remarks, and 
 turned her back upon him. He, not to be behindhand in spirit, 
 returned at once to Vanessa, and, under the very eyes of Lady 
 Mildred, petitioned eagerly for another waltz. He knew and 
 felt that he was doing exactly what his sister had v-arned him 
 
T HAVE LIVED AND LOVKD. 91 
 
 tgainst, making Lady Mildred Vanessa's enemy, and he felt 
 rather guilty and perturbed, but how was he to blame? Be- 
 sides, after all, he sard to himself. Mrs. Brandon did not care 
 two straws about him or any one else except her husband, so 
 ffhat harm could it do? 
 
 Vanessa was pleased to dan<-e with him: he waltzed perfectly; 
 he was very good-looking: and. greatest recommendation of all, 
 he was nephew to ( olonel Dallas and brother to Mrs. Fane. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was at the ball, and Rsvenhold asked to be in- 
 troduced to him. They had entered into some conversation, the 
 younger man having a considerable curiosity to arrive at the 
 cause of Mrs. Brandon's devotion to her husband. After some 
 chat, he was still unable to grasp the reason. Brandon was ex- 
 actly what Hermione had described him a nice, quiet, gen- 
 tlemanlike, middle-aged man: but were those qualities suilicient 
 to inspire such a very ardent affection in the breast of a lovely 
 young woman ? 
 
 Lord Ravenhold proposed to Mr. Brandon that he and his wife 
 Should dine with him at Hurlingham on the Sunday following. 
 He would drive them down on his coach. Brandon replied that 
 it would give them both great pleasure. Ravenhold was a little 
 surprised when, in dancing with Mrs. Brandon for the third 
 time that evening, he informed her of the pleasure he was an- 
 ticipating that she turned rosy red, betrayed considerable confu- 
 sion, and, without giving any definite reason, said she was 
 afraid they would not be able to accept his very kind invitation. 
 He could not press her for the reason, as she gave none she 
 pleaded no previous engagement, and Ravenhold felt decidedly 
 Ppiqued. After all, he thought, with a sudden revulsion of feel- 
 ing, it was scarcely worth while quarreling a Voutrance with 
 Milly for a woman who did not seem to care either for his com- 
 pany or his attentions. So he went back to Lady Mildred, bent 
 on propitiating her. But by this time she was beyond his power 
 of recall. She did not, however, turn her back upon him as she 
 had done before she was so furious that only one idea possessed 
 her, which was to have it put with him. 
 
 " Will you dance this with me ?" he whispered, in his softest 
 voice, and, without answering him. she put her hand on his 
 arm. Her anger was such that she could scarcely bear to touch 
 him. The fingers that rested on his arm writhed with a feeling 
 of antagonism. Light as her touch was.' she led him by her de- 
 termination of purpose to the door, which was just where he did 
 not want to go. He had no desire for a tete-a-tete at this mo- 
 ment; at all events until a waltz had exercised a beneficial effect 
 npon her ladyship's nerves and temper. 
 
 * Let us stay an'd have one turn," he whispered, persuasively; 
 but without answering him, she pressed her lips tighter together, 
 and continued her march toward the door. 
 
 Every considerate hostess provides her guests with opportuni- 
 ties for solitudes a deux; to-night there were several charming 
 recesses and bowers arranged for the purpose To one of these 
 the lady, reversing the order of things, hurried her lover, but 
 ttle thought or intention of love-making was there on the part 
 
92 s HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 of either. It was a charming alcove dimly lighted, filled with 
 sweet-scentetl flowers. Maybe by dayligjit it ws.3 a nook of the 
 leads over the billiard-room, the rendezvous of feline, combat- 
 ants, but to-night it was a bower stolen from Paradise. The 
 pair had not time to exchange a word before the sound of pur- 
 suing footsteps was heard, and a voice cried: 
 
 " Lady Mildred! Lady Mildred! this is our waltz!" 
 
 And a good-looking, eager young face was thrust into Para- 
 dise. It was certainly not the new-comer who was the serpent 
 that role was reserved for the lady. 
 
 " I am net going to dance," she replied, curtly. 
 
 *' Oh, come, I say, that's not fair!" cried her promised partner. 
 ''"You don't think I'm going to let you off like that!" 
 
 Here Ravenhold made a slight movement as though to escape, 
 which Lady Mildred detected. 
 
 " Where are you going. Lord Ravenhold ?" she exclaimed, in 
 a tone the anger of which was very indifferently repressed. 
 Then, turning to the other man, she said, rudely, "Don't you 
 understand? I'm not going to dance this." 
 
 Bon sang ne pent mentir is no truer than any other old saying. 
 I think we most of us know how bon sang^ can mentir on occa- 
 sion. Good blood or bad when at boiling-point shows itself 
 much in the same manner.\ 
 
 Lord Edward flushes crimson, makes his bow in silence, and 
 retires. 
 
 Before five minutes are over, half the company are made 
 aware by him that Ravenhold and Lady Mildred are having the 
 devil's own row, arid that she looks simply like a fiend. It ia( 
 unwise to snub any one. You may do a man a downright in- 
 jury without incurring half so much hatred from him as by only 
 inflicting a small slight. 
 
 Left to -themselves, Lord Ravenhold and Lady Mildred pre- 
 serve a temporary silence. She has a choking sensation in 
 her throat; her nerves are strung to their highest pitch; her fin- 
 gers are literally crispes. She is full of savage instincts even 
 the repressive social training of twenty-five years is scarcely able 
 to restrain her from breaking out as a Billingsgate fish-wife 
 might. After all, perhaps those poor women are not greater 
 vixens than others how did they get their evil reputation ? 
 
 To do her justice, Lady Mildred is trying very hard to keep 
 her furious passion in leash; she knows pretty well that, once 
 she lets her tongue loose, she will not have the least control 
 over it: its mad desire to sting and wound will be gratified. 
 Only the profile of Raveiihold's handsome, sulky face is turned 
 to her he is calmly contemplating an orchid, and shows no in- 
 tention of breaking the silence. He feels disgusted he does 
 not care whether his companion is angry or pleased, except in 
 so far as he is being made uncomfortable by her ill humor. He 
 wonders what on earth he ever saw in her; he is congratulating 
 himsetf on the prospect of quarreling wi4h her, ^although he 
 has arPunesv suspicion that she is rather a dangerous person to 
 quarra 1 witr>. Nothing is more infuriating to an angry persos 
 
. * HAVE LIVED AND LOVW* 93 
 
 than silence; he wants a peg to hang the cloak of his wrath 
 upon, and without speech from the adversary he is pegless. 
 
 Literally, Lady Mildred does not know how to uncork the 
 vials of her wrath. She wants to dash them, vial and all, in 
 Lord Ravenhold's face. When at last she does speak, her voice 
 16 hoarse her heart beats like a sledge-hammer. The tone 
 which she tries to make disdainful is only spitefully bitter. 
 
 " I congratulate you upon your latest conquest," she says. 
 
 Ravenhold continues to contemplate the orchid without reply- 
 ing. This is unwise on his part. Nothing he could say could 
 stop the torrent of her wrath, but silence enrages her more than 
 any speech could do, because the mere fact of his not trying to 
 appease her proves his indiiference. There are many women, 
 and men, too, who, when angry, become utterly indifferent to 
 truth, justice, or sense. One wild ^ desire animates them to 
 hurt the foe; how, it matters not. 
 
 " Such a conquest, too!" pursues Lady Mildred, after a n.o- 
 m&nt's pause. " 'A creature picked up no one knows where, with 
 her painted eyes and vulgar beauty airs. Upon my word, I 
 rather womler at your sister foisting your uncle's mistress upon 
 
 ty." 
 
 ( Perhaps the reader ought to have it explained to Mm that Lady 
 Mildred is speaking of Mrs. Brandon, whom he may not recognize 
 by her ladyship's description. At all events, she succeeds in her 
 purpose, for she gets what, in the language of the day, is termed a 
 risr " out of Lord Ravenhold. 
 
 * ftay I ask of whom you are speaking?" he asks in tones 
 of ice, although dangerous scintillations are gathering in his 
 eyes. 
 
 Lady Mildred is pleased nt having scored a point. 
 
 " Need you ask ?" she says. ** There is only one person here to 
 whom, as far as I know, the Description at all applies." 
 
 "There are plenty of women here with painted eyes," rejoins 
 Lord Ravenhold, looking her cruelly and for the first time in the 
 fare. This time lie scores. 
 
 'There may be some with vulgar- beauty airs nothing is 
 more odious \ have not remarked them, having been in the 
 society of a charming and beautiful lady, whom no one could 
 :accuse of anything so detestable, but when you come to the third 
 point, my uncle's mistress, I confess you baffle me." 
 
 '"I mean Mrs. Brandon," retorts Lady Mildred, too angry to 
 fence; " if you don't know it, every one else does." 
 
 Lord Ra* enliold retains his coolness, although he lost his Jtem* 
 'per some little time u^o. 
 
 " Whoever invented that story is a liar," he observes, quite 
 calmly. Lady Mildred can scarcely restrain herself from tearing 
 him to pieces "physically. 
 
 "How dare yon!" slio pants. " You coward!" 
 
 " It was you, then V" 
 
 " You are in love with her too,"' gasps Lady Mildred. "Do 
 you think I have not seen it coming on from the very day she 
 first went to Grosvenor Place V Do you think I have not seen 
 how Hermione has been throwing her at you and playing into 
 
94 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 your hands? Yon had better think twice. Do you fancy thai 
 I am a woman to be thrown over like you did Ella Scott? ] 
 don't advise you to dare me. I am quite capable of going tq 
 Frank this very night." 
 
 She is quite beside herself, and Ravenhold appreciates that in 
 her present mood it will not be safe to dare her. as "his angei 
 tempts him very much to do. 
 
 *"" Milly," he says, trying to speak soothingly, but feeling the 
 most excessive distaste and repugnance to her all the same, 
 " what on earth has come to you? What are you driving atl 
 Have you gone suddenly mad ?" 
 
 " No." she answers, bitterly, " I am perfectly gane. You had 
 better take care. I swear you shall have nothing to do with 
 that woman. Do you hear? I swear it by every " 
 
 "May I have one word with you, Lord Ravenhold?" sayfc 4 
 voice. Then, as its owner becomes aware of Lady Mildred, It 
 adds: 
 
 " J beg your pardon." 
 
 The voice is John Brandon's. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LORD RAVENHOLD rises hurriedly and goes forward to speak to 
 Mr. Brandon. His face has a slightly flushed, perturbed expres- 
 sionhe does not know how much the new-comer may nave 
 heard it makes his naturally suave manner a trifle abrupt. 
 
 Brandon, however, knows and guesses nothing except that he 
 has come awkwardly upon a tete-a-tete, always a disagreeable 
 and stupid thing to do, and only to be repaired by seeming un- 
 conscious of one's misadventure. So fie says quietly and natur- 
 ally enough: 
 
 We are just going. Lord Ravenhold. I wanted to tell you 
 that I fear we shall not be able to dine at Hurlingham with you 
 on Sunday. Thank you very much all the same for asking 
 us." 
 
 " Oh, very well," replies Lord Ravenhold, rather shortly, 
 more because he is embarrassed than from any feeling of of- 
 fense. 
 
 Brandon imagines that his lordship is huffy about their de- 
 clining his invitation after having accepted it. 
 
 "The truth is," he says, smiling, "that although my wife 
 would like nothing so much, she has some little conscientious 
 scruples about driving and dining out on Sunday, and I feel 
 bound to respect them. You know she is a clergyman's daugh- 
 ter and has been very quietly brought up." 
 
 ' Oh, of course, yes certainly," replies Ravenhold, who at this 
 moment is totally' indifferent whether they dine or stay 
 and, feels no interest in anyone's scruples or principles; feels 
 nothing, in short, but a desire to get out of the place and 
 Lady Mildred's ill humor and recriminations. 
 
 "You understand, I hope?" says Brandon, seeing thatlH 
 young man's manner is not particularly genial. 
 
 u>uifee. Certainly," answers Ravenhold. " Some other & 
 
HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 95 
 
 I hope. Good-night," and he turns on his heel and rejoins Lady 
 Mildred. 
 
 SHe, having been slightly frightened by Mr. Brandon's sudden 
 appearance, and having had a minute in which to get the better 
 of her rage, has calmed down. As Raveiihold stands in front 
 of her, her passion for him and his good looks, which are not 
 impared by the cloud on his brow, go still further toward ap- 
 easing her. 
 
 " What did he want?" she asks. 
 
 " Not my blood this tinle," returns the young man, coolly. 
 " He is not yet aware of my infatuation for his wife.' 1 
 
 Lady Mildred likes him in this mood. Rising, She lays one 
 hand on his and says, rather humbly: 
 
 " Let us be friends, Gerard, shall we?" 
 
 " As you please," he answers, coldly. It is his turn now. 
 
 44 Don't be angry!" she pleads. " ft is f>nly because I am so 
 fond of you." 
 
 "You have an infernally unpleasant way of showing your 
 fondness then, I must say," he retorts. 
 
 "Say you care for me." she whispers, fixing her dark eyes IMI- 
 ' treat ingly on his face. 
 
 " I hate scenes," he utters, turning away from IHT. 
 
 "Only tell me that you don't care for tiiat that irumaii, and 1 
 won't make any more scenes." 
 
 " I suppose that in time I sha'n't be able to call my soul my 
 own," exclaims Ravenhold, waxing angry as b* T r rath sub- 
 sides. 
 
 " No," she whispers, coaxingly. *' It shall be mine all mine." 
 
 " Thank you," he retorts, dryly. " I would rather have it in 
 my own keeping. " 
 
 " Let us go and -have one turn," says Lady Mildred. " I will 
 throw my partner over for you." 
 
 " No, thanks. You have taken the dancing humor out of 
 me." 
 
 "Then, perhaps," she remarks, the sparks of her anger, al- 
 ways quick to unite, blazing up again, " you will take me to my 
 carriage ?" 
 
 " Certainly," he answers, stiffly, giving her his arm. 
 
 But when they are half way down-stairs, they are met by Lady 
 Mildred's promised partner, who is ascending, and as he claims 
 her eagerly, she allows herself to be entreated, and goes back to 
 the ballroom with him. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold betakes himself home, and as he is very wide 
 awake, and not at all pleased in his mind, he lights a cigar and 
 delivers himself over to reverie. 
 
 The events of the evening have, for the time, somewhat im- 
 paired the devotion to women, which is part of his religion. 
 One has made him thoroughly uncomfortable by her ill temper 
 and jealousy, and another, to whom he wished to be civil, has 
 shown a very small appreciation of his efforts. When women 
 are smiling anil loving and devoted, they are angels; when they 
 are the other thing why then they are the other thing too! 
 
 A. few hour*' aleep aiaks* a change in his ideas. It is as* 
 
96 7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 tounding fiow the morning light can metamorphose our views of 
 life and people. When Lord Ravenhold Awakes in the morning, 
 be is more angry and disgusted with Lacly Mildred than before, 
 but he looks upon Mrs. Brandon in an extremely favorable 
 light. She is a good and charming woman devoted to her 
 husband (the luckiest fellow in England, by Jove!), without a 
 thought of flirting, and with nice, proper, religious ideas. Every 
 woman ought to be religious. Instead of sneering at her for her 
 old-fashioned notions about Sunday, he admires and respects hei 
 for them. He would like to know more of her and to be her 
 friend, quite in a platonic way; he is sure that she would do him 
 good. 
 
 "Uncle Charlie," he says, meeting the colonel in Pall Mall 
 the same morning, " I want you to take me to call on Mrs. 
 Brandon." 
 
 Colonel Dallas does not answer for a moment. Then he says, 
 looking his nephew straight in the face: 
 
 " There are plenty of other women in the world, my dear 
 boy." 
 
 Lord Ravenhold colors slightly, and is furious with himself for 
 doing so. . 
 
 "Upon my soul!" he exclaims, petulantly, "I think it's 
 rather hard that I cannot express a wish to speak to a lady with- 
 out " 
 
 He does not finish his sentence. * 
 
 " You know the family failing," returns the colonel, good- 
 . humorecfiy. " You don't mean any harm. Mais c'est pkts fort 
 one vous. Leave Adam and Eve in paradise; leave the poor man 
 his ewe lamb." 
 
 " Is it you or Mr. Brandon who is the poor man ?" asks Raven- 
 hold, with thinly veiled sarcasm. 
 
 " Not me," laughs the colonel. " You know, hereditary disease 
 "generally skips one generation." 
 
 "Seriously, Uncle Charlie," pursues the young man, "Mrs. 
 Brandon is a nice, good, charming woman; she wouldn't look at 
 me, and I should be quite content to be her friend." 
 
 "No, no, leave her alone!" says the colonel, almost entreat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Oh, all right," returns Ravenhold, turning away in extrernfc 
 displeasure. 
 
 Half an hour later he walks into his sisters boudoir. 
 
 "Gerard! what havtyou been doing?" she cries at sight of 
 him. " Did I not beg and implore you to leave Mrs. Brandon 
 alone, and not to make Milly her enemy ?" 
 
 " You are pleased to speak in parables," says Ravenhold, stiffly, 
 knowing all too well what she means. 
 
 " She has just been here in the most furious rage. We have 
 all but quarreled. She said the most shameful and abominable 
 things about Mrs. Brandon, and she will abuse her to evet*y one 
 she meets." 
 
 " Let herT observes Lord Ravenhold, tlryly. " I hardly flancy 
 anything she can say will do Mrs. Brandon much iiarai/' 
 
 "Bu+. ^t will!" persists Hermioae. " People ars only too de- 
 
jt HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 9 
 
 lighted to believe harm of any one, especially of a pretty woman. 
 And Milly has a great deal of social influence. But, now, what 
 did you do last night to make her so angry? Did you dance 
 much with Mrs. Brandon ?" 
 
 '/Once or twice." 
 
 "Was it once or twice?'' 
 
 " I don't know. Suppose," defiantly, " it was three times?" 
 
 "Oh, then I should understand at once," remarks Hermione, 
 dryly. " And after I begged and implored you so to leave her 
 alone!" 
 
 " What is there in dancing three times with a woman?" cries 
 Ravenhold, angrily, " I often dance four and five times with 
 one." 
 
 " I dare say," returns Hermione, " But that is some one. 
 with whom, for the moment, you are very much epris. Gerard,' 
 looking up at him, " I am afraid you are very fickle. A little 
 while ago you had no eyes for any one but Milly." 
 
 " You seem to forget that she has a husband," retorts Raven* 
 hold. 
 
 " So did you, then," says Hermione. 
 
 "She is very good company, and you know perfectly well, 
 Her my, that one is driven to it if one is a wretched devil who 
 happens to be worth inarming. You know that I dare not say 
 a civil word to a girl without her father or mother being at 
 me, and those infernal papers having a paragraph about it." 
 
 * I have nothing to say about you and Milly. Did I ever in- 
 terfere by look or word ? But Mrs. Brandon is different, and I 
 do not want her happiness to be disturbed. Heaven knows I* 
 bitterly, ' there are few enough happy marriages." 
 
 "Upon my word," says Lord Ravenhold, "'I s ought to feel 
 flattered by your all thinking that I have only to hold up my 
 finger to the most beautiful woman in London. She is a nice, 
 good woman, and I want to be friends with her. Make you* 
 mind easy she has not one idea beyond her husband." 
 
 ' * I don't believe in friendship between a handsome young 
 man a id a beautiful woman. And you can't help it, Gerard! 
 it's in your blood the moment you want to be civil to a woman, 
 you begin to make love to her without even knowing it. Now 1 
 want you to oblige me. You were to have dined here to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " I am to dine here." 
 
 " The Brandons are coming. Now, to please me, stop away.' 3 
 
 " You are very kind and hospitable. I have refused five other 
 invitations, and now you want to turn me loose without any 
 dinner at all." 
 
 " Efbn't come, there's a dear boy!" 
 
 Lord Ravenhold gets very angry, and does not attempt to 
 conceal his ill humor. He leaves Grpsvenor Place in wrath. 
 
 When I say that after this he begins to think very seriously 
 about Mrs. Brandon and all her charms and graces, no one who 
 knows anything of the world or human nature will be sur- 
 prised. Opposition in love is to most men (and women too) what 
 the magnet Is to the needle. Two mornings later, Lord Ravji- 
 
38 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 hold, sauntering down the shady side of the park, espies his 
 sister and Mrs. Brandon sitting together. On Hemiione's left is 
 the man who is her greatest friend a man whom the world 
 Vould once have liked to whisper scandal about in connection 
 ivith her. only that he and she had tact and courage enough to 
 hip all cause for such whisperings in the bud. The seat beside 
 Vanessa is vacant, and Ravenhold. his heart beating a trifle 
 faster, and his eyes darting a- glance of defian?3 at his sister, 
 takes swift possession of it. 
 
 Mrs. Fane yields to the inevitable she has, besides, a good 
 deal to say to her companion, so Ravenhold and Vanessa are 
 left to their own devices. They begin^by talking about the 
 ball at which they met two nights previously. She found it 
 charming, and praises the floor, the music, the decorations, the 
 flowers with enthusiasm. He, on the contrary, has little good to 
 say of it: but then, in his mind, it is associated with very disa- 
 greeable recollections. 
 
 4< Perhaps/' he says, " it was the frightful snub you gave me 
 which prevented my finding it pleasant." 
 
 * Snub!" Vanessa echoes his word, and her great eyes look 
 troubled and distressed. 
 
 " Did you really think me a profane Sabbath-breaking wretch 
 for proposing to drive you out to dine on Sunday, or was it a lit- 
 tle excuse to get off dining with me at all ?" 
 
 Vanessa looks positively unhappy. 
 
 "Oh. Lord Ravenhold, why do you say that ? v she exclaims. 
 "You are not serious you do not really believe it? There is 
 nothing in the world I should have enjoyed so much." 
 
 " Then you really think it wrong to go ' pleasuring' on a Sun- 
 day ? Which is it that shocks you most the dining or the driv- 
 ing ?" 
 
 He does not say it in a bantering tone, as the words seem to 
 imply, but looks at her quite seriously. 
 
 "Iain not shocked at either," she answers, hastily. " I do 
 not think anything wrong for other people; it is only that I 
 have not been accustomed to it myself." 
 
 " Then some week-day you might be induced to come?" 
 
 " I should like it better than anything," she answers, with 
 Unmistakable sincerity. 
 
 " How would- next Tuesday suit you?" 
 
 " We are going to a ball, but we have no dinner engagement. 1 " 
 
 'I will bring you back in time to dress. Hermy, speaking 
 across Vanessa to his sister, '* will .you come down and dine 
 at Hurlinghain on Tuesday? And you, Anson?" to her neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 Mrs. Fane hesitates. 
 
 "It would be very pleasant," Mr. Anson says, quietly. And 
 that turns the balances in Mrs. Fane's mind. After all, she ia 
 not her brothers keeper nor Mrs. Brandon's." 
 
 " And we will ask Uncle Charlie," adds Ravenhold. 
 
 ** Oh, do!" exclaims Vanessa, so eagerly that the young man 
 feels half inclined to be jealons. 
 
 * Talk of one's uncle," Tries Mrs. Fane, *' and there he is/' 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 99 
 
 Colonel Dallas conies up to them. He is not looking quite sc 
 beaming as usual; as his eye rests on the two couples, he feels a 
 s sensation which is the reverse of agreeable. Both nephew and 
 niece perfectly understand the reason of his clouded brow, but 
 Vanessa, being quite innocent and unconscious, does not evei, 
 remark it. She is surprised that the colonel does not jump at 
 the thought of making one of this delightful party; indeed, he 
 seems more inclined to excuse himself than to accept. 
 
 "But you must come/ indeed you must," pleads Vanessa, 
 with earnest entreaty beaming from her eyes. 4k It would not 
 be half so nice without you.' 1 
 
 4i Does she want me to make sixth and take her husband off?" 
 whispers a suspicious demon in the colonel's ear, but her lovely 
 face is so candid and sincere that he acquits her at once. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold does not see Mrs. Brandon again until the 
 following Tuesday. He writes her a pretty little note of re- 
 minder, and she replies to it. Like a child she watches the 
 weather eagerly, and is rejoiced when the day dawns hot and 
 fair. Ravenhold is to come first to Bryanston Square, and then 
 to pick up the rest of the party at Grosvenor Place. 
 
 When Vanessa is seated behind the four fine chestnuts and be- 
 side her handsome young jehu, she is so happy and delighted 
 that her fair face seems almost to ripple over with joy. At every 
 moment she turns to claim her husband's sympathy with her 
 pleasure by a smile or a few glad words, and his honest heart 
 beats responsively to her contentment. His lordship, conscious 
 that he is perfectly turned out, and that the most beautiful 
 woman in London is beside him, find pleased to be there, is 
 radiant. Perhaps he looks, as a man envious of him says to an- 
 other as they go by, as if he fancied himself uncommonly. But, 
 in reality, it is Mrs. Brandon whom he fancies. Pray Heaven 
 they may not meet Lady Mildred! Of course they do; the coach 
 and her barouche stand* side by side for a minute at the pleasant 
 and convenient little crossing at Hyde Park Corner. She havS 
 seen them coming, and a madness of anger possesses her. But 
 she quietly takes her Court Guide from the opposite seat and ap- 
 pears calmly intent upon searching for an address. 
 
 Ravenhold does not even know that she has seen them. But 
 a coach -and-f our is a very good target for the eye, especially 
 when it is right across the road in front of you. 
 
 " There is Lady Mildred!" exclaims Vanessa, and she bends a 
 little forward, wishing to catch that lady's eye, not, you may be 
 sure, from any4riumphant feeling of rivalry. She is her hus- 
 band's and he is hers: other women's husbands and lovers are 
 safe from her. the meeting is unlucky. It was only last Sunday 
 that Ravenhold had made his peace with Lady Mildred and 
 given her his word of honor, backed by the strongest assevera- 
 tions, that she w r as the only woman in the world for him, and 
 that, although he thought Mrs. Brandon good-looking, his de- 
 sires and intentions went no further. Hermione and Mr. Anson 
 oome out. to join the party in excellent spirits. The colonel is 
 Uiot in the same form as the others, but then he sits facing the 
 which is not enlivening, and his reflections are n<H alto- 
 
100 7 HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 getner of a pleasant nature. He has been devoted to Vanessa 
 and, up to this moment, she alone of all his pretty acquaintance* 
 has never shunted him for another member of his sex. He has 
 always been her flattered, feted colonel, but now that Ravenhold 
 has come upon the scene with his good looks, his coach, and his 
 numerous other adjuncts, there is no question that he is *' out of 
 it." After all, he has only himself to thank: he has brought her 
 into this set, where but for him she certainly would not be now. 
 He is a fool for his pains, and God alone knows whether any- 
 thing worse may come of it." 
 
 Thus the colonel to himself, as they sweep down Queen's Gate 
 and along the narrow and unsavory streets which lead to what 
 seems paradise to Vanessa, but presents itself in quite a different 
 shape to our soliloquist. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE dinner is a cheery one. Lord Ravenhold is assiduous in 
 his attentions to his fair guest. Mr. Anson and Mrs. Fane are 
 occupied with each other, and Colonel Dallas, who has too much 
 good taste and breeding to allow himself to be a trouble-fet^ 
 talks to the husband with an excellent grace, and consoles him- 
 self with his dinner, to which he is by no means indifferent. 
 Although both he and Ravenhold are perfectly aware of the at- 
 tachment between Roland Anson and Hernioiiie^ it gives neither 
 any disquietude they have had ample proof before now of the 
 man's honor and the woman's rectitude of principle. Roland 
 Anson is one of the few men capable of loving a woman better 
 than himself. 
 
 He is tall, rather thin, about thirty-five years of age, with a 
 grave manner, an unmistakable cachet of breeding, and dark- 
 gray eyes that have a very soft and kindly expression; and some- 
 thing more when they rest on Hermione. He loves and admires 
 her more than any other woman in the world; she is like some 
 bright little fairy to him, and he has the deepest, tenderest corn- 
 pa s sion for her woes and wrongs, which he perhaps knows more 
 about than any other living being. There was a time when her 
 natural protectors and guardians (not including Mr. Fane) had 
 felt some uneasiness about this intimacy, but experience has 
 caused that to wear off, and they accepted and liked Roland 
 Anson as a friend of the family and a man to be trusted. 
 
 Something of Ravenhold's habitually caressing manner to 
 pretty women is creeping into his demeanor to Vanessa he is 
 conscious of it himself, and pauses, once now and again, to look 
 over at her husband, who, however, shows not the smallest 
 eymptom of jealousy. After dinner, the host proposes an ad- 
 journment to the garden, and again the three couples pair off 
 It would be perfectly easy for Brandon to keep near his wife- 
 %vho has not the smallest desire to elude him, and, of the two 
 would rather stroll about with him, hanging lovingly on his 
 &rni, than with Ravenhold; but he is as sure and confident of 
 her now as last year he was doubting and diffident. The best- 
 looking, beskkred men in London have surrounded and fluttered 
 
""/ HAVE LIVED AND LtiVftD \yfa 
 
 her, and she loves him as much and more than ever, and has not 
 one look or word of coquetry or encouragement for any other 
 man. John Brandon is not one to go out of his way to meet un- 
 pleasant things, and he is perfectly unsuspicious. Naturally 
 Ravenhold, as well as any other young fellow, admired his wife 
 why not ? but he is furthest from giving him credit for dishonor- 
 able or unworthy attentions. Nor has Ravenhold any suchhe 
 would have instantly wanted the blood of the man who dared to 
 hint such a thing, but he has a way, like a good many other 
 handsome, spoiled boys, of letting himself drift, and then lament- 
 ing, as the colonel said, that it was plus fort que lui. So, in spite 
 of himself (or more truly because he makes no effort over him- 
 self), as he and Vanessa stroll over the turf and look at the 
 river, his eyes dwell longer on her and his voice grows softer 
 and more caressing. But she, only having one mail's image in 
 her heart, and no room there for another, is not at all embar- 
 rassed or ^neasy, but talks away gayly and frankly to him; too 
 gayly, according to his idea, as he is rather plaintively and senti- 
 mentaljy inclined. 
 
 Now they are sitting on a bench on the greensward under the 
 great, starlit canopy of the dark-blue sky. It is quite light 
 enough for each to see the expression of the others face. 
 
 "How happy you seem!" says Ravenhold, almost enviously^ 
 and he heaves a deep, deep sigh, as though such happiness were x 
 rather displeasing to him. 
 
 *' I am happy," she answers, with a low, contented laugh. 
 " What a good thing it is to be happy very happy! 1 ' 
 
 " Have you never been unhappy?" he asks, rather mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Never. Never in my life." 
 
 " I did not know there was any one in the world who could 
 make such a boast as that," utters Ravenhold. 
 
 4< But you?" says Vanessa, gayly. " You do not give me the 
 idea of an unhappy person, Lord Ravenhold." 
 
 " One does not wear one's heart upon onejs sleeve," he an- 
 swers. " But if one is always tormented by a want that cannot 
 be satisfied, do you think one can,be happy ?" 
 
 Vanessa imagines that he is thinking of Lady Mildred; that 
 his words apply to her. She likes him too much to want to be 
 his censor, but she is shocked at the thought of unlawful pas- 
 sion. 
 
 " If one cannot have a thing," she answers, looking down at 
 the turf beneath their feet whilst his eyes are fixed on her face 
 " ought one not try to do without it?" 
 
 " No," he says, emphatically, seeing that she is interpreting 
 him wrongly. " Not if it is a thing that it is right and fair to 
 want, not if one is obeying the first law of nature by; want- 
 ing it." 
 
 Vanessa looks up at him a little startled. Having a rooted 
 idea that it is Lady Mildred whom he wants, she does not under- 
 stand his speech. 
 
 " To my mind there is only one thing in the wprl^J. worth hav- 
 ing," utters Ravenhold, in a low voice but withjnttise earnest- 
 
K 1' HAVE LJVEI) AND LOVED. 
 
 ness, whilst he keeps his eyek fixed on the lovely face which 
 it seenie to him might crown the hopes and desires of the moat 
 fastidious man living. " That is love; ardent, passionate love; 
 not a mere -paltry fancy which soon subsides into an eas3 T -going 
 liking or else into indifference, but a love that occupies every 
 moment of one's life, that keep? every nerve full strung: a love 
 that is heaven or hell, but, as I would have it. heaven." 
 
 She understands him. his words touch a chord in her heart 
 that, in the plenitude of her youth and passion, is what she too 
 craves. Dearly as she loves her husband, she has already felt 
 bitter disappointment at the fading of his passion, whilst hers has 
 rather increased. No matter that his love is truer, faithfuller 
 than ever, it is not the love she desires; not the love she had last 
 year. 
 
 She leans her head slightly back, and, looking wistfully at the 
 spangled sky, says, in a dreamy voice. 
 
 " Then one would be too happy." and, catching the infection 
 from her companion, she heaves a long sigh, A moment's si- 
 lence, then Ravenhold says; % 
 
 " Heart- hunger has become a cant phrase, but it is a true one; 
 it expresses a real feeling. How happy people must be who 
 either do not know what it means, or, "looking still at her, " who, 
 feeling it. can have it satisfied!" 
 
 He is trying to probe her to discover whether her heart is really 
 as satisfied as it seems to be. 
 
 Vanessa's thoughts take a sudden turn away from* herself, and 
 she says, bringing her eyes and thoughts down from the skies 
 and fixing them on him: 
 
 ' Why do you not love, then? Surely you have only to ask 
 and havef' and she gives him a friendly flattering little smile. 
 " There are so many pretty, charming girls in society who ought 
 to come up to your ideal." 
 
 44 Don't you see," he utters, " that it is just there the hardship 
 lies f ; I don't like girls very much,' with a little disdainful curl 
 of the upper lip, " but if I did like one. how could I know that 
 she cared for me, or x that she would fulfill my want or answer to 
 my longing ? She would be pretty sure to pretend to like me, 
 unless a bigger swell was by; she would smile and be good- 
 tempered, and if she saw it was necessary, would feign to be as 
 fond and loving as propriety permitted ; "whatever tune I piped 
 she would dance to, until she had got me, And, afterward, I 
 should perhaps find her a shrew or an icicle, who, whilst I was 
 dying for love and sympathy, would be thinking about her 
 frocks or yawning, or counting the stones in her rings and 
 showing me that I bored her unutterably, Men who have the 
 misfortune to possess a title have no chance of knowing if they 
 are loved for their own sakes." 
 
 It pleases Vanessa to treat her friend's brother in a matronly, 
 rather patronizing manner, 
 
 " Fancy/' she says, smiling, " a handsome and charming young 
 man being so diffident about himself I" 
 
 "You are very good to say anything so kind,' he return*, 
 with a slight accent of disappointment. 
 
f HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 103 
 
 There is nothing so provoking to a man as a woman who will 
 be friendly and sisterly when he does not demand that sort of 
 interest from her. 
 
 44 You have no sister, have you?' he asks, presently. 
 
 -' No. I am an only child " 
 
 '* I wish you would find me some one to love,' he says, com 
 ing a little nearer to. her, "Tell me, have you no friend who 
 you think would answer to my ideal?" 
 
 Vanessa muses. Naturally her thoughts 11 y first to the friends 
 of her girlhood. Edith and Mabel. But Edith's heart is already 
 engaged, and Mabel would certainly not suit Lord Rayenhold, 
 who looks for both passion and sympathy. 
 
 "Do you think." he asks, softlv, ''that marriage is really a 
 good thing ? Is one happier married ?" and she answers without 
 a moment's hesitation; 
 
 44 Oh, much, much happier!" 
 
 Ravenhold leans back and sighs again. It does seem rather 
 hard luck that with his youth, his ardor, his handsome person, 
 he should never be able to win such love from a young and 
 beautiful woman as this middle-aged wine merchant enjoys. It 
 occurs to him that it might be well to make the round of 
 country vicarages, incognito, on the chance of picking up such 
 another pearl. 
 
 " How silent you ai;e!" says Vanessa, gayly. "* What are you 
 thinking about?" 
 
 " I was thinking what luck some men have!" he answers, with 
 another sigh. 
 
 She laughs, knowing quite well what he- means to imply, but 
 her heart is her husband's, and she has grow r n used to the little 
 ways of the jdtncstse doree who hang around her. She takes 
 Ravenhold's compliments and innuendoes like other men's, 
 
 " We ought to be looking out for our party," she says. " I 
 don't think you will fulfill your promise of taking me home in 
 time to dress for the ball.'' 
 
 4 *~Do not go!" he whispers, putting out*a* hand as though to 
 detain her; then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he says 
 abruptly, rising too, " Yes, I dare say we had better go." 
 
 As they step on the gravel path, they confront a tall Uiin man 
 and a young lady. The former is Sir Bertram. 
 
 Ravenhold is just bending to say something to Vanessa his 
 manner is distinctly imprcsse. Sir Bertram stops suddenly, 
 looks at the pair and addresses them. He has passed Vanessa 
 fifty times in the Row without the smallest recognition to-night 
 he greets her like an old friend. 
 
 "'Mrs. Brandon this is an unexpected pleasure. How are 
 you. Ravenhold?" 
 
 Vanessa is so taken by surprise that she responds as though 
 they were still on the same friendly terms as last year before 
 she gave him mortal offense. Besides, she feels no rancor, and 
 is rather glad that the old gentleman should show a disposition 
 to be friendly. 
 
 Ravenhold. who is acquainted with Sir Bertram's companion, 
 
104 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 enters into conversation with her, and a minute later, Colonel 
 Dallas and John Brandon come up. 
 
 Sir Bertram greets both with extreme affability. Before they 
 part, he has asked for Mrs. Brandon's address and permission to 
 call upon her, which she readily accords. 
 
 The drive home through the balmy night is delicious, even 
 though the road is ugly and unpicturesque. The pair on the 
 box-seat are not very talkative. Vanessa is thinking in her 
 heart that, to make" her happiness complete, .Brandon ought to 
 be beside her Brandon as he was last year when they whis- 
 pered all sorts of foolish, incoherent love-words to each other. 
 Kavenhold is rather silent and a trifle sulky. He has the woman 
 beside him he most covets, but but, she will not answer to his 
 humor she will not even flirt with him nor make believe in the 
 very least. Fenced and walled round as she is by the love of 
 her husband, she is as far from him as though she were inside 
 Paradise and he standing outside the gate. Yet when now and 
 again his eyes meet hers, there is a half-soft, half-passionate 
 look in them, which, even if he has evoked it, is not for him. 
 The world, that would seem to a looker-on to wag so well with 
 this favored young Adonis, appears a sorry enough place to him 
 just now it is a place, he "would tell you to-night, where you 
 are allowed to have glimpses of delight and pleasure only to 
 accentuate the misery of not being able to grasp them. He is 
 vexed, dissatisfied he wishes he had taken his sister's advice 
 and left Mrs. Brandon quite alone after to-night he will. They 
 are nearing the Marble Arch, and Vanessa says, in tones of 
 most genuine regret: 
 
 " How sorry I am that we are getting near home!" 
 
 He stoops toward her and says in a very low voice, but with a 
 bitter accent: 
 
 "Why should you be sorry? You are going home to hap- 
 piness. It is I who am left out in the cold." 
 
 She answers him gayly enough. 
 
 4 ' I will do as you^&sked me and look out for a nice wife for 
 you; then you won'toe left out in the cold." 
 
 He does not reply she is not so sympathetic as she looks, her 
 gay tone jars upon him. 
 
 But, in reality, Vanessa is feeling intensely sentimental. 
 When she and her husband have wished Ravenhold good-night, 
 and thanked him for their pleasant evening, she does not, late as 
 it is, hurry off to dress for the ball, but follows her husband into 
 his comfortable smoking-room. She throws her arms round his 
 neck she is in a mood for endearments she pushes him gently 
 into a chair and seats herself on his knee. He responds to her 
 caress in a kind, friendly, semi-paternal manner, then glancing 
 at the clock, says: 
 
 4 My dear child, pray go and dress, or we shall not get to 
 Orosvenor Square till daylight!" 
 
 She starts up with a petulant gesture which he has never seen 
 before and scarcely realizes now r . As she mounts the stairs, a 
 sob is choking her, two great tears are shining in her eyes; a 
 sense of bitterest disappointment gnaws her heart. She would 
 
J HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 105 
 
 like to give vent to her feelings by a passion of tears and sobs, 
 but in her room stands her attentive maid availing to dress her, 
 and she is forced to choke back her sobs, don a falsely placid face, 
 and act like a sensible and well mannered lady instead of a 
 pettish child who does not know what it is crying for. 
 
 For the first time in her life she feels bitter against her hus- 
 band, She tells herself with an aching heart, as she sits under 
 the hands o*f her maid, that he is tired of her, that he is not 
 really fond of her any longer and she remembers with painful 
 distinctness Ravenhold's words: 
 
 4 'There is only one thing worth having in the world love, 
 passionate love; not a mere paltry fancy, which soon subsides 
 into an easy-going liking, or else into indifference, but a love 
 that occupies every moment of one's life; that keeps every nerve 
 full strung; a love that is heaven or hell, but, as I would have it, 
 heaven." Yes, that is what she too desires. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. ^ 
 
 THE! next morning Colonel Dallas came to escort Vanessa into 
 the Row, He was feeling a little bit piqued and touchy, but she 
 received him in the same glad, cordial manner as usual. It was 
 a lovely morning with a delicious breeze, and they concluded to 
 walk. The colonel had been thinking seriously of reading his 
 lovely friend a little lecture, and was trying to make up his mind 
 how to commence the attack. He did not want exactly to find 
 fault with her; only to say a word in season, the u^ter futility of 
 which no one knew better than himself. Soon after they had 
 taken their chairs under the shade of a big tree, Lord Ravenhold 
 passed them. He did not stop, but raised his hat with a coldly 
 polite gesture. Vanessa remarked nothing unusual in his man- 
 ner, but the colonel, whose mind was quite bent on the relations 
 between his nephew and Mrs. Brandon, did, and was ill pleased. 
 
 " Ravenhold looks rather sulky," he says, broaching his theme 
 far more broadly and directly than a minute ago he had in- 
 tended. " What did you do to him last night?" 
 
 " I!" utters Vanessa. " Nothing. Lord Ravenhold and I are 
 the best of friends. Our ideas agree perfectly. We both think 
 there is nothing in the world worth having but love, and I am 
 going to find him a wife." 
 
 The colonel feels and looks as if a yawning chasm had opened 
 at his feet. 
 
 " Oh," he says, and for the moment he can positively find 
 nothing else to remark. 
 
 A slight melancholy pervades Vanessa's features her own 
 words have brought back that vague yearning and the sense of 
 disappointment she felt last night. The colonel, looking at her, 
 observes her expression, and it displeases him amazingly. 
 
 " I don't think," he remarks, in a short, dry tone, " that you 
 have very much to coniplain of on that score." 
 
 " It" she exclaims, with a surprised look followed by a swift 
 blush _ "J3ut, my dear colonel, jov don't understand. Lord 
 
10a I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. "" 
 
 Ravenhold is so jealous of my happiness that lie wants to get 
 married at once that he may be happy too." 
 
 Again the colonel can only find the same interjection where- 
 with to express his thoughts. 
 
 ' I don't think, my lady v (this is a favorite mode of address of 
 the colonel's to Vanessa) ' I don't think, my lady," he observes 
 after a pause, " that love is a very desirable* topic of conversa- 
 tion between two handsome young people like you and my" 
 nephew. And. if you will forgive my saying so, I do not think 
 it will do you an}* good to be seen philandering about by moon- 
 light or starlight, whatever it is, with a man who enjoys such a 
 reputation for being inflammable as Ravenhold." 
 
 Now if Vanessa's conscience had been in the very least bit 
 i guilty she would have felt rather angry with the colonel for this 
 remark, but it is perfectly clear and innocent. 
 
 " Then why did you go away and leave us?" she asks gayly; 
 i4 1 should have liked your company just as much." 
 
 " Would you :'" he says doubtfully. ' Ravenhold is consid- 
 ered a ve^y dangerous young fellow, and people will talk. And," 
 looking narrowly at her, ' it is a literal impossibility to him to 
 be with a pretty woman and not to make love to her." 
 
 4i He did not make love to me," answers Vanessa, simply. 
 " But then he knows that I am a country girl and that I adore 
 my husband." 
 
 '' And yet he talked to you of love ':"' 
 
 "Yes," returns Vanessa, frankly. " He said," and here her 
 eyes take rather a pensive, far-off expression '' he said that there 
 was only one thing in life worth having, and that was passion- 
 ate love; love that occupies all your heart and thoughts and 
 leaves room for nothing else. And I agree with him." 
 
 " Ah!" observes the colonel, with extreme dryness, " I suppose 
 that after listening to his exalted sentiments- you would find 
 mine very flat and commonplace. But, all the same, let me give 
 you the result of my experience. 
 
 " The sentiment about which he said such fine things and you 
 agreed with him, is not love at all, but a much coarser thing 
 passion. You may etherealize it in your mind (I think women 
 do), but he does not; he knows what he means. Passion does 
 not last; it cannot its very intensity makes it ephemeral it can 
 be repeated with another object; but if you imagine that one 
 man can go on feeling equal ardor for the same woman for any 
 length of time, you are likely to go aground on the rock that has 
 shipwrecked so many of your sex. Let me tell you what love 
 is. Love is what your husband feels for you and will feel to the 
 day of his death." 
 
 Vanessa experiences a sensation of uneasiness. Has she be- 
 trayed the tinge of disappointment which has crept into her 
 heart now and again during the last few months and found its 
 first serious expression only the night before ? 
 
 4 What do you mean ?" she cries. "Do you think I do not 
 know it ? Do you think I do not know I have the best husband 
 in the world ? Why, it was the sight of our hs>pp ; Mess that made 
 Lord Rftvej}hold want to marry." 1 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 107 
 
 44 I suppose," says the colonel, pointedly, " he wanted to marry 
 if he could find just such another woman as you.'' 
 
 Vanessa laughs. 
 
 " My dear colonel," she asks, " what is the matter with you.? 
 Did your dinner last night disagree with you? You know you 
 have told ine that everything is a matter of digestion, and that 
 foie gras would at any time inspire you with a universal distrust 
 and hatred of your kind." 
 
 " There was no pate last night," answers the colonel, " and I 
 carefully avoided cream, ice, and strawberries. No, this time 
 it is not my digestion." 
 
 4 * Then why do you insist that Lord Ravenhold and I shall fall 
 in love with each other?" 
 
 "God' forbid," exclaims the colonel, devoutly. "I did not 
 ven hint at anything of the sort. Only I don't recommend 
 moonlight walks with him and conversation about love." 
 
 " Very well," says Vanessa, anxious to restore his good humor, 
 14 in future I shall walk about with you. Only you are not to 
 scold me." 
 
 "Scold you, my dear child! Nothing is further from 'my 
 thoughts. "I should not presume to take such a liberty." 
 
 Vanessa's eyes, straying down the path, observe Lord Raven- 
 hold and Sir Bertram engaged in conversation at a little distance 
 from them: she sees them part, and then Sir Bertram comes to- 
 ward her. He stops in front of her, holds out his hand, and 
 smiles. It can scarcely be called a smile, it is rather a spasm of 
 the upper lip, as if some one had pulled a wire in his side a 
 spasm revealing his long, yellowish teeth. He greets Colonel 
 Dallas also. The colonel returns the salute rather frigidly, and 
 looks away up the Row in a manner that intimates his intention 
 of effacing himself until Sir Bertram shall have said his say to 
 Mrs. Brandon. Sir Bertram thereupon coolly takes the seat be- 
 side Vanessa. 
 
 "I want you to come down and dine with me at my little 
 place on the river," he says, in his most affable tones, " you and 
 Mr. Brandon. Can you spare mean evening this week ? Would 
 Saturday suit you ?" 
 
 Now Vanessa does not enjoy the society of Sir Bertram, nor 
 does the idea of dining with him inspire any pleasure in her 
 breast; but she is very anxious to be civil to him, and to atone 
 in every way in her power for having once hurt his feelings. 
 So she puts on her prettiest smile and says: 
 
 "We are not engaged on Saturday, and we should like it very 
 much indeed." 
 
 "I must try to get my nieces to meet you," utters Sir Ber- 
 tram, well aware of the attractive bait he is offering. "Have 
 you heard that Mabel is engaged to be married V" 
 
 "No!" exclaims Vanessa, eagerly. "Is it to "and then 
 
 she pauses, 
 
 "It is to Sir Thomas Belton," answers Sir Bertram. "We 
 are pleased with the marriage. There is ratker a disparity of 
 age between her and Sir Thomas, but that is not always a draw- 
 back, is it, Mrs. Brandon?" 
 
108 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 And again he has a spasm of the upper lip. 
 
 Vanessa is somewhat confused; she scarcely knows how Jo 
 reply to this badinage on Sir Bertram's part, and she cannot 
 otter any cprdizd congratulations for Mab, remembering the de- 
 scription given of the bridegroom-elect and his black tooth. 
 
 " I shall be so delighted to see them again," she says, hastily. 
 
 "And do you like London?" asks Sir Bertram/ "Does it 
 answer your expectations ?" 
 
 " Quite. I find it charming," Vanessa answers. " But I am 
 looking forward immensely to going home again. It seems 
 years since I left." 
 
 "Oh! We are to have the pleasure of seeing you ? That will 
 be something to look forward to. And when is your visit fixed 
 for?" 
 
 " We are going down on the 1st of August for two months. 
 My husband cannot get away before then." 
 
 "Ah! business must be attended to/ 1 and Sir Bertram gives 
 his most repulsive smile. 
 
 " Yes," replies Vanessa, not wincing in the least. It is quite 
 true that she would rather her husband was not in business; but 
 she is not ashamed of it. 
 
 " Then," says Sir Bertram, rising, " I may look forward to 
 the pleasure of seeing you both on Saturday. Will you drive 
 down about six, so as to have a little time on the water first ?" 
 
 " I will ask my husband, and send you a line, if I may," re- 
 plies Vanessa. 
 
 "Yes, praj- do; but mind, I look upon it already as an en- 
 gagement." 
 
 Sir Bertram says this with stiff playfulness, takes Mrs. Bran- 
 don's hand, gives a frigid tyow to Colonel Dallas, and goes. 
 
 " I hate that man!" utters the colonel, as soon as he is out of 
 ear-shot. " He is a cold-blooded, vindictive brute." 
 
 " No, I don't think he is vindictive," Vanessa replies. 
 
 "Isn't he? Just look at his face! Besides, I know half a 
 dozen instances of it. He never forgives an injury, nor even a 
 small offense." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he does," says Vanessa. " I offended him very 
 much, and you see he is quite kind and pleasant to me." 
 
 " He is biding his time," observes the colonel. " Pray, my 
 lady,- how did you offend him ?" looking curiously at hsr. " And 
 where did you ever meet mm ?" 
 
 " He was our squire." 
 
 " Did he want to make you squiress?" 
 
 Vanessa colors a little and laughs. 
 
 " What an idea!" she says, evasively. 
 
 " Then look out," observes the colonel, significantly. " Has 
 he been*friendly with you ever since ?" 
 
 " He has not spoken to me until last night for nearly a year." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that he cut you and has just taken 
 you up again ?" 
 
 " Yes," says Vanessa, nodding her head. 
 
 " Then, if I were you, I would not be taken up now." 
 
 *' Oh, poor old man! Why not ?" smiles Vanessa, " And I am 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 109 
 
 only too glad to be friendly to him on account of his grand- 
 daughters, who used to be my greatest friends?" 
 
 " I wonder what his game is?" says the colonel, ruminating. 
 
 " No game at all, my dear colonel," laughs Vanessa. " What 
 a suspicious mood you are in ! Do you think he, like Lord Raven- 
 hold, wants to supplant my husband ? I promise you not to talk 
 about love to him nor to take a moonlight stroll with him if I 
 can help it." 
 
 The colonel traces an elaborate pattern with his stick he is 
 still absorbed in speculating about the nature of the squire's 
 game. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold passes them again. This time he is walking 
 with a very handsome girl.^ttvwhoni he appears to be making 
 himself extremely agreeable. 
 
 The colonel gives up thinking about Sir Bertram's game in 
 order to study his nephew's. That takes very little thought he 
 'wishes to pique Mrs. Brandon. The attempt is an utter failure. 
 
 " There!" whispers Vanessa, with an accent of triumph that is 
 thoroughly genuine. ' ' You see he has reflected about my advice. 
 I wish he would marry Lady Violet." 
 
 *' Pooh!" says the colonel. ** If he married all the women he 
 looked at in that languishing manner, he would have as many 
 wives as Solomon by now. And, fond as I am of the lad, I 
 don't think I shall envy the woman very much whom he makes 
 Lady Ravenhold." 
 
 " Why not?" asks Vanes%a. " He is very handsome and verj 
 nice." 
 
 " Yes," responds the colonel. " And he will go-on being very 
 handsome and very nice after he is married." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 ** Cannot you interpret my parable, my lady?" 
 
 " You mean that he will be nice to other people as well as his 
 wife." hazards Vanessa. 
 
 "I do," and the colonel emphasizes his remark by a nod. 
 "Tell me," he continues, ''you were very quietly brought up, 
 and, I suppose, with the proper old-1t,shionedideas, how does 
 our state of society strike you ? You must have had your eyes 
 considerably opened the last three montjis." 
 
 " I don't quite understand it," answers Vanessa, looking 
 ra?ther nuzzled. 
 
 " Do you think it is right for married people^to go philander- 
 ing about as if they were not mafried ?" 
 
 " No," hesitates Vanessa " only " 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 " If two people are devoted to each other it cannot do any 
 harm, s because although you may like to talk to other men you 
 only care for one." 
 
 " But when people are not devoted?" 
 
 " Then they ought not to marry," returns Vanessa, promptly. 
 tft That is what is so wrong. I am quite unhappy to think of 
 Mab marrying that dreadful old man. How can she?" 
 
 " Have you seen him?" 
 
 -No." 
 
110 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " He is not at all a dreadful old man. He is Not older than 
 let me see than Brandon; and he is a thorough good fellow, 
 and will let her have all her own way. I think she is a very 
 sensii i" young lady," 
 
 "Oil!" litters Vanessa, relieved. Still she cannot forget the 
 black tooth 
 
 "** Bat." says the colonel, who has not yet got his sermon off 
 his mind, "I don't quite agree with you. I think harm 
 come of this freedom between young people, even when a 
 woman is devoted to her husband." 
 
 " How?" asks Vaiiess, opening her eyes. 
 
 The colonel hesitates. Shall he speak or shall he forbear? 
 Will he be putting thoughts into her head, instead of keeping 
 them out, as he anxiously desires to do ? 
 
 " Well, look here, my lady," he says, gazing carefully at the 
 hieroglyphs he is still employed in tracing, ' even if a woman is 
 devoted to her husband, there 'are times when when perhaps 
 she feels a little put out with him. He is not quite so attentive 
 or so demonstrative as she thinks he ought to be, and she gets a 
 little bit froissee or disappointed.- Then, you know, if some 
 good-looking young fellow is hanging about telling her that she 
 is quite the most angelic creature in the world, and hinting per- 
 haps that she is not appreciated, and that if she were his wife 
 well, Irm! don't you see ?" 
 
 Vanessa laughs, not quite easily the first j)art of his sentence 
 has gone home, but not the last. 
 
 " My dear colonel," -she says. " do not put these ideas into my 
 head, or I shall begin to think it is dangerous to my peace of 
 mind to see so much of you. You know you are always praising 
 and flattering me. I shall have to be on my guard." 
 
 " Yes, there is no doubt I am a very dangerous fellow," re- 
 turns the colonel. He has said his say-and does not care to pur- 
 sue the subject any further. "Do you know," looking at his 
 watch, ** that it is ten minutes to two ?" 
 
 '* We must go home to lunch/' says Vanessa, rising promptly. 
 
 When she tell* her husfiand of the invitation for Saturday, he 
 remarks, cheerily: 
 
 * You were quite right, my dear. I cannot say I like Sir 
 Bertram. He was extremely rude to me last year; but, poor 
 old fellow, it was not to be wondered at. It will be nice for you 
 to see your friends again." 
 
 " I can't tell you how I look forward to it." cries Vanessa. " I 
 am very fond of Mrs. Fane, but I have known them all my life; 
 they are more to me than any new friend could be.". 
 
 " Naturally." replies Brandon. 
 
 The next day Vanessa and Mrs. Fane go to" a garden party at 
 Kensington together. They are standing with two or three men 
 grouped round them, when Lady Mildred passes. She has al- 
 ways been very civil to Mrs, Brandon, who, up to this moment, 
 is in blissful ignorance of having offended her. Vanessa makes 
 a step forward with a smiling face and outstretched hand. 
 JLady Mildred meets her with stare, a ohilling bow, and 
 passes on. 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. Ill 
 
 111 a moment Vanessa is crimson with mortification and be- 
 wilderment; she is not used to being snubbed, and feels the" 
 slight intensely all the more, perhaps, because she is entirely 
 ignorant of its motive. 
 
 Mrs. Fane's ready tact diverts attention, but the episode has 
 been witnessed by at least four or five persons, who more easily 
 understand it than does Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 Half an hour later, as she and Mrs. Fane are driving home to- 
 gether, Vanessa says to her friend: 
 
 "Why did Lady Mildred behave so rudely to me? I will 
 never, never look at nor speak to her again." 
 
 Mrs. Fane does not answer for a moment. Then, as Vanessa's 
 eyes are still fixed in eager inquiry on her face. 'she says: 
 
 44 Don't you really know? Have you no suspicion ?" 
 
 * No," answers Vanessa, truthfully. 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 "At all events, you knt>w that she considers Gerard her prop- 
 erty ':" 
 
 " Yes." Vanessa certainly knows so much in common with 
 the rest of the world. 
 
 A third pause. 
 
 " Well," says Mrs. Fane, reluctantly, " she thinks you want to 
 take him away from her." 
 
 Then Vanessa, firTding words too poor to express her surprise 
 and anger, leans back in the carriage, and utters not another 
 word. She is beginning to see the reverse of the medallion. 
 The world and society had seemed a sort of paradise to her; she 
 had sipped the pleasant surface, and until now had tasted none 
 of the dregs of hatred, envy, and jealousy which more than 
 three parts fill its cup. She lias felt a friendly liking for Lord 
 Ravenhold, and every one insists. on believing that she entertains 
 sentiments for him which are furthest from her brain; she feels 
 as though she never wants to see him again. 
 
 Mrs. Fane guesses something of what is passing in her mind. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear,'" she says, kindly. 
 " But take my advice and do not dance much with Gerard or 
 see much of him; he is a nice, dear boy, but, all the same, I don't 
 want to have you affichee with him." 
 
 " I suppose," observes Vanessa, with a bitterness quite foreign 
 to her, " that in society no one can believe in a woman preferring 
 her husband to even so handsome and distinguished a person as 
 Lord Ravenhold." 
 
 " No. my dear/' returns Mrs. Fane, simply; " that is just 
 it." 
 
 The same evening Mrs. Brandon and Lord Ravenhold meet at 
 a ball. He asks her to dance; she smiles civilly he does not 
 know how T her heart is beating and pleads other engage- 
 ments. He presses her with some urgency; she grants him a 
 waltz later on; when the time arrives she is now r here to be 
 found. Most men are" stimulated by opposition, none more 
 than Lord Ravenhold. He is on his mettle; he begins to feel as 
 though his honor were somewhat involved in the matter. 
 
 On the Saturday fixed for Vanessa's visit to Sir Bertram, she 
 
112 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 is in a state of restless excitement she is longing to see her old 
 friends; several times she has been on the point of writing to 
 them, but has thought it better to wait for their meeting undei 
 Sir Bertram's auspices. Her heart beats quite fast, as they drivi 
 up to the door of his river- side chateau. They are ushered into 
 the drawing-room; a moment later^ their host steps in at the 
 French windows opening on the lawn. 
 
 " Are Edith and Mabel here ?" asks Vanessa, as soon as she has 
 greeted him with the usual formula. 
 
 " I am so sorry," he answers, " they are uAable to come." 
 
 As a matter of fact he has not invited them, nor mentioned 
 Mrs. Brandon's name to them. 
 
 " I asked two or three pleasant people to meet you," he con ; 
 tinues, " but at this time of the year it is impossible to get any 
 6 one at a short notice. You will find one friend, however." 
 
 And, as he speaks, Lord Ravenhold comes strolling up the 
 lawn. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 VANESSA'S disappointment is ^o severe, that it appeal's legibly 
 on her face. And it is not in the leasteatoned for by the sight of 
 Lord Ravenhold, whose name has lately been made a weariness 
 to her flesh. She greets him in an indifferefct manner very for- 
 eign to her habitual one. He, on the contrary looks pleased and 
 smiling, and is evidently anxious to make himself agreeable. 
 When', at Sir Bertram's proposal, the party betake themselves to 
 the boat, Vanessa devotes her conversation entirely to her host, 
 and her husband and his lordship are left to entertain each 
 other. 
 
 It is quite possible that Vanessa has a temper, although she 
 has advanced so far through her earthly pilgrimage without 
 having had occasion to make use of it. Up to the present time 
 there has been no one to vex or cross her, or to raise any spirit 
 of antagonism in her. This evening she feels distinctly, cross 
 and put out, and the sensation is as unpleasant to her as though 
 she had a headache for the first time. She partially recovers 
 herself at dinner, but it is still not quite the charming, genial 
 Mrs. Brandon whose graciousness is one of her chief attractions. 
 Certainly when she speaks to her husband there is more than 
 her usual sweetness both of words and looks; he therefore does 
 not observe that there is anything amiss. 
 
 Dinner over, she adjourns to the drawing-room, but does not 
 remain there long, seeing the river shining temptingly at the end 
 of the lawn. She strolls out and seats herself on a bench close 
 to the "water's edge. It is full tide now; the plash of occasional 
 oars greets her ears pleasantly, the rushing sound of water from 
 the not far distant weir soothes her. The moon is just rising; 
 everything is lovely and peaceful; the charm of the scene ap- 
 peals to Vanessa's senses, and yet something oppresses her and 
 prevents her from feeling quite happy. She is still laboring 
 under the disappointment of not meeting her cherished friends; 
 although she openly expressed to Sir Bertram at dinner 
 
t HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 113 
 
 6_ .ttwi- -aem soon, he scarcely responded and turned the sub- 
 ject. Then she is ill pleased at Lord Raven hold being here; it 
 looks as if their host were also under the impression that his society 
 is pleasing to her. She had liked him very much until every one 
 conspired to point out to her that she was in danger of falling in 
 love with him ; now she feels rather aggrieved against him and 
 extremely anxious to show him that she is not in the smallest 
 peril of becoming a victim to his fascinations. She has been sit- 
 ting by the water-side but, a very few minutes, as she thinks, 9 
 when Lord Ravenhold comes with a buoyant step across the* 
 turf to join her. His manner is altogether Jubilant and tri- 
 umphant; he carries his head well up, his eyes^are alight with 
 pleasure. 
 
 But for the monitions of the colonel and Mrs. Fane, coupled 
 with Lady Mildred's insolent behavior, Vanessa would have 
 greeted him with her best smile of welcome. As it is, she feels 
 secretly irritated, and her face denotes neither pleasure nor 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " How delicious it is here!'' he exclaims. " It is a shame to be 
 indoors such a night." 
 
 "Where are the others?" asked Vanessa, coolly. 
 
 ** The others," replies Lord Ravenhold, laughing, " are drink- 
 ing some excellent claret and discussing with enthusiasm the 
 merits of various vintages. " 
 
 -Oh!" 
 
 A small boatffs moored to the steps a couple of yards distant. 
 
 '* Let us go on the water," cries the young man, eagerly. " It 
 toill be heavenly there." 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " Are you afraid to trust yourself with me ?" he asks. " I as- 
 sure you I can row I was in the boats at Eton I can swim like 
 a duck if I should be so cluAsy as to upset you." 
 
 " No, thank you. I xyould rather not." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I do not care about it." 
 
 " But I heard you tell Sir Bertram you enjoyed being on the 
 Vvater more than anything," says Ravenhold, insistently. " What 
 are you afraid of ? There is no one about who knows us, and I 
 should not have thought you were afraid of Mrs. Grundy." 
 
 " I do not suppose any one is afraid of Mrs. Grundy who has 
 not the very smallest reason to be so," returns Vanessa, shooting 
 rather a defiant glance at him. 
 
 * " Then it is because you don't-care for my company," says the 
 young man, with some petulance. "Mrs. Brandon!" catching 
 up a small garden-seat and planting himself on it right in front 
 of her, " how have I offended you? ' What have I done ?" 
 
 " Nothing that I am aware of," she says, coldly, still feeling 
 Unjustly bitter against him. " Surely my not caring to go in a 
 boat is no proof of my being offended with any one. " 
 
 Lord Ravenhold turns away to conceal his mortification. He 
 sits for some time staring at the water, and Vanessa makes no 
 attempt to break the silence. For the first time in her life she 
 feels a little spiteful this presumptuous youn^r m^.Ti has dared 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 to think, as well as his relations, that his society is pleasing to 
 her and that she is ready to embark on a flirtation with him. 
 She intends to convince him of his error. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold, looking up suddenly with some huffy words 
 on his lips, is silenced by her beauty. The moon is shining on 
 her her lovely eyes are looking away over his head she site 
 there in her graceful white draperies looking like a statue, with 
 o much more of beauty than any statue because of the deep 
 color of her eyes and the beautiful red of her perfect mouth. 
 The huffy words are strangled at their birth, and he says, very 
 humbly: 
 
 k% I thought you were going .to be my friend T 
 
 "I am quite willing to be your friend, Lord Ravenhold/' re- 
 turns Mrs. Brandon, showing, however, no disposition at pres- 
 ent to thaw. 
 
 ' If you knew," utters Ravenhold, fixing his eyes on her and 
 speaking almost passionately "if you knew how badly I want 
 a friend, and how much the friendship of a good woman like 
 you might do for me, I think you would be kinder to me.*' 
 
 Before this appeal the ice gives way. and there is a very x notice- 
 able difference in the ^tone of Mrs. Brandon's rejoinder. 
 
 " What can I do for you? I should be glad to be your friend 
 for your sister's sake."' 
 
 Lord Ravenhold would like to reply that the friendship he 
 desires is not a vicarious one, but is prudent?- enough to re- 
 frain. , 
 
 I am not happy." he says. " The life I lead does not satisfy 
 me; it is unnatural it is all wrong." 
 
 Here Vanessa agrees with him perfectly. She thinks it even 
 more wrong since Lady Mildred's treatment of Jier. The 
 answer she gives him is a little trfc and cold, as he feels it to 
 be. 
 
 *' I do not see how any one can be happy when they are doing 
 what they know to be wrong. ' 
 
 "Ah!" he says, looking very hard at her, "you have never 
 been tempted." 
 
 li No." she answers: " that is quite true." o 
 
 " Perhaps you may be some day." 
 
 Perhaps," she returns, stiffly. " It does not seem probable, 
 though. Having married the man I love best in the world, a 
 man whom I consider superior to every other, there is not much 
 chance of my being tempted to care for any o* else." 
 
 Each is conscious that a little passage of arms is going on 
 between them. 
 
 v It is dangerous to be too secure," remarked Ravenhold. 
 '* Feelings are apt to change 
 
 " Are they ? I am quite sure mine will not." 
 
 Her tone is defiant. She wishes him clearly to understand 
 that there is not the smallest probability of her ever entertaining 
 any regard for him. 
 
 He is piqued. 
 
 We shaJl see," he says, with a smile that provokes her ex- 
 
t-tiAVE LIVED AND LOVED. . 115 
 
 No suitable retort offering itself to her mind, and not wishing 
 to betray that she is nettled, Vanessa remarks, indifferently: 
 
 "How lovely the moon is 011 that stretch of meadow! It re- 
 minds me of the nights this time last year.'' 
 
 " Only then, I suppose, you were enjoying their beauty with a 
 congenial companion.'' 
 
 " I was," and Vanessa sighs, not to provoke him, but be- 
 cause, for the moment, she is recalling that happy past time, and 
 no doubt thinking it, as we are all prone to do, even more 
 blessed than it was. 
 
 Th^re is a pause. Ravenhold feels indescribably irritated; he 
 would like either to make love to or to quarrel outright with 
 her; the cool hostility of her manner hurts him he does not 
 feel that he has deserved it. 
 
 He turns and looks fixedly atelier. 
 
 " If you are so happy," he says, in a half-injured, half-re- 
 sentful tone, "it ought to make you kinder to those who are not 
 equally fortunate." 
 
 Vanessa smiles. 
 
 Why are you not happy?" she asks. '"You ought to be. 
 You have everything to make you so. You are a lord, you are 
 rich you are a handsome young man they tell me you have 
 only to look at a woman for her to fall desperately in love with 
 you." 
 
 Her last speech, with its thinly-veiled sarcasm, opens his eyes. 
 He grasps the situation in a moment. - She has been warned 
 against him. In his inward heart he curses the officious med- 
 dler who has done him so much harm, none the less because he 
 suspects that busybody to be his own uncle. 
 
 He is silent for a moment; then he utters in a mortified tone, 
 looking away across the moonlit water: 
 
 " No wonder, if you think me a fool and a puppy, you do not 
 care to be friends with me. ' 
 
 Vanessa is instantly smitten with remorse. 
 
 'I do not think anything of the sort," she says, smiling at 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, you do," he answers impetuously. " You have proba- 
 bly been cautioned against me. I have admired and respected 
 you more than any woman I have ever met the thing of all 
 others that charmed me in you was your devotion to your hus- 
 band, and you think that I am an egotistical, presumptuous fool, 
 who is only to be restrained from making love to you by the 
 most severe and constantly repeated snubs. 
 
 He has taken the bull by the horns with a vc ngeance this time, 
 and there is so much truth in his words and so much dignity in 
 his air that Vanessa is put to confusion. She is induced to say 
 what her better judgment w r ould certainly not have approved 
 had she given it time to counsel her. 
 
 "What am I to do?" she exclaims, impulsively. "If every 
 one insists on warning me against you, and in believing that if 
 you honor me by your notice I shall straight way fall in love with 
 you, how am I to convince them that it is possible for a woman, 
 ev n 4* jsooiety, even in the age we liv.e in, to prefer her own 
 
S16 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVEDT 
 
 husband to the handsomest man, or the most exalted personage 
 alive?" 
 
 " I should have thought you were too clever to be influenced 
 by a paclf of fools, "returns Ravenhold. " I I suppose that 
 Mr. Brandon has never objected to your being in rny society ?" 
 
 " He!" echoes Vanessa, throwing up her head with a fine scorn. 
 " No, indeed. He, at least, knows me." 
 
 Ravenhold feels the least bit in the world foolish. 
 
 " Of course," he says. " He would not deserve you if he did 
 not. But now, Mrs. Brandon," pleadingly, " won't you judge 
 me for yourself, instead of listening to what my wise and good- 
 natured relations say ? Be friends with me out of the goodness 
 of your heart, because I want a friend, and if you find me tak- 
 ing advantage of your kindness, or trying to do so, kick me out, 
 and have nothing more to say to me." 
 
 So Vanessa smiles and makes a compact with him, and the 
 rest of the time which they spend together is passed in perfect 
 harmony. It wants a quarter to eleven when Sir Bertram and 
 Mr. Brandon join them. Both seem in the best of spirit? it is 
 evident that no qualm has visited the husband about his wife's 
 tete-a-tete with Lord Ravenhold. 
 
 " _4hT' says Sir Bertram, in, for him, quite a jovial* tone, 
 " moonshine is all very well for you young people, but a- good 
 bottle of claret is not without its attraction for us, eh, Brandon ? 
 Every age has its pleasures." 
 
 John Brandon assents laughingly he does not seem in the 
 least offended by being put in the same category with his host. 
 
 " I am glad we went," he says to Vanessa, as they are driving 
 homeward. " The ol'd chap was trementlously civil; he is really 
 very good company. * And I did a capital stroke of -fcusiness Re- 
 sides. He has given me a considerable order." 
 
 Vanessa feels suddenly froissee the idea jars upon her, and 
 as her husband is proceeding to enter into details of the commis- 
 sion with which he has been favored, she catches him by the arm 
 an;l says: 
 
 " Look, darling, at this little group of houses down there in -the 
 moonlight is it not like a picture? Ah! what a night! It 
 makes me think of this time last year." 
 
 " Yes," returns Brandon, complacently. "It is quite a night 
 for lovers. We were lovers this time last year at least I was, 
 eh, deary?" 
 
 " Are we not now?" says Vanessa, sidling up to him and feel- 
 ing intense!}" sentimental. 
 
 We are better," he answers. " We have got over the foolish 
 part. By Jove!" catching sight of the clock on a church they 
 are passing, ' 4 1 had no idea it was so late. Claret like that 
 makes one forget time." 
 
 A chill disappointment creeps through Vanessa's heart. She 
 feels acutely aggrieved that claret should have taken the place 
 of romance. No young wife will ever be able to understand why 
 the passionate lover of last year should subside into the tranquil 
 husband of to-day, who seems anxious to shirk everything like 
 romance or lov^-making. 
 
"f HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. lit 
 
 a.**, this moment Lord "Ravenhold dashes past them in his 
 buggy. IJe raises his hat and speeds onward still faster, with a 
 spasm of envious rage in his heart at the happiness of the pair. 
 
 He does not realize any more than Vanessa does, the comfort- 
 able tranquillity and absence of emotion that reigns in the breast 
 of the possessor of so much loveliness. He believes that Bran- 
 don must be as passionately enamored as he would be were he 
 seated beside so lovely a woman. And it is just as well that he 
 should believe it. 
 
 The next day Vanessa writes a long letter to her friends, pour- 
 ing out all her disappointment at their absence from tke party 
 which, on their account, she had looked forward to with such 
 eager expectation. She finishes with congratulations to Mabel, 
 but finds it impossible to make them very hearty. 
 
 A long answer comes fromMab almost by return of post: 
 
 " What, in the name of fortune, my most beloved Nessa, is the 
 interpretation of all this mystery? You at Riverside! you the 
 guest of the O. G. and expecting to meet us theie! What can 
 that terrible old person be plotting ? Is he going to take you out 
 in a boat and drown you, or is that fate reserved for your hus- 
 band ? The latter, I expect, after which he will marry the relict 
 you. He has never so much, as mentioned to us having seen 
 or spoken to you; so it is evident his designs are very deep, not 
 to say dreadful. Anyhow, now he has made up with you (or 
 pretended to, for he never forgets or forgives), he will have no 
 excuse for forbidding us to see you; and, although the longest 
 day is past some time, I. shall try to find one long enough to 
 make a journey to Bryanstonia and back. I shall cause Sir 
 Tummas (I always call him Sir Tummas; my fiance) to drive me 
 there. I observe, my dearest friend, a lack of warmth and 
 heartiness about your congratulations; they have not quite a 
 genuine ring they are not nearly so gushing as one might ex- 
 pect from a devoted wife like yourself who thinks so highly of 
 marriage, and who has also (pardon the reminder) married a man 
 considerably older than Herself. 
 
 ' ' Sir Tummas, I assurejrou, is the most excellent of men he 
 quite grows f upon one; and though I do not think myself ca- 
 pable of committing any rash action on his account, I quite like 
 nim in a comfortable and unembarrassed manner. I am rather 
 sorry I told" you about his tooth, because I can see that, in- 
 directly perhaps, has prejudiced you against him. But I pror 
 pose to remedy this blemish. He is quite devoted to me, and 
 is really a chivalrous sort of person. Well, instead of exacting 
 the performance of any knightly feat to prove his devotion to 
 me, I am simply going to ask him to have out his four front 
 teeth and get them replaced by four lovely new ones. (I won- 
 der whether grandpa would contribute one of those elephant 
 tusks in the hall for their confection; they would then have 
 quite a historic interest.) I shall stipulate for their being fix- 
 tures; no putting into tumblers no losing them unexpectedly 
 in the mid-channel, in a spasm of mal-de~mer, as happened to a \ 
 bridegroom I l*c^*d of. 
 
MC / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " Apart, my dear, from this rodomontade. I like Sir Tiammas, and 
 you need not think (as I know you do) that I am a heartless wretch 
 sacrificing myself to Mammon. I don't care for your ridiculous 
 young men who think of nothing but themselves and the fit of 
 their clothes, and who. all the time they are making love to 
 you, are trying to get a bird's-eye view of themselves in the 
 nearest glass. Sir Tummas can "stand any amount of teasing, 
 whereas all young men are touchy: he admires everything I say 
 and do. and is not even put out by the little practical jokes which 
 my playful nature delights in. Edie is getting so disagreeable 
 about my writing at such length that I must wind up. She 
 seems to think it would involve mortgaging the family estate if 
 we had to put a second stamp on the letter. A million kisses 
 from Your ever devoted MAS.'' 
 
 The postscript is written by Edith. 
 
 " I have no idea what Mab has been scribbling to you all this 
 time, dearest Nessa, and I certainly have no intention of wading 
 through it. She is wilder than ever. I always told you she had 
 no heart, but I am certain that she likes Sir Tummas quite as 
 well as she is capable of liking any one. Is it not extraordinary ? 
 but really he is very kind and good, and it is more his appear- 
 ance that is against him than anything else. He positively wor- 
 ships her, and loads her with presents, which is just what she 
 likes. Algy thinks you quite a darling. Alas! we are no nearer 
 to happiness than before further off, I fear; my people won't let 
 me speak to him if they can help it. But I shall be faithful, ivhat- 
 ever Happens. How mysterious about grandpapa asking you 
 down to Riverside and not saying a word to us. I think it must 
 lead to our meeting now. 
 
 *** I can't tell you how I long to see you. I suppose you are as 
 happy as ever. 
 
 " Your most affectionate 
 
 "EDITH."' 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MONTH has elapsed August is waning, and Vanessa is back 
 at the rose-covered Vicarage in the heart of Southshire. She has 
 repeated over and over again to Susan the events of the last ten 
 months, and Susan has never wearied of hearing about her 
 darling's doings, and of saying with a wise nod that she always 
 knew how it would be. When she hears, however, that Va- 
 nessa has danced and conversed with a royal personage, her ja\* 
 drops, and she feels that fate has even overstepped her predic- 
 tions. 
 
 Brandon thoroughly enjoys the repose of the country he has 
 brought down a couple of horses, and is teaching his wife to ride; 
 an easy enough matter, as he has taken care to provide her with 
 a quiet, well-broken horse, and she is not troubled with nervous- 
 ness. 
 
 Many a nighfe he and she sit out in the moonlight or the star- 
 light drinking in the balmy air laden with spoils from^ the 
 
T 'HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 11* 
 
 flowers' hearts. Vanessa twines her arm round his neck and 
 leans her cheek against his, and tries to bring back the feeling! 
 and emotions of last year: but the gorged monster, satiety, de-^ 
 feats her. She has the kindest, most affectionate, Indulgent hus- 
 band in the world, but the lover is gone: the last page of the 
 romance has arrived: the end has come, "And so they lived 
 happy ever after. " 
 
 Vanessa, fights against her disappointment; is angry with her* 
 self for feeling it, and, now and again, becomes rather unhappy; 
 for there is nothing that causes a sensitive nature so much Dain 
 as self-disapprobation. People who are downright ill-tempered 
 or selfish or unprincipled are not uncomfortable, because they 
 have no remorse; the ones to suffer are those cursed by a double 
 nature (probably inherited from an opposite father and mother, 
 with a dash of Heaven knows how many other ancestors thrown 
 in); the ones whose good and bad, kind and unkind instincts are 
 always warring against each other; who know what is right and 
 are madly impelled by a stronger will to do what is wrong. Va- 
 nessa, whilst vehemently arguing to her conscience that she 
 ought to be the very happiest woman in the world, knows her- 
 self to be dissatisfied and disappointed. She stands by the same 
 window as last year, looking at the same sky, and tells herself 
 that the yearnings and aspirations she felt then have been ful- 
 filled and granted; and yet all her heart tumultuously cries out 
 that her whole life is* still before her; that six months' romance 
 is not sufficient to last till the end of her days; that every feeling 
 and longing is ten times stronger in her now than twelve months 
 ago. She is as passionately in love with her husband as ever, 
 and hjs calm, sober affection is to her as a rock againgt which 
 she vainly dashes the toir^nt of her love. 
 
 One night, recalling the past which seemed so fraught with 
 bliss to her, she bursts into a sudden passion of tears and sobs as 
 she sits beside him in, the same spot where last year he suffered 
 the lover's agonies of doubt and fear. He is genuinely distressed, , 
 and soothes her with the tenderest endearments, trying to elicit 
 from her the cause of this sudden outburst. It is on her lips to 
 say, " You no longer love me as you did last year," but her heart 
 smites her that such a speech would be ungrateful; and he as- 
 cribes her crying fit to atmospheric causes or to some little hitch 
 in the delicate machinery of her sex's nature, which is and ever 
 will be incomprehensible to nine hundred and ninety -nine men 
 out of a thousand. 
 
 But Vanessa is not always moping and dissatisfied; on the con- 
 trary, she is exceedingly cheerful as a rule, and enjoys excellent 
 health and spirits. 
 
 She is looking forward with immense delight to the arrival of 
 Edith and Mabel. Sir Bertram is already at the Hall, and has 
 paid two or three visits to the Vicarage. He seems to have for- 
 gotten the vexatious incident of last year, and is especially 
 courteous and civil to the man whom he once spoke of so dis- 
 ilainfully as "my wine merchant.'' 
 
 More tlian once he has asked the pair to dinner, and has so- 
 licited Br#rHon's opinion on the contents of his cellar. 
 
 I 
 
120 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 And when the two girls arrive, Vanessa forgets all about her 
 disappointed romance, and enjoys their society with a keenness 
 of appreciation stimulated by the fact that she is now acquainted 
 with the delightful world of which of yore they brought her 
 strange and fascinating rumors. 
 
 Edith is still pining for her guardsman, Mab is in the best of 
 spirits and perfectly satisfied with her choice. Vanessa remarks 
 that although she seems as full of pranks and quips and wiles 
 as ever, there is a considerably greater degree of womanliness 
 about her. 
 
 Going up to the Hall one morning to see her friends, Vanessa 
 finds them both in a state of high excitement. 
 
 " What do you think, my angel!" cries Mab. " You will nevjer 
 guess if you live to be three thousand and forty. Who do you 
 think is coming here ? Guess the most unlikely person in all the 
 world." 
 
 " Mr. Howard?" asks Vanessa, straightway doing her friend's 
 bidding. 
 
 " Go up to the top of the class," cries Mab. "It is not him, 
 but you are so far right in that he is the most unlikely person in 
 the world to be asked here, not even excepting the other. How- 
 ever, the extraordinary thing in this case is not so much in the 
 individual being invited, as in his accepting n 
 
 "Oh, Mab," interposed her sister, " what a nuisance you are 
 with your riddles and mysteries! Tell hey at once, or I shall." 
 
 ' ' It is Lord Ravenhold !" cries Mab. 
 
 Vanessa is quite as much surprised as her friends expect and 
 wish her to be. Her breath is nearly taken away by the an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 "Lord Ravenhold!" she exclaims, opening her eyes ve^fy wide 
 and letting her jaw drop ever so little. 
 
 " Of course," says Edith, " we know what it means. They are 
 always trying to make me give up Algy, and they think Lord 
 Ravenhold so handsome and fascinating that I shall fall in love 
 with him." 
 
 "But what we can't understand," chimes in Mab, "is what 
 induced him to accept. Fancy him leaving his grouse to come 
 here where there is no mortal amusement for him. except to play 
 lawn-tennis, or ride with us, or to go out shpoting by himself or 
 with Sir Tummas when September arrives. I have always heard 
 that he abhors girls, and * goes in for married women.' Perhaps 
 he'll flirt-with you, Nessa. You do know him, don't you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," returns Vanessa. "His sister and I are great 
 friends. " 
 
 Since that evening on the river she has not seen a great deal 
 of Lord Ravenhold. She had avoided dancing with or talking 
 to him much in .public, and he hadtibeen rather petulant and 
 injured in consequence. One day at his sister's he was begin- 
 ning to remonstrate with her for what he called her unkindness, 
 when Mrs. Fane came tripping in, and seeing a slight agitation 
 in his manner, and some confusion in Vanessa's, the little lady 
 took very good care not to give them another chance of a tete* 
 a-tete. 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 121 
 
 At luncheon on the day that Lord Ravenhold's coming has 
 been announced, Sir Bertram says to Mrs. Brandon, with one of 
 his " smiles by machinery," as Mab calls them: 
 
 *' We shall hope for your neighborly services to help us enter- 
 tain Lord Raven-hold;" and she expresses her willingness to serve 
 her Jiost in the manner indicated. 
 
 Vanessa is not sorry that he is coming. Personally she likes 
 him, and now that she will be able to talk to him without cau- 
 tions from his relations or insults from Lady Mildred, she rather 
 looks forward to the meeting. Does she in any way connect his 
 acceptance with the fact of her being Sir Bertram's neighbor ? 
 Positively I do not know. Once now and again even an author 
 cannot fathom the secret hearts of his characters. 
 
 The day appointed arrives Lord Ravenhold comes with it. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brandon are invited to meet him, and Vanessa 
 finds his lordship" vastly improved. He is exceedingly cheery; 
 perfectly free from Byronic airs, and in the very height of health 
 and spirits. 
 
 The morning after his arrival Mab conies down alone to the 
 Vicarage. She wears a solemn air her usual vivacity has been 
 laid aside, and she throws herself into a chair with quite a tragic 
 .gesture. , _ 
 
 "I see it all/' she says, gloomily, fixing her eyes on Vanessa. 
 4 It is too horrible it has kept me awake nearly all night.'' 
 
 "My dear child, what is the matter T exclaims Vanessa, who 
 has not yet made up her mind whether the girl is serious or in 
 jest, 
 
 "This is grandpapa's revenge," continues Mab. "I always 
 knew he was a bad, vindictive old man, but this is too horri- 
 ble." 
 
 ^' What is it ?" cries Vanessa, her curiosity stimulated to the 
 highest pitch. " Is it anything about you and Sir Thomas ?" 
 
 * No," and Mab looks searchingly at Mrs. Brandon. " I won- 
 der if you really don't guess what I mean V" 
 
 " That, indeed, I do not," returns the other, genuinely. 
 
 " Very well. Then I will tell you. Grandpapa has asked 
 Lord Ravenhold here not on Edith's account, but on yours; be- 
 cause he is in love with you." 
 
 A vivid flame of crimson shoots ver Vanessa's fair face. 
 
 " Don't be ridiculous, Mab!" she cries, almost angr%. " There 
 is a limit even to jesting." 
 
 "I am not jesting," returns Mab, nothing daunted. "My 
 suspicions were aroused the moment you came into the room last 
 night. Lord Ravenhold had been quiet and ctistrait, and as soon 
 as he saw you all his face lighted up, and he was a different 
 being. And I saw that old wretch watching you both as a cat 
 does a mouse, and looking delighted. I know his face when he 
 is pleased he does not give that ghastly grin then, but there is 
 a sort of horrid delight in his wicked old eyas. When he is 
 making Relieve he grins with his mouth, when he is glad he 
 does it with his eyes." 
 
 There is*so much confidence in Mab's tone and manner that 
 Vanessa finds it no easy task to pooh-pooh her -perhaps she 
 
122 l HAVE LIVED AND 
 
 feels that her sharp-sighted friend is not altogether without 
 foundation for her suspicions. After a moment's pause she 
 says . 
 
 '' It is a comfort to think that his amiable intentions, if he has 
 any. will be defeated." 
 
 Mabel contemplates her friend for a whole minute without 
 speaking. She is eighteen and unmarried, Vanessa is twenty 
 and has a husband, but the former looks and speaks at this mo- 
 ment like a woman of the world, and the latter like a school- 
 girl 
 
 4 Don't be angry with me, Nessa," she urges, with extreme 
 earnestness. " Of course I know you are devoted to Mr. Bran 
 don, but Lord Ravenhold is very handsome, and has most taking- 
 manners. He is always making love to some one, and now, I 
 know, it is going to be you. And he always makes a woman 
 care for him when he wants to." 
 
 Vanessa gcJt-s fairly angry. Is it an absolute fatality that the 
 moment'' Lord Ravenhold appears on the scene some one should 
 spring up to watch and to warn her ? 
 
 "Oh, all right," she says, with extreme coldness; " there, is 
 one very simple way out of it. As people seem to think me 
 either a fool or a baby, unable to take care of myself, I will not 
 go up to the Hall as long as Lord Ravenhold is there." 
 
 Don't be silly!" cries Mab, rather frightened at the tone Mrs. 
 Brandon is taking. " That would rouse every one's suspicions." 
 
 " And lay them too," retorts Vanessa. *' For if we do not 
 meet, it is impossible for the most scandalous person to think or 
 say anything about it." 
 
 In vain Mab entreats, conjures, implores. Vanessa's anger 
 and obstinacy are roused, and she adheres to her determination 
 of not meeting Lord Ravenhold again. So at last Mab has to 
 leave her, feeling very crestfallen and like an officious person 
 who has been slapped in the face for his pains. She knows 
 pretty well that if her grandfather suspected her of interfering 
 with his plans she would have a very uncomfortable time for the 
 next few weeks. Vanessa, left to herself, is sorely vexed arid 
 put out. She has anticipated a certain amount of pleasure from 
 Lord Ravenhold's visit has been looking forward to picnics, 
 lawn- tennis, and pleasant dinners at the Hall. And now, if she 
 keeps her word as she means to, she will have the constant bit- 
 terness of thinking that all these agreeable things are taking 
 place without her. For the first time in her life, she almost dis- 
 likes Mab. So ruffled are her plumes that Brandon, joining her 
 half an hour later in the garden, cannot but observe her per- 
 turbed and altered manner. 
 
 4 'What is the matter, deary?" he says, kindly. *- What has 
 gone wrong r You and the faithf ul Susan have not been indulg- 
 ing in a set-to, have you ?" 
 
 " Oh," cries Vanessa, glad to give vent to her wrath, " I am so 
 furious I should like to kill some one." 
 
 "Hey-day!" exclaims Brandon, suprised at this unusual ex 
 hibition of temper on his wife's part. " Why t what in the naraa 
 iff "orpine hs any one being doing to you?" 
 
I -&A VE LIVED AND LO Vb < . 1 33 
 
 A sudden instinct seizes Vanessa. She will tell him the truth. 
 Why not ? H<?r conscience is clear and innocent enough. 
 
 " Johnnie," she says, suddenly, stopping and looking into his 
 lace, her deep-colored eyes kindling with excitement, 4 ' people 
 are too hateful and disgusting and abominable," 
 
 * 4 Who aro people?' he asks, iiihis calm voice, with au amused 
 Anile. 
 
 **' Every one, she returns, with emphasis. 
 
 " Do I come under the category ?" 
 
 * No!" passionately. " You are more than every one to me/' 
 And, with that, she draws him to a bench hard by, lays hr 
 head on his shoulder, and begins to cry. 
 
 '* Tell me all about it, darling," says Brandon, kissing her. 
 
 It suddenly occurs to Vanessa that, after all, it is not a very 
 easy thing to tell him, and that perhaps she had better let it alone. 
 If he pressed her, she might perhaps have decided to keep silence, 
 but as he only sits and waits with exceeding patience, she con- 
 cludes to unburd^i herself of grief and anger. She begins in 
 rather a circumlocutory fashion. 
 
 " Do you think I love you?" 
 
 Ht Yes! my darling, God bless you I am sure you do." 
 
 44 Do you think it possible for me to fall in love with any other 
 man ?" * 
 
 14 1 hope not," sYuiling and with the serenest confidence in his 
 voice. 
 
 With the perversity of heart and brain peculiar to the female 
 sex alone, it suddenly occurs to Vanessa to wonder whv he 
 should be so entirely and perfectly sure of her. It almost piques 
 her. 
 
 " You are not afraid of my falling in love with Lord Raven- 
 hold r 
 
 " Not in the very least," answers Brandon, in an amused tona 
 He thinks he sees his way to it now. The girls up at the Hall 
 are jealoivs of her, and have been putting this idea into her 
 head. What an extraordinary thing is the jealousy of women! 
 
 'Then," says Vanessa, "you are different from every one 
 
 else. I suppose he carries a love-philter about him or it may 
 
 -be because I am considered especially susceptible, being only a 
 
 country bumpkin, but I have this morning for the third time 
 
 been warned against his lordship's fascinations." 
 
 ' * For the th ird time ?" inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes. The colonel warned me first, then Mrs. Fane, and 
 now, if you please, Miss Mab, who is excessively exalted in her 
 ow r n estimation because she is going to be married to a baronet 
 old eiio " 
 
 Here Vanessa stops suddenly. 
 
 " Old enough to be her father, like I am," supplies Brandon, 
 amused. 
 
 " You are Mot!' cries Vanessa, passionately, flinging her arms 
 around him. " You are forty-two, and if you were eighty-two 
 you are the dearest darling in the world, and worth ail the Lord 
 Kavenholdft who ever drew breath." 
 
124 y HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Sui-e/y Vanessa ought not to be surprised that her lord fels 
 quite easy in his mind aY>out possessing her entire jiffection! 
 
 " My dear child," he says, stroking her head lovingly, "rf^jou 
 are satisfied, and I am satisfied, what does it matter about any 
 one else ?" 
 
 " It does matter!" cries Vanessa, vindictively. i; They are 
 wretches, and I hate them. And so," half proudly, half re- 
 morsefully, " I "have told that meddling Miss Mab that as long 
 as his lordship remains at the Hall they will not have the pleas- 
 ure of seeing me there. And what is more, I shall not go to the 
 picnic this afternoon." 
 
 :i Why, you little goosV v says Brandon, " you could not choose 
 a better way of making people talk." 
 
 " Mab says," pursues Vanessa, looking at her husband out of 
 the corner of her eye, " that Sir Bertram has asked Lord Raven- 
 hold here out of revenge in the hope that I shall fall in love with 
 him." 
 
 At this Brandon laughs outright, and Vanessa, instead of re- 
 joicing in the confidence her husband shows in her, is, incon- 
 sistently, a little bit nettled by it. 
 
 " Ah," she says, perversely, " you were not so sure of me this 
 time last year." 
 
 He draws her toward him and sa\-s, with momentary gravity: 
 
 ' ' Would you rather I was not so sure of you now ?*' 
 
 " No, no, not" she cries, and stops his mouth with kisses. " If 
 you were not sure, you would be too wicked and good for noth- 
 ing to live." 
 
 So you see, Vanessa is about as capricious as the rest of her 
 sex. Her determination, however, holds good not to go to the 
 picnic planned for that afternoon. Knowing the absurdity and 
 futility of pleading indisposition, she, without a word to any one, 
 slips away and hides herself, leaving her husband to make her 
 excuses as best he may. 
 
 "Well?" she inquires the same evening on his return, "did 
 you have a nice time F" 
 
 *" Oh, quite too delightful /" he answers, laughing. " I never 
 saw Sir Bertram so disagreeable. The young ladies seemed dull, 
 and as for Ravenhold, I don't think I should envy his wife if he 
 gets one. I suppose," smiling, "that he is in love with you, 
 whatever you may no^be with him." 
 
 ^-He is only in love with himself," retorts Vanessa, frowning, 
 but secretly pleased to think the picnic has not gone off well in 
 her absence. For her part, she has spent the most disagreeable 
 afternoon, bored to death, and longing to be one of the coach- 
 load whom she imagined to be enjoying themselves amazingly. 
 Ennui has conquered her pride; she does not mean to be done 
 out of any more of the Hall festivities. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " WHO has been offending Mrs. Brandon T inquires Sir Bertram 
 the next morning at breakfast, with his worst sniilt. 
 
 (: I suppose she is setting up for a fashionable beauty,* i'3 
 
i HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, .28 
 
 marks Lord Ravenhold, with a bitterness that betrays him te 
 two out "of the other four persons assembled. "She thought 
 .we wanted her, and so she stayed away to make us feel her 
 loss." 
 
 " 1 think we did very well without her," remarks Mab, who is 
 extremely indignant with Vanessa for the fright and discomfort 
 i uhe has caused her. 
 
 " Do you ?" sneers her grandfather. " Your ideas of a cheer- 
 i ful party must be rather of a singular kind. But, no doubt," 
 | with a still more vicious twist to his smile, " you were occupied 
 ' with your own pleasing thoughts." 
 
 "Yes," returns Mab, demurely, " I was thinking of dear Sir 
 i Tummas," and her tone and the little accompanying sigh are so 
 I irresistibly comic that every one except Sir Bertram bursts out 
 i laughing. 
 
 It effects a diversion for a rq.oment. 
 
 " Brandon is an excellent fellow," pursues the squire, " but 
 he is monstrous dull, except when he is talking about his ov/n- 
 specialite." 
 
 " Specialite sherry," murmurs Mab; but her sister nudges her 
 sharply. Sir Bertram is not in a hitmor for trifling. 
 
 " I think," says the old gentleman, looking blandly at Raven- 
 hold, " that we must get you to go down to the Yi'carage and 
 persuade Mrs. Brandon to spend the afternoon and dine here. 
 We really cannot do without her." 
 
 A light leaps into the young man's eyes that is neither lost on 
 the squire nor Mab. 
 
 4 * I will go with you," cries the latter. 
 
 " No," utters Sir Bertram, in his sternest, most authoritative 
 tone. Then, more mildly, " Your mission was not so success- 
 ful yesterday that we can intrust you even to take part in ojie 
 to-day." 
 
 Mab quails, She did not know that her grandfather was aware 
 of her visit to the Vicarage. At all events hevcannot know her 
 errand, but the expression of his eyes and her own* con science 
 make her terribly uncomfortable. 
 
 " Be sure," says the squire, impatiently, to Ravenhold, as he is 
 starting "be sure you bring Mrs. "Brandon back to us. Your 
 powers of persuasion ought to be considerable." 
 
 Ravenhold goes on his way rejoicing and unsuspicious; when 
 a person plays into our hands we seldom suspect him of ill mo- 
 tives ; it is reserved for the * * lookers-on " to do that. 
 
 Swift thoughts chase each other through his mind as he walks 
 down the drive w^here last year Sir Bertram conceived the idea 
 of raising Vanessa to share his throne. What shall he say to her ? 
 Will he prevail ? Will he see her alone, or will that inevitable 
 husband be there ? He scarcely knows what ke wants, hopes, 
 expects; he, knows that he thinks Mrs. Brandon the most beauti- 
 ful woman in the world, and that it is longing for the sight of 
 her beaux yeux that has brought him from one of the cheeriest 
 houses and parties in Scotland to what he is pleased to call 
 u this God-forsaken hole." 
 
 There &re not after all, a great many villains in the 
 
 IK 
 
Tf* / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 villains who premeditate seduction, murder, and other heinoud 
 crimes. A sudden impulse comes upon a man; he does not check 
 it, he has not the courage to stop and look the thing in the fac; 
 he lets himself go, that is all. But once you let yourself go. 
 there is only one way of going, because the road is down hill 
 every step of the way. 
 
 The door of the Vicarage stands wide open, hut. as he cannot 
 enter unannounced, Lord Ravenhold naturally rings the bell, arid 
 Susan comes in haste to obey the summons. Susan, in spite of 
 her age, has an extremely susceptible heart, and, at a glance, she 
 sees that the handsomest and most distinguished young man she 
 has ever " clapped eyes on " is before her. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Brandon at home ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replies Susan, invitingly. "Will you please to 
 walk in?" and he joyfully follows her to the drawing-room. 
 
 " What name shall I please to'say, sir?" Susan inquires. 
 
 " Lord Ravenhold." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord," and Susan blushes, drops a 
 courtesy, and hurries out, horrified at having committed the aw- 
 ful solecism of calling a lord, sir. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, I am vexefl!" she exclaims as she enters the 
 breakfast-room in quest of Vanessa. "There's a lord come to 
 see you, and I called him plain sir. I hope his lordship isn't 
 offended. I might have known by the look of him ; he looks a 
 lord every inch. I hope you'll excuse me to his lordship." 
 
 A nervous flutter comes to Vanessa's heart; she does not know 
 what Susan is saying; she is divided between being angry with 
 Lord Ravenhold for coming, arid wondering how she shall be- 
 have to him. 
 
 She rises and prepares to join him. 
 
 "You will tell his lordship, ma'am, won't you?" reiterates 
 Susan, anxiously, and Vanessa returns absently: 
 
 " Oh, yes. He won't mind." 
 
 Her lip quivers a little, but she assumes a smiling, unconcerned 
 air as she goes in to greet her guest. She wishes her husband 
 were at home, but he has gone fishing, and her father is in his 
 study absorbed in his beloved work. It would be cruel to dis- 
 turb him, and Vanessa "scarcely sees how he would benefit the 
 situation. 
 
 An Englishwoman with a good complexion always looks her 
 best in the morning. Vanessa, in her' blue batiste with lace about 
 her throat and wrists, is a notable example of this fact. 
 
 " How d'you do, Lord Ravenhold?" and she advances smiling. 
 Ho replies, rejoins rather, .with the same inevitable question. 
 
 There is a slight matronliness in Mrs. Brandon's manner a 
 little air of being in her own house that makes it difficult for 
 Ravenhold to break into sudden reproach, as he had been on the 
 verge of doing. That is all very well on neutral grounds, by 'a 
 river's margin, or on a chair in the Row, or even in the corner of 
 a friend's room, but when you call upon a lady in her own house 
 4fe is different. 
 
 Ravenhold puts on his best manner. 
 
 *' I 3111 the bearer of round-robin," he says. " Tht party tit 
 
T HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 127 
 
 the Hall are in despair at your having forsaken them. I ana 
 charged to implore you to come up to-day to spend the afternoon 
 and dine." 
 
 Now what perversity makes Vanessa, after deciding to hersen. 
 that she will not keep away from the Hall and be bored as she 
 was yesterday, reply: 
 
 " Thanks, very much, but I do not think I shall be able to man- 
 age it to-day." 
 
 Ravenhold's handsome face darkens. 
 
 " A previous engagement, I suppose?" 
 
 There is a manifest sneer in his tone as well as his words. 
 
 Vanessa's color rises she is not quite prepared with an an- 
 swer. 
 
 "A mothers' meeting, or a Bible-class, perhaps?" suggests 
 Ravenhold, in still more biting tones. 
 
 " Perhaps," retorts Vanessa, her eyes beginning to blaze at his 
 manner. 
 
 " What have I done?" cries the young man, laying aside his 
 mask. " Why do you shun me as if I had the plague? I came 
 here, all the way from Scotland just to see you, and you won't 
 look at or speak to me, of come near the place because I am 
 there." 
 
 "Hush!" says Vanessa, with a glance at the open window, 
 feeling that nervousness about some one hearing or seeing that 
 is the inevitable portion of a woman when a man is making a 
 reckless and inconsiderate display of his passion. 
 
 At this hint Ravenhold modifies the loudness of his voice, but 
 pays no other attention to the suggestion. 
 
 " At least tell me why ?" he hurries on. " Am I personally- 
 offensive to vou, or what in Heaven's name have I said or 
 done?" 
 
 Vanessa feels a little bit frightened she is distinctly conscious 
 that it is wrong for Lord Ravenhold to be talking to her in this 
 manner, and yet his show of temper is not altogether displeas- 
 ing to her. There is the element of excitement in the situation 
 which is an agreeable change from the placid monotony of 
 her life. 
 
 ' You must really not talk like this," she says. 
 
 " If your husband objected to me if I had thrust myself upon 
 you, or presumed to make love to you, it would be different. 
 Have I " (vehemently) ** said one word of love to you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replies Vanessa; then, with a touch of mal- 
 ice, ' ' Where would be the use ?" 
 
 " Precisely," retorts the young man, with extreme bitterness. 
 " I am not quite a fool. I have at least the sense to be perfectly 
 conscious of your supreme indifference to me." 
 
 "That is right," replies Vanessa, cheerfully. 
 
 "* Then, "says Ravenhold, quoting his own words as though 
 they had been hers, " if you are so supremely indifferent to ire, 
 why avoid me ?" 
 
 " Because," returns Vanessa, again acting on an impulse which 
 is not '- particularly prudent one " because it is the old story, 
 and I have b^en warned against you for the third tim** '* 
 
I8 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " Upon my foul, this is too much!" cries the young man. " To 
 Whom am I indebted on this occasion?*' 
 
 " I shall not tell you," replies Vanessa. " I am not a mischief- 
 maker. Qf course it is utterly ridiculous. You know it is, and 
 I know it is, and my husband knows it is. I told him, and he 
 laughed at the idea. He did all he could to persuade me to go 
 yesterday, but I was so provoked that I would not." 
 
 Lord Ravenhold is intensely nettled. 
 
 4 'As you say," he observes, in a voice that cruelly betrays his 
 wounded pride, " it is utterly ridiculous, but sometimes a thing 
 that is only ridiculous has power to annoy. I will therefore 
 make an excuse and leave the Hall to-morrow, and I trust that 
 after my departure you will be able to resume your agreeable 
 relations with the people up there." 
 
 Vanessa is sorry that she has been so hard upon him. She 
 had snubbed him intentionally because he, no doubt, like the 
 rest of the world, thought himself capable of endangering her 
 peace of mind, and she would not rest until she 'had convinced 
 him of his error. Now she thinks she has convinced him, and 
 is disposed to be kind again. 
 
 " Do not go away, and do not be offended," she says. Then, 
 with a bewitching smile: "After all, I think I can get off the 
 mothers' meeting and the Bible-class" (with meaning) " so I will 
 come up this afternoon, if you really think they want me." 
 
 " They do really," returns Ravenhold, eagerly. " Sir Bertram 
 is quite bent on your coming he said I was to do my utmost to 
 persuade you." 
 
 " Instead of which you have done your utmost to quarrel with 
 me, and to be disagreeable," says Vanessa, maliciously. 
 
 Ravenhold expresses his contrition with the utmost humility. 
 He can afford to be humble now that he has got what he wants. 
 So he is pardoned and shown the garden and various objects of 
 interest, and makes himself so agreeable and aniusipg that he 
 leaves Mrs. Brandon with a distinct conviction in her mind that 
 a solitude a deux is infinitely more agreeable than the real bona 
 fide solitude. 
 
 She looks forward to the afternoon. Sir Bertram thoughtfully 
 sends the low phaeton for her, and invites Lord Ravenhold to 
 charioteer it. 
 
 " You might ask Mrs. Brandon to show you a bit of the park 
 instead of coming straight here," remarks the squire, but when 
 this suggestion is communicated to Mrs. Brandon, she says- at 
 once that she would much rather go straight to the Hall. What- 
 ever he may feel, Ravenhold dares not show any more temper 
 to-day. He does not pay any particular attention to Vanessa, 
 but seems rather by way of making himself agreeable to Edith, 
 who receives his attentions in a friendly and. as far as he is con- 
 cerned, heart-whole manner. Between him and Mab there is a 
 certain antagonism he is afraid of her sharp eyes, and she 
 wishes him to know that she is watching him and quite aware 
 of his sentiments. 
 
 Three or four days pass in unbroken harmony not once haa 
 Ravenliold betrayed any petulance to Mrs Brandon nor atr 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. ^ 
 
 to make love to her. It may be that his eyes hav said 
 volumes when lie lias imagined, himself unobserved by the rest 
 of the party, but his voice has been respectful, deferential, 
 courteously friendly. Vanessa likes him better than at one 
 time she thought it possible he is certainly very pleasing to 
 look upon, and it is impossible to feel dull or bored in his com- 
 pany. 
 
 One day her husband says to her, smiling: 
 
 "I can quite understand people thinking it good-natured to 
 warn you against Ravenhold. He is a very good-looking fellow, 
 and has a most taking manner." 
 
 * Do you think so?" returns Vanessa, carelessly. " I do not 
 see anything particularly taking in him." 
 
 And then she experiences a sudden shock at her heart as she 
 realizes that she has spoken untruthfully, insincerely. Why 
 has she done so ? For the life of her she could not tell. 
 
 'I have heard," says Brandon, who is no more capable of 
 doubting her than of uttering a lie himself, ''that very hand- 
 some people seldom produce much effect upon each other, A 
 law of nature, I suppose." 
 
 4 'Perhaps," replies Vanessa, and changes the subject. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold has been eight days at the Hall; on. the ninth 
 he is to leave it Sir Bertram has ordered a picnic for his last 
 afternoon. The party consists of six persons Sir Thomas and 
 Mab, Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, Lord Ravenhold and the squire. 
 
 A late luncheon has been consumed the party have divided 
 into pairs, of which it is not unnatural that Ravenhold and 
 Vanessa should make one. They have strolled into the lovely 
 woods where the shade is so grateful this hot day, and they have 
 found a tree with a rude carved seat beneath it, and there they 
 rest from their labors and are thankful. Conversation is a trifla 
 desultory, but they have arrived at that pitch of familiar friend- 
 ship whose surest sign is that neither finds it embarrassing or 
 impolite to say nothing if he has nothing to say. Ravenhold's 
 occasional silences, however, are not, in truth, the result of 
 his not having anything to say, but of his not daring to say 
 it. Vanessa feels languid from the heat and a shade depressed 
 besides. 
 
 " This time to-morrow," says Ravenhold, after a longer pause 
 than usual, " I shall be in the train, getting further and further 
 away from you every moment, thinking that this must have 
 been the happiest hour of my life and ready to give everything 
 I possess in the world to have it come over again." 
 
 "Shall you ?" utters Vanessa. "One often thinks afterward 
 that one was much happier than one really was." 
 
 "Yes," he answers, in a low voice. "After all, God knows 
 that if what I feel now is happiness, it is scarcely a sensation to 
 desire very ardently." 
 
 She glances up at him and swiftly away again. Something 
 she reads in his eyes disturbs her-^-a little nutter crosses her 
 heart she has not been afraid to be with him before, because he 
 has not betrayed any feeling that need shock or alarm her; bufc 
 now she wishes that she had not come here alone with him 
 
10 7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Bhe has a terrified consciousness that he is n>^.'? to say soioe 
 ihing which he ouglit not to say and she ought i.ot to hear. 
 
 " Shall you see Mrs. Fane soon':" she asks, quickly, just for 
 the sake of saying something. But he does itot answer her. 
 Then, perforce, she looks at him again^ compelled by some mag- 
 netic power. He is very pale his eyes have dark streaks under 
 them his lips are quivering. 
 *' Let us go." she say.,, rising hurriedly. 
 
 41 No," and he lays a detaining hand on her arm. " Not yet 
 not just yet/' 
 
 She sinks hack again on the seat, half afraid to contradict 
 him. There is another silence, which is horribly painful and 
 embarrassing to Vanessa. Ravenhold breaks it presently. 
 
 " How you must laugh," he says, in a low, husky voice, 
 " when you think over the warnings my people and other friends 
 were so kind as to give you! It is a pity, isn't it, that they 
 never thought of warning me instead ? They might have done 
 BO, because I am not so fortunate as you in having a talisman 
 that makes me impervious to feeling." 
 
 "I do not understand you," she answers, pale as death, and 
 with a sick feeling of terror at her heart. 
 
 " Yes," he says, never removing his eyes from her 4< you do. 
 You know that I am madly in love with you that I am suffer- 
 ing torments at the thought of parting from you that the idea 
 of life without you is hateful and monstrous to me." 
 
 Vanessa sits as if chained to the spot. A ^sense of horror and 
 guilt creeps over her, as if by listening to him she is committing 
 a crime: she is afraid to start up and break away from him, be- 
 cause instinct tells her that he would detain her by main force 
 until he had had his say. 
 
 41 My God!" he cried, passionately, " when I think how per- 
 versely things happen! Why did they not ask me here this time 
 last year, and then you would have loved me instead of him? 
 You would!" vehemently, as though she had contradicted him= 
 *' You must have done it \vould have been fifty times more 
 natural. And then I should have been the happiest man alive, 
 and I would have made you the happiest woman." 
 
 44 Y T ou would not!" cries Vanessa, almost violently. " I never, 
 
 never could have cared for any one as I do for my husband; he 
 
 will always be more to me than ail the other men in the world." 
 
 44 Are you quite sure of that':" says Ravenhold, catching her 
 
 hand. She drags it from him and starts up. 
 
 ' Quite sure. How dare you say these things to me! I am 
 glad and thankful that you are going to-morrow, and I will 
 never speak to you again as long as I live." 
 
 She Hies over the turf he has to take tolerably long strides to 
 keep up with her; he dares not -touch her he tries to stammer a 
 few propitiatory words. 
 
 In the distance they suddenly see a solitary figure approach- 
 ing them. It is Sir Bertram. Vanessa slackens her pace and 
 endeavors to assume an indifferent manner as he comes up. 
 But he marks well their white faces and their unnatural ; J.. % and 
 says with a diabolical smile: 
 
' .f*Vjff LIVED AND LC\ i$\ 
 
 " Rave you young people lost all count of time? We nave boon, 
 waiting- twenty minutes for you. Wluit a ihin.^ it is to be 
 young r 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ALL through the long night Vanessa lies broad awake. She is 
 bitterly indignant against Lord Raveiihold. How dared he 
 speak so to her! She felt it a sort of disgrace to have listened 
 to such words. She had never been hard upon those fashionable 
 women who allowed men to make love to them because they, 
 she thought, were not married to men they loved; but she had 
 looked upon herself as immeasurably superior to them. She 
 had not imagined that any man would dare to speak to her in 
 earnest about love. How glad she was that he was going away, 
 but in any case, she would not have seen or spoken to him. 
 again. 
 
 Weary of lying awake, she got up softly and looked out of 
 her window. There were red streaks across the pale sky the 
 trees and the old ehurcii tower stood out dark and clear against 
 it. After awhile she turned away. Her eyes fell on her hus- 
 band's placid face as he lay sleeping what a kind, good, honest 
 face it was! how different from that passionate, distorted one, 
 however handsome, which had frightened and made her angry 
 to-day I A sudden impulse seized Vanessa to wake him; to tell 
 him everything, and to hear him exonerate her from any wrong- 
 doing or even imprudence in having been alone with Ravenhotd 
 and compelled to listen to his passion. But few people are cruel 
 enough deliberately to rouse a fellow creature from his blest ob- 
 livion at day-dawn unless there is a train to be caught, and 
 Vanessa was not one of the few. She did, it is true, move about 
 the room less quietly than she might have done, in the hope that 
 he would unclose his eyes without' her actually disturbing him, 
 and then, most certainly, she would have poured out all her 
 heart to him. But he was sleeping the sleep of the 'just, and 
 nothing short of a vigorous shaking would have awakened him. 
 
 When, at last, Vanessa fell asleep, she slept heavily, so heavily 
 that neither her husband nor Susan thought fit to disturb her in 
 the morning. It was half -past nine when she unclosed her 
 eyes, still with a sense of drowsiness and unaccountable malaise, 
 What ailed her? She looked at the clock. Half-past nine! why, 
 they must have finished breakfast How was it that no one 
 called her? 
 
 At this moment the handle turned softly, and her husband 
 came in. 
 
 "What has happened, Johnnie?" she cries, rubbing her eyes, 
 " Why was I not called ''" 
 
 *' You were in such a sound sleep, my child, that we had not 
 the heart to wake you. Susan and I looked at you and con- 
 sulted, arid then we decided to leave you alone." 
 
 '* I remember now," says Vanessa. " I was awake all Bight. 
 It was broad daylight before I went to sleep." 
 
 "Why, how was that?" exclaims Brandon. And then, b*a 
 
133 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 practical mind searching for a probable cause, "Did you eafc 
 anything that disagreed with you last night V 
 
 Vanessa laughs. 
 
 " No it was the heat, I suppose." 
 
 " Ravenhold has just been here," says Brandon, sitting down 
 
 on the edge of the bed. * * He was on his way to L , and seemed 
 
 dreadfully disappointed not to be able to wish you good-bye. I 
 am afraid," smiling, "he is another victim of yours." 
 
 " Really!" utters Vanessa, in an indifferent tone. She has no 
 manner of inclination to make any 'confidences to her husband 
 this morning on the subject of Lord Ravenhold. But what c.in 
 be said by a woman in the night, or at day-dawn, pillowed on 
 her beloved's heart, is one thing the garish light of morning 
 has the effect of shutting up her confiding inclinations. 
 
 Whilst she dresses, whilst she gathers roses in the garden, 
 whilst she hangs on her husband's shoulder as he reads the 
 paper, Vanessa is repeatedly telling herself how rejoiced she is 
 that Ravenhold is gone. She will walk up to the Hall in the 
 afternoon and see the Vaughans how pleasant it will be with- 
 out him! But when she is there, it seems unaccountably tame 
 and flat the flavor is gone out of everything there is no doubt 
 he was excellent company and very good to look at. 
 
 " How dull it is without Lord Ravenhold!" Edith says. "I 
 miss him tremendously. Do not you ?" 
 
 " No," answers Vanessa, and is irritated \vith herself for tell- 
 ing what she knows to be a falsehood. 
 
 " And yet," observes Edith, " you and he seemed great friends. 
 It was certainly you whom he came here to see." 
 
 " Where are Mab and Sir Thomas?" asks Vanessa, not caring 
 to pursue the conversation. 
 
 " I caught a glimpse of them a few minutes ago. It is very 
 amusing to see her with him. is it not ?" 
 
 "Yes." replies Vanessa, thoughtfully. "But, Edie, I think 
 he is too old for her. Some day she will perhaps be disappointed 
 in him, and feel that she ought to have married a younger man." 
 
 " Oh," says Edith, "'Mab has no heart: she is not like you or 
 me. He will give her everything she wants. I don't think she 
 wants love." 
 
 " It must be a bad thing to want and not to have," remarks 
 Vanessa, with a profound sigh. 
 
 When Sir Bertram sees her, he says, pleasantly: 
 
 " What a loss Ravenhold is! I never missed any one so much. 
 He was the life and soul of us all. What a cheery, handsome 
 fellow he is! Devilish handsome, upon my word! I wonder he 
 has not been snapped up long ago. Do you not agree with me ?" 
 For Vanessa had listened unresponsive. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answers, indifferently. 
 
 Sir Bertram smiles. He knows that, if she really felt in- 
 different, she would feign a litt'e enthusiasm out of simple 
 politeness. 
 
 Two days pass two long, heavy, leaden .days, which drag 
 their length along. Vanessa looks fifty times at the clock, and 
 thinks continually that the hands must have stopped. Country 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. .Jl 
 
 life is very dull and monotonous certainly, and there are v ^ 
 three whole weeks to be got through before tiuy \v,il return t-5 
 town. Vanessa takes to thinking. She sits for long hours with 
 idle hands, lost in reverie. She hies her way to an adjacent 
 wood, where the thick foliage shuts out the sun, and sits there 
 deep in thought and heaving unconsciously profound sighs. 
 Sometimes she weeps passionately. What has come to her? 
 
 She has lost all rancor against Lord Ravenhold; she recalls 
 that scene in the wood with something of longing; after all, 
 there was excitement in it it was better than this terrible 
 stagnation. She likes now almost to remember the passion and 
 pain of his handsome face and his violent words and manner 
 words that made little impression upon her then are burnt into 
 her heart now. 
 
 " Why did not they ask me here last year, and then you 
 would have loved me instead of him ? It would have been fifty 
 times more natural. And then I should have been the happiest 
 man alive, and I would have made you the happiest woman." 
 
 Would it have been eo? At all events, they would have beer- 
 young together and Vanessa says to herself there is no doiu 
 that people ought to be young when they marry. She adoi? 
 her husband he is the best, kindest creature in the world, 
 his day of passion and strong feeling is over; he only wants to 
 lead a comfortable, easy, placid life, and that does not satisfy 
 her she feels as though her heart were intombed alive. 
 
 The days creep by her reveries continue she grows hollow- 
 eyed, and instead of the country air bringing fresh roses to her 
 cheek it seems to make her more pale. She has indulged her 
 reveries, has wept her bitter tears, and in all that has never be- 
 lieved herself guilty of a shadow of treason toward her hus- 
 band. 
 
 One day Edith says to her: 
 
 " I have something for you. I had a letter from Gerard 
 Ravenhold to-day, and he inclosed one for you." 
 
 Vanessa feels her heart beat to suffocation; it frightens her. 
 
 " This is what he says to me," pursues Edith, reading a pas- 
 sage from her letter: " * Will you give the inclosed to Mrs. Bran- 
 don privately ? It concerns a mutual friend of hers and mine. I 
 wish her to know it, but not any one else, unless of course she 
 feels disposed to tell Mr. Brandon. But that she will exercisa 
 her own discretion about.' " 
 
 In spite of a severe effort, Vanessa's hand trembles as she 
 takes the letter directed to herself, Edith looks at her a little 
 inquisitively, and feels disappointed when Vanessa puts it un 
 opened into her pocket. If it had been Mab she would have 
 asked point blank what it was about, but Edith is reticent, 
 
 Vanessa does not attempt to open the letter until she is at 
 home locked in her own room. Then she read : 
 
 " For God's sake forgive me! You would if you knew what I 
 have suffered and am suffering. Some day perhaps you may 
 know what it is to be as I am utterly hopeless and heart-broken 
 Then you will feel for me. For pity's sake think better of your 
 cruel resolve never to see me again!" 
 
184 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 When Vanessa lias read this, an awful, death-like chill creep* 
 through her heart. This letter has brought a revelation to her. 
 It is as though some voice were crying aloud in her ear she 
 ^uts up both hands to shut it out. Then, with a violent gesture, 
 he tears the paper across and across and flings it into the grate. 
 Not content with that, she lights a match and burns every 
 morsel. Would to God she could burn the memory with the 
 writing! But she has a faithful and courageous heart she is 
 not one of those who * let themselves go" she fights bravely, 
 and in time comes to think that she has conquered. From this 
 moment she changes her mode of life. No more solitary ram- 
 bles, no more reveries in the wood; if she can help it, she will 
 not be alone. She reads, walks, works with a sort of fury she 
 4reads idleness and its consequences as much as Mr. Watts did. 
 Ahe persuades her husband to take long rides and walks with 
 her she goes up every day to the Hall and plays lawn-tennis or 
 croquet. Edith finds her less sympathetic than formerly; she 
 does not seem inclined to talk about love indeed, she rather 
 affects the younger sister's company, and laughs when Mab de- 
 rides the tender passion. 
 
 John Brandon, utterly confident and unsuspicious, is de- 
 lighted at the improvement in her spirits the country has, after 
 all, done her the good he expected it w r ould; he does not remark 
 that she has a harassed, restless air, and seems incapable of be- 
 ing quiet he only sees that she is very cheerful and busy and in 
 excellent spirits. She never throws herself on his breast in a 
 flood of tears now moonlight nights seem no longer to have 
 the effect on her that they had a month ago; instead of being 
 sentimental, she is full of vivacity. He does not know that 
 sometimes, when he is sleeping soundly, she steals away into the 
 next room, and, shutting the door behind her, throws open the 
 windows, and, leaning her arms on the sill, with her face buried 
 in them, cries out the passion and grief of her heart. By morn- 
 ing the traces of her tears are gone he sees nothing, suspects 
 nothing. If once and again a mad desire takes her to confess 
 her feelings to him to say to him, "Be what you were last 
 year: heap love and caresses upon me so that you shut out all 
 other thoughts from my heart: it is not his love I want, but 
 'ours only love I must have," she does not act on the impulse, 
 and he does not suspect it. Vanessa is glad w r hen the timt 
 comes to go back to London. She leaves her father and Susan 
 with regret, but country life has grown intolerable to her there 
 t-s too much time to think. 
 
 She goes shopping; she occupies herself with decorating and 
 beautifying her house; she furnishes a boudoir for herself; she 
 sings and plays; she reads hundreds of books. She often makes 
 her husband take her to the play, but when the piece treats 
 much of love, it gives her the heartache. She feels more than 
 ever the want of air. and takes long walks send drives. When 
 she passes the deserted Row, she thinks with a sort of pang of 
 the past season, and a vague terror and wonder seizes her as to 
 tvhat will happen next year. 
 
 One wet afternoon. of late October she is sitting in draw* 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 135 
 
 ing-room her boudoir is not yet finished c --ie has not even 
 heard the bell, when, suddenly, the door opens and Lord Raven- 
 hold is announced. Her heart stands still she starts up, first 
 hot, then cold. .But he conies forward smiling, unembarrassed, 
 as though he had never said violent and passionate words to 
 her; as though he had never written to her about his broken 
 heart. On the contrary, he is cheery and debonair, tells her of 
 his doings, his amusements, his sport; has little stories of people 
 whom she knows, and talks generally in a gay and heart- whole 
 strain. And next month, he tells her, he is going to India to 
 shoot big game. 
 
 An unacknowledged sense of disappointment, of mortification, 
 steals to Vanessa's heart, whilst, all the time, she is trying to tell 
 herself how glad she is that he has forgotten his fancy and that 
 he is inclined to be friendly with her nothing more. She has a 
 bitter thought, too, about the value of a passion like his lord- 
 ship's. Whilst he is still with her, Brandon comes in, greete 
 him cordially, and asks him to dine. He accepts with evident 
 pleasure^ During the next fortnight he is constantly with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Brandon he dines with them and they with him they 
 go frequently to the play together, Vanessa finds his company 
 delightful; his manner is charming; he is full of spirits and fun 
 he seems to take almost as much pleasure in her husband's 
 company as in hers. 
 
 She wonders sometimes if she dreamed that scene in the wood. 
 Then she says to herself that, being away from Lady Mildred, 
 he wanted to play at making love to some one, and tried to keep 
 his hand in with her. It was fortunate for her that she was riot 
 impressionable, and that she was devoted to her husband. But 
 there were moments, even now, when she was not quite sure 
 what his feelings for her, or hers for him, really were. 
 
 He touched her hand by accident or design; his eyes met hers, 
 and then her heart would become like wax before a flame, and 
 afterward she would be angry with herself and with him. 
 
 The time for his departure drew nigh; it only wanted two days 
 of it. Vanessa told herself that she was glad he was going; the 
 last fortnight had been delightful, but she had a misgiving 
 whether it had been very good for her. Truth was, the time 
 spent in his company was too happy, while the hours away 
 fr.om him were too long and dull, and she could not settle to 
 anything. . 
 
 The dusk was creeping on. Vanessa was sitting with idle, 
 listlesi hands, looking at the little spurts of flame in the fire, 
 when Lord Ravenhold was announced. She had not expected 
 kirn. 
 
 " I am so glad you came," she says, rising and smiling, as she 
 put her hand into his. "I was feeling rather bored. Tell me 
 something amusing." 
 
 " 1 have con>e to tell you something," he answers, and, in a 
 moment, she *e there is an unusual constraint in his voice 
 and manaer. " I don't know whether you will final it amus- 
 ing." 
 
136 T HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Vanessa grows pale; an uneasy sensation creeps through ha* 
 heart, she shivers ever so little. 
 
 Raven hold takes a chair near hers. 
 
 " I have thrown up my part," he says, looking hard at her. 
 " Did you know that I had been acting all this time "?' 
 
 Vanessa's eyes fall before his; she tries to think of something 
 to say to avert the catastrophe which she feels to be impending. 
 But no inspiration comes to her. 
 
 *' We have been playing at being friends," he goes on, " and 1 
 is a farce, at all events, as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " Why should we not be friends?" asks Vanessa, speaking very 
 fast, " it has been so pleasant." 
 
 "Has it:'' he echoes. " I give you my word of honor it lias 
 not been pleasant to me. I have been on the point of breaking 
 out fifty times. It was all a deception from the first. I only 
 made a pretense of friendliness because I was afraid of you; 
 because I thought you would keep your word and show me the 
 door if I ventured to betray my real feelings." 
 
 His face is white; the firelight shows the emotion that is 
 working in it. 
 
 " Please do not talk so, Lord Ravenhold," says Vanessa, trying 
 to speak coldly. " You know it is useless, and much worse than 
 useless, wrong. Do not let us quarrel just as you are going 
 away." 
 
 " I would not have spoken," he says, in a low voice, of which 
 she catches the tremor, " if I had not known, in spite of what 
 you say, that you care for me. Oh, darling " 
 
 He tries to take her hand, but she pushes her chair back 
 sharply and rises to her feet. He rises too. 
 
 ' Do not touch me!" she cries, in a smothered voice. " If you 
 come a step nearer, I will leave you!" 
 
 He stands looking at her, full of fierce emotions of love and 
 anger. 
 
 1 " Why do you keep up this pretense ?" he cries, passionately. 
 " You know that we love each other. I have read it in your 
 eyes a hundred times. I ask nothing of you I hope nothing 
 from you only confess it once; let me hear it from your own 
 lips, and I shall go away happy." 
 
 Vanessa is terrified at his words; at her own feelings shs 
 takes refuge in anger. 
 
 " How dare you say such things to me!" she cries. " And it is 
 quite false. I care for no one but my husband. And you pre- 
 tend to be his friend! Have you no sense of honor ?" 
 
 "Can I help itr 1 " he says, fiercely. "I wish to God I had 
 never set eyes on you. My life has been a curse to me ever 
 since I have known you." 
 
 " It shall be a curse no more,'' she answers. " I said 
 before I would never see nor speak to you again. This time I 
 mean it." 
 
 And before he can guess her intention, she flies to a book-stand 
 and brings out a Bible. 
 
 " There!** she cries, panting and trembling as slie puts her lips 
 to it, " I 5^*. ear 011 this that I will never willingly speak to 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 137 
 
 you again, and that I will never be alone \\Il.li you from this 
 moment. " 
 
 It is positive fear that impels her to this violent step a dread- 
 ful doubt of herself that assails her and makes her mitarust 
 her own strength. 
 
 " Now," she cries, " go." 
 
 There is something so majestic, so grand- in her air, that 
 Kavenhold has no choice but to obey her. 
 
 " Will you not at least bid me good-bye ?" he says, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 " No!" she cries, and puts both hers behind her back. 
 
 "Ah!" he says, bitterly. " Some day you will think of this. 
 Some day when you know what it is you will not be so hard 
 when you are tortured like I am, then, perhaps, you will be 
 sorry!" 
 
 He stands a moment waiting for her to repent; but she only 
 *ets her teeth harder together and makes another imperious 
 gesture. 
 
 So he goes, and when she hears the door close upon him, she 
 files up-stairs to her room and throws herself on the floor with 
 cries and sobs. And all that night and the next day and the day 
 after, until she knows he is gone, she is tormented by a mad 
 desire to write to him or go to him. and put her hand in his and 
 Bay: 
 
 *' Forgive me. Good-bye, and God bless yon!" 
 
 But she conquers it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 GREAT catastrophes do not generally ^ take long to happen. 
 One moment we are smiling and happy, the next our hearts are 
 broken; one moment we are in the flush of health, the next we 
 are crushed and maimed beyond recognition. 
 
 John Brandon was hurrying home to his wife. He had got 
 away earlier than he expected from business, and was pleasing 
 himself with the thought of giving her an agreeable surprise. 
 Just as the hansom was within a few yards of his own house, 
 the door opened hastily and a man ran down the steps. It was 
 Lord Ravenhold. Brandon was about to call to him when, by 
 the light of the gas-lamp, he saw the white excited look on the 
 young man's face. Instantly it struck him that he had been de- 
 claring his passion to his wife. As yet, however, no misgiving 
 crossed his brain his confidence in Vanessa was unbounded; 
 indeed, he felt half disposed to be sorry for the lad. 
 
 He went up-stairs into the drawing-room. It was empty, and 
 the door stood open; he looked into the unfinished boudoir, but 
 all was darkness. Then he went up to her room by way of his 
 dressing-room . His hand was on the door when a sound from 
 within made him pause. He listened. Again and again there 
 came convulsive sobs and cries smothered but heart-breaking. 
 Then, suddenly, as he stood there, the truth flashed upon him; 
 the awful, bitter truth. She loved Ravenhold. Softly, lest she 
 should hear him, he went and sat down in a chair and leaned his 
 
158 1 HAVE LIVED AND LVVKu, 
 
 head against the back of it and clasped his hands tight together 
 What a blind fool he had been these last thirteen months, to 
 think that the love of a common-place, middle-aged man waa 
 enough to satisfy a beautiful young worn .in just entering upon 
 life! lie remembered now all his misgivings before he married 
 her; his conviction that when she saw young handsome men she 
 would feel that he had taken an unfair advantage of her igno- 
 rance of the world. He recalled her fits of crying, her change- 
 ful moods; he understood them now; they were the outcome of 
 her disappointment, the evidence of an unsatisfied heart. If he 
 had read them earlier, if instead of his blind foolish confidence 
 in hi r:!. self and in her love, he had looked for the cause and 
 grasped it, might things have gone differently ? 
 
 He did not blame her, no jealous rage against Ravenhold 
 rushed into his heart He felt nothing but an immense pity for 
 them, an immense regret that he stood between his beloved and 
 happiness. He knew now how right his first impulse had been 
 to wait until she had had the opportunity of seeing other men. 
 and how wrongly he had done afterward in snatching at his hap- 
 piness for fear it should evade him. Thirteen months of bliss, 
 and 011! at this moment how far more he prized it, how far 
 dearer it seemed to him, than it had done whilst it was his! 
 And now it was gone. He could never be happy again; remorse 
 would always stand between him and her; he would always 
 suspect, however kind and affectionate she might be to him, 
 that her heart was with that other. He had perfect confidence 
 in her outward fidelity; he did not for one instant doubt but 
 that she had repulsed any overtures Ravenhold had made; hi* 
 face bore token to his suffering and disappointment. At this 
 moment another stifled sob struck on Brandon's ear. It pierced 
 his very soul; he shut his ears not to hear, and then an impulse 
 seized him to go to her, to gather her to his aching heart and to 
 comfort her. If he had done so, how well it would have been 
 for both! If Vanessa could have known that he was there, 
 broken-hearted and guessing all, she might have gone to him; 
 have laid her head on his faithful breast and forgotten Raven- 
 hold. But Fate arranges matters her own way and stands and 
 jeers at our helplessness and blindness the while, most of all at 
 our delusion in thinking we are free agents. 
 
 After a time, Brandon went down into his own room and took 
 a book, that he might pretend to be reading if any one should 
 enter. 
 
 And there, Vanessa, with a smiling face and shining eyes, fol- 
 lowed by her pug, finds him. The dog jumps on him and makes 
 much of him, and his mistress says in a gay tone: 
 
 " Why, Johnnie, have you come in and never been to see 
 me?" and she stoops and kisses the top of his head. 
 
 44 1 went into the drawing-room," he answers, '* but you were 
 not there." 
 
 He cannot meet her eyes; he has a guilty feeling as if he had 
 gained possession of her secret by unfair means. 
 
 All that evening he remark* that her manner is unnatural and 
 constrained- that sh Affects extreme gayety and liveliness; 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 139 
 
 6ut, if his sense of observation had not beeji quickened by his 
 knowledge, he would ha've noticed nothing forced in her manner 
 And would have imagined her to be in the best of spirits. Va- 
 nessa was so taken up with playing her own part that she did 
 not perceive how sad and depressed her husband was, and 
 that he was making an immense effort to talk. It might 
 fcave struck her as odd that he did not once mention Lord 
 jRavenhold, who was rather a favorite topic with him, but she 
 was only too thankful at not being called upon to utter his 
 name. 
 
 The next day it did certainly occur to her to wonder how 
 riie could account to him for Lord Ravenhold not coming to 
 bid her good-bye, but shfe was relieved from this difficulty by a 
 note which Brandon handed her when he came home in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 " Here is a note from Ravenhold/' he said, in a matter-of-fact 
 tone, and then went out of the room. 
 
 Vanessa read: 
 
 '* DEAR BRANDON, I hope you and Mrs. Brandon will not 
 think me very rude for not coming to wish you good-bye and to 
 thank you for all your kindness and hospitality. I am suddenly 
 called away, and shall not be in town again before I start. Once 
 more, many thanks. Please make my excuses to Mrs. Brandon. 
 If I am lucky enough to kill a tiger, I will send her the skin. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " RAVENHOLD." 
 
 Vanessa read it twice. How dry and cold it seemed! What 
 men write (to a woman's mind) very often counterbalances what 
 they say. She goes to the window and presses her forehead 
 against the pane, and clinches her teeth and her hands to keep 
 the tears back. He is going away he will amuse himself he 
 will forget it is always the woman's doom to stay behind and 
 think. To think! oh, cruel pain! to act! blessed anodyne! Men 
 act and women think. 
 
 The months pass. Husband and wife both suffer in silence, 
 whilst outwardly their manner to each other undergoes no 
 change, except that, perhaps, there is even a greater show of 
 kindness and affection between them. Brandon suffers the 
 most, because he suffers for her as well as for himself he is 
 constantly trying to read her thoughts he is afraid of caressing 
 her for fear lie should repel and disgust her, however well she 
 may appear to receive his affection. But there he is wrong. 
 She is still devoted to him, in a different way from formerly; his 
 kindness and affection comfort and soothe her. She forbids her- 
 self to cherish thoughts of Ravenhold what she suffers is that 
 immense void which the absence of the being who has called 
 forth the deepest feeling of our lives creates. It is the weariness 
 vrhich comes from the quiet routine of domestic life when the 
 mental palate has been stimulated by unnatural food by ex- 
 citement and strong emotions. Fashionable women, when at- 
 tacked by pangs of the heart, plunge into a vortex of so-called 
 fc'jyi-tv f o irown them, with what success eacii or>* knowB who 
 
140 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 comes home jaded and weary in body but suffering none the less 
 keenly in mind. Vanessa longed to take refuge in society from 
 the monotony of her life, but, just at this season, very few of 
 her friends were in town, and there was little going on. 
 
 In December, Mrs. Fane came to Grosvenor Place, and the two 
 ladies saw a good deal of each other as long as she remained. 
 One wet afternoon, they were silting over the boudoir fire. 
 Mrs. Fane had given orders that no one was to be admitted. 
 
 " I am quite sure there is not a creature in town I want to 
 gee," she says, laughing. " So there is no chance of the usual 
 retribution falling upon me of the very person being sent away 
 whom I most want to see. It is such a bore having lost Pere- 
 grine. He used, by some marvelous intuition, to know exactly 
 who the people were I wished to see and when I did not want to 
 be disturbed. I never remember his making a mistake. This 
 man is utterly unimaginative, and only does just what he is told 
 to the very letter. He has no idea that there could be any ex- 
 ceptions to my * not at home,' and I cannot very well give him a 
 list. Then there would be complications, because certain people 
 might be on the list whom I wanted to see separately but not to- 
 gether. Peregrine understood it all. Why will your favorite 
 butler always marry your favorite maid and leave you to set up 
 a lodging house ? I suppose none of us know when we are well 
 off." 
 
 And the little lady sighs. 
 
 "Now, my dear," she continues, "we will enjoy ourselves. 
 We will have tea and be cozy if we have anything to say we 
 will talk, and if not, we will be silent. What a comfort it is 
 when two people get beyond company manners and are no 
 longer afraid of a pause in the conversation!" 
 
 So they chat and drink their tea the room is charmingly half 
 lighted in a^manner inviting to reverie beautiful green and blue 
 lights are burning fitfully in a log of old ship wood on the fire, 
 and presently the pair relapse into silence. 
 
 Men are wrong who assert that there is never any genuine 
 friendship between women. I doubt if two men ever feel so 
 happy and contented in each other's society as two women do 
 who are really congenial to and fond of each other. Of course 
 the disturbing element which men hold to be inevitable may 
 creep in, but many women prize the friendship of one of their 
 own sex too highly to sacrifice it to vanity or a passing caprice. 
 
 Where are Vanessa's thoughts and where Hermione's ? Look- 
 ing hard at them, one may read in their faces that something in 
 each heart goes to mar that outward personal bien-etre which 
 the charm of their surroundings gives them. 
 
 There has been a silence of considerable duration: then Mrs. 
 Fane, glancing across at Vanessa, says: 
 
 " What a happy woman you are! I don't suppose you have 
 even that one traditional crumpled rose-leaf to disturb your 
 comfort!" 
 
 Vanessa looks up and smiles. If Hermione were not rooted in 
 ker conviction of Mrs. Brandon's well-being, she might per- 
 
T~HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 141 
 
 ceive that the smile is not altogether that of a serenely happy 
 woman. 
 
 " I am not a sentimental person," pursues Hermione; " indeed, 
 most people say that I have not an atom of heart, but I am quite 
 sure," with conviction, "that the only thing which can make 
 one happy is love. I don't mean what most people understand 
 by the word; I mean a good, pure, wholesome, lasting love. 
 Oh, Nessa!" and the little lady's eyes fill with tears, " if I had 
 had your chances, what a different woman I should have been!" 
 
 She does not read the trouble in Vanessa's eyes, nor guess in 
 the remotest manner that she has stabbed her friend, 
 
 " I dare say," she goes on, looking into the fire and with a cer- 
 tain tremulousness in her voice " I dare say you think I am a 
 heartless little butterfly, bent solely on amusing myself; you 
 have heard me jeer at love and domestic bliss; I have pretended 
 to laugh at you sometimes. It is because," with a little sob, " I 
 don't want the world to know the truth. I should hate people, 
 most people, to think that I suffer. I like them to envy me; 
 when your friends pity you, they always despise you a little at 
 the same time. But I don't mind you," and Hermione leaves 
 her chair and comes and sits on the rug at Vanessa's feet. 
 
 Vanessa stoops and kisses her bright hair. 
 
 " And I always thought you were the happiest woman in the 
 world," she says. 
 
 " If you knew!" utters Hermione, her lips quivering. " Bttt," 
 with something of her usual vivacity, " after all, one of the 
 greatest consolations in life is that you can take people in ; that 
 you can make them envy you and think you tremendously 
 happy, when all the time you are eating your heart out. How 
 delighted they would be if they knew! How they would grin 
 and chuckle! It is a very horrid trait in human nature, that 
 being so awfully pleased when our friends come to grief, or are 
 disappointed and mortified." 
 
 "On, my dear," interrupts Vanessa, "how can you think so 
 badly of human nature ?" 
 
 "It is gospel truth," replies Mrs. Fane, gravely; "that is, of 
 society's human nature; nothing is so delightful to people as 
 their friend's misfortune. They seem somehow to think that 
 your moral and social failures do them good and help them on. 
 If you break your leg, or have a dreadful illness, perhaps they 
 may be sorry /unless they want you kept out of the way;- but if 
 you lose your money or your reputation, or suffer some great 
 social disappointment, they rejoice. Oh, yes, my dear, they do. 
 I have known the feeling myself, although I am bound to say I 
 had the decency to be ashamed of it, and to pretend that I was 
 very sorry. There was a time," half laughing, half serious, 
 " when I envied you so much that I believe it would have done 
 me good to hear that Mr. Brandon beat you and swore at you in 
 private, or that you were secretly in love with some other man. 
 But now," pressing Vanessa's hand affectionately, " I am so fond 
 of you that I rejoice at your happiness and don't envy it a bit, 
 though I should like to share it." 
 
 Vanessa makes a great effort to stifle the sigh which oppresses 
 
148 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 her heart, to keep back the tears that tremble? on her eyelids 
 Hermione is not looking at her, but into the fitful-colored flame. 
 
 " What pleasure is there in rushing about from place to place 
 after excitement," she pursues, *' in dancing and flirting and 
 spending heaps of money in trying to amuse one's self and fail- 
 ing utterly to do it, when you know there is only one tiling in 
 thQ world that could make you happy ? If I had a man whom I 
 dared to love, who loved me better than any one in the world, I 
 would give up all the rest to-morrow. If I could lay my head 
 on his heart and feel his hand clasp mine, and tell him every 
 thought that came into my heart just as it came, and know that 
 he sympathized with it and loved everything I said and did be- 
 cause I said and did it, I would give up riches, and society, and 
 vanity to-morrow. I mean if I could do it lawfully. The other 
 thing isn't worth having; it is a torment, an uncertainty, an 
 agonizing dread, a few hours of madness and the remorse of all 
 your life. I could never be such a fool as to do wrong. I can 
 conjecture too well what it feels like afterward." 
 
 Vanessa listens, and finds no word to answer. Then Hermione 
 lifts her eyes to her friend's face and says, in a broken voice: 
 
 " Oh, my dear, if you knew how bad it is to have a husband 
 who hates and curses you, who, you know, would rejoice if you 
 died, or if misfortune befell you." 
 
 " Hush, dear,'' interrupts Vanessa, stroking her hair " do not 
 talk like that! Every one knows that if your husband does not 
 appreciate you, it is his own fault." 
 
 " Ah!" says Hermione, with tears raining down her face, " that 
 does not take the sting away. If twenty men would give their 
 lives for me to-morrow: if a hundred thought I was the best and 
 nicest woman in the world, it would not make it one whit less 
 bitter to me that the one who ought to love and care for me hates 
 me. Why should he ? I feel it and resent it every time I think 
 of it. He may be a lout, and haVe low tastes, but, all the same, 
 I feel it a disgrace to be hated by him. Ah, if you knew what 
 it is to me sometimes to think that I am living on his money, 
 that he is tied to me and cannot get away from me, though he 
 loathes his chain! It drives me almost mad. I have wild 
 thoughts of going away somewhere, and living on my own mis- 
 erable five hundred a year. You see I have all this " with a wave 
 of her hand ** from, him, but he gets absolutely nothing from 
 me, and it makes me feel mean. I hate and despise him, and 
 vet I cannot help seeing his side of the case. That woman who 
 is his mistress would be his wife if it were not for me his chil- 
 dren would be legitimate, and he would not be living in open 
 sin. She may be a low woman she might perhaps have been a 
 disgrace to the family ; but he loves her, and it is a greater dis- 
 grace as it is." 
 
 * ' But," exclaims Vanessa, anxious to soothe her, "it was nu 
 fault of yours you did not know of it. You thought he waa 
 fond of you; you meant to be a good wife to him." 
 
 " Shall I tell you what I think?" says Hermione, raising her 
 yes to her friend's face with so mournful an expression that 
 BO one would have recognized the gay Mrs. Fane. " Thu Ls 
 
. 1 HAVE LIVED AND L?)VED. 143 
 
 my idea about marriage. I am not very religious. Most people 
 probably imagine that I have not a spark of anything but world- 
 liness in me, but that does not alter the fact. I think that 
 when you mean to marry, you should ask yourself first if you 
 love the man; not if you * think you can just tolerate him, but 
 whether you can love him, whether, if he lost his fortune, or title, 
 or whatever it might be, you could face the world with him, and 
 feel that, no matter what came, if you had each other, you could 
 bear the rest. And then you ought to ask God's blessing on 
 your marriage, and you ought to be able to feel as if He ap- 
 proved of it. When I married, I married simply because I 
 thought the best thing in life was to have lots of money and a 
 good position. I knew I did not love Mr. Fane, although he was 
 not repulsive to me. His touch did not make my flesh creep 
 women do marry men to whom they fee] like that does it not 
 seem too horrible! But I never thought about God in the mat- 
 ter my whole mind was occupied with the idea that I was 
 making a good match, that the settlements were all right, and 
 that I should be able to spend as much money on my dress as I 
 liked. And my punishment has been quite a fair one, I sup- 
 pose," Hermione ends up, thoughtfully. "I asked for money, 
 and freedom, and what the world values. J have got them. I 
 never thought of asking for God's blessing and my husband's 
 love, and I have had to do without them." 
 
 And then silence, a long silence, falls upon the two beautifid 
 women as they sit, hand clasping hand, each intent on her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AGAIN Hermione is the first to break the silence. 
 
 " I cannot help smiling now," she says, " when I think how 
 frightened I was about you and Gerard. Do you remember my 
 little * word in season '? I suppose I shared the popular impres- 
 sion that if a man is young and handsome, and has charming 
 manners, he is dangerous to the peace of mind of every woman 
 he wishes to be dangerous to. But, solemnly, you are the first 
 woman with whom I ever knew him fail." 
 
 And, with this, Hermione looks smilingly up at her friend. 
 She sees a white face, a quivering lip, and humid eyes, and the 
 sight gives her a strange shock. A sudden suspicion crosses her 
 brain. She looks away, and goes on talking quickly. 
 
 4 * One has such ridiculous ideas. As if it mattered two pins 
 what a man is like! I wonder whether he will have good sport. 
 Dear me ! I think men are very happy to have so much freedom 
 and so many things to amuse them. I wish to goodness I could 
 go away to the ends of the earth, and hunt or shoot wild ani- 
 mals, and get some new kind of excitement!" 
 
 " Yes," answers Vanessa, rousing herself to speak cheerfully, 
 " I think men have the best of it." 
 
 "Or women who have to earn their own living," suggests 
 Hermione. * We idle women are immensely to be pitied. And, 
 sometimes, when I am driving, I see poor women staring at 1119 
 
144 J HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 with envious faces, and wondering (I can read in their eyes) why 
 life should be so unfair, and why I should have so much, and 
 they so little. They wouldn't believe me if I were to stop as I 
 feel inclined to sometimes and say. * You think I am happy. 
 You never made a greater mistake in your life. Of the two," I 
 will be bound to say you are a great deal less wretched than I 
 am.' They don't understand the doctrine of compensation; I 
 do." 
 
 "I suspect one is very ungrateful," says Vanessa, sighing. 
 " When one has so many blessings, one ought to be happy." 
 
 " And so we would if we could, my dear." replies Hermione. 
 " I am sure no one is voluntarily unhappy. Even with the 
 people who are most unreasonably discontented, it is not their 
 fault. They have livers, or something wrong with their inter- 
 nal machinery." 
 
 " Your carriage is here, ma'am," announces the butler at this 
 moment to Vanessa. 
 
 " Oh, don't go yet!" pleads Hermione. 
 
 "I think I must," returns Vanessa rising. "My husband 
 will be expecting me." 
 
 'Oh, these devoted wives!" laughs Mrs. Fane; but after Va- 
 nessa is gone she sits ruminating long as to what may have been 
 the interpretation of the emotion in her friend's face, when 
 Ravenhold's name was mentioned. 
 
 All that evening Vanessa is more than usually affectionate 
 and caressing to her husband. He smiles at her; he holds her 
 hand, and returns her kisses. She never dreams that his heart is 
 aching ten times worse than hers; and that he is saying to 
 himself: 
 
 " She does this from a sense of duty. She has been talking of 
 Ravenhold to his sister, and thinking of him, and she looks upon 
 this as a reparation to me for an involuntary wrong. Poor 
 child! God blesses lier! How gladly would I sacrifice myself 
 if I could make her happy!" 
 
 Brandon's heart bleeds inwardly. He is forever thinking of 
 her, and imagining her sufferings to be ten times greater than 
 they are. He looks forward to Ravenhold's return with appre- 
 hension; not because he doubts her for one moment in his loyal 
 heart, but because he sees that it will be an ordeal for her, and 
 that she will be torn in two between love and duty. And, 
 though he loves her more than his life, if he could set her free 
 and give her to the man who could make her happier than he, 
 he would do it. But when two people are lawfully chained to- 
 gether, the rivet can only be broken by dishonor, disgrace, or 
 death. And death is the weapon that Fate chooses to dissolve a 
 union which once was, and which promised always to be, as 
 happy as any she ever permitted. 
 
 In bitter March weather Brandon caught cold, and treated it 
 in the way in which many strong people treat a cold, as a disa- 
 greeable but by no means dangerous disorder. He went about 
 as usual, and then got inflammation of the lungs. 
 
 Once prostrate, once convinced of the seriousness of his state, 
 be made up his mind that he should die. Thsy say, when that 
 
* HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 145 
 
 is the case, a man generally dies, just as when one makes up his 
 mind that he will live, he frequently pulls through. Here wits 
 a way out of the trouble that until now he had never calculated 
 upon. Has any reader ever been so nigh the gates of death aa 
 to look it full in the face, to grasp all the agony of parting from 
 what he loves, of seeing his own vacant place, and tcnowingtli&i 
 those who stand beside him, seemingly broken-hearted, will ere 
 long be laughing again, occupying themselves with bue.in*v;s or 
 pleasure, and that in time he will be quite forgotten ? Has he 
 suffered a yet more cruel pang ? Has he seen in fancy that dear 
 form which he has loved better than his own soul given into the 
 arms of another another who rejoices whilst he lies cold, for- 
 gotten in his narrow grave? If he has. he will conjecture some- 
 thing of the pangs that rent John Brandon's breast. How hnrd. 
 poor fellow, he tried to stifle them! how nobly and generously 
 he tried to say, " O God, let her be happy, and do what Thou 
 wilt with me!" His affairs were all in order, he had left every- 
 thing he possessed in the world to his " dar wife;" there was no 
 selfish clause or condition attached. Careful beyond all things 
 for her peace of mind he enforced strictly on the doctor that 
 Vanessa should not be allowed to suspect his danger. 
 
 She waited on him like an angel of tenderness. Now Raven- 
 hold had not the very smallest place in her heart or thoughts 
 she felt nothing Jbut love and anxiety for the man who had been 
 so good to her, and to whom she felt herself utterly and solely 
 devoted. 
 
 The colonel came to see him, and tried to look cheerful, and 
 to speak encouragingly, but men are poor hands at dissembling 
 by a sick-bed, and the colonel was sure he read death in Bran- 
 don's face. 
 
 " I want to speak to you," said the latter, as they were alone 
 together. "Just turn the key in the lock, that we may not be 
 interrupted." 
 
 The colonel obeys him. 
 
 " I don't think you ought to talk much, my dear fellow," he 
 says, coming back, for Brandon's voice is weak. 
 
 "I won't say very much," and then he grasps the colonel's 
 hand, and, for a moment, emotion chokes him. 
 
 " Don't, my dear, dear old chap, agitate yourself!" implores 
 the colonel. " Wait till you are stronger." 
 
 " I shall never be stronger," answers Brandon, recovering him* 
 self with a faint smile. " I am dying." 
 
 " No, no!" cries the colonel, with a sob in his throat. " You 
 must not say that. Think of your poor wife; it will break her 
 heart." 
 
 " Yes. She will feel it sadly, poor little girl! That is what I 
 want to say to you. Do all you can to comfort her; be her 
 friend-^be as much as you can with her; tell her how I loved 
 her, and how happy she made my life how I valued her love! 
 Tell her that no man in this world was ever so happy as she 
 made me. And then in a year or two if she should come across 
 some good fellow who you think would make her happy " (and 
 here poor Brandon almost breaks down, whilst the colonel grasps 
 
146 I HAVE LIVED AND LOV&D. 
 
 his hand, and gives short, gasping sobs, and the tears rain down 
 his face), " tell her tell her that I wished it: that I should be 
 happier in another world to know she was happy and God In 
 heaven bless her!" 
 
 Then Brandon sank back on his- pillo\vs almost unconscious, 
 And the colonel, terrified, thinking the end was near, went hur- 
 riedly himself to fetch the doctor > who lived close by. Luckily 
 he found him at home. 
 
 " Oh," said the colonel, with a white face, " can nothing be 
 done ? Must he die ?" 
 
 " He may pull through, but I am very much afraid,", an- 
 swered the doctor. 
 
 "What will his poor wife do?" ejaculated the kind-hearted 
 colonel, whose heart was rent in twain. 
 
 A few days later John Brandon died, and Vanessa believed 
 that her heart was broken. She passionateJy desired to die. How 
 gladly, she thought, would she take that last long journey in 
 company with the man who had been all the world to her. For 
 the memory of Ravenhold was swept away as clean as though 
 he was dead or she had never known him. An awful deso- 
 lation filled her heart, she forgot the disappointment, the un- 
 satisfied longings of the last few months; her memory reverted 
 to the time when they two had been all and all to each other; 
 she only thought of liim as the man who had filled her life with 
 love and happiness the man without whom life seemed now 
 impossible a burden too grievous to be borne. 
 
 The colonel telegraphed at once for Mr. Went worth, and he 
 came, but, from his want of knowledge of Jie world, he was 
 neither capable of attending to business matters, nor could he 
 offer his daughter (deeply as he felt for her) any but the tritest 
 consolations. It was the colonel w r ho did everything, saw to 
 everything, who was her right hand, and gave her the only faint 
 gleam of comfort which she knew. 
 
 When she took leave of him to go home to the Vicarage with 
 her father, as it had been arranged she should, she broke into 
 bitter tears and sobs. 
 
 " What shall I do without you?" she cried, feeling as though 
 the last link between her and happiness was snapped, and he 
 pressed her hand over and over again, and the tears stood in his 
 honest eyes, and he promised to go down and see her ere long. 
 
 The wretched, desolate weeks dragged their slow length along. 
 Vanessa wondered in dumb agony how a human heart could en- 
 dure such torture and still live on. The faithful Susan spent all 
 her energies in trying to comfort her darling, but she felt that 
 here was a grief beyond her humble power to console. 
 
 Every hour of the day poor Vanessa said to herself , "This 
 time last year how happy I was!" and she magnified all her 
 past joys and pleasures tenfold. Now she looked upon her life 
 as forever done and ended it filled her with a cold horror to 
 think she was eo young, and had all those long years of misery 
 in front of her. If a thought of loving or marrying again had 
 come to her, she would have cast it from her as a horrid sacri- 
 lege, but in truth it did not come, at all events for weeks and 
 
*/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 147 
 
 months after Brandon's death. The first gleam of happiness she 
 knew was when Colonel Dallas paid them his promised visit. 
 The season was at its height, but London seasons had no verj 
 great charm for him now, and he was glad to comfort the poor 
 girl for whom he had so tender and chivalrous an affection. H 
 stayed a month, and Vanessa grew almost cheerful. When he 
 left, it seemed to open all her wounds afresh. I am disposed to 
 think, if he had proposed to marry and take her away, she would 
 have consented from sheer loneliness ^nd want of companion- 
 ship. Then came three months of intolerable suffering the 
 months in which she had first lived and loved. How she 
 yearned and ached for that dear heart on which she had been 
 wont to lay her head, for those kind sheltering arms! And she 
 was here alone, widowed, desolate. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan and Edith came for a fortnight to the Hall 
 Mabel was married. It was a break in Vanessa's misery, but 
 when Edith went away again, she was more desolate than ever. 
 
 Then she began to think of Ravenhold to wonder bitterly ii 
 he had forgotten her if he had only been playing with her 
 heart if his love had been an unworthy one, that ceased to 
 exist when he might lawfully cherish it. She had heard from 
 his uncle that he was back from India, but he macie no sign. In. 
 her heart she drew bitter comparisons between him and her 
 husband; she remembered with a sense of burning shame that 
 she had almost forgotten her allegiance to a man who was so 
 true and just and noble, for one who was simply heartless and 
 selfish, and bent only on the gratification of the hour. 
 
 When the colonel came on a second visit to the Vicarage, he 
 saw that Vanessa's loneliness was telling upon her. Change she 
 must have any change. He talked very seriously to her father, 
 and then, as a first little break in the monotony, he suggested a 
 
 fortnight's visit to the neighboring seaport town of B . He 
 
 went with them. The change, the sea air did Vanessa good, and 
 then the colonel made a further suggestion. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, " you cannot go on leading this life; 
 it will kill you in time. And why should you ? You are a com- 
 paratively rich woman; there is your house in town waiting for 
 you. Of "course you could not have remained in it last season, 
 naturally you would not have wished to do so, but now it is 
 different. " Make up your mind to go back there next month, and 
 let me look out for a companion for you." 
 
 Vanessa shook her head at first; she could never return to 
 London life, nor visit nor mix with people again. But the col- 
 onel urged, and at last she consented, mostly, I think, because 
 she hoped to see more of him by doing so. 
 
 When she again took possession of her home it seemed to bring 
 back all her grief afresh. Here she had lived and been happy 
 with Brandon in the early days of marriage, when , at least, there 
 had been no disenchantment or disappointment. And now, in- 
 stead of laying her head on that dear heart and twining her arms 
 round his neck, she had to sit exchanging cold platitudes with a 
 dkwie de compagnie. The only time she ever felt cheerful wa 
 when the colonel dined with her, and to him the house bagan to 
 
ft 
 
 148 J HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 I < a sort of home. She liked to talk about Brandon, and the 
 colonel was quite content to listen to her and join in her praises 
 whilst he drank his dead friend's claret and smoked his fine 
 cigars. Nothing less than the best of everything was good 
 enough in Vanessa's eyes to give to any one she cared for. That 
 is a trait almost peculiar to the sex. There are a good many 
 generous men, but a good many more generous women, only that 
 it rarely happens to the latter to hav,e opportunities for the dis- 
 play of this virtue. 
 
 Mrs. Fane came to see Vanessa once as she passed through 
 London. She did not seem to Mrs. Brandon quite the same 
 as formerly. Was she afraid of her now that she was free, 
 and had she other ideas for her brother? This thought stole 
 involuntarily into Vanessa's mind. She said to herself, with 
 some scorn against herself, that there seemed little ground for 
 any fears about Lord Ravenhold thinking of her: he had not 
 called, nor. as far as she knew, sent even an ordinary message 
 of condolence to her. Hermione had not mentioned his name. 
 The colonel rarely spoke of him, and something in Vanessa's 
 own consciousness prevented her from alluding to him. She 
 was none the less eager to have news of him. Frequently a 
 question would rise to her lips, and, ere they framed it, she 
 would blush., her heart would almost chide her, and the fear of 
 betraying herself kept her silent. But at last one evening, as 
 they snt together over the fire, the companion having discreetly 
 effaced herself, Vanessa summoned up resolution enough to 
 speak. Ker face was turned to the fire; she held a feather screen 
 in her hand, with which, if needs must, she could hide her 
 blushes, and suddenly, apropos of nothing, she said: 
 
 4 ' Where is Lord Ravenhold now T 
 
 Even as she spoke she had a shamed consciousness that the 
 colonel would suspect the instinct that prompted her question; 
 would guess that she had some hope or thought of him. 
 
 At her words the colonel looked into the fire and frowned a 
 Tittle. 
 
 " He has been getting himself into rather a nasty scrape, and 
 he is keeping quiet." 
 
 44 Oh," and Vanessa tried to still her beating heart, and to look 
 only interested as a friend or acquaintance might. 
 
 " All that confounded hereditary complaint!" pursued the 
 colonel. "I knew it would get him into trouble one of these 
 days." 
 
 There was no color in Vanessa's cheek no\ an icy sensation 
 crept to her heart. She guessed what was coming, but could 
 not command her voice sufficiently to utter a single word. 
 
 *' It seems," the colonel went on, 4 * that he met a woman out 
 in India and fell in love with her. And they came home to- 
 gether in the same boat. Well,'' hesitating, " the husband only 
 heard about it a month ago, and he has instituted proceedings 
 in the divorce court." 
 
 "Oh!" said Vanessa, in a voice she scarcely recognized as her 
 own. "And I suppose that that Lord Ravenhold will 
 the lad> *' 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 113 
 
 " I suppose he ought to," replied the colonel, rummaiavfly. 
 " But whether he will is a different matter, and remains to L>3 
 seen." 
 
 Vanessa sat long into the night, when every one else was 
 sleeping. One more hope died with bitter pangs and throes. 
 
 And once she had thought the world fair, and that there was 
 a heaven even on this side the gates of death! 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AT the Hall there is one of those charming, old-fashioned 
 kitchen-gardens such ~^ one rarely meets nowadays. It is in- 
 closed by brick walls with eaves; entered by a pair of handsome 
 iron and gilt gates set in square stone pillars, surmounted by 
 huge balls. Looking through these gates you can see a broad 
 green walk of .beautifully kept turf, bordered on either side 
 by gorgeous, flaming masses of old-fashioned flowers. At the 
 end of the green vista is a nut- walk, dividing the vegetable gar- 
 den from the orchard, and beyond this a labyrinth. 
 
 Here one bright June afternoon Vanessa and Edith Vaughan 
 are wandering together. Vanessa still wears deep mourning, 
 although she has discarded her widow's cap; it is now fifteen 
 months since John Brandon died. The garden has become a 
 favorite resort of the two friends here they are free from all 
 probability of interruption, and can indulge their sorrow and ex- 
 change their sympathy unobserved. Vanessa lives in the past 
 she has magnified her dead husband into a hero, and has quite 
 forgotten that she was ever dull and disappointed in his lifetime. 
 Edith, in spite of mother and grandfather, has given up the 
 world and society. She too thinks life holds nothing more for 
 her the Algy in whom she trusted so profoundly has proved 
 faithless and sold himself to a handsome widow with a consider- 
 able fortune. Edith will never more, she vows, believe in man's 
 promises. She is at the Hall alone with her maid now, but Va- 
 nessa bears her constant company. It is a pathetic sight to see 
 these two young creatures, one of whom is positively beautiful, 
 and the other pretty enough to be interesting, leaning upon each 
 other's arms, and telling each other beneath the blue sky and in 
 the bright sunshine how sad a place God's earth is. They think 
 so most sincerely, and speculate mournfully about the purpose 
 of their creation only to suffer so hapless a lot. To-day they are 
 saying over again to each other what they have said a thousand 
 times before; saying it with as much earnestness, as much in- 
 terest, as though they had struck out a new line of thought. 
 
 " I suppose men are different from women," says Edith, with 
 a voice full of bitter yearning. " I should always have been 
 faithful to him. Did I not go through all sorts of persecution for 
 his sake, and did I ever waver ?" 
 
 "No, my poor darling," utters Vanessa, tenderly. "And 
 when he talked to me about you, he seemed so intensely da- 
 voted, I could not have believed it possible for him to change." 
 
 " I could almost have forgiven him," murmurs Edith, with 
 
150 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 fears in her eyes, " if lie had not cared for her. But tneysay he 
 is quite in love with her." 
 
 " He was not worthy of you,'' says Vanessa, affectionately, 
 "if he could change so soon." 
 
 "And now," utters Edith, " iny life is done and over I have 
 nothing to look forward to." 
 
 " Don't talk like that, darling," entreats Vanessa. " Someday 
 rou will forget him and care for some one better worth caring 
 V>r. You are not so desolate as I am." 
 
 ' I am more so, because I have lost all faith. If you met a 
 man you could love, there would be nothing to prevent your 
 marrying him: but I should be always full of doubts. I could 
 never have confidence in one again," 
 
 4 'My love is buried in the grave," says Vanessa, solemnly, 
 looking far away at the blue sky, whilst two big tears tremble on 
 her eyelids. 
 
 Silence follows. Presently Edith, turning suddenly on her 
 friend, says: 
 
 ''Do you know, Nessa, I have always been expecting that 
 Lord Ravenhold would come back and marry you. " 
 
 A flood of crimson overspreads Mrs. Brandon's face. 
 
 " Edie!" she cries, almost indignantly. " I never thought to 
 hear this from you!" 
 
 " Don't be vexed, darling!" implores her friend. " It has been 
 on the tip of my tongue a thousand times, and I have always 
 stopped myself. Of course that Indian affair was very wrong 
 and wicked, but I know he was dreadfully in love with you the 
 summer before last, and, of course, I know that you never gave 
 him a thought. Shall I tell you what I fancied ? I fancied 
 that lie went to India, because he was unhappy about you 
 and " 
 
 " It looks like it, does it not T echoes Vanessa, scornfully. 
 
 " I dare say it was only in sheer despair about you," aays 
 Edith, tentatively. * Men are not like we are they can console 
 themselves with another woman for the one they cannot 
 have." 
 
 " Lord Ravenhold could never have been anything to me," 
 answers Vanessa, coldly. " And you are quite mistaken about 
 his caring for me. I should think you must be convinced of 
 that by this time." 
 
 "No. I am not," returns Edith, sturdily. "I can imagine 
 that, after that miserable esclandre, he was ashamed to come 
 near you ; but if he had cared for the other woman, he would 
 have married her after the divorce, as in honor he was almost 
 bound to do." 
 
 "Perhaps he has married her," says Vanessa, with a slightly 
 heightened color." 
 
 "Oh, no, he has not. I suppose you heard that ridiculous 
 story which was got up about his going through the ceremony 
 with her and leaving her at the churofh door. There was not 
 one word of truth in it. He has been out of England for the 
 last eight months." 
 
 44 Whmi he comes back," says Mrs. Brandon, countertejfcyig a 
 
r HAVE LIVED AND LOVED- 151 
 
 light manner, " ho will find a bride awaiting him. Now that 
 Lady Mildred's husband has broken his neck so conveniently, 
 they will be able to marry and be happy ever after." 
 
 Her tone betrays her to Edith's keen ear. She is certain now 
 of what she suspected before, that her friend is not so entirely 
 indifferent to Lord Ravenhold as she would persuade the world, 
 and perhaps herself. 
 
 At this moment an incident happens, which is by no means an 
 uncommon one, although, when it occurs, it seems to partake a 
 little of the supernatural. A servant comes to announce to Mies 
 Vaughan that Lord Ravenhold is in the drawing-room. Edith 
 receives the intelligence with perfect calmness, but Mrs. Bran- 
 don changes from white to red, trembles, and has to turn away 
 to conceal her agitation. 
 
 44 How strange that we should just have been talking of him!" 
 remarks Edith, as the servant departs. "Come"' rising "let 
 us go and hear what he has to say for himself." 
 
 "I will stay here." answers Vanessa. 
 
 *' Indeed you will do nothing of the sort," cries Edith, taking 
 her by the arm. " You will come with me ?' 
 
 " No," answers Vanessa, with resolution, " I would much rather 
 not." 
 
 " You forget," exclaims Edith, half smiling, half bitter, " that 
 I cannot receive a young man unchaperoned. It would not be 
 the thing. You must come to play propriety." 
 
 Vanessa weavers for an instant; then she says, with ill-concealed 
 agitation : 
 
 " Please, Edie, dou-t press me! I should particularly dislike 
 to meet him." 
 
 So Edith goes away alone without another word, and 
 Vanessa sits trembling, her heart throbbing violently, every 
 nerve quivering anxiously and painfully, her hands twisted, and 
 working one in the other. But she is quite persuaded still that 
 all her love, all her power of feeling it, is buried in Brandon's 
 grave. 
 
 Edith finds Lord Ravenhold looking as handsome, as debonair, 
 as fascinating as ever. There is no suspicion of the humility and 
 shamefacedness of the returned prodigal about him; he does not 
 look meek and penitent; all she sees in his expression is a shade 
 of well-concealed; disappointment at her entrance alone. He 
 greets her very cheerily all the same. 
 
 " I heard you were here," he says, " and, as 1 was not very fai 
 off. I rode over." 
 
 He does not think it necessary to tell her what brought him 
 into the neighborhood. She is very welcome to gueas. 
 
 Of course she replies it is very good of him to come. She is so 
 very sorry that being alone here, she cannot offer him any hos- 
 pitality. And he rejoins that he only rode over on the chance of 
 having half an hour's chat. 
 
 " It must be awfully dull for you, here all alone, is it not?" he 
 asks, whereupon Edith answers him according to the desire ex- 
 pressed in hi* eyes. 
 
152 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " I am not at all dull," she says; " Mrs. Brandon is constantly 
 with me." 
 
 Then all his face lights up. 
 
 ** I called at the Yi-.-?,ragu on my way hero, and they told me 
 Mrs. Brandon was with you/' 
 
 " She is in the garden," answers Edith. "Shall we go and 
 find her Y' 
 
 This young lady perfectly understands that Lord Ravenhold 
 has come for the express purpose of meeting Mrs. Brandon. 
 She thinks it more than probable that he is here with the inten- 
 tion of proposing, or leading up to a proposal to make Vanessa 
 Lady Ravenhold, and she considers the marriage, in spite of his 
 lordship's vagaries, an eminently suitable and desirable one. 
 
 Ravenhold starts up with joyous alacrity, and they go out of 
 the French windows together, and take their way to the old 
 kitchen-garden. But when they arrive at the spot where Edith 
 left Mrs. Brandon, the bird is flown. 
 
 Edith -rands still and looks round, in the. hope of catching 
 sight of her friend walking in one of the alleys. 
 
 ** What 'nn have become of her?" she utters, in a vexed tore, 
 * 1 left her here." 
 
 Raveiihold's face falls; a sense of irritation steals across him. 
 The past comes flying back. When did Mrs. Brandon ever do 
 anything but vex and thwart him? 
 
 The gardens at the hall are so large that it is somewhat of a 
 forlorn quest to hunt any one there who wishes to conceal him- 
 self, but Edith has a good deal of resolution in Jaer character. 
 So she conducts Ravenhold to such places as she thinks it pos- 
 sible Yanessa may have secreted herself in, feeling all the time 
 anything but pleased at that young lady's perversity, and HQ 
 pathizirig heartily with her companion's ill-disguised disappoint- 
 ment. Having unsuccessfully questioned several gardeners, she 
 comes upon one who is able to give tidings of the fugitive. He 
 has just seen Mrs. Brandon sitting in the arbor near the orna- 
 mental water. Unconsciously, Ravenhold quickens his pace so 
 much that Edith can scarcely keep up with him. And when at 
 last he comes face to face with the beautiful and adored woman 
 of his dreams, his eyes light up with a look of such joy that no 
 one, seeing him, could entertain a moment's doubt about his 
 feelings for her. Vanessa blushes; her heart beats fast, and 
 then, suddenly, according to an unaccountable impulse only 
 known to her sex, she freezes herself up in a wall of ice, and 
 looks at and behaves to Lord Ravenhold with an indifference 
 which would be somewhat wanting in politeness to an utter 
 stranger. If he addresses her, she just answers him, but she 
 leaves the brunt of the conversation to her friend, who is hav- 
 ing as disagreeable a time as a third person generally does when 
 one, at least, of the other pair is a lover. 
 
 Miss Vaughaii racks her brain for an excuse to leave them, 
 and, seeing a gardener at a little distance, is about to interview 
 him, wL v _ Vanessa, detecting her intention, rises also, putting 
 her hand th~"n^h Edith's arm. 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 153 
 
 I shall not be a moment," says Edith, innocently" I want 
 to speak to Jenkins." 
 
 4 My dear, returns Vanessa, calmly, " it can be nothing which 
 will not keep for half an hour." 
 Yes, it is," smiles Edith. 
 
 Then we will come too," replies Vanessa, proyokingly. 
 ' But it is a secret/ 1 says Edith. 
 
 4 That decides the matter," answers Vanessa. " I could not 
 th nk of allowing you and Jenkins to have a secret. Could I, 
 Lord Ravenhold ?" with a touch of the old malice. 
 
 But Ravenhold is too piqued and angry to answer. His face 
 wears a flush of anger; he bites his neither lip, and viciously 
 does to death a spider with his riding-whip. 
 
 So, perforce, Edith remains, and tries her very best to make 
 conversation. But Mrs. Brandon does not second her, and Lord 
 Ravenhold is distinctly sulky. At last, in sheer despair, he rises 
 to take his leave. But, since he has come all the way from 
 London to see this perverse beauty, he feels it impossible to go 
 back there without any more satisfaction than he has already 
 got. So, holding out his hand in farewell to her, he says, in a 
 tone half wrathful, half pleading: 
 
 May I call upon you to-morrow at the Vicarage ?" and she 
 answers, calmly: 
 
 "You are very kind, Lord Ravenhold, but we never receive 
 visitors now." 
 
 He bows stiffly. The little mournful emphasis on the " now " 
 exasperates him intensely. It says, as it is intended to say, 
 '* Now that I have lost the only man I could ever, by any pos- 
 sibility, have cared for." He stalks away toward the house by 
 Edith's side in utter silence, and she feels too sorry for him to 
 attempt anything commonplace. When they are quite out of 
 earshot of the arbor, he stands suddenly still and looks beseech- 
 ingly at her. 
 
 " 1 know you are sympathetic," he says, in a troubled voice. 
 
 I am awfully distressed at the way in which Mrs. Brandon has 
 received me. I came all the way from, town to see her. I don't 
 mind telling you. I must speak to her. I suppose she thinks 
 me a blackguard; of course she cannot know the truth of that 
 Wretched miserable story. I ought not even to allude to it be- 
 fore you, but forgive me, I am so upset and unhappy!" 
 
 And he takes her hand and gives her one of those looks which 
 few women have ever been able to withstand. As, moreover, 
 the woman does not live who can resist an appeal for sympathy 
 from a very handsome young man whose affections she does not 
 desire personally to engage, Edith ranges herself instantly on his 
 side, and says, with the kindest smile: 
 
 " Go back to her now." 
 
 " God bless you!" utters Ravenhold, with heartfelt fervor; and, 
 needing no second bidding, he retraces his eager steps with a 
 beating heart to where he left the only woman who exists for 
 fcixa. 
 
 Vanessa, meantime, has suffered the sharpest pangs of re- 
 morse. She has learned in those few moments that the power 
 
154 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 of loving IB not dead in her heart; the sight of RavenhoM has 
 stirred a strange emotion in her, and now she feels as if some in- 
 sane impulse had made her voluntarily reject the greatest bliss 
 life holds. 
 
 For all that, the moment his eager, winsome face appears in 
 the doorway, the same impulse returns with tenfold force, and 
 causes her to greet him with a look of chill surprise, as though 
 he were an unwelcome intruder. 
 
 He breaks at once into his confession, unwarned by her look 
 and manner. 
 
 k - 1 have come all this way to see you. I could not leave you 
 so, and go away wretched. I want you, at teast, to know the 
 truth." 
 
 " Pray, Lord Ravenhold, say nothing about it." answers Va- 
 nessa, in a voice so cold that she scarcely recognizes it as her 
 own. Your affairs can have no possible interest for me, and I 
 scarcely think they would bear discussing." 
 
 He stands leaning against the side of the entrance, liis head 
 thrown back, his mouth quivering visibly under his mustache; 
 one might almost fancy a suspicion of tears in his handsome 
 eyes. 
 
 " I suppose," he says presently, with an effort, "it is always 
 to be the same. You never had a kind word for me yet. You 
 never did anything but wound and hurt me." 
 
 " I think you are a little unreasonable," returns Vanessa, 
 touched but unwilling to show it. "I am not the keeper of 
 your conscience, and," with renewed coldness, " there are 
 certain subjects which I think you know I never cared to dis- 
 cuss." 
 
 "I knew you were always very pharisaical," answers the 
 young man, bitterly, "and never made allowances for any 
 one.'" 
 
 "Perhaps, in that case," says Vanessa, piqued, "you had-- 
 better drop the subject." 
 
 " No," cries Ravenhold, passionately, " I will not. "I shall tell; 
 you the truth. Why do you always stir up my angry feelings 
 and make me look an ill-tempered brute ? Since almost the : 
 first day I ever knew you you have taken a delight in bringing 
 out the worst part of me: only, I suppose, to show your power 
 over me." 
 
 'I do not understand you, Lord Ravenhold," says Vanessa, 
 rising and looking angry in her turn. 
 
 He takes her by both hands in spite of her resistance. There . 
 is a masterful, passionate look in his eyes, which half daunts, 
 half pleases this capricious young lady. 
 
 " You shall understand me before I leave this spot," he says. 
 And then the touch of her hands, which he still holds, eoftens { 
 and makes him humble. 
 
 " I love you with all my soul," he says, in a voice full of emo- 
 tion. 4 ' If* it was a crime to tell you so before, it is not one now. 
 Oh, my love, I love you!" 
 
 Vanessa draws her hands away. 
 
 " You love m," she utters, scornfully. " Indeed, I feel much 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 155 
 
 flattered by coming after your other loves. Such loves!" with 
 bitter emphasis. 
 
 44 You mean that miserable Indian affair." he cries. " I do 
 ot know what you have hear/1, and you will not beliere the 
 truth if I tell it you. I never, never " vehemently <4 cared one 
 lota for that woman. It was only because I was in such despair 
 about you that I allowed myself to be dragged into it. Of 
 course your sex never will understand that sort of thing; that a 
 man, out of sheer wretchedness about one w r oman, can try to 
 get comfort, or at least forgetfulness, out of another." 
 
 " No," answers Vanessa, coldly, " I do not think a woman con 
 Understand that sort of thing. And you forget, Lord Ravenhold, 
 that you are insulting me by professing to have had any such 
 feeling for me whilst my dear, dear husband was alive." 
 
 Ravenhold turns away from her, and stands looking at the 
 water and. trees beyond, feeling perhaps more bitterly disap- 
 pointed than he has ever done in his life. 
 
 "I suppose," he says, after a long pause, "that I must be a 
 most egregious ass. You always hated me. I ought to have 
 .known it, if I had not willfully shut rny eyes: and yet I have 
 been building and building upon the thought of seeing you 
 again, and and what might come of it and now oh, my God! 
 how shall I bear it ?" 
 
 His breast is rent by a bitter groan; he hides his face with his 
 arm. Vanessa sits staring at him, her heart beating, her red 
 lips half parted. Yet she does not speak. Presently he turns, 
 all his face distorted by pain. 
 
 " Good-bye r he says, in a husky, indistinct voice. 
 
 And he holds out his hand, with one last look of agonizing ap- 
 peal. 
 
 " Good-bye!" utters Vanessa, quite calmly. 
 
 And thus he goes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BITTER indeed at heart is Ravenhold, as he walks across the 
 greensward toward the house to take leave of Edith and to con- 
 fess his defeat. He scarcely knew before how much he had 
 built on the result of an interview with Vanessa; he had bided 
 his time with, for him, superhuman patience, until a more than 
 decent interval from her husband's death had elapsed, and until 
 that other wretched affair had had time to blow over. How dis- 
 proportionate are rewards to punishments in this world! he 
 thinks, bitterly. There are some loves for which the world 
 might be counted well lost; loves which have held so much of 
 delight that come, what will afterward, one may be reconciled to 
 the cost of the joy by the memory of its rapture; but the affair 
 which he can never stigmatize by other names than " wretched," 
 "miserable;" into w^hich he had simply allowed himself to drift 
 from a sort of weary disappointment; what anguish and tor- 
 ment it had cost him! It had dragged his name through the 
 dirt; it had exiled him for months from his own country; it had 
 Injured him ii*i the eyes of the one woman with whom he was 
 
1S6 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 madly anxious to stand well; it had forever, perhaps, killed his 
 chances of happiness. For the only idea of happiness that pre- 
 sented itself to his mind was the possession of Vanessa. The, 
 " wretched affair" had cost him, besides, terrible heart burnings,' 1 
 for though he was indifferent, the other factor in it loved him 
 madly, and had threatened to destroy herself if he refused to marry 
 her, and he had halted some time between what is called "a sense 
 of honor '' and the spoiling of his life. It had cost him a great 
 deal of money as well, but that was a very secondary considera- 
 tion, although he was extravagant and not very rich it had cost 
 him the good opinion of a certain section of society which is ex- 
 tremely ready to lay down the law about what other people ought 
 to do. and which chose to say he had behaved badly in not 
 marrying the unfortunate woman. The same set, however, 
 would have taken very good care to show the " unfortunate 
 woman" that she was a pariah had she ventured anywhere near 
 their charmed circle even as Lady Ravenhold. 
 
 Edith was sitting in the drawing-room pretending to read. She 
 had given the pair an hour, perhaps two hours, to make up their 
 differences, and had come to the conclusion that there could be 
 no possible objection under the circumstances to asking Lord 
 Ravenhold to stay and dine. Every now and then a great sigh^ 
 heaved her breast; she felt envious, though by no means un- 
 kindly envious, of their happiness. 
 
 She was startled when Ravenhold walked in at the window 
 alone, and with an expression on his face that made any ques- 
 tion needless. 
 
 " I have got my conge" he says, " so I had better go at once. 
 May I order my horse ?" 
 
 Edith rings the bell, and until the servant has come and de- 
 parted neither speaks. Then she says heartily: 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 "Thanks," answers the young man, his eyes softening. " l r ou 
 have been very good and kind. You have done all you could 
 for me." 
 
 '* Are you sure it is hopeless?" asks Edith, gently. 
 
 ' * Quite sure. I was a fool to imagine she had the slightest 
 thought of me. She does not care two straws about me that is 
 perfectly certain now." 
 
 " Don't you think, perhaps, that time " 
 
 He shakes his head impatiently. 
 
 " I believe she hates me," he says, for, to a lover, there is noth- 
 ing between extremes. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, 1 am sure she does not. If I vvere you I would 
 not despair." 
 
 Then Lord Ravenhold's horse is announced, and the two young 
 people lake leave very kindly of each other. "Ravenhold walks 
 his horse all the way aown the drive, his feelings being rather of 
 the nature of a dull despair than of the passionate disappoint- 
 ment which makes a man want to ride to the devil. When he is 
 nearing the lodge gates he sees a tall, graceful figure in black 
 ahead of him. His heart beats to suffocation as Vanessa turns 
 and oomes toward Jiim. He pulls up, and is out of his saddle in 
 
1 'HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. ytf 
 
 second. There is a lovely blush on her face; her eyes look soft 
 and melting. 
 
 " I am sorry that I was unkind to you," she murmurs. 
 
 All the blood rushes madly to the young fellow's head. If he 
 had not his bridle in his hand, if there were not two children 
 
 Slaying at the lodge gates in sight of them, if, oh, cursed word 
 lat prevents and limits every pleasure the world holds! how he 
 would catch his darling to his heart! But stay, my lord, not 
 too fast! As soon as Mrs. Brandon observes his excitement and 
 the threatenings of his eyes, she retires swiftly into her shell 
 again. 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me!" she exclaims, almost before he 
 has time to speak. " I thought I had been unkind, and I wanted 
 to say I was sorry that is all." 
 
 He is not to be daunted so soon this time. 
 
 " That is not all!*' he says, catching her hand with kindling 
 eyes. " I swear it shall not be all!" 
 
 " Let go my hand!" says Vanessa, with a warning glance at 
 the infant spectators. 
 
 'The children be blessed!" cries his lordship, gayly. "Let 
 me walk with you to tlfe Vicarage darling!" 
 1 If Vanessa thinks she never heard that charming word so ten- 
 derly or delightfully pronounced before, she does not permit her 
 lover to read her thoughts. 
 
 " You must not say that, Lord Ravenhold," she utters, reprov- 
 ingly. "And I am going back to Edith at once. She \\illbe 
 looking for me. " 
 
 " You shall not go, I swear!" he cried passionately, " until you 
 have given me some little gleam of hope." 
 
 " Hope of what?' she says, innocently, turning her wonderful 
 eyes upon him. 
 
 Again the horse and the children interfere to protect Mrs. 
 Brandon from Lord Ravenhold's inclination to demonstrative- 
 
 3SS. 
 
 " You know quite well," he cries. 
 
 But Vanessa only says, irrelevantly: 
 
 " I must be going. Good-bye. Lord Ravenhold, you hurt me! 
 Let me go, I desire!" 
 
 The last in quite a different tone. 
 
 " I wfll not!" he replies, very resolutely, the color and passion 
 rising simultaneously in his face, ' ' until you tell me when I may 
 see you again. May I come to the Vicarage to-morrow to- 
 morrow morning?" 
 
 "But you have seen me to-day," she replies, perversely. " I 
 dare say we shall meet in London in the autumn." 
 
 " By the autumn," he says, and finishes the sentence with his 
 eyes, which, from the swift change of her color, it would seem 
 Mrs. Brandon understands. 
 
 " Do not be silly," she murmurs. ' And now, please let me 
 go." 
 
 " Shall I come to-morrow ?" he asks again. 
 " No yes. If you like." 
 
168 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 And. having regained undivided possession of her hand, she 
 sets her face toward the Ball. 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 "Till to-morrow, my sweet love!" he utters, joyously. 
 
 He stands looking after her. Once site turns, smiles, and 
 makes a graceful little gesture with her hand. Then he mounts 
 his horse and rides away with heaven in his heart, whilst Va- 
 nessa walks with winged feet toward the garden. How glad she 
 is she acted on that impulse! The moment he left her in the 
 arbor she repented. She told herself that this time he had ac- 
 cepted his dismissal; that in all probability she would never see 
 him again. She had thrown away the chance of immense hap- 
 piness, had wantonly condemned herself to a lonely loveless life 
 had sent him away, doubtless, to Lady Mildred. 
 
 The last thought broke down her pride, and she went swiftly 
 out of a side door in the* garden toward the drive, where shej 
 must intercept him if she were in time. And if, instead o9 
 walking his horse moodily along. Lord Raven hold had put hinj 
 to a trot, most unquestionably Vanessa would have been tool 
 late, and, it is more than possible, would never have had another! 
 chance of making her amende. A minute sooner or later, a| 
 seemingly accidental meeting, some trifling incident, and the! 
 whole course of our lives is changed. Truly the dice of Fate are 
 loaded with trifles. 
 
 When Vanessa leaves Lord Ravenhold, she betakes herself 
 back to the gardens, and meets Edith, who is looking for her, 
 quite innocently, and as though nothing had happened. Edith 
 is highly displeased with her, and makes no secret of her indigi 
 nation. 
 
 " Really, Vanessa, I have no patience with you. You are i 
 provoking!" 
 
 " How ?" asks Mrs. Brandon, demurely. " What have 
 done ?" 
 
 " You have sent that poor boy away wretched. He came al| 
 the way from London to see you, and then you treat him in th 
 shameful and cruel manner." 
 
 " It will do him good," observes Vanessa, unfeelingly. 
 think it is quite wrong for every one to receive returned prodi-j 
 gals with open arms as though they were heroes." 
 
 " You have sent him away heart-broken!" exclaims Edith 
 " I dare say he will do something desperate." 
 
 " Oh, no, my love," returns Vanessa, lightly "men don't < 
 desperate things for love in these days. He will drink a glass < 
 two more wine for dinner, smoke an extra dozen cigarettes, an<j 
 will feel quite happy and comfortable afterward." 
 
 "I could never have believed you were so heartless," say 
 Edith, more angry than ever. " And I think you owe him son 
 thing when you were the cause of his getting into that wretche 
 entanglement. He told me so." 
 
 1 ' It is very easy for him to say so, isn't it ?" says Vane 
 " On the principle that ' a bad excuse is better than none,' 1 1 
 pose ?" 
 
 Why Mrs. Brandon should behave with this duplicity I am i 
 
7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 159 
 
 able to conjecture, but she is quite succesiful in misleading her 
 friend. 
 
 " I have no patience with you!" cries Edith, angrily; " I don't 
 understand you in the very least. You complain of being lonely 
 and wretched, of your life being over, and here you get a chance 
 of a happy and brilliant future, and you toss it away as if there 
 were fifty better ones waiting for you. What on earth would 
 you have ? A man who adores you, who is as handsome and 
 charming as a man can be, who has everything else to recom- 
 mend him, and you treat him with as much contempt as if you 
 were a grand duchess and he were " 
 
 Here Edith pauses, unable to find a suitable simile. 
 
 " It will do him good," says Vanessa again, in the same heart- 
 less, flippant manner. 
 
 " It will most likely send him off to Lady Mildred," returns 
 Edith. " There will be no question as to how she will receive 
 him/' 
 
 Vanessa smiles in a manner which provokes her friend inex- 
 pressibly. Edith's last remark has pleased her extremely, by 
 convincing her how wise she has been in not letting Ravenhold 
 go away in despair. She is so cheerful arid bright in her man- 
 ner all the evening that Edith is goaded into saying: 
 
 " After all, women are quite as heartless as men! Indeed, 
 hardly think any man would gloat over the idea of having made 
 a woman thoroughly wretched and unhappy." 
 
 *' Is that meant for me V" asks Vanessa, smiling. " My dear 
 child, I would stake everything I possess that at this moment 
 Lord Ravenhold is not the least bit unhappy." 
 
 " I don't love you, "says Edith, as she bids Mrs. Brandon good- 
 night. ** I am disappointed in you. No! I don't want to kiss 
 you." 
 
 '* Yes, you do," returns Vanessa, sweetly, embracing her. '* It 
 is you who are unreasonable, and I who am consistent. You 
 know all that you have said about placing confidence in men, 
 and yet the first one who comes, just because " (with feigned 
 contempt) * he is handsome and has pretty manners, you range 
 yourself on kis side, and are ready to quarrel with me for not 
 rushing into his arms." 
 
 " There is a difference between rushing into his arms and 
 treating him in the shameful manner you did to-day," remarks 
 Edith. " And I think they would be very nice arms to rush 
 into." 
 
 " Do you ?" says Vanessa, with a false and wicked little gesture 
 of distaste. 
 
 "Good-bye," utters Edith, in a melancholy tone. "You do 
 not deserve" to be happy. And some day you will be very sorry 
 for this." 
 
 " Shall I ?" asks Vanessa, still in the same smiling, flighty mood 
 which displeases her friend. " We shall see." 
 
 But when she is alone in her room at the Vicarage the smile 
 leaves her mouth, and she looks intensely serious. Her heart 
 beats fast; a sense of rapture at the thought of the future steals 
 over her. but, mingling with it, is a feeling of remorse. Is this her 
 
160 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED^ 
 
 promised devotion to the memory of her dead husband ? How 
 dare she think of love, and passion, and a ne\v life whilst he is 
 lying cold and lonely in his narrow grave? But love of the 
 living is a stronger motive power than fealty to the dead, and 
 Vanessa's first thought on waking in the morning is one of 
 delight that Ravenhold is coming to her to-day. She is un- 
 usually careful over her toilet. She fastens a blush-rose in her 
 bosom; she puts on her smallest and newest shoes. She is al- 
 most shocked to catch herself humming a waltz tune whilst she 
 dresses. 
 
 Somehow, this morning she finds it impossible to settle to any- 
 thing. Her nerves are in a state of the highest irritability; she 
 starts at every sound: she cannot work, or read, or play. She 
 sits for ten minutes in the rose-bower, and returns to the house 
 thinking she has been there at least an hour. She wanders up 
 and down, rearranges every flower in the big china bowl, eyes 
 herself in the old-fashioned mirror, glances out of the window, 
 takes countless looks at the chiming clock. When at last she 
 hears the loud summons of the bell, her heart beats to suffocation; 
 the crimson blood rushes mantling to her cheeks. For all that, 
 when Lord Ravenhold is ushered in by the shrewdly smiling Susan, 
 who is perfectly satisfied with the way in which she has my-lorded 
 the visitor to-day, he finds Mrs. Brandon calmly engaged upon a 
 piece of needlework, as though she had been placidly sitting there 
 for the last hour! 
 
 His face is flushed, eager, joyful; he scarcely waits for the 
 door to close behind him when he utters a word of strong en- 
 dearment, and possesses himself of both Vanessa's hands. 
 
 " No, no, Lord Ravenhold, indeed you must not!" utters that 
 lady, trying, not very successfully, to look dignified and dis- 
 pleased. 
 
 He draws a low chair in front of her, for, to get near her, he 
 must either kneel or sit, and wooing kneeling is quite an ex- 
 ploded fashion. 
 
 "Do not let us have any more misunderstandings!" he says, 
 impetuously, devouring her with his eyes. " Now that we are 
 young, that all is smooth before us, let us be happy.' 
 
 His tone sinks to entreaty; he has taken one of her hands; his 
 eyes speak volumes. 
 
 The words are infinitely pleasing to her, but with the intuitive 
 conviction of those of her sex who know mankind that it is a 
 fatal error to yield too easily to their blandishments, she tries to 
 withdraw her hand, and says: 
 
 " I shall be very glad to be your friend. You must not ex- 
 pect anything more of me." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he cries, raising his voice again, " that 
 you do not, that you will not care for me ?" 
 
 "I could not care for any one," she answers, turning her eyes 
 away, but acutely conscious of the absurdity and hypocrisy of 
 her words. 
 
 Apparently Ravenhold's keen eyes pierce through the pre- 
 tended mask. 
 
 44 Could you not?" he says, in an exultant, masterful voice. 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 161 
 
 " But I swear you shall!" And with that, he flings both arma 
 round her, whether she will or not, and presses his eager lips to 
 hers. 
 
 Perhaps she is stunned by his violence ; perhaps she is of those 
 to whom a bold wooer is not displeasing; perhaps she thinks 
 that moments of rapture are not so common as to be allowed to 
 go a-begging; at all events, for some ten seconds she makes no 
 resistance, but yields herself to the inevitable. 
 
 But then, naturally and of course, she pretends to be offended, 
 and insists upon tearing herself from the arms which seem as if 
 they would never willingly release her again. 
 
 " Let me go, Lord Ravenhold. You hurt me! I am very 
 angry. I do not like you." 
 
 He smiles; he does not care, he does not believe her; he is 
 wildly triumphant, madly happy. 
 
 " Do not be angry," he says, caressingly. " Why should you? 
 How can I help it ? I only wonder how I kept my hands off you 
 before." 
 
 " Do not talk like that!" she exclaims, puckering her pretty, 
 smooth brow. " It is wrong and it is silly." 
 
 He is not to be abashed. 
 
 " Everything nice is wrong, most things at least, and if it is 
 silly, I should like to go on being a fool forever." 
 
 Vanessa smiles, in spite of herself. 
 
 " You are just like a great spoilt child," she says. 
 
 With this he grows quite serious. 
 
 " Do not let us jest," he says, again taking her hand; "right 
 or wrong, I have worshiped you ever since I first set eyes on 
 you." 
 
 "No, you have not," interrupts Vanessa. "When you first 
 knew me, you worshiped Lady Mildred." 
 
 " Lady Mildred!" he repeats, with impatient distaste. 
 
 " Yes, it is quite true. You know it," replies Vanessa. " And 
 now she is free," adds the young lady, cruelly. 
 
 His eyes takes an expression of such deep reproach that she 
 ought to feel penitent. But she does not. 
 
 ** Do not let us waste time and words on her," he says. " If I 
 cared for her once, you know well enough that it is long since 
 over." 
 
 " You have cared for so many people since," remarks Vanessa, 
 unkindly. 
 
 " Do you mean to twit me with that miserable affair in India?" 
 cries Ravenhold, passionately. " For Heaven's sake let me tell 
 you the whole story, and then " 
 
 " No, no," interrupts Vanessa. " I do not want to hear it." 
 
 But he insists. It is not altogether an easy story to tell, be- 
 cause, although his object is to prove his own utter blameless- 
 ness to his mistress, the code of honor (poor enough, Heaven 
 knows, though it is) of our day prevents a man shifting the 
 fault so entirely and frankly on the woman as his first progeni- 
 tor did. 
 
 When, however, a woman desires to condone and forgive, she 
 is not prone to look very critically into the story it pleases her 
 
162 T^HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 lover to tell her. Vanessa, therefore, affects to accept and to be 
 satisfied with his explanation. He clearly demonstrates that 
 love, not forgetfulness of her, was the cause of this lapse in 
 his morals, and that what he had sought as an anodyne had 
 proved a bitter and nauseous drug. And although Vanessa pos- 
 itively forbids him to allude to his sentiments at a time when 
 Bhe considers them to have been dishonoring to her, he only re- 
 plies sturdly: 
 
 " It is God's truth! I worshiped you then, right or wrong, as 
 I do now. Who could be with you and not adore you ?'' And 
 then Ravenhold conies to the point about which he is so eager. 
 When will she make him happy ? 
 
 But Vanessa is obstinately coy; she will not entertain the idea 
 of marriage no, not for ages, not for two years certainly not 
 for a year at the very earliest. It would be an indecency it 
 would be a slight to the memory of the man who had been so 
 good to her; to whom she had been so devoted. 
 
 Vainly Ravenhold tries to shake her resolution by the tender- 
 est, most urgent entreaties she is inflexible. Then, suddenly, 
 with a passionate gesture, he pushes back his chair, strides to 
 the end of the room, and, returning, confronts her with a white 
 face. 
 
 " It is the old story,'' he says, in a hard, rough voice. " From 
 the first moment I knew you it has always been your pleasure to 
 vex and thwart and try me. I tell you frankly," I cannot, I will 
 not wait a year for you I should be in my grave. So if you in- 
 eist, I will go away and try to forget you. Oh, love!" he cries, 
 his voice suddenly changing to extreme tenderness as he bends 
 over her. "where is your heart? Why will you fling away 
 happiness ? Who knows what may happen in a year ? Now we 
 are both in the zenith of our youth and life, we have all the 
 divine summer before us, and there is nothing but your perverse 
 will to prevent our being the two happiest creatures on God's 
 earth.'' 
 
 And Vanessa, seeing that he is so mightily in earnest, allows 
 her scruples to be vanquished. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ONE cannot live in the world and remain unconscious that 
 there is a vast amount of sorrow, suffering, misery, and disap- 
 pointment in it, that great happiness is very rare, and lasting 
 happiness impossible. But once now and again poor mortals are 
 allowed a foretaste of what heaven may be, of what, could they 
 but know certainly it would be, they would willingly undergo 
 any pangs, privations, sufferings here to win. 
 
 To Ravenhold and Vanessa a season of perfect happiness was 
 allowed they were like Adam and Eve in paradise, for their se- 
 clusion was almost as great, and there was no serpent. Raven- 
 hold did not grow angry or petulant or quarrelsome, and Vanessa 
 was so supremely happy that, once and again, a vague terror 
 crept over her that in this world such bliss must be balanced by 
 some equal anguish. Her heart, in its full satisfaction, has for- 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 163 
 
 gotten its hunger sne would fain live on here for ever with her 
 love. He, restless and manlike, happy though lie is, would yet 
 have the time speed on, whilst Vanessa would hang weights on 
 the sweet minutes to make them lag. She knows full well that 
 the golden hour for women is the hour of courtship. 
 
 Their love seems to defy satiety they cannot have enough of 
 each other the long sunny days are all too short; the few night 
 hours between parting and meeting all too long. They wander 
 out in the moonlight, she bids him farewell a thousand times, 
 and yet he returns for a last embrace - his enraptured eyes can- 
 not gaze long enough, ardently enough upon her beauty. She 
 is the very fairest woman "upon earth to him, and, if her appre 
 ciation of his good looks is, in the nature of things, less keen, 
 she finds him a most gracious and comely target for her lovely 
 eyes. 
 
 Ravenhold has sent for his phaeton, and they take long drives 
 together. One day he turns his horses" heads in the direction of 
 the wood where the Hall party picnicked on the day when he fell 
 into such dire disgrace by his unbecoming declaration. He tells 
 his groom to put up for an hour, and he and Vanessa stroll away 
 into the wood. She has a sort of intuition of his intention, tout 
 does not seek to oppose him; does not even affect to be aware of 
 his design He puts her hand through his arm and leads her 
 straight to the rudely -cut bench beneath the beech-tree, and, 
 when they reach it, he takes her suddenly in his arms and cries, 
 in an exultant voice: 
 
 " Thank God !" 
 
 The eyes with which he looks at his love are full of fire and 
 tenderness. 
 
 " And the last time I was here," he says, " I was so miserable 
 I could have hanged myself. Oh! if I could have dreamed that 
 this joyful day would ever come! Then I thought the world a 
 place too wretched to live in I scarcely believed in God; but 
 now," fervently raising his eyes through the canopy of leaves to 
 the blue heavens, ''I thank Him every day and night of my 
 life. " 
 
 A tender, happy little smile parts Vanessa's lips. 
 
 " And I too, love," she whispers. 
 
 It is considerably more than an hour before they return to the 
 phaeton. The horses are stamping and chafing, worried to death 
 by flies, the pest which robs the country of half its pleasure. 
 
 The vicar, when he has time to tear his thoughts for an in- 
 stant from his book, is pleased with the idea of his daughter's re- 
 marriage; as for Susan, she is as delighted as though she had 
 found an eligible husband for herself. 
 
 "Now this," she said confidentially to Mary Ann, " is just 
 what should be. Though, poor, dear gentleman, a kinder and 
 a better husband never lived than Mr. Brandon, and far be it 
 from me to say a word to the contrary, but his lordship, now, 
 he is just as if he was cut out for my dear young lady. Depend 
 on it, Mary Ann, the Almighty ordained it from the fust." 
 
 " Well, they make a beautiful couple as any one could see 
 in a day's journey," assents Mary Ann, cordially. _" You can't 
 
164 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 lx> more pleased than me, my dear. I wonder what the squire'li 
 say ?" 
 
 " What business has he thinkin' of young ladies at all ?" cries 
 Susan. " Better for him to be savin' his prayers, and mindin 1 
 of his soul." 
 
 " Not much of that, I don't think," rejoins Mary Ann, shaking 
 her head. 
 
 Ravenhold. on his part, is delighted with Susan, and pays her 
 frequent visits in the kitchen or the " keeping-room." He 
 generally sits on the table, with a cigarette in his mouth, having 
 first asked her permission to smoke, and there he stays and 
 talks by the half hour together. There is not much variety about 
 his theme, but it is one that interests Susan as much as himself. 
 
 "Isn't she lovely, Susan ?" he asks for the thousandth time, 
 and Susan replies, with the modesty befitting ownership: 
 
 " / think so, my lord." 
 
 " She is the most beautiful woman in the whole world!" de- 
 clares Ravenhold, with "emphasis. " You never saw any one 
 like her, Susan, did you V" 
 
 " That I never did, my lord," returns Susan, with equal de- 
 cision. " But then, I've never been to London, nor seen manj 
 ladies at all." 
 
 " Well, I have," says Ravenhold; "and I give you my word 
 of honor that never in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America," where 
 the best- looking women generally grow, have I seen any one to 
 touch her!" 
 
 You don't say so, my lord!" exclaims Susan, with glistening 
 eyes, as though this were the first time she had heard him make 
 the startling assertion. 
 
 "The professional beauties are not a patch upon her," re- 
 marks Ravenhold, and then he sits placidly silent for a few 
 moments, blowing rings of smoke through each other. 
 
 " Susan," he observes, presently, " you will have to come and 
 stay with us. and see your young lady dressed to go to Court, 
 You mark my words, she will be the loveliest woman there. 
 Wouldn't you like to see the queen kiss her ?" 
 
 " Lor', my lord!" cries Susan, getting quite red at the thought 
 of such a stupendous honor. " Will her most gracious majesty 
 really kiss Miss Nessa ?" 
 
 " No," answers Ravenhold, smiling, and giving the old lady a 
 friendly pat on the back. " She won't kiss Miss Nessa, but she 
 will kiss Lady Ravenhold." 
 
 "I beg your lordship's pardon, I'm sure," says Susan, quite 
 flustered. 
 
 " No occasion," laughs Ravenhold; then, thoughtfully, with a 
 slight frown, ' ' I wish she was Miss Nessa. It seems rather mean 
 to be jealous of -a poor chap who's dead: but you know, Susan, 
 I hate to think of her having had a husband." 
 
 " But, my lord," rejoins Susan, anxious to console her favorite, 
 &s well as to take anything off her young lady that seems a 
 blemish in his eyes, " perhaps if she hadn't have married poor 
 Mr. Brandon^ yo.u would never have seen her " 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 135 
 
 " There's something in that," returns Ravenhold, more cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 Mrs. Fane wrote a charming and affectionate letter to Vanessa, 
 expressing the greatest satisfaction with the marriage. And in- 
 deed she was not ill pleased; for, though she said to herself that 
 her brother might well have looked for a more distinguished 
 alliance, there was cause for devout thankfulness that he had not 
 married that dreadful woman who had got him into such a 
 wretched entanglement. And Vanessa's two thousand a year 
 would be useful, as Gerard was not rich for his position. Lady 
 Mildred was too old for him, and had a dreadful temper they 
 would have been sure to quarrel. 
 
 Edith Vaughan was rejoiced at the marriage, and tried hard, 
 poor girl, to stifle the acute pangs of jealousy which would some- 
 times creep into her heart at the sight of so much bliss. Sir 
 Bertram, who heard the news for the first time on his arrival at 
 the Hall, very nearly had a fit of apoplexy on the spot, and went 
 away again the next morning for fear of being compelled to wit- 
 ness the happiness of the lovers whom he had done his best to 
 throw together, though in the hope of a very different result. 
 
 The marriage was fixed for the last week in July. In vain 
 Vanessa had petitioned for delay; had urged the indelicacy, the 
 heartlessness of marrying sixteen months after the death of her 
 husband. Ravenhold was resolute; and she loved him so in- 
 tensely that when, on one occasion of the date being discussed, 
 he frowned and put himself into one of his petulant tempers, and 
 swore she did not love him, she yielded, and his lordship was 
 triumphant. 
 
 And so the day came; a glorious day, without one cloud in the 
 heavens, a day that befitted the union of love and youth and 
 beauty. Words are too poor to express great joys and over- 
 whelming sorrows, so here will I lay down my pen, lest it be 
 tempted to extravagance; to cross that slim boundary-line which 
 divides the sublime from the ridiculous. Ev5n the rejoicing 
 young bridegroom, speeding along the country lanes with that 
 lovely, beloved woman beside him, could find no words in which 
 to tell her of the immense joy that filled his heart. How far he 
 had once been from dreaming that she would ever be his; his 
 own lawfully, without reproach before God and man! 
 
 It is the third week in August:" Mrs. Fane is spending that 
 month, as usual, at Orange Court, and Lord and Lady Ravenhold 
 arrived last night to be her guests for the ten days which re- 
 main to her of chatelaineship. On the last day of the month 
 she will depart, and Mr. Giles Fane will resume his dominion. 
 The magnificent reception-rooms, with their wealth of Louis 
 Quatorze furniture and ornament, will be reshrouded in their 
 holland coverings; the exquisite chandeliers transformed into 
 in versed balloons; the carved frames of the mirror swathed and 
 bandaged until Mrs. Fane or her mother-in-law again visits the 
 Court. The gun-room, billiard-room, and two large rooms ad- 
 jacent, which the o\5?ner uses as bedroom and sitting-room, anc* 
 which are all on a jjfevel with the entrance-hall, are the onL 
 apartments which heever enters when alone at the Court. Ne~ \ 
 
166 I 'HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 do his hobnailed boots ascend the flight of marble steps that 
 leads to the house proper. All the beautiful furniture and dec- 
 orations are so much trash in his eyes; once or twice he has been 
 half tempted in a drunken orgy to make a raid upon them with 
 Borne choice spirits, leaving ruin and havoc behind him. 
 
 Orange Court is a very different place from that designed by 
 its first proprietor. Then it was a solid brick mansion in Queen 
 Anne style, named in compliment to that sovereign's brother- 
 in-law. Giles Fane's father pulled down and rebuilt it in the 
 Italian style, with terraces and balustrades, and flights of steps 
 decorated with marble statues, fountains, and rows of myrtle 
 and orange-trees in tubs. To this last feature it is popularly 
 considered by the present generation to owe its name. It is a 
 house, a palace rather, very charming and beautiful to eyes not 
 so highly cultured as to be able to pronounce it meretricious and 
 in bad taste. Too much knowledge on any particular subject is 
 frequently a hinderance to enjoyment. 
 
 In deference to his mother's wish, Giles Fane has the beautiful 
 gardens kept up, though he never goes into them himself, and 
 looks upon them with as much contempt as on the fine .furni- 
 ture inside the house. The party is quite a small one; indeed, it 
 consists only of the Ravenholds, Lady Cornelia Fane, Colonel 
 Dallas, Mrs. Fane, and Mr. Anson. 
 
 The lovers, Hermione has decided, would be very much bored 
 if they had to give up their love-making and do company man- 
 ners, and she would not, she declared, make other people wretched 
 at the sight of bliss they could not share, nor demoralize them 
 into trying to be happy in a less legitimate manner. 
 
 " I dare say I shall die of envy myself," she adds; " but that 
 cannot be helped." 
 
 It is a lovely Sunday afternoon they have all been to church 
 in the morning, and are now, after a big lunch, resting from 
 their labors. Tl\e lovers have of course gone off together; Lady 
 Cornelia is dozing over a book of sermons; the colonel is discon- 
 solately pacing one of the avenues with a cigar for company; 
 Hermione and Roland Anson are sitting together on a rustic 
 bench at the end of a long green alley planted with a double 
 border of yews. Presently they see Lord and Lady Ravenhold 
 emerge from one of the side walks his arm is round her waist, 
 her face is upturned to his. Becoming aware of the occupants 
 of the bench, they vanish as swiftly as they appeared. 
 
 Hermione darts a glance half comic, half petulant, at her 
 companion. 
 
 " How sorry I am I asked them here!" she says. " The sight 
 of so much happiness makes me positively ill. I shall have jaun- 
 dice or bilious fever before they go. It seems to make me % turn 
 over like,' as my old nurse used to say." 
 
 " Console yourself," returns her companion " it will not 
 last/' 
 
 Hermione gives a sigh that seems as though it would rend her 
 lace boddice in twain. 
 
 41 But only thinly how divinely happy they are now!" she says. 
 
I SIVE LIVED AND LOVED. 17 
 
 ''Only think," he returns, "how unutterably wretched they 
 will be when their illusions dispel and their raptures are over!" 
 
 " But they will have the-delightful remembrance of what they 
 once enjoyed." 
 
 " A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." 
 
 quotes Ronald Anson. 
 
 " I don't know," says Hermione. " I would rather be happy 
 and remember it, than have no pleasant memories." 
 
 " So would not I," he answers. " I think it must be madden- 
 ing to remember intense happiness, and to know that it will 
 never come again." 
 
 Hermione looks away to the furthest point of the green alley. 
 
 *' Oh!" she says, in a voice of intense longing, ' only think of 
 the utter bliss of loving and being passionately beloved, and of 
 its being right! It is a horrid, humiliating thought that one is 
 not loved; indeed, that one is disliked by one's own husband. 
 Why," petulantly, "why should mine dislike me? And that 
 woman! oh, heaven! did you see the wretch in church this 
 morning? to think he adores her and hates me!" 
 
 " My dear child," observes Mr. Anson, " you need hardly let 
 that distress you. I suppose a pig would naturally prefer a cab- 
 bage to a bunch of lilies and roses." 
 
 44 That is very nicely put," says Hermione, half smiling, " but 
 it does not console me. Did you see her flaunting herself under 
 my very nose, in her blue silk gown and her Paisley shawl, and 
 that orange feather in her hat, and the great gold chain around 
 her neck? And her troop of snub-nosed urchins! I suppose 
 the congregation were all thinking how bad I must feel. It is 
 r.ot that I really care," cries Hermione, trying to strangle her 
 emotion, "but, sometimes, a sort of fury comes over me arid I 
 feel capable of doing something desperate. I want to fling his 
 money in his face and .shake the dust of his hateful place from 
 my feet, and cry, * Go and be happy 'with your choice, and besot 
 yourself with drink and turn the place into a tavern, and let me 
 forget such a being exists on the face of the earth!' Roland!" 
 turning suddenly upon him "you have often pretended to be 
 fond of me. I don't suppose you really are, o-r you would have 
 asked me long ago to leave my wretched life and go away with 
 you. Why do you not :" 
 
 ' Why V" he says, looking at her with a tender, melancholy 
 gaze, " because I love you better than I love myself." 
 
 ' It is very easy to say that," she answers, half mockingly. 
 
 *' Yes," he says. " easier than to prove it." 
 
 " Most men." she goes on (for it pleases her to try him) " most 
 men. seeing a woman they cared for utterly wretched, would 
 say, * Come to me, and let me try to make you happy.' " 
 
 " It would be only when I had said tliat, and you had con- 
 sented, that you would know what it is to be utterly wretched." 
 
 " Because you would get tired of me and desert me." 
 
 " No; but because the love of one man cannot in a thousandth 
 degree compensate a woman for the lose of the rest of the world 
 and for her own self-respect." 
 
168 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 11 Then you think a woman, however wretched in her home ; 
 ought to stick to it, and that she has no business to want love ? 
 even though she is quite young and has strong affections ?" 
 
 " Shall I tell you what* I think?" he says, his voice kindling 
 a little. " I think every human being, man or woman, who 
 craves for love, should be allowed to enjoy it; if they have 
 at first chosen an unworthy object, they ought to be able to 
 choose again. I do not believe the Almighty, who has im- 
 planted in our hearts that great need of love, which is, being 
 pure, the holiest feeling on earth, would ordain that any one 
 should lead a loveless life because he or she has begun it with an 
 error of judgment. That ordinance is man's; it is not God who 
 punishes, but society. If society opened its arms to a woman 
 who left her husband for another man, do you think she would 
 feel remorse or degradation ? Society punishes, and the punish- 
 ment is so terrible that no woman can bear it, least of all a sen- 
 sitive, pure-hearted woman as you are. That, child, is why I 
 never proposed to make you happy by insuring your misery. 
 Though," smiling sadly, " I think I know you too well to im- 
 agine that, had I prayed and importuned you ever since I knew 
 you, you would have consented to my prayers." 
 
 Two tears steal down Hermione's cheeks, her mouth works 
 with emotion. Then, rising abruptly, she says: 
 
 " Come, let us go and walk." 
 
 So they wander off silently together. Presently they come 
 with some suddenness upon the lovers. Ravenhold's arm is, as 
 usual, round his wife; with his hand he clasps both of hers; her 
 head lies tranquilly on his shoulder. At sight of the other pair 
 she makes a gesture as though to start away from him, but- he 
 holds her fast, and says, with laughing eyes and lips: 
 
 " No, no, my love, we are doing nothing wrong. How delight- 
 ful," apostrophizing the new-comers, " to have done with guilty 
 terrors, and not to be obliged to keep one eye and one ear al- 
 ways open for unexpected arrivals!" 
 
 But Vanessa, with the modesty becoming her sex, insists upon 
 freeing herself from his embrace. Her lovely face is dyed with 
 blushes as deep as though her action were not quite lawful and 
 proper. 
 
 " Ah, my dears," says Hermione, with mock seriousness, " do 
 not exhaust your bliss too soon. Think of all the long future, 
 and economize." 
 
 'Our store is boundless," cries Ravenhold, joyously "there 
 is no end of it. We can eat our cake and keep it too it will be 
 like the widow's cruse." 
 
 " I hope it may," says Hermoine, a trifle maliciously. 
 
 " You are jealous, my dear," retorts her brother. 
 
 "Jam, "she returns, with emphasis. "Come," to her corn^ 
 panion, " let us go and leave them. The sight of them gives in 
 the spleen." 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE year h#s waned the happiest year of Vanessa's life the 
 new year is already in its second month. It has been, on the 
 whole, a time of brilliant sunshine and summer skies (figura- 
 tively speaking, of course); but there have been some clouds. 
 Vanessa's eyes have rained tears more than once; tears called 
 forth by a sharp or petulant word from her lord, but he has al- 
 ways kissed them away again. She is his most humble slave; 
 she adores him so intensely, so unwisely, that a cold or angry 
 inflection in his voice has power to terrify and make her 
 wretched she thinks wonderingly, almost enviously, of the 
 time when she could play off disdainful airs upon him, and pro- 
 voke him by her malicious pretense of indifference. She is pain- 
 fully conscious that the tables are turned now that he holds 
 the whip and reins, and that she is forced to go whither it is his 
 will to drive her. Once, in December, when Hermione was on 
 a visit to them, she thought fit to say to her lovely sister-in- 
 law: 
 
 " My dear, you are making a rod for your own back." 
 
 " How ?" asks Vanessa, smiling. 
 
 " You let Gerard see that you are too fond of him." 
 
 " But I am fond of him. He is my only thought in the 
 world" (her eyes kindling). " I worship the ground he walks 
 on." 
 
 And she proclaims this with her head well thrown up and a 
 proud air, as though she gloried in her chains. 
 
 " Beware, my dear!" smiles Hermione. " Men are human 
 very human Gerard is particularly human." 
 
 " What then?" asks Vanessa. 
 
 " Why, then," returns Hermione, a trifle embarrassed, " it 
 does not do to let them know their power, because because 
 they are sometimes apt to abuse it." 
 
 * But if I am altogether devoted to him ?" . 
 
 " Be devoted, but do not show it more than you can help." 
 
 This policy, however, does not lend itself to Lady Ravenhold's 
 ideas. 
 
 The winter has been delightfully passed in entertaining and 
 being entertained. Vanessa has been fetea and flattered every- 
 where; with her beauty, rank, and charming, gracious manners, 
 she has made a sort of royal progress. RavenhoLd, being much 
 influenced, as men frequently are, by seeing the impression his 
 beautiful wife creates, values her all the more on this account, 
 and excites much ' indignation and pretended ridicule in the 
 breasts of other handsome women who would fain share his 
 attentions by his show of exclusive devotion to Vanessa. She 
 has, up to this moment, never experienced a single pang of 
 jealousy. 
 
 It has been arranged that they shall spend the last fortnight 
 of February in London, and they have made delightful plans for 
 enjoying their visit thoroughly. Parties to the play, little din- 
 pers, all sorts of pleasant rendezvous. Most unfortunately, Va- 
 
170 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 nessa caught cold on the journey up, and it lias developed into 
 an influenza of Vfce severest kind. Stirring out of the hotel is 
 not to be thought of, even if she did not feel, as she does, too ill 
 to move; even if the weather were genial instead of raw and 
 foggy. 
 
 Her husband's vexation is almost more trying to bear than her 
 own sufferings; he seems more put out than sympathetic; it is as 
 if she had caught cold to be perverse, instead of being bitterly 
 disappointed as she is. 
 
 On the second day after their arrival, she is so much worse that 
 she remains in bed until luncheon- time. Ravenhold has been out 
 all the morning, and as soon as lunch is over he takes his hat pre- 
 paratory to starting off again. 
 
 " Are" you going out, darling?" says Vanessa, imploringly. 
 
 " Well, I was/' he answers, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Do stop with me," she entreats. "*'I feel so ill and so 
 wretched." 
 
 He puts his hat down with a little jerk, goes to the window 
 and looks out. 
 
 ik I wish to goodness we hadn't come up," he observes, discon- 
 tentedly. " Beastly weather, and all one's plans knocked on the 
 head by this infernal cold of yours!" 
 
 Perhaps he does not intend his tone to be reproachful, but 
 it is. 
 
 " I thought it was very silly of you having that window down 
 and sitting with your face to" the engine." 
 
 " I wish you had told me so, darling," observes Vanessa, 
 meekly. 
 
 " What's the use of telling a woman anything?" he returns, 
 with latent irritability. "She's sure to do the very reverse." 
 
 Vanessa feels the tears rising, and concludes that she had bet- 
 ter let the unwilling captive go. 
 
 " If you want to go, dear, I won't keep you," she says. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you if I do stay?" he asks, briskly; 
 and as she cannot reply in his present mood, " Yes, you can come 
 and sit by me and hold my hand, and comfort and console me/' 
 she replies, reluctantly 
 
 '* No, I don't think so." 
 
 He pounces joyfully on his hat; his manner becomes cheery 
 again. 
 
 " Can I bring you in anything ?" he asks, with his hand on the 
 door " any lozenges or anything ?" 
 
 " No, thanks, dearest," she replies, and he goes briskly out 
 with a smile and a nod. 
 
 Vanessa feels very desolate: she leans back in her chair, puts 
 her feet on the fender, and shuts her eyes. After all, people 
 who say the world is a miserable place are not so altogether 
 wrong. 
 
 It is the longest, dreariest afternoon she has ever passed. 
 Her head aches; a sense of oppression almost stifles her. She 
 is too uncomfortable to doze. She looks constantly at the 
 hideous and gigantic gilt clock on the chimney-piece. It 
 seems hardly possible that the hand can taJaeaud^an immense 
 
LIVED AND LOVED. 171 
 
 time to travel one little minute. She gets up, and looks out 
 of the window. The atmosphere is dull and yellowish, ^ut, 
 for all that, broughams, occasional victorias, swift hansoms are 
 dashing about, and there seems a general stir and animation, 
 as though no one minded much about the weather , And but 
 for this wretched cold she too would be out, shopping, walking, 
 driving, amusing herself somehow in company with lier heart's 
 beloved. She. goes back to the fire, shuts her eyes, and begins 
 to think. 
 
 It is quite a long time since she even remembered John 
 Brandon. It seems almost as though she had been his wife in 
 Aorne former life: some previous and different state of existence 
 altogether. But to-day time is effaced; the past is brought back. 
 It might have been only last week that she was living in Bryan- 
 eton Square, in the early months of their marriage. She re- 
 members how, in her first winter in London, she had a severe, 
 feverish cold as now, and all the circumstances recur vividly to 
 her memory. Brandon used to come home earlier from busi- 
 ness that he might sit with her, and cheer her up, and try to 
 make her forget her discomfort. Lest she should be lonely, he 
 dined up-stairs with her. He used to read to her, or sit holding 
 her hand, and pillowing her head upon his breast. He used to 
 wake in the night to give her her medicine; waiting on her, 
 thinking of all her wants, seemed to be a pleasure rather than a 
 trouble to him. He only left her because business obliged him, 
 and then he came back as soon as possible. 
 
 The tears ooze through Vanessa's closed lids as she remembers 
 how bored Ravenhold has seemed the last two or three days; 
 how silent he has been; how he has appeared to consider her ill- 
 ness his grievance rather than hers. But oh! how long the time 
 seems! how immensely she looks forward to his coming back! 
 how she listens, holding her breath, to every footfall on the 
 stairs, and feels a pang of disappointment each time it passes 
 without stopping. It grows dark; the waiter comes in and 
 lights up three great gas-burners, and brings her tasteless tea 
 and abominably cut bread and butter, both of the worst possible 
 quality, such as one gets in the best private hotels in London. 
 The minutes crawl on, and Vanessa feels in turn hurt, irritable, 
 wounded by her husband's neglect. But every other feeling is 
 forgotten in joy when the door is dashed open, and her lord 
 comes in, radiant, handsome, beaming. 
 
 " Well, my pet, how are you?" he cries, gayly, coming up arid 
 taking her hand, and she looks up at him with an adoring 
 glance, which, this time last year, would have sent his brain 
 reeling with joy, but which he scarcely remarks to-day. 
 
 " I have felt "so ill, and the time has been so long, darling,-' 
 she answers with a little pout, like a spoilt child who wants to 
 be made a fuss with. 
 
 Ravenhold is too preoccupied to pay much attention to this. 
 He has evidently something on his mind. 
 
 " By Jove! what a bore'" lie says. Then he looks at the 
 lock it is ha If -past six. 
 
 14 Should you mind very much, darling," he says, breaking 
 
172 / HAVE LIVEu AND LOVED. 
 
 suddenly into his subject, " if I dined out and went to the play? 
 I just met the Blanks, and they want me awfully to join the 
 party. They were dreadfully sorry to hear about you she sent 
 her love, and will look you up to-morrow." 
 
 Vanessa feels as if her heart had suddenly frozen up a sense 
 of utte)r despair creeps over her if Gerard had announced his 
 intention of starting to-night for America she could not feel 
 worse. After that awful afternoon, to think of spending six or 
 seven more such dreadful, solitary hours! She burst into tears 
 tears that she is utterly powerless to restrain. 
 
 ** Good God!" cries RaVenhold, impatiently. " What is there 
 to cry about ? There, there, for Heaven's sake, my dear child, 
 leave off! .1 won't go. Though," pacing up and down with a 
 hopeless air, " what in the name of Fortune I'm to do in this 
 stifling room all the evening I don't know. 'Pon my soul, my 
 luck is too infernal. As soon as you're well enough, we'll get 
 back home. At all events there one won't be in the midst of 
 pleasant things one can't enjoy." 
 
 Every separate word is like a stab to Vanessa. But he has no 
 intention of wounding her he is only expressing the natural 
 irritation of a spoilt young man, accustomed to having his own 
 way, when something contradicts him. 
 
 " Pray go," she says, coldly, trying by that means to conceal 
 her desperate mortification. " Do not think of me!" 
 
 *' Of course I shall not, if you put it like that," he remarks, 
 sulkily. 
 
 *' I would much prefer your going." says Vanessa, in the same 
 cold voice. 
 
 " It is rather dog-in-the-manger-like," observes Ravenhold, 
 " to stop my fun because you can't go yourself. And it's not as 
 if I could do you any good by stopping. It's bad for you to talk, 
 and you can have Dalton" (her maid) ** to sit up with you if you 
 are lonely. However, of course now I shall not go." 
 
 And he looks the picture of injury and disappointment. Va- 
 nessa has a sudden terrified intuition that if she thwarts him he 
 will cease to love her. Anything, anything in the world rather 
 than that. 
 
 " I wish you to go," she cries, brushing away her tears. " I do 
 indeed; I was just a little disappointed at first, but really I do 
 not mind. I could not help crying: it is only because Iain not 
 well; I shall be better soon, and then I can go with you." And 
 she holds out her hand to him, and sheds a look of ineffable ten- 
 derness and forgiveness upon him out of her beautiful eyes. 
 
 Ravenhold takes her hand. 
 
 11 If there was any reason in it," he says, allowing himself to 
 be brought round, as he is desperately anxious to go; " if I could 
 do anything for you, I would stop with the greatest pleasure in 
 life. You know that, child!" 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course," she answers, trying to speak cheerfully, 
 and to stifle the gna wings of her heart. ** I shall not mind. I 
 must make haste and get well." 
 
 " Do, darling," he returns, affectionately. " You know I 
 would fifty times rather go with you than without you. In fact 
 
1 HAVE L1VUD AND LOVED: 173 
 
 it's not so much that I care to go as that they were so tremen- 
 dously keen about it. But" looking at the clock i4 if I am 
 going, I must look sharp, for we dine at seven fifteen." 
 
 With that he goes blithely out. 
 
 Vanessa sits staring at the fire, biting her lips, clinching her 
 teeth, trying with all her might to keep back the tears that will 
 force their way to her eyes. 
 
 In ten minutes Ravenhold dashes in again, looking handsomer 
 than ever; all his face alight with pleasurable emotion. 
 
 " Good-bye, darling. Mind you eat a good dinner; and have 
 Borne champagne. Best thing in the world for a cold. And go 
 to bed very early !" 
 
 " You won't be late, will you?" says Vanessa, with a glance 
 of entreaty. 
 
 ' ' No at least I don't think so. But on no account sit up for 
 me. I shall sleep in the dressing-room, and I'll be very quiet, so 
 as not to disturb you. Good-bye, my pet" taking her hand. 
 * I won't kiss you, for fear of catching your cold." 
 
 Then he goes off like a whirlwind, and Vanessa, is alone for 
 an indefinite time that seems like eternity. No homeless out- 
 cast, no pariah feels more desolate and hopeless than she does at 
 this moment. It seems to her as though her brief spell of joy is 
 over, and she will never be happy again. 
 
 When you come to think of it, it is inconceivably ridiculous, 
 not to say wicked, that a young woman, with everything in the 
 world to make her fate seem enviable, should allow a trifling 
 inconvenience to cause her so much anguish; but the pain we 
 suffer is not always to be gauged by the apparent cause. She 
 suffers acutely; her misery seems almost greater than she can 
 bear. But for the fear of an incoming waiter, or the advent of 
 her attentive maid, she would burst into a violent fit of weep- 
 ing. How handsome he looked! For the first time she feels a 
 pang of jealousy as she sees him, in imagination, talking in his 
 charming, caressing manner to some other woman. That re- 
 minds her that she does not know of whom the party consists, 
 except Colonel and Lady Ida Blank. She is not afraid of Lady 
 Ida, but no doubt there will be other women of the party. 
 
 The waiter lays the cloth, and Vanessa goes through the mis- 
 erable and most melancholy farce of dinner. Does a man ever 
 feel half as wretched over a solitary meal as a woman, I wonder ? 
 But no for he can take an interest in his dinner; and I hardly 
 fancy that a woman, be she even something of a gourmet, can 
 enjoy eating alone. 
 
 Vanessa's dinner is one of those tasteless and unappetizing 
 meals which seem to be de rigeur in English private hotels. 
 There is the half -warm, clear soup in the massive plated tureen, 
 followed by a sole, fried in fine gravel, and served with tallow- 
 colored melted butter a sweetbread which defies the efforts of 
 the spoon, surrounded by red lead, playfully called tomato 
 sauoe. A chicken decorated with pale, half-cooked sausages, 
 accompanied by a cauliflower or greens which make the room 
 almost uninhabitable for the rest of the evening, and a sweet 
 omelet. In vain the solemn and obsequious raven hands all 
 
174 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 
 
 these tempting dishes to her ladyship her dinner consists ot 
 two spoonfuls of soup, and two inches in length, not thickness, 
 of chicken. And when this banquet is over, she betakes herself 
 again to the arm-chair by the fire. Her head acht-s worse than 
 ever the atmosphere is stifling she longs to throw open the 
 window and put her head out into the night air; but she is chilly 
 as well as feverish, and does not attempt the dangerous experi- 
 ment. She, however, bids the waiter turn out all the gas, for 
 then, she thinks, she can cry unperceived. And cry she must. 
 When he is gone and she is alone in the firelight, she weeps and 
 sobs and sighs as if her heart would break. Foolish Vanessa, to 
 make all this woe for herself! What is to become of her future? 
 what will she do when a real grief attacks her ? 
 
 She meant to sit up for her husband in spite of his injunction 
 to the contrary, but when ten o'clock comes she is so utterly 
 worn out that she finds it impossible to endure this wretched- 
 ness longer and elects to exchange it for another kind. 
 
 "Dear me, my lady, your cold is bad!*' .jays Dalton, sympa- 
 thetically; " your eyes are as red as fire." 
 
 And though she says this quite innocently, she is perfectly 
 well aware that the appearance of her ladyship's eyes is not to 
 be accounted for by her influenza. 
 
 Vanessa dawdles over her night toilet, anxiously hoping that 
 her lord might come in before it is completed, but such is not 
 the case. She dismisses her maid, and sits crouching over the 
 fire for three quarters of an hour, which seem like as many 
 hours. It is now twenty minutes to twelve. Her head and 
 limbs ache so intolerably that she decides to betake herself to 
 bed. When she thinks she has been there at least an hour, 
 the clock in the next room strikes twelve. It is followed by 
 two church clocks in the neighborhood. Suddenly a wild ter- 
 ror takes possession of Vanessa. Suppose something should 
 have happened to her idol ? Suppose he should have been 
 knocked down by a cab, or the horse of his hansom has bolted, 
 and he is at this moment lying maimed, insensible, perhaps dead, 
 in some hospital ? This thought drives her into a frenzy. But 
 perhaps, after all, he has come in quietly, as he said, so as not 
 to disturb her, and is already safe in bed. She jumps up, opens 
 the dressing-room door, and calls, softly: 
 
 "Gerard!" 
 
 No answer. Again, louder; no answer. She lights a candle 
 and goes in; the room is empty: it is as cold as a well besides. 
 She shivers and goes back to her own fire, which she piles up 
 with coals. She throws a wrapper round her and resumes pos- 
 session of the chair by the fire she will not get into bed again. 
 She leaves the door ajar the cold comes in and sets her cough- 
 ing violently. 
 
 Half past twelve. She cannot bear it any longer; she paces 
 the room up and down she goes into the sitting-room and 
 looks out of the window. Every now and then a hansom dashes 
 by one or two stop she listens with straining ears for Gerard's 
 tep; it doep not come. 
 
 A quarter to one. She has an agonized certainty now that 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 175 
 
 something has happened to him he would not be so cruel as to 
 Btay out like this merely for his own amusement's sake whilst 
 she was suffering -this intolerable agony of suspense. If she 
 were only in her own house, she would call up the servants and 
 send them in all directions to search for her missing lord, but 
 here she would probably be thought mad. 
 
 Five minutes past one, and then his lordship comes creeping 
 stealthily into his dressing-room, and looks anything but pleased 
 to find his wife standing in the cold with wild, terrified eyes, 
 looking like a ghost. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 "WHAT on earth have you been sitting up for?" he says, 
 almost irritably. " Do you want to catch your death of cold?" 
 
 Vanessa interrupts him by bursting into a hysterical fit of 
 weeping. He goes and leans against the chimney-piece, looking 
 bored to death. His wife's tears do not touch him; he does not 
 feel sorry for her, but, on the contrary, indignant at her un- 
 reasonableness. This is the first time he has felt the gall of the 
 marriage-chain, and he dislikes the sensation amazingly. He 
 has had a cheery evening, and now to come back to tears and 
 reproaches, when he wants to go to bed and to sleep, is extremely 
 annoying. There is a little guilt on his conscience, too, and he 
 had been particularly anxious to retire without having to inter- 
 view his wife, or retail the events of the evening. 
 
 As for Vanessa, her fears being assuaged, she feels the not un- 
 natural reaction of anger at having suffered needless tortures. 
 When she can speak after her fit of sobbing, she says: 
 
 1 'How cruel of you to frighten me so! I thought you were 
 killed." 
 
 " Good heavens!" cried her husband, his handsome young face 
 clouding with anger and impatience. " Am I to be treated like 
 a child of ten ? Perhaps you would like to send a servant to 
 fetch me the next time." 
 
 "There shall not be any next time," cries Vanessa. "I ^ili 
 go with you, if I die after it, but I won't be left alone." 
 
 Ravenhold looks anything but enchanted at this announce- 
 ment the same moment, however, Vanessa is seized with a 
 violent paroxysm of coughing, which diverts the current of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 "My dear child," he cries, "don't cough like that! You'll 
 break a blood-vessel. Haven't you got any cough mixture, or 
 lozenges, or anything ?" and he proceeds to hunt about for rent- 
 ed ies. 
 
 Finding nothing else, he brings her a glass of water, and pres- 
 ently her cough subsides, and she lies back exhausted in her 
 chair, literally worn out, quite beyond reproaches. 
 
 " Now, darling, do get into bed," urges her lord, and she al- 
 lows herself to be persuaded. Then he bids her go to sleep at 
 nce. 
 
 " Don't leave me!" she murmurs, in an imploring whisper. 
 
 "But, my good child, this room is like a furnace ! I should 
 
176 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 die of suffocation. I could not sleep one wink for that cough of 
 yours, and I am as tired as a dog." 
 
 " Very well," she answers, coldly. " Good-night." 
 
 And when he is gone, her tears flow again, and she remem- 
 bers that Brandon never found the room too hot or complained 
 of being kept awake by her cough. 
 
 In the morning she is, naturally, very much worse; indeed, 
 the doctor positively forbids her to rise. Raven hold comes and 
 Bits on the edge of her bed for ten minutes and inquires affec- 
 tionately about her health and feelings generally; then he re- 
 members a most important engagement which cannot be put off 
 but will only detain him half an hour. He is unavoidably kept, 
 however, four times that period, and then he looks in to say 
 that, as he will not be up to luncheon, and the hotel food is so 
 beastly, he will lunch at his club and come back directly after. 
 But again something detains him. 
 
 Vanessa is so weary of the dismal bedroom that, doctor or no 
 doctor, she reeolves to be dressed. Her husband shall not have 
 the excuse of her being in bed to dine out to-night. Dalton 
 dresses her in a lovely tea-gown and plaits her hair a la Mar- 
 guerite ; she cannot bear the fatigue of having it dressed. A 
 less uncomfortable sofa nas been brought from another apart- 
 ment, and her lovely ladyship is laid upon it! Her truant lord 
 comes in just in time to carry her in. She is not one of your 
 little dolls of women that a man can run about with in his 
 arms, but a stately, tall, and exquisitely developed woman; but 
 Ravenhold is very strong and accomplishes the feat without any 
 sign of distress. 
 
 She thanks him with a smile, and says languidly that she is 
 afraid she is terribly heavy. He replies with something of the 
 old manner that he would not have her a feather-weight lighter, 
 and that little speech, tenderly uttered, condones his previous 
 neglect. 
 
 Important business soon carries him off again, but he has 
 promised to dine and stay with her all the evening. She has not 
 asked him a word yet about his doings last night; she feels a lit- 
 tle aggrieved against the Blanks for having invited him when 
 she was ill, and they ought to have known she wanted hirr 
 People seem to think it a charity to take a man away from a sic*, 
 wife, and perhaps it is to Mm but what about her ? 
 
 Still, when at half past five, Lady Ida Blank's card is brought 
 up with a message inquiring if she may be admitted, Vanessa 
 replies, rather gladly, in the affirmative. 
 
 "My poor, dear child, this is too dreadful!" cries Lady Ida, 
 coming in. " How on earth did you manage to catch such a 
 terrible cold? But you look charming all the same, only just a 
 little bit languid; and what a lovely frock! I hardly expected 
 to be admitted, for Mildred Belair told me you were frightfully 
 ill and in bed." 
 
 Mildred Belair! At that detested name Vanessa's heart stands 
 absolutely still for a moment. Then a flame flies to her white 
 cheeks; she brings on a fit of coughing to hide it. 
 
 " What a cough! My dear child, you must take care of your- 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. :?? 
 
 Bell, who is your doctor? I wish you'd have !" cries Lady 
 
 Ida, all in a breath. 
 
 " I shall be all right directly," answers .Vanessa from behind 
 her handkerchief. " So Lady Mildred told you about me. 
 When did you see her ?" 
 
 "I have just come from there. Your husband had been 
 lunching with her, and gave a shocking account of you. You 
 know we were all at the play together last night. We had a 
 delightful evening, and such a capital supper afterward! The 
 only drawback was your not being there." 
 
 Vanessa is obliged to talk very fast to conceal the pain and 
 anger that are devouring her. A madness of jealousy is 
 strangling her heart. That he should have concealed his meet- 
 ing with Lady Mildred from her gives the most horrible point to 
 her suspicions. She is intensely thankful when Lady Ida de- 
 parts, but, left alone, her jealous anguish increases tenfold. She 
 dreads Lady Mildred unutterably, knowing the influence she 
 once had over Eavenhold. And, this time yesterday, no faint- 
 est doubt of him had entered her brain. She had fancied her- 
 self unhappy then because she was ill and alone, but what was 
 that to the terrible reality ? 
 
 Ravenhold comes in presently in the most amiable and affec- 
 tionate mood, but she only sees in this behavior the evidence of 
 a conscience trying to conceal its guilt. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asks after a moment: for she does 
 not look at him, and only responds icily to his affectionate ques- 
 tions. 
 
 "Where did you lunch to-day?" she asks suddenly, fixing her 
 eyes on him. 
 
 Then he knows that the sword of Damocles has fallen. He 
 had really no motive for concealing anything about Lady Mil- 
 dred, except the wish to spare his wife and himself unpleasant- 
 ness; having an excellent intuition from his experience of the 
 fair sex that " there would be a row if she knew it." He has no 
 love for Lady Mildred, because all his passion is still concen- 
 trated upon his beautiful wife, but he was delighted to see her 
 again as an old friend, and, considering the circumstances,- she 
 had behaved awfully well and kindly, and had not seemed to 
 bear him the least malice, as, indeed, she very well might. It 
 was to reward her for this that he had consented to lunch with 
 her when she pressed him. She had given him a capital lunch 
 ^no one understood these things better and she was the very 
 best company in the world. And not one single allusion to the 
 past in any way calculated to make him uncomfortable. Only, 
 as he was bidding her "good-bye," she said, smiling, though 
 with tears in her eyes, but not in a manner calling for any reply 
 on his part: 
 
 " Come and see me sometimes. I should not like you to give 
 me up. I shall always care more for you than for any one 
 else." 
 
 And he had clasped her hand with a great fervor of friendli- 
 ness, exclaiming: 
 
 " I shall never give you up! You may be quite sure of thatP 
 
178 T'flAVE LIVED AND LO]'$D: 
 
 But he was so far from feeling anything more than friendship 
 for her that he had no guilty sensations on that score, but was 
 only disconcerted because he had done something which he knew 
 his wife would not like. Women never will understand that a 
 man can have any feeling but one for a woman in whose society 
 he seems to find pleasure. Therefore when Vanessa attacks him, 
 he looks slightly confused, and says, after a moment's pause: 
 
 " 1 suppose you know, or you would not ask." 
 
 "Yes," she cries, the hot blood rushing to her cheeks and her 
 eyes flashing with passion. " Yes, I know that you met her last 
 night and made the appointment for to-day, and then pretended 
 to me that you were going to your club to lunch." 
 
 " I made no appointment," returns Ravenhold. " I said I 
 -would go if I could, and you did not want me. And I did 
 not mention it to you, because I knew if I did there would 
 be a scene, and. as you are so unwell, that would be bad for ' 
 you." 
 
 " How thoughtful of you!" cries Vanessa, scornfully. "And 
 pray why should there have been a scene V" 
 
 ".Because," retorts Ravenhold, " you women are so infernally 
 suspicious. Though Milly is one of my oldest friends " 
 
 44 Friends!" echoes Vanessa, with great meaning. "Something 
 more than that, surely." 
 
 " I never said so," he replies, coloring. " You have no right 
 to say that." 
 
 ' ' Have I not ?" she returns, with even more significance. ' ' It 
 would be strange if I were ignorant of what every one else knows 
 perfectly." 
 
 With a sudden change of mood, Ravenhold sits down beside 
 her and puts his arms round her. 
 
 " Don't be foolish, darling," he says. " Have you not proof 
 enough that I love you? If I had cared for her, should I 
 not have gone straight to her and asked her to marry me 
 when she, like you, was free? You know that I have always 
 been devoted to you you have every atom of my love; why 
 should you want to make us both wretched by pretending to 
 doubt it ?" 
 
 And with that, regardless of the risk of catching her cold, he 
 kisses her fifty times. 
 
 So there is a renewing of love between them which runs very 
 near being disturbed again when Vanessa, on the strength of 
 his tenderness? , begs him to give up Lady Mildred, and never to 
 see her again. He will not give any such promise nay, more, 
 he insists that Vanessa shall receive and be civil to her hated 
 rival; and Vanessa, terrified lest there should be another quarrel 
 between them after their late reconciliation, and perhaps satis- 
 fied with the genuineness of her lord's passion for her, consents 
 to be civil to her ladyship, should they meet. And meet they 
 do the next day, when Lady Mildred comes to inquire after thi 
 invalid. Curiously enough, Ravenhold makes his appearance 
 three minutes later. Nothing can be sweeter or more charming 
 than Lady Mildred's manner to Lady Ravenhold one might 
 imagine her to be a bosom friend seriously unhappy at Vanessa's 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 179 
 
 indisposition. That lad}*, on the contrary, finds it literally im- 
 possible to be genial or friendly her manner is very stiff, and 
 utterly wanting in cordiality, although she is paiuf ally conscious 
 that she is behaving without tact and appearing to considerable 
 disadvantage, 
 
 Lady Mildred treats Ravenhold in a friendly, almost affec- 
 tionate manner, as though he were a dear brother; calls him 
 Gerard, and succeeds (as she wishes to do) in driving Vanessa 
 nearly mad with anger and jealousy, Ravenhold is obliged to 
 be doubly cordial to the guest in order to atone for his wife's 
 coldness. Vanessa, to her infinite chagrin, is forced to accept an 
 invitation to dine with Lady Mildred as soon as her cold shall be 
 better; if she refuses, she reads in her husband's eyes and voice 
 that he will go without her. 
 
 Lady Mildred departs with a smile on her lips and hatred in 
 her heart, compelled, with bitter reluctance, to own Vanessa's 
 beauty. 
 
 " Never mind," she says to herself, pressing her feet hard 
 against the carriage-floor, " he will get tired of her in time. Le 
 temps fait passer T amour, A woman's beauty does not prevent 
 a man's satiety thank Heaven!" 
 
 And with this pious thanksgiving she comforts her heart, and 
 goes home to receive a lover for whom she had fancied until 
 quite lately she felt a certain amount of tenderness. 
 
 In a few days Vanessa is able to throw off her cold; to go 
 about with her husband, and to enjoy London. There is, how- 
 ever, the bitter drop in the cup which is seldom absent for the 
 sweet draught of pleasure. Lady Mildred represents that drop. 
 She is not to be daunted by Lady Ravenhold's coldness indeed, 
 it seems as if she does not or will not see it. Her dinner-party, 
 of which she made such a point, comes off, and is graced by the 
 presence of the bride and bridegroom. Cheer}* as the party 
 seems, radiant and beautiful as the ladies look, there is a jealous 
 fire burning in the breasts of two of them. 
 
 During dinner, Lady Mildred, whose best point is undoubtedly 
 her fine, dark eyes, speaks very plainly with them to her whilom 
 lover, and he has a relapse of the old caressing manner which he 
 once used invariably to women he liked, but of which latterly 
 his wife has had almost a complete monopoly. Vanessa smiles, 
 but her heart is torn with fear and misery. Lady Mildred's turn 
 is to come. After dinner Ravenhold joins his lovely wife, who 
 is holding a little court of men; and looks and speaks" caressingly 
 to her with all the love and pride of possession, and Lady Mil- 
 dred notes it, and her heart is devoured by a rage of envy and 
 bitterness. The two women suffer almost equally; but Raven* 
 hold is radiant, charmed with both, and apparently ignorant of 
 the painful feelings he has excited. Vanessa might have sulked 
 with him when they got into the brougham to drive home, only 
 that he flung his arms around her, and told her with such unmis- 
 takable sincerity that she was without doubt the loveliest woman 
 in the world, and had never looked so well in her life, that she 
 stifled down the qualms of jealousy and allowed herself to be 
 happy for the time. 
 
180 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 But that terrible dread of Lady Mildred remained, and it wa 
 as if a great load fell i'rom her heart when she found herself 
 in the railway -carriage with her idol en route for Dallas Park; 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE life that Vanessa leads now is a complete change from 
 that which she led up to the time of her engagement to Lord 
 Ravenhold. That, with the exception of the few months of 
 Brandon's courtship and the early days of their marriage, had 
 been one of comparative tranquillity and monotony now it is 
 composed of intense happiness, varied by sharp pangs. It is the 
 life of every sensitive woman who hangs upon a man's love. In 
 former days her temper had been equable now it seems to her 
 tfcat her very nature is changed. Tempests of passion, agonies 
 of fear and misery, sweep over her heart she is either in a sev- 
 enth heaven or crushed by despair, according to the mood in 
 which her lord, her master, happens to be. If he is affectionate 
 and tender, if he flatters and caresses her, she is unspeakably 
 happy; if he is irritable and petulant, or seems bored, she is 
 wretched beyond words. 
 
 Until lately, she scarcely knew that she had a temper the 
 language of reproach was almost unknown to her now she feels 
 at times as angry and bitter toward him as at others she is pas- 
 sionately loving; it is as though she must be always in extremes, 
 and extremes are very exhausting to the nervous system, and 
 are apt to undermine both health and temper. It seems a cruel 
 enigma to her, as it lias done to most of her sex before her, that 
 whereas her love and her desire to lavish it increase month 
 by month, his suffers a slow process of decay and falling off. 
 She cannot assert that he no longer loves her, but oh! how 
 changed, how different he is from last year! Then she was em- 
 press and he her slave now the positions are reversed. 
 
 Hardly a day passes that she does not feel wounded by some- 
 thing he says or does, and he, having once begun the bad habit 
 engendered by familiarity of speaking sharply to her when he 
 is ill pleased or out of temper, is not likely to lay it aside again 
 easily. For all that, he is very much in love with her still, and, 
 if she could only have the wisdbrn to refrain from falling down 
 and worshiping him. his passion might be warranted to last for 
 a long time yet. It is all very well for men to be natural, to 
 show their passion or their ennui with that delightful ingenousiiess 
 which is their chief characteristic (or rather the chief character- 
 istic of their selfishness), but a woman must dissemble if she 
 wants to be moderately happy. When she feels ardent, she must 
 seem coy; when she is indifferent, she must pretend to be 
 affectionate: if she wants to keep the reins, her head must be 
 clear and cool. All said and done about a woman's rights and 
 wrongs, man is master and she his inferior; it is only by courtesy 
 that she is allowed to pretend to drive sometimes. 
 
 In spite of all that Vanessa suffers, she would not for anything 
 that could be offered her exchange her lot with any other hu- 
 man being. To lose, Ravenhold would be to lose everything the 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 181 
 
 >voi^ holds of joy or delight. But her love gives new terrors to 
 her life. When he is out hunting or shooting, she is subject to 
 panics about his safety; if he conies in later than she expects 
 him. she knows pangs that women with phlegmatic tempera- 
 ments, or women whose being is not wrapped up in their lords, 
 never dream of, mercifully for themselves. Paradise is to her 
 the place where her love is Hades where he is not. Poor 
 Vanessa! Heaven pity any women who loves thus! If she 
 knows greater joys than most of her sex, she is doomed to a far 
 greater excess of suffering, since pain preponderates so immeas- 
 urably in this world of tears. 
 
 Just before Easter they go to Paris for a fortnight. It is an 
 admitted fact that nothing is more trying to conjugal harmony 
 than travel, especially foreign travel. Ravenhold is of an impa- 
 tient, petulant, imperious disposition, and particularly dislikes 
 trouble and opposition. He gets put out very often, and vents 
 it, in the manner considered legitimate by husbands, on his wife. 
 Vanessa has a fine spirit, one that is remarkably quick to resent 
 injustice; so there are, in consequence, words between them now 
 and then. Unfortunately for her, she cannot sulk he can. 
 
 Once, when he says that travel is extremely pleasant for a 
 bachelor, but an infernal nuisance with a wife and her maid, she 
 cries half the night. Her greatest misfortune is that the least 
 word oT her beloved can afflict her beyond measure. The 
 thought that he does not regard her as an unmixed blessing fills 
 her with unbearable pain. Still they spend a great many pleas- 
 ant and happy hours in Paris. He is always proud of her beauty 
 and likes to be seen with her. He is not one of those men who 
 resent others admiring and coveting his possessions; on the con- 
 trary, it is agreeable-to his vanity. He might indeed be furi- 
 ously jealous, if he thought he had cause, but he knows too well 
 that he has not. 
 
 Mrs. Fane joins them presently, and her brother takes the op- 
 portunity to go about a good deal alone, and Vanessa, fond as 
 she is of her sister-in-law, is not pleased with the change of com- 
 panionship. One morning at breakfast she urges Ravenhold to 
 accompany them on some expedition which they contemplate, 
 but he laughingly declines. Two is a very good number, he 
 says: three would spoil it. And, besides, it would not amuse 
 him. Again she presses him, but he declines; and when, even 
 then, she will not accept his denial, he answers her *vith some 
 sharpness. The tears come into her eyes; she cannot restrain 
 them, arid leaves the room abruptly. 
 
 " Gerard," says Hermione, " I think you are rather foolish." 
 
 " Do you ?" he answers, almost indifferently. " Why?" 
 
 " You have a lovely and devoted wife, and you do not make as 
 much of her as you ought." 
 
 "My dear girl," replies Ravenhold, "one cannot always be 
 tied to a woman's petticoats. Vanessa is unreasonable." 
 
 " There was a time," observes Hermione, significantly, " when 
 you asked nothing better than always to be tied to her petti- 
 coats." 
 
382 I HAVE LIVED AND LOFED. 
 
 "Oh, that was different," he says, lightly. 
 
 " Yes,'' she returns, dryly, " I am afraid it was. But don't i, 
 get, my dear, that she is* exceedingly lovely, and that, if you get 
 tired of her, there will be lots of men read}' to adore her.*' 
 
 " I am not tired of her not the least bit tired of her!'* he cries, 
 flushing a little. "Besides" more quietly "there is no fear 
 of her looking at any one else." 
 
 " Not just yet, perhaps," answers his sister. " But very often, 
 when a woman is disappointed, she allows herself to goon being 
 
 miserable for a time and then " 
 
 'Well, and then?" 
 
 " She ends by consoling herself," returns Hermione, quite seri- 
 ously. 
 
 Ravenhold laughs gayly. 
 
 "No fear, my dear." 
 
 But, five minutes later, he goes to look for his wife, and kisses 
 her, and says he will drive with them in the afternoon. 
 
 Hermione thinks fit to give Vanessa also a little lecture when 
 they are alone. 
 
 " You must not be too exacting with Gerard, my love," she 
 pays, assuming a playful manner. "He was always a shockingly 
 spoilt boy, and we had to give in to him and let him do as he 
 liked. And then, you know, men are not like us. They leave 
 off when we begin. I don't know how it is, but the best man in 
 the world cannot stand too much worship. He takes to giving 
 himself airs. In fact, he does after marriage just what we do 
 before it. If you could only, my love, pretend not to think quite 
 so much of him: not to want to have him always with you!" 
 
 ' I dare say it would be wiser," sighs Vanessa, " but how can 
 one? And why should a man change? He was like me once 
 worse. I think/ He could not bear to be away from me for 
 live minutes he said he could never know a happy moment 
 until we were married and he was quite sure of me." 
 
 "Yes," says Hermione, pursing up her lips, "men do say* 
 those things, I believe. Not that I speak from personal experi- 
 ence. But, niy dear, for goodness 7 sake, if you want to be 
 happy, act a little part. Smile when he goes away, and smile 
 when he conies back, and, above all things, never reproach him. 
 Men can't stand being found fault with they never think they 
 are in the wrong." 
 
 Hermione's well-meant little lectures are not without their 
 effect; it lasts quite forty-eight hours, during which time she 
 feels several sharp pangs of envy at the happiness of which she 
 is witness. 
 
 Ravenhold takes a house in Mayfair for three months from 
 Easter. He and Vanessa have made many delightful projects 
 for spending their first season together there. Both are fond of 
 London. Now it would seem that all Vanessa's most ardent as- 
 pirations are to be gratified. Pier position in society is no longer 
 doubtful she is one of the great ladies; she has a handsome 
 young husband whom she adores, and who adores her she 
 knows, or will know, every one worth knowing. It will be hers 
 no longer to look enviously at women going to Court intheir 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVE& 183 
 
 plumes and jewels; nor to watch from afar the groups of gay 
 and handsome young people in the park among whom there 
 used to seem sudh a delightful freemasonry their honors and 
 joys will be hers. 
 
 And yet and yet with strange perversity, Vanessa has said 
 to herself with a sigh more than once, ** Oh, if instead of the life 
 that is before me, I could be down at home " (her own home), 
 " with only Gerard Gerard as he was last summer!" It is pos- 
 sible that the misgivings which haunt her now would not have 
 entered her head, had not Lady Mildred become mixed up with 
 their lives. She was in the same set they met at every turn 
 and corner; she would be on terms of intimacy with them no 
 coldness on Lady Ravenhold's part seemed to affect or disturb 
 her. And then Gerard was always there to make up for any 
 lack of friendliness on his wife's part. He seemed to cling par- 
 ticularly to this friendship: it was an utterly, entirely different 
 feeling from that he had once entertained for her it was the 
 friendliness that one has for a thoroughly congenial acquaint- 
 ance of long standing for a person to whom one can talk with- 
 out reserve; who claims nothing of one and yet seems always 
 happy to be in one's society. 
 
 Never was any woman more altered, more improved than 
 Milly, Ravenhold thinks. She who used to be so exacting, so 
 easily offended, who had such a tremendous temper! Now she 
 is always the same, always cheery, smiling, sympathetic, what- 
 ever he wishes her to be; and, with all that, he knows, and is 
 pleased to know, that she cares for him as much as ever and in 
 the same way, although his passion has subsided into a purely 
 platonic feeling. And he can say things to her that he cannot 
 say to any one else. The most dangerous woman to other women 
 is generally the oner~to whom a man can confide in this unre- 
 served manner, unless she exercises her power benevolently. 
 
 Ravenhold is devoted to dancing; Lady Mildred is a perfect 
 dancer; they nearly always meet at the same houses. He likes 
 his wife to dance and be surrounded by men ; no jealous spasm 
 ever crosses his heart when he sees another man's arm round her 
 waist. But to her it is purgatory to see a woman in his arms, 
 to see him sitting out in dimly-lighted conservatories with one, 
 bending toward her and looking those unutterable things which, 
 after all, mean nothing and are only a trick of manner. How 
 gladly would she compound with him never to dance again if 
 he would also forego dancing. She half broaches the proposi- 
 tion to him once, and he laughs it to scorn. There is only one 
 woman, however, of whom she is earnestly, terribly afraid, and 
 that is Lady Mildred. Once in a paroxysm of jealousy, she 
 told Ravenhold that he must give that woman up, that he must 
 choose between them, and his answer was this: 
 
 "Don't be a fool! I have told you fifty times that, if there 
 ever was anything between us (I don't say there was) it is all 
 over long ago. Now we are friends srnply, nothing more. I 
 most certainly shall not give her up for a ridiculous caprice on 
 ycur part Tf yOli don't want to quarrel seriously 
 
184 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 will say no more about it. But, whatever you do, I shall not 
 give her up." 
 
 "Then I shall cut her," says Vanessa, passionately. 
 
 " You may do as you please v I don't care a d -" he answers, 
 wrathfully. "If you do, I shall pay her all the more attention, 
 and go to see her twice as often." 
 
 " Then I shall leave you," cries Vanessa, worked up to 
 frenzy. 
 
 " All right," he replies, coolly, knowing how little fear there 
 is of her taking such a step. 
 
 This quarrel, like its predecessors, is made up, but Ravenhold 
 does not diminish his attentions to Lady Mildred, although if 
 possible he keeps his visits, which are tolerably frequent, from 
 Vanessa. He would not admit for an instant that the two 
 women were rivals. What he calls his " love " is for Vanessa. 
 Lady Mildred has his friendship. 
 
 For the first few months of their marriage Ravenhold and 
 Vanessa, if circumstances compelled them to be apart for a few 
 hours, gave each other, as is the wont of lovers, a minute ac- 
 count of how the time had been spent; but for some two or three 
 months now his lordship had shown himself very ill disposed to 
 be put through a catechism about his movements. He had oc- 
 casionally replied with considerable petulance to his wife's cross- 
 questioning, and had retorted that he made no inquiry how she 
 amused herself, and that he wished to have equal freedom. This 
 of course inspired in Vanessa's jealous heart the idea that his 
 leisure hours were spent in a manner of which he knew she 
 would not approve. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Ravenhold went pretty often to Lady Mil- 
 dred's house. There he enjoyed a sense of perfect freedom: a 
 thorough immunity from reproach and fault-finding every- 
 thing he said and did was right. He did not exactly complain 
 of his wife; but, now and then, he would let fall an innuendo 
 that his life was not altogether a bed of roses, and then a thrill 
 of joy would flit through his listener's heart. She would begin 
 by pretending to make excuses for Lady Ravenhold would say 
 that no doubt her jealousy arose from love; but then she would 
 hasten to append a rider. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, with a little sigh, "that if one 
 loved a man perfectly, the first thing one would care for would, 
 be his happiness, and one would not allow one's self to worry 
 him or make scenes to vex him. A woman ought to under- 
 stand that a man cannot always be with her he must have his 
 hours of liberty." 
 
 " Of course," echoes Ravenhold, eagerly. " People must go 
 their own way sometimes. When do I ever interfere with her 
 or insist on having an account of where she has been and what 
 she has done ? I am not jealous if fifty fellows make love to 
 her." 
 
 " I must say," observes Lady Mildred, softly, " that you are a 
 wonderful husband a far better one than I ever thought you 
 would make." 
 
 " Ah, you didn't understand me, then," he says, pensively. 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 185 
 
 "No," she answers, with the ingenuous air of one w"ho 
 frankly confesses an error, " I don't think I did. But," sighing, 
 " I do now." 
 
 He takes her hand and kisses it. . The gesture does not proceed 
 so much from love for her as from the warm and soothing sen- 
 timent of flattered self-esteem. He likes to be told he is in the 
 right he believes it implicitly he does not think there is such 
 another husband in London, and it is rather hard that he should 
 not be properly appreciated in the right quarter. 
 
 Hermione talks to him in a very different strain. She always 
 speaks of Vanessa's beauty and devotion, and begs him not 
 to undervalue them. In consequence he goes much less fre- 
 quently to his sister's house than to Lady Mildred's, and when, 
 he does says very little about his domestic affairs. 
 
 Colonel Dallas is a great deal with his beautiful new niece. 
 He is almost as much her companion now as in the days when 
 she was Mrs. Brandon and he had constituted himself her escort. 
 
 Ravenhold generally rode in the morning Vanessa preferred 
 to walk. She liked to ride in the country, but the heat and glare 
 and confusion of the Row were disagreeable to her. Still, if she 
 could have had her husband with her, she would have endured 
 these willingly enough, but other riders were sure to join them 
 and deprive her of his companionship. So she elected to walk 
 or sit with the colonel. The lovely Lady Ravenhold was im- 
 mensely admired she would have been the fashion had she 
 chosen." But if in Brandon's day she had refused even to make 
 believe to flirt, was it likely, now her whole heart was absorbed 
 by her husband, that she would have a word or a look for other 
 men more than courtesy demanded? And men get tired of try- 
 ing to flirt with a woman from whom they never get so much as a 
 glance of encouragement. They all said she was beautiful, but 
 they could not possibly indulge in any great enthusiasm about a 
 woman who had not a thought for any man save her husband. 
 Still, for their own vanity's sake, they liked to be seen talking 
 to the most beautiful woman in London, and Vanessa never ran 
 the risk of seeming neglected when she appeared in public. 
 
 She, if she suffered from jealousy or disappointment, did not 
 breathe one word of complaint, and the colonel was far too 
 much a man of the world to seem to notice anything that she 
 did not wish remarked. But he suffered for her sake. He often 
 wondered at, and was angry with, his nephew for not seeming 
 sufficiently to value a pearl of such price. And he looked with 
 deepest suspicion and disgust on the new rapprochement be- 
 tween him and Lady Mildred, whom, in his thoughts, he called 
 by so ugly a name as " the devil incarnate." 
 
 Lord and Lady Ravenhold had never been separated for 
 twenty-four hours since their marriage. When, therefore, her 
 husband informed Vanessa one morning at breakfast that he 
 had just received an invitation to fish and stay the night down 
 in Hampshire, and intended to accept it, a severe pang went to 
 her heart, and she felt as though some dire calamity had be- 
 fallen her. The tears came to her eyes, her lips trembled in spite 
 of her. 
 
186 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVF 1 
 
 " Miixt you stay the night ? Cannot 3^011 come h-v-K- by a Iat9 
 train ?" 
 
 " No," he answers; " because I want to fish all the next <L;v, 
 and to return in the evening. My dear child " impatientls 
 44 don't be ridiculous! Do you suppose we are to go through 
 the remainder of our lives without ever spending a night apart?" 
 
 Vanessa says no more. If he wishes to leave her; if it is no 
 pain, but rather a pleasure to him to be parted from her, what 
 is there left to say? If business compelled his absence, and he 
 went with reluctance, it would be different; she would hate him 
 to go all the same, but the pain would have been robbed of its 
 worst sting. 
 
 Ravenhold gets out his fishing-tackle and departs next morn- 
 ing with joy. He kisses her with the exuberance of affection 
 that a man generally exhibits when he is joyfull}- leaving his 
 wife. He bids her heartily to enjoy herself, and to have'' a 
 good time " in his absence. 
 
 As soon as he is gone, foolish Vanessa, feeling a terrible sense 
 of bereavement and desolation, proceeds to count the hour."* 
 until she will be reunited with him. She has cheerful thoughts 
 of railway accidents; of deaths by drowning. The colonel, who 
 comes to take her out, does his very best to cheer and enliven, 
 her, but in vain. She does not attempt to account for or excuse 
 her melancholy; but that would be needless He knows the 
 cause well enough, though he refrains from even seeming to 
 perceive her depression. She dines alone. After dinner she 
 takes a book, and tries to read, but lier mind does not grasp the 
 sense of the printed page; she is reading about Gerard all the 
 time. Presently the postman's loud knock resounds through the 
 house. She rouses herself, and brushes away the traitorous 
 tears from her eyes. A moment later the servant comes in with 
 a letter. Slowly and mechanically she opens it and reads. At 
 the first few words she springs to a sitting posture. She reads 
 to the end. Then she pushes her hair from her forehead with a 
 wild, affrighted gesture, and falls back in her chair half fainting, 
 white and cold as death. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THESE are the contents of the letter: 
 
 " You think, 110 doubt, because you have gone through with 
 the marriage ceremony with Lord Ravenhold that you are his 
 wife. But supposing that he had taken part in the same cere- 
 mony previously with another woman, who is still alive, you 
 would understand at once, would you not ? that you have no 
 right whatever to the name of Lady Ravenhold. "it is I who 
 bear that title. After the divorce took place, I went on my 
 bended knees to him, I entreated him to marry me. I dare say 
 he-has told you indeed, I know he has told many people that 
 he never cared for me. That is false. He was, or seemed to be, 
 as devoted to me as ever he was to you. Do you think, if he 
 had not been, I should have sacrificed everything for his sake ? 
 It is quite true that afterward he tried to get r Hi+ -* itr- he got 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 181 
 
 flrea of me as he does of every woman no doubt by this time 
 he is tired of you too. I made him marry me, and we went to 
 America together. After a little time he began to reproach me, 
 and to say that I had cursed his life, and I grew so miserable 
 and heart-broken that I consented to conceal our marriage and 
 jo be treated like a cast-off mistress. Ever since then I have 
 loved and hated him by turns. And now I say to myself, ' Why 
 should he be happy when I am broken-hearted V So I have 
 come back to London to unmask him, and to let the world know 
 that I am Lady Ravenhold. I am sorry for you, but I owe you 
 nothing you have taken him away from me it is just as fair 
 that you should suffer as that I should. And no doubt he is 
 tired of you by now. CLARA RAVENHOLD." 
 
 When Vanessa recovered herself, she took up the letter and 
 read it through, every word of it, again. She felt no bitterness 
 against the writer; she could only think of him. He, for his pas- 
 sion's sake, had wantonly wrecked her life he had had no pity for 
 her; had not thought of the consequences that discovery would 
 bring on her. And yet he could smile and be gay he bore no 
 traces of his awful secret in his face or manner no doubt he 
 fancied himself perfectly secure. 
 
 And now what is she to do? She has henceforth no name, no 
 social status there is nothing left for her but to hide herself out 
 of the world's way the world that might pretend to pity her, 
 but would, in reality, pass by on the other side. Her duty as a 
 virtuous woman is to leave his roof to separate herself from him 
 forever. At first she thinks she will do this that, to-morrow, 
 she will go down home and never see him more. But, as the 
 minutes creep on, the conviction comes to her that there are 
 tasks which a human heart can impose upon itself and yet be 
 powerless to fulfill, and this is one of them. Unless he bids her 
 go, she cannot leave him she already forgives him if he has 
 Binned; if he has drawn her into sin, it was, at least, for love's 
 sake of her. No! she will not leave him. She will quit London 
 and the gay world, but she must cling to him or die. One day, 
 perchance, he will forsake her as he forsook that other unhappy 
 woman, and then, oh, then, perhaps, a merciful God will surely 
 take pity upon her and let her die. God! But will He have 
 pity upon her if she sins wantonly against Him ? Will He not 
 visit her with still more terrible punishments? 
 
 The clock strikes eleven. She locks up the letter that has 
 brought this blight upon her life and goes to bed. To bed, but 
 not to sleep. She has but one desire: to hear from Gerard's lips 
 if it is true. Fain would he believe it a malicious lie; but there 
 seems a ring of truth about it small doubt that it is written by 
 one who knows his character all too well. 
 
 At half past seven she rings up her maid. . Dalton would be 
 much displeased at this incoii.siderateness on her ladyship's part, 
 but that the moment she sets eyes on her death-white face and 
 haggard eyes, she is frightened, and feels that something very 
 serious is the matter. 
 
 "Oh, dear, my lady, how ill you look! Hadirt I better send 
 for the doctor V" 
 
188 *7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVEh. 
 
 '"No," answers Vanessa, feeling the impossibility of account- 
 ing to any one for the state of her mind. " Not at present, at 
 least. I want to send a telegram. The office opens at eight, I 
 think. Get me a form, and tell one of the men to be ready." 
 
 Dalton obeys. She will, in any case, have the satisfaction of 
 reading the telegram. It is to Lord Ravenhold, and says: 
 
 " Come to me without fail the instant you get this. Telegraph 
 that you are coming." 
 
 When this is dispatched, Vanessa allows Dalton to bring her 
 some tea, and endeavors to possess her soul in patience. Per- 
 haps she may get an answer in an hour, certainly in two. She 
 busies herself in making plans. When she has seen him, if it is 
 true, she will leave London at 6nce and go home. But what 
 can she say to her father ? She cannot tell him the truth. In 
 his capacity as a clergyman he will be bound to try to separate 
 her from Ravenhold. But she tells herself that it is not likely 
 he will ask any questions. 
 
 Ten o'clock strikes, eleven, twelve, and so the awful hours 
 creep on, and no answering message comes from Ravenhold. 
 Then a horrid fear takes possession of her. Perhaps he is not in 
 Hampshire at all. She denies herself to all callers, even to the 
 colonel and Hermione, who both come to visit her she could 
 not meet them. 
 
 She paces up and down the room distraught with nervous ter- 
 ror. Now she can only believe the worst. If he has received it, 
 he has read the riddle of her urgent telegram and is afraid to 
 meet her. 
 
 The thought conies to her over and over again that is wont to 
 smite people who are young and have been happy, ' ' How have 
 I deserved this awful misery? Oh, God! what have I done in 
 my short life that I should suffer such agony ?" 
 
 Five o'clock. Worn out in mind and body, she is lying on the 
 sofa. Despair has overcome her. She has no longer any hope. 
 Suddenly the double rap of the telegraph boy makes her start up. 
 She waits breathless until the orange-colored envelope is brought 
 in, then tears it open. 
 
 " Shall be home by six" 
 
 She lies back again. At all events, she will soon know now. 
 And she worst news can hardly be so terrible as the agony of 
 suspense. Fifty-five minutes more. Then a hansom dashes up 
 to the door. She hears Ravenhold's eager step mounting the 
 stairs. Now he is in the room; he is by her side with an anxious 
 face, crying: 
 
 ' Great heavens! My darling! how ill you look. What is the 
 matter?" 
 
 A deadly trembling seizes her. She cannot return his em- 
 brace. She gives him the letter, which she holds crushed in her 
 hand ready for him; and, as he reads, she devours his face with 
 her eyes. She sees surprise, curiosity there, but not guilt. When 
 he has finished, he crumples it up in his hand, and, turning t 
 her, exclaims in a wondering voice: 
 
 44 Gracious God! And you believed it!" 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 180 
 
 No answer comes from her pale lips the revulsion of feeling 
 is too great she has swooned dead away. 
 
 When her senses return, she is in bed, with the doctor bending 
 over her, and Ravenhold standing at the foot, with an anxious 
 face. She is puzzled at first to know what has happened, but 
 by and by her memory slowly returns. A sense of ineffable 
 happiness steals over her; he is hers her very own. When the 
 doctor departs, having prescribed perfect quiet, she beckons her 
 darling to her. He is very tender and gentle; holds her in his 
 arms, strokes her hair, kisses her broad eyelids. Happy tears 
 steal down her cheeks; but she is too weak and languid to say 
 much. But presently she feels so much better that she insists 
 on going down to dinner, and in the evening she is well enough 
 to talk the matter over with him. 
 
 *' It is that fiend of a woman, I suppose," he says. " She must 
 have set spies upon me, or how could she know that I was 
 away? I'll turn the tables upon her, and, by God! if I catch her 
 
 I " and his handsome face takes a more vindictive expression 
 
 than one would have believed it capable of . " But," altering 
 his tone to one of tender reproach, " what I cannot understand 
 is how it took you in. You must have a nice opinion of me if 
 you think I could be such a blackguard ?" 
 
 Vanessa laces her arms round his broad shoulders, and hides 
 her face in his neck. 
 
 " If it had been true," she whispers, "I should have stayed 
 with you all the same," and Ravenhold catches her to his heart 
 and kisses her passionately. 
 
 As he has got into the habit of telling Lady Mildred everything 
 nearly everything he goes to see her a day or two later to re- 
 late this exciting story. 
 
 Her ladyship appears deeply interested in the recital . 
 
 "What fiends people are!" she exclaims. " Could one believe 
 such wickedness possible ?" 
 
 44 If I only catch her at any more of her tricks!" cries Raven- 
 hold, grinding his teeth. 
 
 4 * I suppose you have not the letter with you ?" 
 
 " Indeed I have," taking it out of his pocket-book. " It is not 
 her writing, but still it may be a clew some day." 
 
 " It is rather an uneducated hand," observes Lady Mildred, 
 scrutinizing it carefully. 
 
 "Yes. By Jove! I have half a mind to offer a hundred 
 pounds reward if the writer will come forward." 
 
 4< Yes," says Lady Mildred, " I would." Then, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, * * I don't know. Perhaps it would be better to let 
 it rest. You don't want that story raked up again, and it would 
 not look very well for you to prosecute a woman who ruined 
 her life on your account. People might say nasty things." 
 
 Ravenhold is silent. Certainly there is something in Lady 
 Mildred's argument. 
 
 " She had better not try it on again," he says, presently. 
 4< You've no idea what a state that poor child was in. The doctor 
 said the effects might have been most serious. I was obliged to 
 tell him she had received an anonymous letter, though of course 
 
190 U 7 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 I did not hint at its contents. Poor darling! she is awfully fond 
 of me! there is no doubt about that! Do you know, Hilly," with 
 an unusual softness in his eyes and voice, " she confessed to me 
 that oven if it had been true, she would not have left me." 
 
 Lady Mildred's eyes flash. 
 
 " Do you suppose," she says, impetuously, "that any woman 
 who cared for a man would leave him if she heard that he had 
 fifty wives ?" 
 
 When Lord Ravenhold has departed, she sits staring in front 
 of her, with sightless eyes. Ker heart is bitter within her. 
 There has evidently been a rapprochement between the pair in 
 consequence of this affair. 
 
 " But I made her suffer," she mutters between her closed 
 teeth. " Ah! if I could make her endure half the pangs that she 
 has made me feel day and night. But some day! some day!" 
 
 For a week or two after the affair of the letter Ravenhold be- 
 haved with the greatest affection to his wife. .He drove her out; 
 he walked with her. The colonel's services were scarcely re- 
 quired at all. But Charles Dallas was not by any means piqued, 
 being far too fond of Vanessa not to rejoice at seeing her happy. 
 
 Edith Vaughan had returned to society, proof against any 
 man's vows or'protestations, and she and Lady Ravenhold were 
 frequently together. One clay she happened to remark before 
 her grandfather, that she was afraid poor Vanessa was not so 
 happy as she might be. and that it was a great shame her hus- 
 band should pay so much attention to Lady Mildred, when every 
 one knew how they had been talked about in former days. The 
 baronet pricked up his ears, and, after a moment's pause, re- 
 marked that no doubt Lady Ravenhold was a monstrous dull 
 woman, and, like most handsome people, carried all her wares in 
 her windows. 
 
 As for Mab, she had become the most decorous of matrons, 
 and was quite wrapt up in Sir Thomas (she has left off calling him 
 Sir Tummas and making fun of him) and the young Sir 
 Thomas. Her strictures upon married women who flirt were 
 more than severe they were crushing. The smallest joke of a 
 libertine nature drew her straight brows together, and turned 
 down the corners of her mouth. Her grandfather said she was 
 
 a d d bore with her prim, methodistical ways. As for Sir 
 
 Thomas, he made a moral Juggernaut of his lady, and was ever 
 ready to prostrate himself beneath her chariot- wheels. She 
 was. however, merciful as she was strong. Even the black 
 pearl had not been removed. She declared that she had got 
 used to it. and rather liked it than not. It gave character to Sir 
 Thomas' face. 
 
 July has come, and people are beginning to think how they 
 can spend the autumn most agreeably the autumn, and what 
 yet remains of summer. 
 
 Ravenhold talks of Goodwood, Cowes. and Scotland. Vanessa 
 has been building on a visit to her father. She does not object 
 to Goodwood, but Cowes has no temptation for her, as she is a 
 most indifferent sailor. Scotland can be delayed until Septem- 
 ber, and she thinks, firstly, that it is her duty to go and see hr 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 191 
 
 father, and, secondly, that it will be entrancingly delightful to 
 have her darling all to herself once more, away from Lady Mil- 
 dred and other dangerous and evil-disposed sirens. 
 
 She has broached her wishes to her lord, and has been pained 
 to see by the expression of his face that the idea does not fill 
 him \\ith rapture. He has not, however, at present said any- 
 thing to lead her to the belief that he does not intend to fall in 
 with her views. 
 
 For himself, he likes excitement, sport, good living: not one 
 of which is he in the least likely to g^et down at the quiet Vicar- 
 age: he thinks Vanessa ought to see at once that there is noth- 
 ing earthly for him to do there. 
 
 Filer le parfait amour ! No! one does not do it twice wjh 
 the same woman! and he has had his fill of that long ago. 
 
 He says confidently to Lady Mildred one afternoon when he 
 is paying her his usual visit: 
 
 I'm afraid there'll be the devil to pay with my wife about 
 our autumn plans. She wants to spend August with her 
 father." 
 
 " Well," returns Lady Mildred, briskly, "I suppose she does 
 not contemplate taking^you. What on earth would there be for 
 you to do ?" 
 
 " That's just it," he says, with mournful perplexity. " If she 
 were like any one else, she wouldn't expect it. She would go 
 and do her duty visit, and give me a little holiday meantime." 
 
 " But of course she will," remarks Lady Mildred, cheerfully. 
 " She will have her father, and if she is so fond of you, it can't 
 be any pleasure to her to know you are being bored to death." 
 
 "One would think not," and Ravenhold assumes an air of 
 profound dejeetion. " There is nothing earthly to do there but 
 lounge about on a garden seat one can't get the papers until the 
 second day, or have anything but mutton or pork, or those ever- 
 lasting fowls for dinner." 
 
 He forgets his delight last year in lounging on garden 
 seats, with his arm round his adored one. As for news what 
 cared he for the doings of the outer world ? and with regard to 
 the food, it was all ambrosia to him so long as his darling graced 
 the board. 
 
 The picture seems as attractive in Vanessa's eyes as ever; but 
 to Ravenhold it only suggests weariness and disgust. And yet 
 they say that women are inconstant. 
 
 " Where do you want to go?" inquires Lady Mildred. 
 
 " After Goodwood I want to go to Cowes. Blank has asked 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, do go!" entreats Lady Mildred. "He has asked me 
 too." 
 
 " My wife is such a bad sailor it would be purgatory to her." 
 
 " But, my dear friend, are you not to go on the sea because it 
 makes her ill ? Are you to eat, drink, and avoid all that she does ? 
 I don't remember that stipulation in the marriage service." 
 
 Ravenhold utters a deep, deep sigh. 
 
 44 There is no doubt." he says, " that marriage .is an awful 
 tie." 
 
192 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED.^ 
 
 44 Kct where people are sensible.'* 
 
 "I don't think women ever are sensible," titters his lordship, 
 lugubriously. 
 
 44 Some women are not. How can a woman expect to keep a 
 man's love if she is always tugging at the chain and selfishly 
 wanting him to do everything just as she pleases T 
 
 Ravenhold returns home determined to come to an under- 
 standing with his wife. He says to her gayly, although in 
 reality he feels rather nervous, that after Good wood, he will tak 
 her down to her father and leave her there for a bit. He has 
 promised Blank to spend the Cowes week on his yacht. 
 
 The thought of being separated from her beloved for a week 
 is more than Vanessa can endure, and she answers impulsively: 
 
 *' I will go too, then, if you must go. They have asked me, 
 and I would rather be ill than away from you all that immense 
 time." 
 
 Ravenhold neither looks nor feels flattered. 
 
 44 That is all nonsense," he says, sharply. " What is the use 
 of making yourself ill and wretched for nothing? Besides. I 
 thought you were so keen about going to your father ?" 
 
 44 So I am; but not without you," replies Vanessa, her eyes 
 brimming over with tears. 
 
 4 'Upon my soul!" exclaims Ravenhold, 4 ' I never saw such a 
 woman as you. One can't discuss anything with you but you 
 fall into a flood of tears." 
 
 ' I never used to cry," says Vanessa, with a little sob; " not 
 from one year's end to another." 
 
 " Which, I suppose," he retorts, " is a convincing proof that I 
 am an utter brute, and treat you shamefully." 
 
 "I never said so never thought so," sobs poor Vanessa, 
 44 Why did you ever pretend to be fond of me, if your only 
 anxiety now is to get away from me ?" 
 
 1 My good child!" cries her husband, impatiently, "it seems 
 to me as though you have no reasoning faculties. I should be 
 too delighted if you could come to Cowes, but I suppose I can't 
 help your being sea-sick. It seems to me you are rather selfish. 
 You want to drag me down to your father's, where I shall be 
 bored to death, and sha'n't get a bit of decent food to eat." 
 
 " You were happy enough last year," says Vanessa, deeply 
 affronted; her eyes flashing. 
 
 44 Perhaps I was. The circumstances were different then. On* 
 doesn't always want to do the same thing. When I was a boy, 
 I was devoted to jam-tarts and chocolate now I have had 
 enough of them." 
 
 " Do you mean by that you have had enough of me?" cries 
 Vanessa, wounded to the quick. 
 
 44 Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't let us have a row!" cries Raven- 
 holcnaking for the door, and banging it after him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 VANESSA is dreadfully unhappy after this scene. Her mind is 
 torn by a hundred conflicting feelings. The most poignant 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 193 
 
 thought is that her husband wishes for, looks forward to, a 
 temporary separation from her. He has accused her of selfish- 
 ness in desiring to keep him with her or to accompany him. She 
 asks herself if her love is really selfish if she is actually con- 
 sulting her own feelings only. But it seems to her that, if he 
 cares for her, it ought to be as great pain to him to be parted 
 from her as for her to be parted from him. Such, however, is 
 evidently not the case. Shall she consent, and, if possible, with 
 a good grace, to this dreadful separation? She makes up her 
 mind to try. 
 
 When they meet again, she hangs on his shoulder, and, letting 
 fall some more of those pearls which she cannot restrain, she 
 tells him that she consents to his going to Cowes. He embraces 
 her joyfully, asserting that it will be quite the best way. But 
 then, feeling exceedingly bitter at his evident jubilance, she 
 cries: 
 
 "But, after that, you must not leave me any more. Where 
 you go, I shall go with you." 
 
 So Ravenhold dares not for the present say anything about 
 going to Scotland for the twelfth. 
 
 It is arranged that he shall take her home, stay a couple of 
 nights, and then go on to Cowes. When this is settled, Lady 
 Mildred, meeting Vanessa at dinner, says in a sweetly condoling 
 tone to her: 
 
 " What a thousand Dities that you are a bad sailor! We shall 
 be such a cheery party on the Voyageuse. But I dare say you 
 will be happier with your father, after -all." 
 
 The blow is so sudden that, for a moment, Vanessa can find 
 nothing to reply. Then she murmurs some incoherent words, 
 and turns to speak to another woman, and Lady Mildred's heart 
 leaps with malicious delight. 
 
 Lord Ravenhold has not been two minutes in the brougham 
 with his wife on the way home from this dinner before he knows 
 that something is wrong. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" he asks. 
 
 Her hearts beats to suffocation she cannot all at once find 
 breath to accuse him. He repeats his question. 
 
 " The matter is," she says, unable to prevent the passion of 
 her heart from flowing to her voice " the matter is that I now 
 know why you wer.3 so keen about your yachting trip, and so 
 anxious that I should not go with you." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asks Ravenhold extremely discon- 
 certed. 
 
 "I think you know," she answers; her voice, in spite of her, 
 taking an angrier and more excited tone. " That woman is to 
 be there, and you are going on purpose to meet her." 
 
 " You seem to know more than I do," he remarks, trying to 
 speak all the more coolly because he is annoyed and uncom- 
 fortable at Vj&iessa having made the discovery. * ' I had arranged 
 to go before I knew that she was to be one of the party. Who 
 told you that she was going?" he proceeds, imprudently. 
 
 ' She told me herself," cries Vanessa " told me triumphantly 
 en purpose to wound me " 
 
114 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 " What folly!" cries Ravenhold; "what ridiculous ideas you 
 take into your head! Why, in Heaven's name, should she want 
 to wound you V 
 
 " Because I took you from her," cries Vanessa, passionately. 
 " And now I only wish she had you." 
 
 This is, of course, a wicked falsehood; but even the most 
 truthful people will sometimes make mendacious assertions 
 ander the influence of passion. 
 
 " No, you don't," replies Ravenhold, trying to put his arm 
 round her. But she makes the most vigorous resistance to his 
 attempted endearment. 
 
 His lordship feels very angry with Lady Mildred for having 
 told his wife of their projected meeting, and does not fail to cafl 
 on her next day to express his vexation. 
 
 She meets him with the sweetest, the most innocent smfle. 
 
 " But, my dear boy," she says, " of course I thought she knew 
 it. How imprudent of you not to tell her! She was bound to 
 hear it sooner or later, and then, if it had been kept a secret, she 
 would have been tw r ice as suspicious and angry." 
 
 " It's infernally unlucky," observes Ravenhold, gloomily; " but 
 8he has taken it into her head to be frightfully jealous of you." 
 
 "Of me?" says Lady Mildred, feigning surprise, whilst her 
 heart dances with delight. "Surely not of me, when she had 
 ample proof of your preference!" 
 
 There is a sarcastic inflection in her voice which is not lost 
 upon her companion. He takes her hand, and his eyes grow 
 softer. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all," she says, with a quivering lip, " I might 
 have made you as happy as she has done." 
 
 History does not record his answer. 
 
 Lady Ravenhold, for the first time since she acquired that 
 title, maintains a cold demeanor to her lord. Always before, 
 she has been angry for five minutes, ten have found her hiding 
 her face in Gerard's breast, in fifteen she has been smiling up at 
 him. But now, twenty-four, thirty-six, forty-eight hours still 
 leave her cold, unreconciled, proof against his endearments, his 
 efforts after reconciliation. The blow is such a bitter one she 
 cannot forget the anguish she will have to suffer she thinks it 
 a disgrace before all the world that her husband should leave her 
 during a whole week, and leave her for a woman whose lover 
 every one knows he was in bygone days. 
 
 Vanessa half resolves in her tortured heart to bid him once for 
 all choose between them: half resolves to teii him that if he 
 goes to Cowes and Lady Mildred, he shall never come back to 
 her; but suppose he took her at her word? She knows well 
 enough she could not carry out her threat; that before a week 
 was over siie would go to him on her knees praying to be taken 
 back, and promising him utter and perfect liberty in the future. 
 But she remains cold in her manner to him, and he is worried 
 and put out, because he is still in love with her to a certain ex- 
 tent, and would be very much more so if she could only refrain 
 Irom letting him see how she idolizes him. 
 
 It, however, makes one thing certain he dares not give the 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 195 
 
 least hint of leaving her again to go to Scotland, but makes up 
 his mind to endure a fortnight or three weeks at the Vicarage. 
 
 '* 1 shall have to go and stagnate in that dull hole," he says to 
 Lady Mildred. 
 
 ** I think you are very weak," she answers, rather contempt- 
 uously. 
 
 " Hang it all!" he returns, " one can't keep on quarreling with 
 a woman. Especially under the circumstances/' 
 
 "Oh!" utters Lady Mildred, with a curl of her lip. " I was 
 not aware there were any circumstances. No doubt," with in- 
 creased scorn, * you will soon be a pattern married man!" 
 
 When Ravenhold leaves her, Lady Mildred throws herself 
 back in her chair and begins to think. A delightful inspiration 
 comes to her. 
 
 The next evening she is to meet Sir Bertram Orford at dinner 
 at the house of an intimate friend. She writes a line to her in- 
 tending hostess: 
 
 " CHEBE BELLE, Arrange to let Sir Bertram take me in to 
 dinner to-morrow, or, if that is not possible, put him on my other 
 sidei I don't want to marry him. Yours ever, MILLY." 
 
 Her friend, willing to please her, defies the laws of precedency 
 for once, and gives her to Sir Bertram as a partner, rather to the 
 surprise of some of the guests. If it were a young man, or some 
 particular friend of Lady Mildred's, it would be intelligible still 
 
 there mu&t be a motive, for it is quite certain that Lady H 
 
 knows what is right." 
 
 Lady Mildred is not long in breaking the ice. 
 
 " Do you know," she says, looking into the old baronet's face 
 with a sweet, ingenuous smile, " I asked Hilda to let me go in 
 with you." 
 
 Sir Bertram gives his politest '* smile by machinery," and 
 says, with all the courtliness of the past generation: 
 
 "Indeed, Lady Mildred? I feel myself excessively honored 
 and flattered." 
 
 Inwardly he is wondering to himself what the devil the 
 woman would be at. She can scarcely want to marry him, 
 being extremely well off, and having one or two eligible suitors 
 besides. 
 
 " You took me in to dinner once before," proceeds her lady- 
 ship. " Do you remember? I do " with a fascinating glance. 
 ' Your conversation was so amusing and interesting. I never 
 enjoyed a dinner more. Most men of the present day are so 
 stupid, cr so greedy, they won't take the trouble to amuse one." 
 
 Sir Bertram, being a man, is by no means impervious to flat- 
 tery. The suspicion that her ladyship has designs upon him be- 
 gins to fade away. She is a sensible, appreciative woman that 
 is all. He devotes himself to keeping up the good opinion sha 
 has formed of him, and the flavor of his caustic wit is eminently 
 agreeable to Lady Mildred, who is exceedingly malicious herself, 
 and enjoys nothing so much as hearing her friends turned into 
 ridicule, or tearing their reputation into shreds herself. 
 
 8b e is too clever to reveal her designs at present, bnt bids Sir 
 
196 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Bertram lunch with her next day, and lie accepts the invitation 
 with effusion. She assures him, as he sits beside her after din- 
 ner, that it is long since she passed so pleasant an evening. She 
 siiiiles sweetly at him when he squeezes her slim fingers with 
 his bony ones. 
 
 ^Next day Sir Bertram keeps his rendezvous with military 
 punctuality, and is well pleased to find her ladyship alone. The 
 thought again shapes itself in his mind that she may have mat- 
 rimonial designs upon him. The idea does not alarm him. 
 
 The choicest of luncheons is provided for him, an attention 
 which he thoroughly appreciates. When it is over, his hostess 
 offers him a box of fine cigars. 
 
 " My dear Lady Mildred," he exclaims, with old-fashioned gal- 
 lantry, " you are the pearl of hostesses. But I have never per- 
 mitted myself to fall into the lax manners of the day. Nothing 
 would induce me to commit such an act of desecration in your 
 presence." 
 
 And although her ladyship declares that she likes nothing in 
 the world so much as the smell of a cigar, he is proof against 
 her persuasions. 
 
 When they have adjourned to her boudoir, Lady Mildred com- 
 mences her parallels. 
 
 She is so glad the London season will soon be over. She loves 
 the sea. The Cuwes week is always to her the pleasantest in the 
 year; but, after that, where shall she go ? At Homburg, Dinard, 
 Tiouville, one meets people whom one is sick to death of seeing 
 in London. She does not care for Scotland: one leaves summer 
 behind when one crosses the border; and in country-houses, 
 most country-houses, there is a repetition, in a small way, of 
 town habits and customs, but these are even more genant^s than 
 in London, because one cannot escape from them. What she 
 lougs for is repose, perfect repose in some lovely part of the 
 country where she could wander about a charming old garden, 
 with a book, or sometimes a congenial spirit, or perhaps her 
 own thoughts for company. 
 
 Sir Bertram's intelligence is remarkably quick. He under- 
 stands in a moment that her ladyship wishes to be invited to his 
 country-seat. 
 
 "Ah, dear Lady Mildred!" he answers with empressement, 
 " rny little place is just the rural paradise you descrile, though 
 without the congenial spirit, I fear. 
 
 " I cannot allow that," says her ladyship, softly. 
 
 " But that I dare not run the risk of afflicting you with the 
 most terrible ennui, how charmed I should be to play host to so 
 delightful a guest!" 
 
 " I wish you would ask me," says Lady Mildred. "There is 
 nothing, nothing in the world I should like so much." 
 
 " And suppose you died of ennui F" 
 
 " You would bury me in your churchyard, and put up a 
 monument to me, with the inscription: 
 
 44 * The victim of too much happiness/ r 
 " May I positively believe that you axe not jesting that you 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 197 
 
 will spend a few days I wish I dare my months at the 
 Hall?' f 
 
 " I will go to you straight from Cowes, if you will have me." 
 
 " If!" cries Sir Bertram, gallantly. " And now, whom shall I 
 ask to meet you ?" 
 
 " No one, no one, no one at all!" cries Lady Mildred. " That 
 would spoil everything." ^ 
 
 " But consider, my dear lady, there will be only myself, my 
 daughter, and her daughter; both excellent women in their way, 
 but dulltf a degree. I do not want to frighten you, but I should 
 forever lament your suffering a desillusion in my house. Come! 
 name some one at least whom I may invite to meet you." 
 
 " No; I will not have a single person except yourselves^" cries 
 Lady Mildred, with pretty resolution. "Besides, you know, if 
 the worst you anticipate happened, the Ravenholds will be at the 
 Vicarage." 
 
 In one instant Sir Bertram reads the cards in her ladyship's 
 hand. A curious effect follows this clairvoyance. He feels a 
 sense of wounded vanity mingled with malicious pleasure. 
 But he does not betray himself by so much as the wink of an 
 eyelash. 
 
 " Ah! true," he remarks. "Lady Ravenhpld will not, I fear, 
 contribute much to your amusement. She is a monstrous dull 
 woman, though handsome; but Ravenhold is a capital fellow and 
 excellent company." 
 
 " What a judge of character you are, Sir Bertram!" exclaims 
 Lady Mildred, with a radiant expression of face, " That is pre- 
 cisely the estimate I have formed of the pair." 
 
 " Then," says the baronet, "we must try to see as much of 
 Ravenhold, and as little of her ladyship, as possible." 
 
 Shortly afterward he departs, and Lady Mildred hugs her de- 
 light to her breast, and pays her own tact and cleverness a 
 thousand compliments. She does not for one instant guess that 
 Sir Bertram has seen le dessous des cartes, and is playing into 
 her hands for his own purposes. 
 
 There is a sardonic grin on the old man's lips as he walks away 
 from her ladyship's house. He is about to have his dearest pas- 
 sion, revenge, gratified. His bitterness against Vanessa has in- 
 creased with her good fortune; he cherishes a malignant hatred 
 of her any weapon that can wound her is precious to him. He 
 knows all about the former history of Ravenhold and Lady Mil- 
 dred. He has met them in society, and has not failed to observe 
 that the lady's attachment has not diminished, and that Raven- 
 hold seems very kindly disposed to her in return. 
 
 He feels no displeasure against Lady Mildred for having made 
 a cat's-paw of him. All women are arch plotters, and false as 
 hades. He will joyfully help her pluck her chestnuts from the 
 fire; and there seems little chance of his burning his own 
 fingers. 
 
 Lady Mildred does not, for the present, deem it advisable to 
 say one word to Ravenhold about her invitation. She thinks it 
 quite probable that he might set his face against it, as being 
 sure to cause a scene with his wife, whose anger he is ^far from 
 
JS>8 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 desiring to arouse, and Lady Mildred knows very well that her 
 power over him is as yet by no means as strong as Vanessa's, 
 and that, if it caRie to choosing between them, it would be she 
 <vho would go to the wall. His own pri'de and obstinacy, and 
 his wife's reproaches, will in time be much more effective in 
 alienating the pair t-lian any love he may feel for her. A week 
 at Cowes with him; a fortnight in the country, when he will be 
 8U!i3 to take refuge in her and at the Hall from the intolerable 
 dullness of the Vicarage, and she expects great and most satis- 
 factory results. If Lady Ravenhold makes jealous scenes, as of 
 course she will. Lad}* Mildred'^ designs will be enormously bene- 
 fited. If a man is forbidden to see a woman, he straightway 
 desires her society, even if he has not thought very much about 
 her before. 
 
 Lady Mildred has no religion nor principle. Long ago the 
 voice of her conscience has ceased to speak. She does not be- 
 lieve in a future state; neither love nor fear of God influence 
 her actions. 
 
 She hates Vanessa with all the energy of her nature. She has 
 distorted her in her thoughts into a scheming, unprincipled 
 woman like herself; a woman who by wiles has seduced her 
 lover a vay from her. 
 
 Was not Ravenhold her (Lady Mildred's) devoted slave unti\ 
 this fair-faced woman, whose beauty she loathes, yet cannot 
 deny, came and coaxed him from her? When her husband 
 died, and by every sense of right and fairness Ravenhold should 
 have married her, did not this hateful, intriguing wretch step 
 in and separate them again ? Did she deserve pity at her hands ? 
 No. it should be war a Toutrance. If she could make her 
 wretched; if she could alienate her husband's love from her, she 
 would take advantage of every weapon that chance or skill 
 placed in her way. It was burnt in on her brain that Vanessa 
 )iad willfully, wantonly wronged her, and she longed madly for 
 revenge. And she believed firmly in her heart of hearts that it 
 would be granted her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE day which Vanessa dreaded intolerably was approaching 
 the day of her separation from her beloved one. Long ago 
 she had abandoned her cold demeanor toward him, being in- 
 capable of remaining estranged, but she never forgot for a mo- 
 ment the sword which hung suspended over her head. One 
 night she had indeed gone on her knees to him, had thrown her 
 beautiful arms round him, and sobbed her heart out, entreating 
 him not to leave her. It would kill her, she cried, and she felt 
 as if she were prophesying a truth. Ravenhoid wavered. He 
 kissed, and soothed, and consoled her. He would not promise, 
 but he was half resolved to give up his trip. He went next 
 morning to Lady Mildred. 
 
 44 Upon my soul!" he said, with a harassed air, " I don't think 
 I ought to leave my wife; she seems so awfully cut up at tb 
 ibought!" 
 
LIVED AND LOVED. 199 
 
 The blood flies like fire through Lady Mildred's vein? She 
 longs passionately to mock and deride him; to laugh him to 
 scorn. It requires all the strength of will she possesses to keep 
 her voice calm. 
 
 44 You see," she says, after a moment's pause, " this is your 
 first struggle. It depends on who wins this who will be master 
 for the rest of your lives. If you are not firm now, yu may 
 throw up all your chances of peace or pleasure in the future. A 
 woman has such a pull over a man in being able to cry and have 
 hysterics. A man feels a brute, whilst she is all the time laugh- 
 ing in her sleeve." 
 
 Ravenhold looks out of the window with a gloomy brow, but 
 her words carry conviction with them; he feels that if he is ever 
 to enjoy freedom, he must make a stand for it now. 
 
 " Good-bye, Milly," he says, taking her hand. " I wish to God 
 I had never promised to go!" 
 
 And he departs with a melancholy air, leaving a thorn behind 
 him in the breast of Lady Mildred. " She is by no means sure of 
 him even now. After luncheon Ravenhold says to his wife: 
 
 " My dear child, I don't really see how I can get out of this 
 party. You know I hate to do anything to vex you, but I 
 think, having promised, I ought to go. It won't be for long, 
 darling." 
 
 Suddenly an intuition leaps to Vanessa's brain. She looks up 
 and fixes her eyes on his. 
 
 " Have you seen Lady Mildred this morning?" she asks in a 
 very calm, quiet voice. 
 
 Ravenhold is taken unawares he grows crimson and horribly 
 confused. lie cannot deny it perhaps, by some means or other, 
 sHe is aware of his visit. 
 
 44 Yes, I have,'' lie answers, a shade defiantly. 44 I don't quite 
 see what that has to do with it." 
 
 4t Do you not ? I do," she replies, and this time there is a burn- 
 ing scorn in her voice. But her heart turns deathly cold. After 
 all his vows of love, after all his passion, which seemed so real, 
 this woman has more power over him than she. She does not 
 f>ay one other word she gives up she knows herself vanquished, 
 defeated. But when Gerard approaches her, she shudders vio- 
 lently and puts up her hands to ward him off. 
 
 He goes out of the house, saying to himself that marriage is 
 an accursed institution, and that none but fools bind themselves 
 with its hea.vy and needless shackles. His only consolation, and 
 that is a very mixed one, is that he has asserted his independ- 
 ence: but at what a cost! He is pretty sure this will mot be the 
 end of the warfare his "advantage is only a temporary one ? 
 which he may have more occasion to regret than a defeat. 
 
 If Vanessa were a woman of the world, if she were capable of 
 acting a part, she would now put on a cheerful air, as though 
 his going away wei*e a matter of complete indifference to her, 
 and she would single out some good-looking young man of her 
 acquaintance and embark on a slight flirtation with him. This 
 would speedily bring Ravenhold to his senses, and be more 
 effective than all the tears and reproaches in the worlf' 
 
200 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Vanessa is only a loving and tender-hearted woman, incapable 
 of pretending anything, or of concealing her immense love for 
 her husband. He behaves with the greatest attention and affec- 
 tion to her during the few days that intervene between their 
 parting, but all the time he has a sense of guilt that makes him 
 uncomfortable and annoys him exceedingly. He blames Lady 
 Mildred for persuading him to go he blames Vanessa much 
 more for not being like other women. 
 
 He accompanies her down to the Vicarage, and stays there two 
 nights is most cordial to his father-in-law and* to Susan, and 
 extremely affectionate to Vanessa. But that one dull day there 
 with nothing to do makes him rejoice heartily that he had re- 
 mained firm about the yachting-party. Vanessa, when she 
 hangs on his neck at parting, cannot sulk or reproach an awful 
 feeling haunts her that they may never meet again how, then, 
 can she part from him in anger ? 
 
 He is in his gayest mood; bids her cheer up and enjoy the 
 society of her father and Susan, interest herself in her garden, 
 and the pigs and chickens, and comports himself with the tact 
 and considerateness generally employed by Theseus bound on a 
 pleasure trip leaving his Ariadne on the rock. 
 
 He is gone. She has received his last embrace; she has 
 watched his handsome, smiling face diminish in the distance 
 as the carriage drives off, has caught the last wave of his hand 
 as it turned the corner. And then a blank, a sense of desolation 
 creeps over her such as she ha& never known before; not even 
 when Brandon died. But, oh! she feels she could bear this 
 parting with a light heart if he had not gone to the woman who 
 is her rival; who hates her \vith a deadly hatred, and will leave 
 nothing on earth untried to wrest her husband's love from her. 
 And he had gone gladly nay! why else should he have gone at 
 all ? his whole face was bright with pleasure and expectancy. 
 And yet this time last year, what was there in this world that 
 could have tempted him from her side ? And, like all women, 
 she failed to remember that with men the invariable sequence to 
 passion is satiety ; that the experience of most of her sisters is 
 the same; but imagines that her own case is exceptional and 
 that it is some most unfortunate fault or deficiency in herself 
 that has caused the waning of his adoration. 
 
 Oh, wise Spartans! who, I have read, only permitted their 
 young men to visit their wives secretly and by stealth; what 
 adoring and faithful husbands must their system have prod need! 
 There is no doubt that the British nation least of all understands 
 the economy of the affections. When the last sound of Raven- 
 hold's chariot wheels has died away, Vanessa hies her with fleet 
 steps to her chamber to enjoy the one solace of a grieveS woman. 
 She cannot curse or smoke, but she can cry. And Vanessa, who 
 in her girlhood might certainly have counted her fits of crying on 
 one hand, sobs and weeps until her lovely eyes are drowned and 
 her eyelids swollen to twice their natural size. An hour later 
 Susan, uneasy at her long seclusion, comes softly in without 
 knocking, and finds her beautiful young mistress sitting on the 
 
I^HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 301 
 
 floor, her head resting against the bed, and all her frame con- 
 vulsell with agony. 
 
 The faithful old servant's eyes fill with tears in a minute. 
 
 " Oli, my dear, dear young lady," she cries, stooping over her, 
 and stroking her hair, " don't you take on like that! His lord- 
 ship's only gone for a little time not but what I think he didn't 
 ought to have gone and left you." 
 
 The last words act like a tonic on Vanessa. No woman who 
 adores her husband will allow even to her best friend that he can 
 do wrong. She may reproach him to his face in private in no 
 measured terms, but be quite sure that she will permit no one else 
 to speak a word to his detraction, nor will she herself utter a 
 complaint against him. 
 
 She rises from the floor, checks her sobs, and says, in a decided 
 voice: 
 
 " No, no hs is quite right to go. It is foolish of me. I 
 am only a little nervous a,nd afraid of something happening to 
 him." 
 
 " Why, bless you, my deary!" cries Susan, only anxious to 
 comfort her darling, " what should happen ?" 
 
 "He might be drowned," says Vanessa, and at this awful 
 thought her tears begin to flow afresh. 
 
 " Now don't you think of that!" entreats her nurse. " Isn't his 
 lordship as much under the A'mighty's eye on the hpcean as well 
 as if he was here ? What is to be will be!" she continues, uncon- 
 sciously imbued with the sfTirit of fatalism. 
 
 " But suppose it is his fate to be drowned!" cries Vanessa, and 
 Susan finds herself unable to continue the argument. So she 
 takes refuge in telling her ladyship that she must not give way, 
 as it is so bard for her, especially now. 
 
 Under Susan's persuasion, Vanessa bathes her eyes with cold 
 water and allows her hair to be smoothed. She had not brought 
 her maid, reflecting that that young lady would cause em- 
 barrassment to Susan by her grandeur, to say nothing of the 
 possibility of her declining to dine in a kitchen in company 
 with Susan's handmaid. And Susan would be dreadfully hurt 
 if she were not permitted to wait hand and foot upon her young 
 lady. 
 
 Vanessa presently takes her way to the rose-bower, which has 
 seen so many episodes in her, of 'late years, eventful life. She 
 sits there with listless hands and heavy eyelids looking out at the 
 bright sunshine, the blue sky, the gay-hued flower-beds. How 
 often during the last six months has she thought of this fair spot; 
 thought of it as a paradise, consecrated to the memory of love 
 and happiness! It was an enchanted garden which would bring 
 her blissful dreams the moment she set foot in it. But how is 
 this ? To-day it seems the dullest spot on earth the scene be- 
 fore her is the acme of dreariness and desolation. Ah! it is not 
 the place! The loveliest spot on earth is but a desert when, 
 having lived there once with our dearest, we revisit it without 
 him! 
 
 Vanessa finds it impossible to remain there; her heart becomes 
 *"^ leadjji b_pr j^reast; she has a wild thought of. going off to 
 
02 T HAVE LIVED AND LOVE1*. 
 
 Cowes and stopping at the hotel, or some where within the 
 reach of Gerard. When she returns to the house, Susan aays, 
 cheerfully: 
 
 ' I've got a bit of news for you, my lady I know you'll be 
 pleased." 
 
 Vanessa's eyes light up. It must be something about Raven- 
 hold what other news could seem to her good in the very 
 smaMest degree ? 
 
 " Miss Vaughan is coming to the Hall to-day. Miss Vaughan 
 and Mrs. Vaughan and Sir Bertram." 
 
 A sense of disappointment steals over Vanessa; but, after a 
 moment, she thinks it will be nice to have Edith anything id 
 better than this dreadful isolation. 
 
 That very evening a note comes from Edith begging her to go 
 up and e,pend the next day at the Hall, and to stay to dinner, 
 when Sir Bertram hopes Mr. Wentworth will join them. Lady 
 Ravenhold writes a note of acceptance, and, when she and Edith 
 meet, there is a greater show and feeling of affection between 
 them than there has been for a long time. A woman in the 
 early days of her marriage with a man she loves is entirely in- 
 dependent of her female friends. Edith, with no such rival to 
 Vanessa, has remained unaltered, and is rejoiced at the new 
 rapprochement. f 
 
 They wander about the grounds together as of yore they drive 
 in the cool of the afternoon; just before dinner, Vanessa sees Sir 
 Bertram for the first time. 
 
 He is delightful, courteous, gallant the hinges of his smile 
 extend to their utmost width. Edith has an indefinable dread 
 that he is meditating some atrocity. And it is not long before 
 she becomes aware of the nature of it. They are in the middle 
 of dinner. The squire has been genial to a degree; the vicar is 
 present; the servants are in the room. 
 
 " You will find it a little dull here just at present," he says, 
 addressing Lady Ravenhold with great suavity, and fixing his 
 eyes on her face; "but next week, I trust, things will look 
 brighter. You will have your husband back how you must 
 miss him! and 'pon my life, how he must miss you and we are 
 expecting a very bright, charming lady here a friend of yours 
 and his Lady Mildred Belair. " 
 
 For a few moments after this speech the squire experiences a 
 sensation of positive ecstasy every line of Vanessa's face ex- 
 presses her inward agony, She becomes deathly white an 
 awful sickness seizes her she wonders if she can get out of the 
 room without falling prone on the floor, After a few moments 
 she recovers herself, and then she looks across at Edith with an 
 Et tu, Bi^ute f expression. 
 
 Edith is crimson horror and indignation are in her face it is 
 evident that she too hears the news for the first time. Mrs. 
 Vaughan looks uncomfortable; the vicar, lost in thought and 
 never having heard Lady Mildred's name, eats his dinner peace- 
 fully, undisturbed by emotion of any kind. 
 
 The servants look like automatons, and are devoured with a 
 burning curiosity to k** * 5 ^i, a t's U p. 
 
K LIVED AND WVJW. 205 
 
 Ya'nessa does not eat one other morsel. In the first place, she 
 SB incapable of swallowing; in the second, she resolves never, 
 never to touch bread and salt again in the house of this cruel, 
 malignant enemy. As a rule, a proud woman can master her 
 feelings, but there are some blows so agonizing as to break down 
 the proudest spirit. 
 
 She does not even attempt to talk to the squire after this. She 
 replies by monosyllables to any remark he may nxike; she will 
 not touch one drop of wine or even water though her tongue 
 aeems to cleave to the roof of her mouth, nor so much as one 
 grape. Never once does she raise her eyes to his face. 
 
 4 ' What a confounded fool she is to betray herself!" says the 
 squire to himself, and he redoubles his attentions to her for the 
 sheer sake of giving her pain. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan does her utmost to make conversation with the 
 vicar, so ominous is the hush that has fallen on the party as for 
 Edith, she is as voiceless and deprived of appetite as her friend. 
 She burns with indignation she has lost all fear of her terrible 
 grandfather, and is perfectly capable of bearding him, of saying 
 the bitterest things to him, in her present mood. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan makes a move as soon as possible after dinner; 
 then Edith, putting her arm through Vanessa's, leads her out 
 into the garden. Not a word is said by either until they reach 
 the summer-house near the lakelet; then Edith lays her head on 
 her friend's shoulder and bursts into tears. Under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, nothing would have induced her to allude to Lady 
 Mildred and Lord Ravenhold in the same breath, but her sym- 
 pathy is so great, she feels the occasion to be fraught with so 
 terrible an importance, that it is impossible for her to remain 
 silent. 
 
 For the present, Vanessa sits motionless, impassive: her eyes 
 look across the water with a stony expression; her mouth is 
 tense. 
 
 " He is the most wicked, hateful, abominable old man wno 
 ever lived, although he is my grandfather!" cries Edith. "To 
 think that he should have nursed his wicked love of revenge all 
 this time! Mab was quite right, three years ago, when she de- 
 clared that he only asked Lord Ravenhold here because he was 
 in hopes you would fall in love with him and that it might make 
 you miserable, and now he has found out a new way of hurting 
 you. It is too horrible!" 
 
 . A quick light flashes to Vanessa's eyes, the color flows to her 
 paleface; she clinches one hand ; her voice takes a strange in* 
 tensity. 
 
 " I have never, never until this moment," she says, "wished 
 harm to any one in the world, but now I pray God to requite 
 him for his wickedness!" 
 
 '* And so do I!" cries Edith. " I feel as though I should not 
 care if the most dreadful thing happened to him." 
 
 "You did not know it before?" says Vanessa. 6t No! I saw 
 .that by your face: but Mrs. Vaughan must have known." 
 
 " I will go this moment and ask her, "exclaims Edith, starting 
 up, and ?bn tv,kes her swift way across the turf f o the house, 
 
204 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Vanessa does not attempt to stop her. She does not care what 
 Mrs. Vaughan may think; the idea of all she loves being 
 wrested from her stultifies every other feeling. She foresees 
 her danger well enough. Gerard hates to be bored. She could see 
 how long he found that one day at the Vicarage; how he had 
 yawned and looked at his watch, and smoked countless cigar- 
 ettes. He would be always up at the Ha,ll with Lady Mildred, 
 Sir Bertram (3he ground her small teeth as she thought of him) 
 would lose no opportunity of throwing them together. She had 
 been Gerard's mistress once. 
 
 Oh, great God! what should she do; it She looked at the 
 
 Btill water with wild eyes. If it came to that, she would drown 
 herself she could not live and bear such agony! 
 
 In a few minutes, Edith came flying back. 
 
 " Mamma has told me all. She is dreadfully vexed; but she 
 did not know his object before. He ordered her ten days ago to 
 write and ask Lady Mildred here when she left Cowes, and he 
 said expressly that she was not to mention it to me. But now" 
 her excitement growing " we must frustrate him somehow. 
 Let us put our heads together; let us think what we can do to 
 prevent their meeting here!" 
 
 "We cannot prevent it," utters Vanessa, in a voice out of 
 which all hope and spirit are gone. 
 
 "But we will," says Edith, firmly. " I will do my best, if 
 I break with grandpapa forever for it." 
 
 " It is no use fighting against fate," answers Vanessa, with pro- 
 found melancholy, 
 
 " Fate!" cries Edith, with immense spirit; " we will alter fate, 
 or, at all events, we will not allow it to become fate. After all, 
 dearest, neither you nor I believe that your husband cares two 
 straws for that horrid woman; and you are so beautiful, she 
 cannot hold a candle to you." 
 
 " But she is so wicked," answers Vanessa, with a tone of pro- 
 found conviction. " She hates me so she will never rest until 
 ehe has avenged herself upon me for taking Gerard from her. 
 And if she does," sinking her voice to a whisper, " I shall die." 
 
 Something in her tone frightens Edith. 
 
 " No, no, no. do not talk such nonsense!" she cries, throwing 
 her arms*round her friend and kissing her pale cheek a dozen 
 ffirnes. " It will never, never happen. And now, dearest, let us 
 rack our brains to think what we shall do to circumvent this 
 wicked old man; you think to-night, and I will think too things 
 come to one so much better in the night." 
 
 Vanessa heaves a long, hopeless sigh. 
 
 " I cannot see him again," she says, alluding to the squire 
 " do, Edie, fetch me my cloak and hat, and I will go home. You 
 will make an excuse to ray father. Do not make any to Sir 
 Bertram. He," bitterly, " will understand quite well, Oh, 
 Heaven, lifting her eyes to the darkened sky, " how can it make 
 any one happy to torture others to see them suffer!" 
 
 Edith gees " to the house and fetches her own hat and net 
 
' Y HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 05 
 
 " I will walk to the gate with you," she says, and, arm in arm, 
 with sad hearts, they turn their' steps toward the avenue. 
 
 Vanessa remembers that the very last time she came this way 
 it was to meet Ravenhold, repentant of her cruelty to him. Is 
 it possible, she wonders to herself now, that he was once the 
 poor suppliant and she the tyrant ? 
 
 As Edith returns alone to the Hall deep in thought, a sudden 
 resolve comes to her. She will speak to her grandfather to- 
 night. And though her heart beats to suffocation with the fear 
 of him that has become a habit, she never wavers one instant 
 from her determination. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THF vicar has departed; Mrs. Vaughan retires to her room; 
 Sir Bertram, as usual, when the rest of the family wish him 
 good-night, goes to his sanctum. And there Edith follows him. 
 Her knees knock together: she is terrified at what she is going 
 to do; but still she does not shrink or falter. She thinks how 
 glad she wouM be of Mab's company and countenance Mab, 
 who is so infinitely more courageous and difficult to daunt than 
 she. 
 
 Edith gi^es a low rap at the door, and is v answered by a sharp 
 summons to enter. At one glance Sir Bertram guesses why she 
 has come, and puts on his sternest, his most terrible manner. 
 He does not ask what she wants, but continues to regard her 
 with menacing eyes. 
 
 " Grandpapa," says poor Edith, utterly unable to control the 
 tremor of her voice, " I have come to ask you a favor." 
 
 " Really!' he answers, in a biting tone. " And is it something 
 of such immediate importance that it compels you to come to 
 me at a time when I think you know it is particularly disagreeable 
 to me to be disturbed ?" 
 
 " I am very sorry," stammers Edith ; " but it is of the greatest 
 importance." 
 
 " Then pray, my dear," returns the squire, still speaking in the 
 same tone, "take a chair, and if you could contrive to look a 
 little less like a criminal at the dock it would make our interview 
 more agreeable at all events, to me." 
 
 Every word he utters increases the difficult^ of her self-im- 
 posed task a fact of which he is perfectly well aware he loves 
 to see people tremble before him, especially those who dare at- 
 tempt to thwart him. 
 
 "I want to tell you something that I am sure you do not 
 know," says Edith, in a low voice, and very far from carrying 
 out her idea of bearding the squire. " Vanessa has a great dis- 
 like to Lady Mildred Belair she would not like to meet her at 
 all." 
 
 " But, my dear," observes the squire, with an innocent air, "I 
 have not invited Lady Ravenhold to stay here. There is no rea- 
 son on earth why they should even set eyes on each other." 
 
 ;< Oh, grandpapa, it is not that!" cries Edith " it is because of 
 Lord Ravenhold I" 
 
806 / HAVE LIVED AND LOVEl>. 
 
 44 Either you are pleased to speak in parables or you are U5.ftble 
 to express yourself intelligibly. Fiist you say it is Lady Raven- 
 hold who dislikes my intended guest, now you lay the dislike orv 
 Lord Ravenhold, Let them by all means remain away from the 
 Hall whilst Lady Mildred is here." 
 
 " It is not that Lord Ravenhold does not like Lady Mildred,*' 
 says Edith, ready to cry " it is because he likes her, and that 
 makes poor Vanessa unhappy." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, my dear; what silly idea have you taken into 
 your head ? I fear your own little disappointment has slightly 
 unhinged your mind on the subject of love and jealousy," re- 
 marks Sir Bertram, sardonically. 
 
 Edith does not need the gibe. 
 
 " Did you not see the effect your words had on her ?" she cries. 
 " Did you not see how white she turned ? did you not notice that 
 she never ate one morsel after you said that Lady Mildred was 
 corning ?" 
 
 '* I imagined she was suffering from a little faintness incidental 
 to ladies in delicate health," answers the squire, and he tells this 
 stupendous lie with serene calmness. 
 
 " It was on account of Lady Mildred," cries Edith, with blaz- 
 ing cheeks. " I think it will be the death of her. Oh, grand- 
 papa! I assure you this is the truth. Pray, pray do not have her 
 here!" 
 
 " I am satisfied, my dear," returns the squire, " that you are 
 laboring under a ridiculous mistake." 
 
 " But if she told me so with her own lips." 
 
 "The last tiling a jealous woman does is to confess her 
 jealousy." 
 
 " I am her greatest woman friend. I tell you, grandpapa, the 
 thought drives her nearly mad. Oh, why, why are you so cruel ? 
 why do you want to be revenged on the poor child ?" 
 
 " Revenged!" and a terrible lightning flashes into the old man's 
 ey?s. " Explain yourself this instant." 
 
 But Edith's fear is swallowed up in her anxiety for her friend. 
 
 "She knows it we all know that you have never forgiven 
 her. We know why you asked Lord Ravenhold here when poor 
 Mr. Brandon was alive, and we know why you are asking Lady 
 Mildred now." 
 
 " Oh!" says Sir Bertram, in a voice the quietness of which is 
 awful, " this clairvoyance on your part must, I fear, be caused 
 by hysteria. Pray go to your room. I will have restoratives 
 taken there, and Jenkins shall be sent for the first thing in the 
 morning." 
 
 Edith throws herself at his feet. Sir Bertram pulls the bell 
 violently. Edith has scarcely time to rise before a servant hur- 
 ries in. 
 
 " Send Miss Vaughan's maid at once!" cries the squire, im- 
 periously. " She is taken very unwell!" and, to avoid exposure, 
 Edith rushes from the room, and meets her maid on the stairs,, 
 
 looking very much alarmed. 
 " It is nothing, nothing," i 
 
 " she says, making her way swiftly to 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 207 
 
 her room. A minute later there is a rap at the door, and a tray 
 containing brandy and sal- volatile is handed in. 
 
 When Sir Bertram has, by his successful maneuver, dis- 
 embarrassed himself of his granddaughter's presence, he sits 
 calmly down to his writing-table, and pens the following note: 
 
 " DEAR EDITH, Should your daughter attempt to treat me to 
 another such scene as the one with which she favored me* to- 
 night. I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of shutting my 
 doors forever on both her and you. 
 
 " Your affectionate father, 
 
 k ' BERTRAM ORFORD." 
 
 This he desires to be given to Mrs. Vaughan's maid to d.elivet 
 the first thing next morning. He seals it, a precaution he in* 
 variably takes, as nothing would induce him to believe in any 
 servant being actuated by the smallest sense of honor. Mean- 
 time, poor Edith is racking her brain for the means of helping 
 her friend the appeal to her grandfather has been far worse 
 than useless, and she bitterly deplores her want of self-control 
 in all uding to his desire for revenge and the cause thereof. The 
 only conclusion she arrives at is that by some means or other 
 Vanessa must be induced to leave the place during the time of 
 Lady Mildred's visit; for it is quite certain that Lord Raveiihold 
 cannot go to the Vicarage if his wife is away from it. 
 
 The next morning at eight o'clock her mother comes rushing 
 to her room with Sir Bertram's letter to demand an explanation. 
 It is in no measured terms that she denounces her daughter's 
 folly \vhen Edith relates the event of the previous evening; she 
 weeps and threatens she accuses Edith of wishing to break her 
 heart (which, by the way, is as tough as it is small); she asks 
 with angry impatience why in the world she cannot let other 
 people's affairs alone; in short, there is a very serious scene be- 
 tween them. Edith dresses herself hastily and leaves the house 
 by stealth for the Vicarage, determined, whatever happens, to 
 be stanch to her friend. 
 
 She finds Lady Ravenhold still in bed, looking the picture of 
 dejection arid misery she has lain awake all night making a 
 thousand projects; but each and all are stultified by one terror 
 the terror of coming to an open rupture with Gerard. Edith 
 says not one word of her interview with Sir Bertram the night 
 before she is thoroughly ashamed of her want of tact, and 
 knows that Vanessa would never forgive her for haying invoke^ 
 the squire's mercy on her behalf. 
 
 Lady Ravenhold, seeing Edith's white face and red eyelids, 
 feels comforted by her sympathy, and clasps her hand affection 
 ately. 
 
 " My darling Nessa," cries Edith, " have you thought of some- 
 thing ?" 
 
 "I have thought of a thousand things," answers Vanessa, 
 wearily; " but they are all impossible. I am very silly. Of 
 course I know that Gerard loves me why else should he have 
 married me ? but I cannot help dreading that woman's influence. 
 O t.Vuira' i s go little for hyn to do here, and he will be al* 
 
208 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 ways going up to the Hall to be amused. And I never could 
 pretend anything. I know I ought to laugh and be cheery, and 
 try to arnuse him, and defeat her, but I could not do it. I shall 
 be miserable; I shall cry; I shall reproach him; and that will 
 make him ten times worse, ten times more anxious to get away 
 from me. He cannot bear to be found fault with." 
 
 "You must go away!" exclaims Edith. "Find any pretext 
 you like, but go, and then he must join you. Oh, how I should 
 delight to see her come here alone!" 
 
 " My dear child, it is impossible!" answers Vanessa. " Think 
 what a fuss I have made what invitations I have refused that 
 I might come and stay with papa. How could I go away and 
 leave him in less than a week ?" 
 
 "My darling," cries Edith, "I don't want to hurt you, but 
 now, truly, do you think your father would feel it very much? 
 He is devoted to you, of course, but you know he is so wrapped 
 up in his book that he grudges every hour spent away from 
 it." 
 
 "That is true," answers Vanessa, mournfully. " Btfj then, 
 poor, dear Susan, how disappointed she would be!" 
 
 " Susan would rather endure anything in the world than see 
 you unhappy." 
 
 " But where could I go?" says Vanessa. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Fane?" 
 
 1 ' I had a letter from her the day before yesterday. She wanted 
 us to go down with her to Orange Court next Monday." 
 
 " That would be the very thing!" cries Edith. 
 
 But Lady Ravenhold only shakes her head with a dejected 
 air. 
 
 '"Well, if you won't," utters Edith, feigning to give up her 
 prsu8sion, " Do you know, Nessa, I have had no breakfast? 
 May I ask Susan for a cup of tea ?" 
 
 " Oh, my poor child!" exclaimed Vanessa, stretching out her 
 hand to the bell; but Edith runs out of the room, saying: 
 
 " No, no, I will ask her myself. Susan," she says, hurrying 
 into the kitchen, "I have got a letter to write in the greatest 
 hurry. What time does your post go out ?" 
 
 "In a quarter of an hour, miss," answers Susan, amazed at 
 Miss Vaughan's energy. 
 
 ' Make me a cup of tea meantime, like a good creature, and 
 then I have something most important to say to you. Not a 
 word to her ladyship." And Edith proceeds to the drawing- 
 room and dashes off a letter to Hermione. 
 
 " PEAR MRS. FANE, Please don't think me mad. I am writ- 
 ing against time. You must by some means induce Vanessa to 
 leave this before Saturday, and you must get Lord Bavenhold to 
 meet her in London and not to come down here at present. 1 
 implore you to manage it somehow ; otherwise I will not answei 
 for the consequences. I have not time to explain now. Do tele* 
 graph to her the nearest telegraph station is eleven miles. 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 u The Vicarage. EDITH VAUGHAN." 
 
" I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED $09 
 
 Th?n she bethinks her of a P. S. that will probably give the 
 necessary stimulus to Mrs. Fane's exertions. 
 
 " Lady Mildred Belair is coming here on Saturday probably 
 with him." 
 
 Tken she flies to the post-office herself. She is just in time. 
 
 Susan has meanwhile laid her breakfast in great state in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " Susan," she utters, impressively, "I have something to say 
 to you. If you hear a word about her ladyship leaving here at 
 once, do all in your power to persuade her to go, I hardly think 
 I ought to tell you why, only I know you love her like your own 
 ehil-d." 
 
 " Ay," says Susan, " that I do, miss." 
 
 * ' You know everything about her. Of course you know that 
 Sir Bertram wanted to marry her. Well, he has never forgiven 
 her for refusing him, and has always tried to be revenged on 
 her." 
 
 " Why, never!" cries Susan, aghast. 
 
 " And now," pursues Edith, breathlessly, " he has asked a lady 
 
 to the Hall whom Lord Ravenhold was once fond of " 
 
 - *' But surely," interrupts Susan, excitedly, " his lordship being 
 a married man, and so fond of my young lady " 
 
 " Of course, of course," says Edith. "'But all the same, Nessa 
 is so devoted to him that she might fancy things, and she is al- 
 ready dreadfully distressed." 
 
 " Well, then, miss,* you let me alone for persuading her lady- 
 ship to go away." 
 
 " Yes; but for Heaven's sake don't let her think I have breathed 
 a syllable to you !" 
 
 Then Edith hastily swallows a cup of tea, and returns to Va- 
 nessa with the most innocent air in the world. 
 
 "Susan gave me such a tremendous breakfast," she says, 
 " And now I must be hurrying back; for if either grandpapa or 
 mamma discovers that I have been with you, I shall get into 
 the most awful disgrace." 
 
 And kissing her friend affectionately, she departs, rejoiced at 
 what she has done. She has so much time for renV don during 
 the rest of the day that it occurs to her that, if Vai -essa should 
 become aware that she has had anything to do witfc Mrs. Fane's 
 next communication, her purpose 'may be defeated She there- 
 fore intrusts a note to Marter to be sent secretly to f he Vicarage, 
 entreating Lady Ravenhold still to think over some, plan of frus- 
 trating Sir Bertram. But Vanessa has taken a foolish idea into 
 her poor, beautiful head about Kismet, and sits helplessly with 
 her hands before her, and does nothing. 
 
 About noon the following day, Thursday, Susan comes hurry- 
 ing to her with a telegram. When Vanessa sees it, that awful 
 terror comes over her with which an orange envelope afflicts 
 most women who are unfortunate enough to love absorbingly 
 some other mortal. In one instant she sees Gerard, stiff, stark 
 dead. She sees as much, goes though as much as the drowning 
 
S10 T HAVE LIVED AND LOVEDT 
 
 man is supposed to do. Yet she tears it ope* with mad haste to 
 know the worst at once. 
 
 " From Mrs. Fane. Grosvenor Place, etc., etc. 
 " Pray come to me to-morrow. Important family business. 
 Am sending for Gerard. My own affairs. Telegraph back." 
 
 Vanessa reads it once to see that nothing is wrong with her 
 darling. She reads it a second and a third time, to get the sen 
 of it into her head. 
 
 Susan has been watching her anxiously: first her terrified ex- 
 pression, then the gradual relaxing of her features. 
 
 Susan has not felt any alarm herself. She is confident it is in 
 ftome way connected with Miss Vaughan's letter. She is ready 
 to persuade her young lady to start off on any journey at once. 
 
 Vanessa looks a little bit perplexed, although a delightful sen- 
 sation is stealing through her heart. To see Gerard to-morrow 
 Gerard without her rival! 
 
 " 1 cannot understand," she says, thoughtfully, tapping her 
 Jip with the telegram, and looking at Susan. ' 4 Mrs. Fane wants 
 me to go off to her at once, to-morrow, on some important 
 family business." 
 
 " Why, deary me!" ejaculates Susan, who has a considerable, 
 amount of tact. " Well, it must be important, if she wants you 
 to go all that way back again in such a hurry!" 
 
 Vanessa's thoughts fly to Mr. Anson Giles Fane a separation 
 a divorce. She hardly sees why her presence should be needed, 
 but then she knows nothing whatever of such matters. 
 
 " I suppose it is," she says. " But I don't like leaving papa in 
 this sort of way. and you, Susan," affectionately. 
 
 " Oh, my dear." replies Susan, *' don't you think of that; your 
 first duty is to your husband now, and to attend to his wishes 
 and his family's. Besides, you'll be coming back again. I don't 
 expect they'll be wanting you for very long. The man's waiting 
 for an answer. I've set him down to some bread and cheese and 
 a glass of ale." 
 
 Vanessa cogitates. The more she thinks of it, the more it 
 seems her duty to go; the more pleasant seems the duty. Hero 
 is an unexpected way out of her misery. Is not this the hand 
 of Providence ? Oh, how devoutly "she thanks God in her 
 heart! 
 
 Yes, she will go. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to go," she says to Susan, feigning a slight 
 reluctance. 
 
 "Do you so, my dear," answers Susan, who. when she is 
 moved on behalf of her nursling, always forgets her title. 
 
 So Vanessa joyfully sends answer: 
 
 " Will go to you to-morrow by eleven train.'' 
 
 Then she writes a note to the innkeeper to send her over a 
 carriage two hours earlier than she requires it next morning to 
 be sure of its not failing her, and gives it with the telegram to 
 the messenger. 
 
 When he is gone, Susan, for the first time, broaches a subject 
 that she has thought of from the outset. 
 
JT HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 211 
 
 "Well, my lady," she observes, "it is quite certain that you 
 can't take that journey alone, and. as far as I can see, there's no 
 one but me to go with you." 
 
 " My dear, ridiculous old creature," laughs Vanessa, who is 
 quite a c bunged being since the telegram came, "what an idea! 
 What harm could come to nieJr" 
 
 " First place, it wouldn't be befitting your ladyship's rank to 
 travel alone," observes Susan, with an important air, "and in 
 the second, I would no more have you travel alone than than 
 I'd ride on an ingiri myself." 
 
 Vanessa laughs. 
 
 " I should delight to take you," she says, " but how about poor 
 papa :" 
 
 " Oh, Hepzibah can do all that master will want, and I'll get 
 Mary Ann just to run down. Not but what I could come back 
 same night or next morning." 
 
 . "Why, then I should have to come back to see you safe," laughs 
 Vanessa. "But, really, Susy, I should like of everything to 
 show you London, so we will ask papa's leave." 
 
 When the vicar is told of his daughter's departure, he assents 
 so cheerfully and with such an unconscious air of relief that 
 Vanessa, though she smiles, is the least bit inclined to cry too. 
 She dispatches a note secretly to Edith (whom she never for one 
 instant suspects of being her Dens ex machina) relating this 
 marvelous intervention of Providence. 
 
 And next day she starts joyously on her journey, whilst poor 
 Susan is nearly dead with fright, never having seen a train be- 
 fore. Half of her journey is occupied in repeating to herself a 
 verse out of the litany which prays for delivery from battle, 
 murder, and sudden death. Herniione meets Vanessa with the 
 brougham in London, and, as both ladies are anxious for the 
 welfare of Susan, the footman goes inside the cab to take care 
 of and to reassure her. 
 
 Herniione says not one word about family affairs until she and 
 Vanessa have drunk tea in her boudoir. Then suddenly she 
 comes and sits on an ottoman beside her, and, putting one arm 
 round her, says: 
 
 " What will you say when I tell you that my ' family affairs ' 
 are only a ruse to get you here ? Hush!" as Vanessa's astonished 
 lips unclose. "It is a little bit of wickedness on my part, and 
 you will have to assist me in the farce. I want to be revenged 
 on Mildred. She has been plotting to get asked to Sir Bertram's 
 just as she plotted about the Voyageuse, in order to vex you. 
 Don't you trouble your dear head! Gerard does not care a fig 
 for her he will be "delighted not to be there with her, and only 
 think" clapping her hands " only think what she will feel 
 when she finds herself there alone!" 
 
 " But," utters Vanessa, her breath almost taken away, " how 
 do you know all this ?" 
 
 "Gerard told me; he was quite bored at the thought of her 
 going to the Hall." 
 
 The last statement is a mixture of truth and mendacity. It 
 had been arranged all along that Gerard ^LS _o sleep in Groe- 
 
212 T HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. " 
 
 venor Place on this night, because the double journey could 
 not be made in one day, but it was only this morning she had a 
 letter from him saying he was going to take Lady Mildred down 
 to Sir Bertram's. 
 
 "But now/' continues Hermione, gleefully, "Gerard has to 
 be hoodwinked." And she proceeds to impart to Vanessa her 
 plan for throwing dust in his eyes. 
 
 Lady Ravenhold is put to bed: a very wise precaution after the 
 fatigue of her long journey. Susan is installed as nurse and 
 watcher. Scarcely are all arrangements complete, when hit 
 lordship's hansom dashes up. When Hermione lies talked to 
 him for half a minute, he turns so deathly white that she has to 
 reassure him much more than she intended; but he is off like 
 lightning up-stairs. Unmindful of Susan or of any fear of agi- 
 tating the invalid, he catches her in his arms, he strains her to 
 his heart, and she, like a foolish, loving woman, cries because 
 she is so happy. 
 
 He forgets all about Lady Mildred he can hardly sit through 
 dinner with his sister, so anxious is he to be back with his wife; 
 it is indeed a renewal of love. Lady Mildred's name is never 
 mentioned there is nothing but smiles, hand-claspings, kisses. 
 
 Suddenly his lordship bethinks him of Lady Mildred, and that 
 common decency requires him to notify her of the change in hit 
 movements. He goes off down-stairs to write his note, an<t 
 sends Kermione up to Vanessa. The little lady dances a war- 
 dance expressive of delight in front of the bed. 
 
 ** Now,'' she cries, " if ever you dare to let out to Gerard, in * 
 foolish moment of confidence, the truth about this, I will never 
 help you again as long as I live!*' 
 
 The sympathetic reader will imagine Lady Mildred's feeliDgf 
 as she read the following note: 
 
 " DEAR MILLY, I found my poor dear wife ill in bed when I 
 arrived. Thank God she is not in any danger. I shall now, of 
 course, not be able to be your escort to-morrow, and it is not a2 
 all likely that we shall go to Blankshire at present. I hope yoi 
 will have a pleasant time, aiicF find some cheery people in the 
 house. Yours, 
 
 " RAVEXHOLD.'' 
 
 This time it was unquestionably Vanessa's turn. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AUGUST, September, October, are past and gone November it 
 here. 
 
 Lord and Lady Ravenhold are at Dallas Park. How fares ft 
 with them ? Has the reconciliation in Grosvenor Place bee* 
 lasting? do they understand each other better? have they be- 
 come thoroughly united ? is Gerard not so inclined to wander? 
 is Vanessa less exacting ? If I have at all succeeded in deline- 
 ating their two characters, the reader who has any knowledge 
 of life will be able to answer this question at once. I must replj 
 to it for the sake of the tyro. 
 
 Alas, then, things have not gone well. He is bored and notst 
 
1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED jjjj 
 
 attentive as he should be she is more exacting than ever and 
 very unhappy. No one could say he is unkind to her at such a 
 time he would feel that any unkindness would be brutality, but 
 he leaves her a good deal alone, and there is no doubt that \vhen 
 he departs from home he is as blithe, as a schoolboy going off on 
 a holiday, and that when he returns to find his wife ill and in 
 teaus, it has a very depressing effect upon him. He begins to 
 entertain doubts as to the wisdom or happiness of the marriage 
 state, and to think that a man who enters it with his eyes wide 
 open is rather a fool; but then does any man enter it with his 
 eyes wide open ? or does he not rather put his hands before 
 them and refuse to see ? A lovely wife in robust health who 
 could accompany hhr "~ r erywhere, of whom his love and admi- 
 ration would be constantly stimulated by the envy written in 
 other men's eyes and their covert endeavors to steal her from 
 him ; such a wife as that might probably still have kept him 
 chained to her side; but though he admitted the necessity, the 
 positive desirability of present circumstances, he was horribly 
 bored and inconvenienced by them all the same. 
 
 Vanessa was in very delicate health, and had to be taken the 
 greatest care of, and there was not much probability of any 
 amelioration of her case just yet. So it was determined that 
 they should remain at Dallas Park, and Gerard took violently to 
 hunting again. This was the cause of great misery and terror to 
 poor Vanessa, who was dreadfully afraid of losing a treasure 
 from which, after all, she did not derive a very vast amount of 
 pleasure. At the same time she felt the absolute absurdity and 
 impossibility of attempting to keep him chained to her side, and 
 suffered as much as possible in silence. 
 
 Lady Mildred was never mentioned between them. Once 
 Gerard had let fall a hint that he had not been altogether taken 
 in by her ruse and Hermione's, although at first it had deceived 
 him. He often went up to town for the day sometimes for the 
 day and night, and Vanessa was tormented by the idea that he 
 saw Lady Mildred there, but dared not tax him with it. When 
 he returned he always showed her a long list of places where 
 he had been, and seemed cheery and affectionate, as though the 
 change had done him good. Every now and then he would 
 grow restless and somewhat captious at home, and then a visit 
 to London invariably produced a beneficial effect upon him. 
 The fact was that he did see a great deal of Lady Mildred. He 
 felt it impossible to give up her society, and, at the same 
 time, he considered that it was positively a righteous act to lie 
 to his wife on the subject. It would only cause a row and make 
 her ill. 
 
 Never was a woman so transformed as Lady Mildred. Her 
 passionate temper, her fits of imperiousness and ill humor had 
 disappeared; she never sulked, never reproached him, not even 
 for the awful ten days she spent at the Hall. She hated Vanessa 
 with an undenying hatred she had no scruples about injuring 
 her; all she wanted was revenge. Vanessa had deliberately taken 
 from her the only man she ever loved, and she would leave ne 
 stone unturned to ?t him back, 
 
214 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Gerar<l came to her, she always remembered his favor- 
 lie dishes, sh^ << llected all the news and every amusing story 
 she could get hold of to tell him; she was a. clever woman 
 "capital company!" and she devoted herself entirely to his 
 entertainment. And then she practiced that generally success- 
 ful maxim, "reader pout -mieux santt't" :" if Gerard gave any 
 yniptoms of the old feeling for her, she would say, sorrow- 
 fully : 
 
 " Ah, those happy days are over. You have a wife now." 
 
 Sometimes Gerard would have liked to reply, " Yes, confound 
 it! what a fool I was!" but he restrained the words, and only 
 uttered a deep sigh. 
 
 Lady Mildred had for some time past been hatching an- 
 other plot one that seemed likely to be successful. She did 
 not breathe one word of it to Gerard, who might have op- 
 posed it. 
 
 Between four and five miles from Dallas Park there lived a 
 pretty widow, by name Mrs. Warren. She was rich; she enter- 
 tained well; she was a wonderful rider. She had, however, one 
 misfortune. She married the deceased Mr. Warren twelve 
 months later than the laws of society demand. Therefore, al- 
 though all the men in the county knew and spoke to her, very 
 few of the ladies patronized her, and she had to depend a good 
 deal for society upon people she picked up in London. The un- 
 married men in the neighborhood dined with her, and were ex- 
 tremely civil to her. Ravenhold, as a bachelor, had been a fre- 
 quent ,\uest at her house, and had made love to her in that little 
 way of his. 
 
 When he brought Lady Ravenhold home, Mrs. Warren had 
 ventured to call at Dallas Park, but only received cards in return 
 at the end of three weeks. 
 
 This was entirely Gerard's doing. Vanessa, who was kind- 
 hearted, did not like to snub any one, but her husband said with 
 decision that Mrs. Warren was not a person for iier to know. Mrs. 
 Warren, of course, thought it was her ladyship's pride, and took 
 great pleasure in sneering at her and calling her the wine mer- 
 chant's ex-widow. 
 
 Lady Mildred, happening to meet Mrs. Warren at luncheon 
 one day in rather a fast house, and knowing that she lived near 
 the Ravenholds, made a point of being extremely civil to her, 
 greatly to Mrs. Warren's delight. In October Lady Mildred 
 again met her at the shop of those celebrated linen-drapers, the 
 rendezvous for friends and acquaintances. She stopped, entered 
 into friendly conversation, and invited Mrs. Warren to dine and 
 44 do a play" with her. Mrs. Warren was enchanted. She pre- 
 sumed to hint in the evening, knowing that Lady Mildred was a 
 first-rate rider, how flattered she would be if her ladyship would 
 come down to her for a few days' hunting, and Lady Mildred, 
 perfectly conscious of the license that the fact of her b^ing a 
 duke's daughter gave her to do everything, nearly everything. 
 that she chose, accepted frankly. There were other houses in 
 the county where she might have stayed, but none where she 
 could do "exactly as she wished none" where she would hara 
 
r~HAVE LIVED AND LOVSU 215 
 
 boenmt liberty to see Gerard when she pleased and how she 
 pleased. Mrs. Warren, she knew, would connive with the great- 
 est delight at her flirtation, and she had conjectured, from the 
 way in which that lady had spoken of Vanessa, that she would 
 be only too delighted to mortify and annoy her. 
 
 So Lady Mildred sent down her horses, and the first that 
 Ravenhold knew of her being in the county was when he be- 
 held her arrive at the meet, perfectly mounted and equipped, by 
 the side of Mrs. Warren. He did not at first know whether to 
 be most pleased or most shocked; but, after a few minutes, he 
 became aware that the former sensation predominated. 
 
 " My dear child!" he whispered, " what in Heaven's name has 
 made you take up with Mrs. Warren ?" 
 
 She looked him full in the face, and answered, in a very low 
 voice: 
 
 " What in the wide world would I not do to be near you!" 
 
 Then she dropped her eyes and turned to speak to another 
 man. 
 
 Gerard's heart thrilled. He never left her all that day. By 
 Jove! how she rode! with what pluck, yet with what judgment! 
 She was the admiration of every man in the field, and received 
 the most flattering attentions, although it was known that she 
 was the guest of Mrs. Warren. Even that lady came in for 
 much more courteous treatment in consequence, and was radi- 
 ant with joy. 
 
 Lady Mildred, though she had ostensibly come for a few days, 
 remained, as she intended, for several weeks no fear of her 
 outstaying her welcome with Mrs. Warren. That lady played 
 into her hands with the most perfect comprehension of her part 
 the house was free to Lord Ravenhold, and when he came he 
 was certain of finding himself tete-a-tete with Lady Mildred.. 
 
 It was astonishing at this time how often Gerard was belated 
 out hunting, and how, on non-hunting days, visits to distant 
 farms occupied great portions of his time. Once he went up to 
 London for the night, but, as a matter of fact, got no further 
 than five miles from his own home, although his servant drove 
 him to and from the station. 
 
 . At this time, no suspicion of Lady Mildred's presence in the 
 neighborhood crossed Vanessa's brain. She was, indeed, hap- 
 pier than usual, for Gerard was exceedingly kind and affection- 
 ate when with her, which, however, was not so oft as she 
 could have desired. 
 
 There was some talk in the county on the subject. The women 
 fcaid' Ladv Mildred came after Ravenhold the men were of 
 opinion that she stayed on because the hunting was so exception- 
 ally good. Men who are sportsmen are not generally given to 
 scandal or gossip they did not therefore tell tales at home about 
 Ravenhold an.d Lady Mildred being inseparable in the hunting- 
 field, and there was only one other woman who hunted, and she, 
 being more like a man than a woman, did not bother her head 
 with other people's concerns, and cared for nothing except to be 
 well to the front. Still the women talked among themselves, 
 although they were unanimous in declaring that it would bverj 
 
216 1 HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 q| 
 
 wrong to give Lady Ravenhold, poor dear! any hint as to what 
 was going on. Of course they thought she knew that Lady 
 Mildred was in the county. 
 
 Ravenhold was aware that he was living on the brink of a 
 volcano; but somehow the excitement was not altogether un- 
 pleasant to him anything was better than stagnation. He was 
 puzzled about his own feelings toward Lady Mildred. He had 
 heard and believed that once a man has got over a passion for a 
 woman it never returns. And yet he was afraid, ashamed to 
 own to himself, what a hold she had upon him he could not 
 bear a day to pass without seeing her. 
 
 When she talked of leaving, he implored her to stay he even 
 went so far as to beg Mrs. Warren to join her entreaties to his. 
 Which that lady did in such an earnest and heartfelt manner 
 that Lady Mildred found it impossible to refuse. One day she 
 had a fall out hunting. It was not serious, but it so terrified 
 and agitated Ravenhold that two other men who came to her 
 assistance made remarks very freely to each other as they rode 
 away. Her ladyship did not hunt for some days afterward, and 
 then Gerard alway? went home after the first kill not home, at 
 least, but to Mrs. Warren's house, where he sat for hours beside 
 Lady Mildred, who was laid on the sofa appareled in the rich 
 colors that so well became her dark eyes and hair. Often, often 
 as he went home, remorse pricked him he felt as if he were un- 
 der the influence of some devilish fascination, and yet he could 
 not tear himself away from it. 
 
 A few days after Lady Mildred's fall, a neighbor of Lady Ra- 
 venhold's came to call on her. She was-a lady not distinguished 
 for tact. 
 
 " I hear that was rather a nasty fall Lady Mildred had," she 
 remarked in the course of conversation. 
 
 " Lady Mildred!" repeated Vanessa, turning deathly white. 
 
 Her visitor felt exceedingly confused. 
 
 " I do not think it is at all serious," she hastened to say, ap- 
 pearing not to notice the change in Lady Ravenhold. Vanessa 
 made an immense effort over herself. 
 
 " You mean Lady Mildred Belair," she remarked, quietly. 
 " Where is she staying ?" 
 
 " With Mrs. Warren, So odd of her. Of course, no one calls 
 on her there. How can they ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Vanessa. " And she has been there some time," 
 speaking as though she were already aware of the fact. 
 
 "About five weeks, I suppose," replied the visitor, taken off 
 her guard. 
 
 When she was alone again, Tanessa sat for a long time per- 
 fectly still. She knew that she must be calm; she dared not 
 agitate herself. 
 
 " It is all over, all over!" she kept murmuring, in a low voice. 
 " Oh, my God! what'have I done to deserve this? 1 ' 
 
 How should she meet Gerard ? She knew she could not speak 
 to him on the subject without violent emotion, and she knew 
 that she could not meet him and keep silence. Then she rememr 
 
i HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, 217 
 
 bered that Hermione was in London, and dispatched a telegram 
 begging her in urgent terms to come at once. 
 
 Then she went to her own room and wrote a few lines to her 
 Lusband, bidding him not to attempt to see her until she sent 
 for him. " I have telegraphed to Hermione to come at once," 
 she concluded. 
 
 As he read the note, Ravenhold's face blanched: he went and 
 leaned against the chimney-piece. The thunderbolt had fallen. 
 What a cursed fool he had been to press Milly to stay! He 
 might have known this would happen. Should he send o-ff a 
 line at once imploring her to leave the county ? But it was fifty 
 to one if she would go, however much he might entreat her 
 she hated his wife so desperately; she was capable of doing any- 
 thing to spite her. 
 
 Presently he rang the bell, and inquired if any one had calted 
 that afternoon. When he heard the name of the visitor, he was 
 tolerably certain how the catastrophe had come about. Next 
 morning he did not go hunting, but dawdled about the stables 
 and grounds, without making any attempt to see Vanessa. At 
 first he thought of going to the station to meet his sister, but 
 why betray himself until he knew how far he was inculpated ? 
 how much was discovered ? 
 
 At one o'clock Hermione arrived, and went at once to Vanessa's 
 room. And then poor Vanessa, unable to restrain herself 
 longer, cried her heart out on the breast of that sympathizing 
 little lady, who as yet was ignorant of what calamity had be- 
 fallen. 
 
 When, between sobs and tears, Vanessa told her story, arid de- 
 clared that, whatever the consequences, she would leave home, 
 and never see Gerard more unless he swore not so much as to 
 set eyes on that wicked wretch again, Hermione, though she 
 tried to make the best of the matter to her sister-in-law, felt all 
 her bosom swell with fury, and determined that these criminals 
 should be duly punished. 
 
 And forthwith, going out from Vanessa like a lamb, she en- 
 tered her brother's room like a lion. For even a very small 
 woman, when she is inspired by righteous wrath, can be exceed- 
 ingly terrible, particularly when her adversary is handicapped 
 by a guilty conscience. 
 
 Ravenhold, though passionate, like herself, hung his head, and 
 had nothing to say. What was the use of lying to Hermione, 
 whom it was impossible to hoodwink or deceive, on this subject 
 at all events? His only defense was that he did not know Lady 
 Mildred was coming into the county until he saw her there, 
 and that he had'not mentioned her presence to Vanessa for fear 
 of agitating her. 
 
 "Ah!" cries Hermione. with bitter scorn, being inspired by a 
 sort of clairvoyance in her wrath, ''it did not strike you that 
 people would talk when you never left Mildred's side; it did not 
 strike you that, when you were constantly away, and always 
 came home late, that Vanessa would suspect nothing. If she 
 dies, which is quite possible, you two are her murderers, and, 
 though you are my brother, I will denounce you, you and her, 
 
218 * 3AVE LIVED AND LOVED 
 
 to the whole world. Are you human? have you one spark of. 
 manly feeling? I am ashamed of you. I blush tor vou. God 
 forgive me! at this moment I think / hate you!" 
 
 Hermione delivers every sentence with telling force. She is 
 wrought up to the highest pitch. 
 
 "And now," she continues, "you will swear on the Bible 
 never to see this wretched woman again or I will carry Vanessa 
 off with me to-day, no matter what the consequences may be, 
 and you shall not see her again, if I can help it. My doors, I 
 swear, shall be shut to you." 
 
 So Ravenhold, there being no other course open to him, swears 
 on the Bible as he is commanded. 
 
 Hermione charges herself with getting rid of Lady Mildred. 
 She pays her ladyship a visit that very afternoon. The inter- 
 view takes place a huis clos. Suffice it to say that, oij the follow- 
 ing day, Lady Mildred, to Mrs. Warren's infinite chagrin, departs 
 for London. 
 
 Not a word passed between Lord and Lady Ravenhold upon the 
 subject of Lady Mildred. He, with his sense of guilt, scarcely- 
 dared approach her, and she held herself aloof from him. An un- 
 utterable sense of melancholy stole over her from which nothing 
 could rouse her not all Hermione's efforts, nor Susan's, whom 
 Mrs. Fane had sent for. She was looking death in the face ; she 
 was certain that she would die, and she was trying hard to say 
 that it was better so. How happy she had been ! More happy 
 than any woman had been before her, or would be after her. 
 She had thought of, valued nothing but Gerard, and God was 
 punishing her for forgetting Him. The Creator would not toler- 
 ate the creature being worshiped before Him. 
 
 There was no resentment in her heart against him now; if only 
 for the time that remained to her she could lay her head on his 
 breast and hold his hand and feel once more that they were all 
 in all to each other, that no alien form stood between her and 
 her love, she could, she thought, die in peace. 
 
 As for Gerard, he was terribly bored and dull ; he felt utterly 
 wretched; in his own eyes he was the martyr and victim. The 
 very fact of his being unable to meet Lady Mildred increased his 
 passion for her tenfold. There were days when he was almost 
 tempted to brave all consequences, and to rush up to town to see 
 her. He wrote to her every day of his life, and posted the letters 
 with his own hands, and she directed her answers to a post-office 
 four miles distant, and he fetched them thence himself. On 
 those days when there was no letter from her he rode home 
 moody, miserable, unbearably disappointed. 
 
 It was Christmas-day. A gloomy, wretched, miserable day 
 indeed. 
 
 Gerard did not make the faintest -attempt to conceal his gloom 
 he went about looking the picture of misery; only to see his 
 face was enough to inspire one with the deepest melancholy. 
 Finally he went to his room, and locked himself in to write to 
 Lar*y Mildred. He was not particularly fond of letter-writing, 
 ktt* to- lay it pave him the greatest comfort to pour out hU woe 
 
I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 219 
 
 and his wretchedness to some one who he knew would sympa- 
 thize with him* Even as he wrote the first words, "My own 
 darling," his spirits revived. It was true she was not his own, 
 but that did not take away from the pleasure of addressing her 
 as though she were. 
 
 "How you would pity me if you could see me ! I wonder what 
 you are doing? Christmas-day is always detestable, but this is 
 the most awful one I ever remember. It is three o'clock, and 
 it seems as though it ought to be midnight. For company I have 
 two gloomy, reproachful-looking women I am made to feel like 
 a whipped hound ; every servant in the place knows that I am in 
 disgrace. I would give anything I possess I would give a year 
 of my life to be with you for one hour now. However, thank 
 God! this state of things cannot go on much longer, and when it 
 is over, and there is no more chance of my being catted a mur- 
 derer, as I have been already by my sister, I shall throw off this 
 yoke and do just what I please. Nothing then shall hinder me 
 from seeing you as often as I please and as you please. What a 
 fool I have beenj Oh, my love, if ever I have done wrong to 
 you, pity me now, for you are indeed revenged. When, when 
 shall. I see you again? Your own 
 
 "GERARD. 
 
 "I am going out into the hurricane to post this. I would walk 
 all the way to London to see you." 
 
 Having thus solaced his feelings, Lord Ravenhold starts for 
 his walk. When he returns, it is quite, quite dark he changes 
 his clothes and goes into his wife's boudoir. She is lying there 
 without a light, and alone. Hermione has a headache, and has 
 betaken herself to her room. 
 
 "Come here, darling," says Vanessa, as Ravenhold enters, and 
 in her tone there is all the love and tenderness of old days. It 
 smites Gerard with a vague remorse. He goes and sits beside 
 her, and she lays her head on his breast and puts her hand in 
 his. She has so much oh, so much to say to him, and yet she 
 fears to begin. 
 
 She wants to say to him that she will not be here long now 
 she would fain tell him how happy he has made her, and that 
 he must not reproach himself when she is gone; with her head 
 on his breast, she longs to whisper that, if she has aught to for- 
 give, she forgives from the bottom of her heart. And she would 
 entreat him, if her child should live, to talk sometimes to it of 
 its dead mother, and she has injunctions to give him about the 
 last resting-place of her poor body, which once he loved so 
 fondly. 
 
 But at the very first words she breaks down. With his arms 
 round her, with her head pillowed on his breast, with all her 
 idolatrous love of him surging up in her heart, the thought of 
 leaving him is too bitter. She has but uttered the words, "Oh, 
 my love, I shall not be with you long," when she stops sharply, 
 and falls to bitterest weeping. He soothes and kuthes her like 
 
220 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 a child he reassures her tenderly. But her words do not alarm 
 him he does not put any faith in them it is natural, he sup- 
 poses, that she should think and talk like this. 
 
 It is a long time before Vanessa can speak again. At last she 
 conquers her agitation enough to say : 
 
 "Some day some day you will know how I loved you," and 
 then her sobs choke her, and she cannot speak one other word. 
 
 It is on the third day following: Vanessa and Hermione are 
 sitting together after luncheon. Vanessa has seemed brighter, 
 mure cheerful since her reconciliation with Gerard. A servant 
 enters with the letters which have arrived by the second post. 
 There are four for Lady Ravenhold. One is from / Edith, and 
 she opens this first and reads the contents eagerly. It is a long 
 letter, and contains a great deal of family news. She has been 
 staying with Mab, who is as happy as ever, though not quite so 
 prim and censorious about other wives as in the first days of her 
 marriage. Her grandfather is more unbearable than ever. Then 
 she proceeds : 
 
 "Would you, my darling Nessa. be very, very much surprised 
 to hear, after all I have said against men and marriage, that 1 
 am at last going to break my vow of eternal spinsterhood. I am 
 not in love! I don't think any woman. can love twice as I loved; 
 but one can respect, admire, look up to, and be happy in a man's 
 society without feeling the rapture and torment of love love ^as 
 you and I understand it. It is of no use my asking you to guess 
 the name of my future husband. I had never met him when I 
 saw you last. It is Lord B ." 
 
 Vanessa utters a little cry of delight, and Hermione looks up. 
 Vanessa tells her the news rapturously. 
 
 "Upon my word," says Mrs. Fane, "she is a fortunate young 
 woman. He is quite charming, and immensely rich. True, he 
 is a widower, but both his children are girls." 
 
 "I am pleased. I am delighted," exclaimed Vanessa. "Dear, 
 d?rling Edie ! If ever any one deserves to be happy it is she !" 
 
 \Vhen Lady Ravenhold has read the letter three times through, 
 she opens the others. The third is rather bulky it contains two 
 inclosures oat is a letter in her husband's hand, written on the 
 thick paper he always uses; the other is a common sheet, on 
 which these words are written : ' 
 
 "Mv LADY, I send you this letter which her ladyship dropped 
 by accident, thinking ~it only right that your ladyship should 
 know of her goings on with Lord Ravenhold." 
 
 Vanessa sits for a moment perfectly still. It flashes across her 
 mind that she ought not to read Gerard's letter she is half 
 minded to throw it over to Hermione. Unfortunately, Mrs. 
 Fane rises at this very instant, saying she must answer one of 
 her letters without delay. 
 
 Then Vanessa reads. It is the letter which Gerard wrote to 
 Lady Mildred on Christmas-day. 
 
/ HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 221 
 
 Some quarter of an hour later, as Hermione is sitting writing 
 at her table, the door is dashed open, and Lady Ravenhold's 
 maid rushes in with a white, terrified face. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am, pli(ase come at once ! I'm afraid her ladyship 
 is dying." In three seconds Hermione is by Vanessa's side. 
 Susan comes running at the same moment. 
 
 "The fastest horse in the stables, in his lordship's buggy, to 
 go for Mr. Wilson !" cries Hermione. Next she writes a telegram 
 for a celebrated London physician, and then, in an agony of 
 alarm, she returns to Vanessa. She sees the letters lying about, 
 and by instinct picks them up and puts them in her pocket. As 
 she does so, she catches sight of her brother's handwriting on 
 one. "Your own Gerard" is lying uppermost. 
 
 "He has killed her!" she says to herself over and over again 
 between her teeth. And when he comes rushing to her half an 
 hour later with a white scared face, she cries, thrusting his letter 
 into his hands : 
 
 "Do you wapt to know what has happened? That will tell 
 you ! I hope you are happy now !" 
 
 "Oh, my God !" he cries. And then he stands speechless, 
 livid, looking so like death itself that Hermione relents for a 
 moment from her rancor and utters no further reproach. 
 
 When Gerard recovers himself, he is like a madman. He 
 wants to telegraph for half the physicians in London he goes 
 on his knees to the country doctor imploring him to save his 
 darling wife. 
 
 Vanessa remained insensible convulsion followed convulsion. 
 In the terrible anxiety about the mother, no one recked anything 
 of the dead heir. 
 
 Ravenhold, when he was not hanging over his wife's insensible 
 form, sat in his own room, his chest well-nigh rent with the 
 groans and tearless sobs that are so terrible to hear from a 
 strong man. He would cut off his right hand to save her now ; 
 he would give not one but ten years of his life for hers. 
 
 But she was not to live; they broke it to him as tenderly as 
 possible, but the fiat had gone forth she was dying. He fell 
 on his knees and besought God to let her know him once more, 
 speak to him once more; he would have bribed his Creator with 
 the promise of giving up everything he valued in the world to 
 let him hear from his wife's lips that she forgave him. 
 
 But she died and made no sign, and he felt that he had mur- 
 dered her. In his agony he could have proclaimed his guilt 
 aloud ; he longed to expiate if possible some part of his sin by 
 confessing it; by calling down on his head the scorn and hatred 
 of men. Hermione, seeing his state and hearing the wildness 
 of his words, persuaded the doctor to give him a powerful 
 sedative. 
 
 He slept long and heavily. It was nearly midday on the mor- 
 row when he woke. He would not touch food, but went straight 
 to her room. It was darkened. Susan sat there watching her 
 dead darling; the tears coursing down her cheeks, her lips mov- 
 ing in orayer. 
 
222 I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED. 
 
 Not that her young lady needed prayers she was one of God's 
 angels now. 
 
 When Ravenhold entered, she rose softly, and went out, having 
 unclosed the shutter a little way. She knew nothing of the 
 truth, and felt only the deepest pity for the poor, broken-hearted 
 young husband. 
 
 Gerard went and stood beside his dead wife. He gazed at her, 
 his breast heaving with great sighs. She was more beautiful in 
 death even than in life. Oh, God! and he could neglect and be 
 indifferent to such an angel ! She was like purest marble. Ker 
 hair was laid by loving hands all its full length beside her; on 
 one arm he saw her little dead child lying; round her head was 
 an aureole of white flowers.; blossoms like the driven snow lay 
 upon her breast. 
 
 He turned away and hid his face in his hands the sight was 
 more than he could bear. It was he who with mad, sacrilegious 
 hands had plucked awaj his happiness it was he who had killed 
 the fairest and most losing wife God ever gave to mortal man. 
 
 In the deep waters of agony that flooded his soul he cried out 
 that his punishment was greater than he could bear. 
 
 Hermione came to seek him : her anger had died out; noth- 
 ing but pity for him remained.' Ah ! who could feel wrath in 
 presence of that lovely,- piteous sight the fair dead mother, the 
 little dead child? 
 
 ''Gerard !" she murmured, softly and kindly "my poor boy ! 
 come away now." 
 
 But he waved her off. Then she went away again with falter- 
 ing steps and streaming eyes. Of a truth he was punished; his 
 sin had found him out ! 
 
 [THE END.] 
 
I UH 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY