THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^-^ ^. member no expression in any one of them referring not to outward, but to inward power of distinguish- ing scent ?" " ' Oh, my offence is rank, it smells to Heaven /' " exclaimed Claudia suddenl}'-, quoting a well-known line from Hamlet. " Much the same idea is expressed in a passage in Kling John," obsei^ved Mr. Hartswood, " where Faulconbridge, after the cruel death of poor Prince Arthur, is made to exclaim, ' For I am stifled with this smell of sin !' To me that Hne is one of the most forcible ever written by the hand of our glo- rious poet." " Then Shakspeare must have considered wicked- ness as a thing which to the mind has an evil scent, and goodness, I suppose, as a thing which has sweet fragrance," observed Claudia, thoughtfully. " But I do not just know what faculty of the mind can be said to distinguish between them." " I should call it moral perception," replied Mr. Hartswood — "perhaps the noblest attribute of the human mind ; certainly one to be ranked above 88 MENTAL SENSES. imagination, or even quickness of comprebcn- sion." "Though, as regards bodily senses, that of smell is the one which we could most readily part with," said Claudia. " The pleasure derived from it is as nothing compared to that given through the eye or the ear." " The most important use of the sense of smell to man is not to bestow pleasure," remarked Mr. Harts- wood : " it is a valuable safeguard to health, and even to life ; and in this point especially is there a striking analogy between it and our moral percep- tions." " I am sorry that I do not understand you, papa,' said Claudia frankly " The nostrils are oflended by what is impure and unwholesome, by malaria, or the scent of corruption," observed Mr. Hartswood. " But for the waraing which they give, we should often inhale what is deadly, without being aware of our danger. It is exactly thus with our Tnoral perceptions : they give us warning of peril to the soul." " Some people seem scarcely able to distinguish between right and wrong," remarked Claudia. " It is sad when the moral perceptions are blunted, as is too often the case by frequent contact with evil," said the lawyer, "We meet with analogous MENTAL SKNSE8. 89 physical cases, where persons, crowded together in dweUincrs so unwholesome that to one accustomed to pure air the atmosphere within them is stifling, have become so accustomed to the evil as to feel no outward annoyance from the poisonous gases which are, not the less surely, bringing fever and death to their frames," " A strange fancy has occurred to my mind," said Claudia. " Wlien the gas escaped in the dining- room lately, we tried to overpower the horrid scent which it caused with eau-de-Cologne." " Had a dozen bottles of perfume been expended," interrupted Mr. Hartswood ; "they would not have prevented the atmosphere of the room being in so dangerous a state that the entrance of a person with a lighted candle would have caused the blowing up of the house." " Yes ; the perfume was to make the gas less dis- agreeable, not less dangerous," observed Claudia. " My thought was this : Is not my enemy. King Sham, a great patron of perfumes to make what is wrong appear right — to confuse what you call our moral perceptions ?" Mr. Hartswood laughed, and nibbed his hands gaily. He always encouraged his daughter to start what he considered an original idea. " King Sham is the very king of perfumers," cried the lawyer; 90 MENTAL SENSES. " he takes the fragi'ant flowers of virtue, and distils, boils, squeezes, and pounds them up into a pomade of his own, ready for any occasion. Flattery, false courtesy, eye-service, are, as it were, perfumes drawn by him from dead reverence, dead kindliness, dead obedience, and are used only to mislead and to cover over what would otherwise shock our moral percep- tions." " Ah, papa, you could never bear perfumes except from fresh flowers and fruit !" cried Claudia. " How scornfully you tossed aside the musk-scented note which I received from Euphemia Long!" "As you disliked her rouge," said the lawyer. " The breeze needs no perfume, and the skin no tinting from ait ; and so honesty and truth, sweet and pleasant to the moral perceptions, require not the colour of hypocrisy, or the musk-odour of de- ceit." The foregoing conversation may be regarded as a specimen of those which often were held between Mr. Hartswood and his daughter — convei-sations which would have been as tedious and fatiguing to Emma Holder, as they were usually delightful to Claudia. This one, however, left an uneasy sensa- tion on the mind of the lawyer's daughter, for which she could scarcely account. Was there, to speak metaphorically, some leak from the gas-pipe, or some MENTAL SENSES. 91 malaria from the marsh, of which her moral percep- tions made her, though imperfectly, aware ? Was the avowed enemy of deceit, in all its various forms, for once resorting to its means to persuade herself that the air held no subtle poison — that all around her was wholesome and pure ? CHAPTER IX. OFF BKR GUARD. jES, the sooner the strawberries are gathered the better ; I wonder that we have one left after yesterday's rain," said the vicar's rosy-cheeked wife, as she stood by the parlour window, fastening up with her own hands the white knitted curtain which testified to her own and her daughter's industry during long winter evenings. " The north wall kept the rain off some of the strawbenies ; there won't be any for preserving this year, but lots for eating," cried Harry. " You pro- mised us a feast of strawberries and cream, mother ; and this is Emma's birth-day, you know." "Ah, these birth-days," laughed the good-humoured lady, " they seem to come every other week in the year ! But I have not forgotten my promise, Emma, my dear," she continued, turning towards her daugh- ter ; " this would be a good occasion for us to ask your new friend to join us. Just pop on your hat, and run over to Friem Hatch, and bring back OFF UER GrARD. 93 Claudia Harts wood. It may be a novelty to lier to pick strawberries from the bed." Emma started up eagerly — she needed no second bidding. " I'll put on my hat in a minute," she cried, as she rolled up the table-cloth which slie had been darning; "-I daresay that Claudia wiU be de- lighted to come." "Don't you be sto})piug to spout poetry together,"' cried Tommy, " or you'll find more leaves than straw- berries when you come back." Though the attention of Claudia had been so much occupied with her interesting visitor from the convent that she had scarcely given a thought to Emma Holder, the mind of the vicar's daughter had often reverted to Claudia. The feeling of slight mortification which Emma had experienced on ac- count of the unlucky epigrams was passing away ; while the impression left by the intelligent counte- nance and frank cordial manner of Miss Hartswood was vivid and charming. Emma still luxuriated in the hope of delightful saunters with Claudia through the thick shrubberies, or yet more charming tete-d'- tetes in library or bower ; perhaps even invitations to Mr. Hartswood' s select little dinner-parties, when literary friends should come down from London to make the social meal an intellectual feast. " Claudia wiU forget my stupidity about these 94 OFF HER GUARD. foolish epigrams," thought Emma. "I will be more careful in future ; nothing of lip-deceit or look-deceit shall she ever discover in me. I admire her straight- forwardness and strong love of truth, though I own that I think that she carries them to an extent that is almost absurd." The morning was bi-eezy and bright ; sun and wind together had dried up almost all trace of the yesterday's rain, save that the landscape looked fresher and greener for the heavy showers that had fallen. Gaily Emma pursued her uphill walk to- wards Friem Hatch, which, nestling in its shrubbery, crowned the highest point in the landscape. On Emma's last visit to the place, Claudia had invited her young friend to come to her at any hour, and without any kind of ceremony. " Do not ring the bell or raise the knocker," she had said ; " the doors are always wide open in summer : you have nothing to do but walk in. I am almost as much alone here during the greater part of the day as Crusoe was in his island. Our fence is to me what the sea was to him ; I never can say ' not at home.' You are sure to find me either in the library, or wandering about in the grounds; and come when you will, or how you will, you may always be certain of a welcome." Remembering this ft-ank invitation from one who OFF HER GUARD. 95 80 carefully weighed every word that she uttered, Enima felt assured that her visit would give plea- sure. The shy country girl was glad that there was no need to summon Garrard, the portly, solemn - looking butler, whose waiting at luncheon had been the only thing to give an impression of burdensome etiquette and formal constraint to Emma. The front door of Friern Hatch was open, as was usual during the summer day. This door gave entrance into an airy hall and a passage beyond, at the farther end of which was a glass door, through which Emma could see into the shrubbery which spread at the back of the dwelling. Just as Emma ascended the three broad stone bteps which led up to the entrance she caught a glimpse, through the glass door, of the form of Claudia in her lilac muslin and broad-brimmed hat, as she rapidly passed along the shrubbery walk. Emma felt too shy in a stranger's house to call out her name aloud, but ran through the hall, traversed the passage, and passing out through the glass door, soon overtook Claudia, who, book in hand, was hastening towards her shady bower to keep her tryst with the nun. " Claudia ! dear Claudia ! " — how unwelcome at that moment were the unexpected call and the light touch of Emma's hand on the arm of her friend ! 96 OFF HER GUARD. Claudia started and turned half round, meeting the kindly smile in Emma's gray eyes witli a look less expressive of pleasure. " How fast you walk ; I could scarcely overtake you," cried Emma, panting as she spoke. " Mamma has sent me to ask you to come back with me to share a little feast of strawberaes and cream. I should so much enjoy having you with us, dear Claudia ! " " I cannot come to-day — thanks all the same," replied Claudia, annoyed and embaiTassed by an invitation which she did not choose to accept, and yet scarcely knew how to decline. She saw that Emma looked disappointed, and tried to turn off the matter with a jest. " I have a particular reason for not passing my ring-fence to-day," she said gaily, " and must show that I have a soul above the temp- tation even of strawben-ies and cream." " So have I," observed Emma laughing. " If you are not coming — if you really cannot come — I shall much prefer staying with you. I see that you are going, book in hand, to your bower ; I will come with you, dear Claudia, and leave the boys to their feast." So saying, Emma affectionately slipped her arm into that of her friend. Claudia was more and more embarrassed. She was unwilling to give pain or to repel affection, yet OFF HER GUARD. 97 was impatient to get rid of her unwelcome com- -panion. Emma had certainly not the art of feeling her way by that mental sense of touch which we call tact or discernment, which saves its possessor from many a shock to pride and wound to affection, or she would have intuitively perceived that her company was not desired. " You are very kind, dear Emma," said Claudia in a hesitating tone. " I hope that we may have many pleasant readings together, but — but I do not feel quite up to having a companion this morning." Claudia was looking particularly rosy at that moment, and her firm rapid step had certainly given no token of indisposition. As her words, however, seemed to be intended to convey such an idea, Emma said, rather coldly, withdrawing her arm from that which she had been affectionately pressing, " Do you mean that you are not very well ? " " She can no more understand a hint than she can an epigram ! " thought Claudia, provoked at being thus driven into a corner. " Perhaps you have a headache ? " suggested Emma. " No, not exactly headache — but — but I intend to study this morning alone." Claudia bit her lip hard as soon as the words had escaped her ; her colour rose even to her brow ; for the first time '226) 7 98 OFF HER GUARD. perhaps in her life she had been surprised into uttering an untruth. Emma was hurt, and, as far as her gentle nature permitted her to be so, offended. With a cold " good-bye " she was turning away when Claudia detained her. "Do not be vexed with me, dear Emma," she said. " If you could only come at some other time — a little later — this afteraoon, let us say — " " Oh, this afternoon I have the class at the school; my time is not all my own ; I cannot, like you, walk, read, or write poetry whenever I please," re- plied Emma, with a full heart, betraying its emotion in the altered tone of her voice, " But I hope to come again — some day," and she turned and retraced her steps, thinking, as Euphemia Long and Annie Goldie had thought before her, that Claudia was capricious and fickle, amusing as a companion, but most unstable as a friend. Claudia pursued her way down the shrubbery walk, angry with Emma Holder, because angry and disappointed with herself " How could I say that I intended to be alone," she muttered, " when I am going to spend the morning with Helena ? But that stupid girl pressed and tormented me till I scarcely knew what I was speaking. I said what was not true in order to spare her feelings, and have offended OFF HER GUARD. 99 her after all ! I was never aware before this how much characters are moulded by circumstances over which we have no control. I could not have be- lieved yesterday morning that anything on earth would have induced me to do what I have been doing — to use concealment towards my father, and insincerity towards my companion. I know that I am honest in my intentions ; but how is it that my words and actions seem now to require what papa calls 'the musk-odour of deceit ? ' " CHAPTER X THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. jLAUDIA had ample time for such reflec- tions, for she found her rural bower empty. The rustle of leaves as the summer breeze stiiTed them, the gurgling mui'mur of the rill, and the drowsy hum of insects were all that she heard as she seated herself on the low lichen-stained bench within. In the absence of sister Helena the misgivings of Claudia increased. What if this fair young nun were some agent em- ployed by the Jesuits subtly to undermine her faith, under the pretext of examining its foundations ? Claudia had read of such things being attempted, and was startled as the idea flashed across her that she might possibly herself be the subject of some deep-laid Romanist scheme. " Ha ! " she exclaimed half aloud, as one sud- denly recoiling from the brink of a pit-fall, " do they think to draw me into their toils. If I find that there is the slightest attempt to blind my eyes TUB APPOINTED Slti^AL. 101 or pervert my principles, I will at once make every- thing known to my father ; I will not be led one inch, one hair's-breadth farther on a slippery path. Kave I not stumbled already ! " Claudia clenched tightly the volume of " D'Au- bignd's Reformation," which she had carried with her to the arbour. Her youthful face assumed almost a stem, defiant expression, which, however, suddenly passed from it, leaving no trace behind, as with pale cheek and downcast eyes, shrouded in her dark robes, Helena glided from the shadow of the trees, and stood at the entrance of the bower. "I could not come before — I was watched," said the nun, " Oh ! if you but knew how I havf yearned to be again with the only friend near me who pities me, and whom I trust." Those soft pleading tones, and the sight of the fair pale countenance of the young speaker, changed the current of Claudia's feelings. She who — but a minute before — had been suspecting a secret plot, resumed the position which she had taken on the preceding day, that of the protectress of one who had been wronged, her destined guide from error to truth. Reproaching herself for having ever entertained a doubt of Helena, Claudia welcomed the nun, and in a few minutes the two, seated side by side, were bending over 102 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. the pages of tlie mteresting and valuable volume before them. It was evident that Helena had at least no desire to draw her companion from the purity of her Pro- testant faith. The nun remained motionless and still while Claudia eagerly turned from one part of the book to another, guided by markers which she had placed between the leaves, or pencil-lines drawn along the margin of passages that appeared of special importance. Now reading aloud, now condensing the author's arguments into words of her own, with a clearness of reasoning and powei of expression which she had inherited from her father, Claudia entered upon her proselytising mission with a vigour and energy which almost surprised herself. " Had you been a boy, Claudia, I do not know which I should have chosen for you, the church or the bar," Mr. Hartswood had once said with a proud smile, as — following his favourite method of training — he had drawn out his daughter's ideas on some disputed theological point. The remark, and the smile with which it was made, had deeply gratified Claudia's vanity, and had acted as a powerful stimulant upon her mental energies. Whether, like other stimulants, its efi'ect had been altogether wholesome, may well be doubted. Passively sat Helena, with drooping head and THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.. 103 folded hands, as Claudia, with logic and eloquence such as few girls of her age could have displayed, touched upon one point after another of the great controversy between Luther and Rome. It would have been refreshing to the young advocate to have had questions asked, or even objections raised — she almost felt at last as if she were spending her breath on trying to convince a statue. " But what could I expect," thought Claudia, " from one brought up in the habit of passive obedience to the commanding will of another ? This poor girl listens, as she has been accustomed to listen, without comment or question. Her mind has been cramped by being long kept in a strained, unnatural position ; truth, when presented to her, but dazzles, because she has not been accustomed to light." Claudia paused at last, almost breathless, with her finger pressed on a passage in the volume which rested on her knee — a passage which she was sure must cany conviction to any unprejudiced mind of the dangerous nature of the doctrines maintained at Rome. " How deeply you must have studied ! " cried Helena, rousing herself at length to speak. " You have doubtless attended some theological class held by a great Protestant teacher." 104 TBE APPOINTED SIGNAL. " No," replied the gi'atified Claudia. " My only training on these subjects has been from my father ; he teaches me to read, reflect, and reason." " What a joy it must be to receive instruction from a parent ! " exclaimed Helena, clasping her hands. " But surely you can see but little of your father ; during most of the day is he not absent on business in London ? " " We have our delightful evenings together," said Claudia. " Ah ! how different from the joyless, dreary ones which I pass alone in my cell ! " sighed the nun. " You in your luxurious drawing-room — " " No, not in the di'awing-room," internipted Claudia ; " not in the large decked-out apartment into which strangers are shown. Papa and I sit together in his snug little study, with rows of book- shelves on one side reaching almost to the ceiling, A,nd on the other side his mahogany cabinet in which he keeps his papers, neatly docketed in their pigeon- holes, with a dozen despatch-boxes surmounting the whole. It is a delightful study," continued the lawyer's daughter, " with nothing flimsy or fanci- ful in it — not a picture, except brown prints of Lord Chancellors in their big wigs ; everything in that room speaks of work, intellectual work — the brass-clamped desk on tlie leather-covered table — the THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 105 parchment-bound volumes beside it — the massive ink-stand — a gift from a client — all, save the beauti- ful vase — my gift — which I always keep filled with fresh flowers for papa." "And there you sit with your father?" said Helena, who appeared to be more interested by pic- tures of domestic enjoyment than by exposure of Romanist errors. " He on his arm-chair," replied Claudia, " I on a stool at his feet. Sometimes papa reads to me, and sometimes I read to him ; but during most of the time we converse, and oh, how delightful is such conversation ! Papa asks me about my morning studies, or tells me what he has been doing in London. Sometimes he tests my judgment by de- scribing the leading points in cases that have come into court, and asking me, if I were judge, what my decision would be. Papa laughs and rubs his hands if ever I hit on a right one." Claudia's eyes beamed with animation while speaking of these happy evenings spent with a parent whom she en- thusiastically loved and admired. " But surely," observed sister Helena, " Mr. Harts wood's business must sometimes oblige him to pass the night in London ? " " No, never," was the reply. " For my sake papa gives up entirely that society in which he used 106 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. to shine ; he never, since we came here, has left me to pass one evening alone. I can count on my father's return as I do upon that of the sun ; when I hear the railway-whistle at 6.55 I am certain that the train is bringing papa. The click of the gate, when he opens it, would be as regular as the strik- ing of the clock, were I not constantly beforehand to meet him, so that papa finds the gate wide open, and his daughter ready to welcome him back to his home." " And then you pass the happy evening together in the study ? " said Helena. " Except, of course, when we have friends to dinner," replied Claudia Hartswood ; " when the dear little study is left to the Lord Chancellors in their gilt frames. This evening we have a few guests from London; but this is rather a rare event, and may not happen again for weeks." " Friends from London — not Lady Melton ? " asked sister Helena ; for the first time speaking rapidly, and raising her fine eyes to those of Claudia, with an earnest, anxious expression. " No, not Lady Melton," answered her com- panion ; " she is papa's client, indeed, but I could not call her his friend. I have never even seen her ; what is she like in personal appearance ? " Claudia Hartswood looked keenly at the nun as she aaked her the question. THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 107 " Lady Melton is short in stature, lively and quick in manner," replied sister Helena, who had resumed her quiet demeanour. " Is she good-looking? " asked Claudia, " She might be deemed so, but for a blemish or mole on her cheek," said the nun. Claudia scarcely knew why she had asked the questions, nor why she experienced a feeling of satisfaction at the replies according so well with the description of Lady Melton which she had re- ceived from her father. An expression of anxious thought was resting upon the fair countenance of the nun, her brow contracted in a slight frown, while her eyes were abstractedly fixed upon the little brook which flowed near. " Helena, will you teU me what is passing through your mind ? " said Claudia, tenderly. " There is something that perplexes and pains you." " Can you marvel if a pang of envy should rise, i^ when I hear of a happy home, such as yours — a loving father, such as yours — freedom of con- verse, freedom of faith, such as yours — I should bitterly contrast your lot with my own ! " cried Helena, drawing her black veil close round her face, and then drooping her head upon her clasped hands. 108 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. " The future may have bright days in store foi you yet," suggested the pitying Claudia. Without uncovering her face, the unhappy nun shook her head, and almost sobbed forth "Never!" The arm of Claudia was thrown round that fragile, drooping form. " You may count on my aid in any way, at any time !" she exclaimed. "I may soon be beyond reach of your help," faltered Helena, her voice coming muffled through the veil " I am suspected by the Lady Superior ; watchful e3^es are upon me ; there are thoughts — I know but too well — of sending me far, far away to a, convent where the discipline is fearfully strict — it is, I think, iu the Orkney Islands." " They dare not imprison you against your will in such a wild desolate place !" exclaimed Claudia, the romantic story of the Lady Grange recurring to her mind ; " such cruel deeds could not be com- mitted in these days of liberty and light." " If I be once taken to that isolated convent, I shall never be heard of again," murmured Helena. "To all my happier fellow-creatures it will be as though I had never existed, unless you and Miss Irvine should give a sad thought to a miserable captive, shut up in a living gi-ave." Claudia felt that the form which her arm encircled was violently trembling. TUE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 109 " But you would give me notice before any such barbarous scheme could be put into execution ! " cried Claudia ; " my father is so true a Protestant, 80 noble and generous a man, that I am certain that he would let no considerations of personal in- terest — no, nor of professional etiquette — prevent his giving his powerful protection to a lady wronged and oppressed." " I might — yes, I might have recourse to your protection should my danger become pressing," said Helena, in a scarcely audible voice. " But how could I give you notice of such danger ; I could not approach your dwelling in this dress without draw- ing upon myself the notice of prying eyes. I havo no means of calling you to this spot at any unusual hour, though on a speedy intei-view with you all my future fate might depend." Claudia paused for a minute to reflect, then hastily unloosed a httle scarf of cerise-coloured gauze which she wore round her neck, " You see the wide-spreading branch of yon fir-tree," she said, " most of the windows at the back of Friern Hatch command a view of that bough. If ever I see thia bright scarf fluttering at the end of that branch, 1 shall know it to be a signal of distress— a token that you need — immediately need — the presence of a friend in this bower," 110 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. Helena pressed the scarf to her lips. " You give me life in giving me hope," she murmured. "I look upon your home, dearest, kindest Claudia, as my possible harbour of refuge in case" — the nun lowered her voice — "in case I should find it needful to attempt an escape from the convent." " I believe that you will be driven to this course," observed Claudia, with a keen relish of the romantic nature of the adventure in which she might have to take a prominent part. "Would it be impossible, should such flight be forced upon me," said Helena, "for you to bring me here some garments of your own, to enable me to enter your house without attracting the attention of servants ?" "That might certainly be done," replied Claudia; "there is little difference between our heights, and my broad-brimmed straw hat would sufficiently cover your face to prevent its being seen — at least from some distance." " And you could — you would, I mean — in case of desperate necessity, shelter me for a few hours, or minutes, till I could start off" by train for London, and seek protection in the house of Miss Irvine in Grosvenor Square ?" The voice of Helena trembled with eagerness as she asked the question. •'I am sure that I could, and would !" exclaimed THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. HI the enthusiastic Claudia. " Only," she added, more gravely, " of course I would never conceal such a matter as that from ray father." " I would never ask — never wish you to do so, unless for a very short time," said Helena, "and then only for the sake of his own interests. It would distress me beyond measure to embroil Mr. Hartswood with his client. My aunt is jealous of all interference in her family concerns, save, of course, from the priest. Were her Protestant lawyer to come between her and her niece, she would keenly resent it, and Lady Melton never forgives." " No one would be more unwilling than myself to place my dear father in a position of delicacy and difficulty," said Claudia. "As far as possible I will keep him clear fi'om any responsibility or blame in regard to my actions." "I knew it, I knew it!" cried Helena; "you will do all that is generous and right — not refuse succour to a friend, yet guard the peace of a parent." The nun folded the little scarf, and carefully hid it under her dark garment. "This," she continued, " shall rest on my heart, the memory of your kind- ness within my heart. There is to me no more convincing proof that Protestants cannot be far wrong in their creed, than the generosity with which I find them ready to do all, risk all, for one 112 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. who has no claim upon their help, save the depth of her misery — the gi-eatness of her need." And, as if moved by an irresistible impulse, Helena sank on the bosom of Claudia, who pressed the nun to her heart. "This embrace," thouglit the young Protestant, " shall give my poor Helena assurance of the truth of my friendship, and of my readiness to make for it any personal sacrifice that may be required. Priests may plot, abbesses may persecute ; like the three who in ' Marmion ' ' Met to doom in secrecy,' they may destine this poor orphan to a fate as cruel as that of Constance — dreary exile, imprisonment, penance ; but they shall find that with a warm heart and a quick wit a Protestant girl in this free land is more than a match for them all .'" CHAPTER XI. FLIGHT. [OR the rest of tliat day Helena, and the danger of her being suddenly carried off to the Orkneys, beyond reach of her Protestant friends, were scarcely ever out of the mind of Claudia Haitswood. Many a time she glanced from the window towards that spot in the shrubbery where the end of the dark fir branch could be seen contrasting with the lighter foliage of lilac and lime. At another time the little dinner- party of the evening would have been anticipated with pleasure by Claudia ; but the amusement of a few hours was as nothing compared with the drama in real life which she believed to be opening before her, or rather, in which she expected to act a pro- minent part. Claudia, as she sat for hours dreamily musing under the shade of the trees, or by the open window of the study, went over in thought every point of the conversation which she had held with Sister Helena, especially that tii'st part in which (226) 8 il4 FLIGHT. the young Protestant had sought to unveil the eiTors of Kome. " I think that I put my arguments neatly and forcibly," thought Claudia. "Papa would have said so had he been present. I wish that I could have read what was passing through the mind of my beautiful nun, as she sat so pensive and still. Helena did not attempt to answer one of my argu- ments — -perhaps she felt herself unable to do so ; but I hope that they made some impression upon her. I do not suppose that Helena has been accus- tomed to think deeply ; doubtless the energies of the mind, like those of the body, gi'ow weak fi-om want of exercise. A life spent in a convent would be likely to cripple them altogether. But depend upon it," Claudia continued to herself, as if arguing a point with some invisible companion, " Helena will not long continue a nun. The bird will ere long be fledged ; it already is trying its wings, and soon we shall find means to throw wide open tlie door of its cage. Its flight will not be to the Orkneys. No dreary imprisonment in the bleak north shall be for our gentle convert ; for Helena will be a convert — of that I am certain. She is evidently ready to listen to truth with an unpre- judiced mind, or if there be any prejudice, it is in favour of the views held by the only two beings FLIGQT. 116 who appear to have showTi her any disinterested kindness — Miss Ii-vine and myself. A secret bond of sympathy draws my poor Helena towards me ; she trusts me, she clings to me ; I shall have power over her reason through her affections." It was with gi'eat complacency that the enthusiastic Claudia dwelt upon this idea. She had longed from her childhood to have a friend; but a friend who should owe eveiything to her kindness, — fi-eedom — happi- ness — even knowledge of religious truth, — was more than she had ever before ventured to hope for. "I am very young to attempt the great work of con- verting a Romanist," thus pleasantly flowed on the cuirent of thought ; "I shall not till next month be sixteen years of age, and I do not remember reading of a single instance of a girl of sixteen being the means of actually converting a nun. It is early to follow on the track of Luther, it is early to begin a great work for God." There was no faithful monitor beside her to whisper to the youthful enthusiast, " Is the work which you are so zealously undertaking indeed for God; is it his glory that you are seeking, or the glory of Claudia Hartswood ? While you are em- ploying questionable means to gain a certain end, are you certain that even that end will bear the searching light of truth ? How much of the dross 116 PLIGHT. of self-seokiiig mingles with the pure gold of zeal ! TJie glistening serpent-trail is already on your outei actions ; may it not be that the serpent himself has found a lurking-place in your heart?" Claudia prided herself on her mental jiowers, her delicacy of perception, her quickness of comprehen- sion, altogether unconscious that on some subjects, and those the highest, most important of all, she was yet as ignorant as an infant. The glorious summer suu was sloping towards the west ; rays of golden light were streaming up- wards through breaks in the clouds that mantled his downward path. The clock had stiuck six, and Claudia rose from her seat in the study with the intention of going to her room to change her dress for evening attire, so as to be ready to receive her father's guests from London, when, ere she turned from the window, her eyes once more sought that point in the shrubbery below where stretched out the long branch of fir. Claudia started as she looked forth. No cluster of blight coloured blossoms could suddenly have bloomed upon yon dark tree ! Claudia gazed fixedly, leaning forth from the window, and grasping the sill, which was almost the height of her waist. She had not expected to see Helena's signal so soon, but surely it was the scarf of cerise which now trembled in the light breeze' FLir.HT. 117 Witliout waiting to put on her straw hat which •"jis hanging up in the hall, without waiting to go found to the door which opened on the back-shrub- bery, Claudia took the most rapid means of making her exit from the house. One step on the chair from which .she had just risen, and in a moment the active girl had made her way over the sill out of the window, and with quick step was taking the shortest cut down the shrubbery towanls her shady bower. Aytoun, the gardener, who was tying up some roses, looked up in surprise as the young lady flitted past, her long hair flowing back disordered from the rapidity of her movements, as she met bareheaded the fresh western breeze. Claudia could hardly refrain from running before she reached a turn in the shrubbery walk where the bushes would screen her from observation. The bower was speedily reached. Helena was standing in the shadow, evidently on the watch for her friend, and looking flushed and excited. The nun caught Claudia by both her hands as she entered, and eagerly — tremulously exclaimed, " It is as I feared — the bridge is being cut away behind me — early to-morrow I shall be on my way to the North ! " and turning suddenly away after she had uttered the words, Helena sank on the bench, and buried her face In the folds of her veil. 118 vtlOHT. "How can it be — whence this sudden decision?" cried Claudia. " I told you that I feared that I was suspected, now I am certain that I am so," said Helena, her voice so smothered by her veil, that Claudia had to bend close to her to catch the meaning of what she uttered. " I had scarcely returned from our meet- ing this morning, when I was summoned into the presence of the Mother Superior. Oh, with what icy hardness and coldness she announced to me that my fate was decided, that I must leave ray present abode for a branch establishment in the Orkneys, and that I must start, with one of the sisters, on my long dreary journey at sunrise. In vain 1 pleaded, in vain I wept, declared that my health would not stand a rude climate, that I had not strength for the journey ; the only boon which I could obtain was that I might pass the intervening time in my cell alone, to give myself up to fasting and prayer." Claudia Hai'tswood winced at the words. " And yet," thought she, " could I in reason expect perfect candour from one brought up in a system so false ? My poor nun is forced into deceit ; the fault is not hers, but that of the tyrants who oppress her under the much abused name of religion." " I would have fled to you at once," pursued FL.IOHl. 119 Helena, " but it was impossible for me to make my escape unseen until the sisters had gathered together for service in chapel. And now I have come to throw myself on your mercy ! " and to the surprise of Claudia the nun sank at her feet, and clasped her knees, in an attitude of almost despairing sup- plication. " Helena, my ftiend, rise— rise ! I cannot suffer this ! " exclaimed Claudia, raising the drooping form of the imn. " You know my heart, you know that you have but to say in what way I can serve you." The enthusiast pressed Helena to her bosom, and then made her resume her place at her side. It was several minutes before the nun was able to speak, a convulsive tremor passed through her frame, she could scarcely command her voice. " I tore a leaf from my breviary and wrote on it a few lines in pencil to Miss Irvine, which, con- fided to the faithful old gardener of whom I spoke to you before, I believe- — ^I feel sure that my friend will receive. The old man promised to convey that slip before morning to Grosvenor Square." "What did you write to Miss Irvine?" asked Claudia, with a slight emotion of jealousy towards Helena's unknown protectress. " I told her that I was wretched, and constrained to .tly from tyranny which was supportable no 120 FLIGHT. longer ; that I bad one friend here, most generous most true, but that regard for her father's interests debarred me from availing myself fully of her good- ness. I implored Miss Irvine to send some one to meet me at the station in London on the arrival of the earliest morning train, for I should never know how to find my way through the city; I have never travelled alone, I am helpless and ignorant as a babe, and — " Helena could not finish her sentence, her whole frame was in a violent tremble. " Be calm, dear one, be calm," said Claudia soothingly, lajdng her caressing hand upon the arm of the nun. "And now," continued Helena, after a strong effort to restrain her emotion, " I dare not go back to the convent, I dare not return to my cell, for at sunset the doors will be locked and baiTed, and if I miss my present opportunity of making my escape, I never shall have another. I propose to pass the night — sleep for me there can be none — alone in this quiet green bower ; then, at earliest dawn, make my way to the station." " Pass the night here — in the darkness and damp!" exclaimed Claudia. "Do you think I — that my father would suffer such a thing ! No, no, you must find shftlter under our roof, I will explain everything to papa. How unfortunate it is," ex- " B2 calm," said Claudia, laying her hand upon the arm of the nun. Pa^e 120. r' FLIGHT 121 claimed Claudia, striking her brow, " that we should have guests this very evening ! I shall have no oppoi-tunity of speaking quietly with papa until they have left." " Better, perhaps, to tell Mr. Hartswood nothing till the morning," suggested the nun. " If you could but hide me for the few hours of darkness in some, in any corner of your dwelling, but let me have the shelter of a roof over ray homeless head, never would I, till death, forget what I should owe to your friendship." Claudia pressed her forehead for some moments in anxious reflection. "The study will be perfectly empty as long as our guests are in the house," she murmured, as if thinking aloud; "the paissage lead- ing to it from the hall is shut out by a double door to keep out draughts, and by the little back stair- case it communicates with my room. Yes, yes, you might be quiet enough in that part of the dwelling, in my room when Garrard shuts the shutters of the study, down in the study when my maid is engaged upstairs with me. Yes, yes," said Claudia more cheerfully, " between the two rooms we can hide you very well till the morning, so my only care must be now to smuggle you into the house, with- out any one seeing you enter, for I should not like to get dear papa into a scrape with his client; he 122 FLIGHT. will be glad when he hears that the affair has been quietly managed." " If I could only have gone straight to Miss Irvine, I should have caused no trouble," observed Helena. " Only, I do not know how I could travel alone in the dress of a nun." " Ah, yes — the dress," cried Claudia, starting up from her seat. " Wait here for two minutes, Helena ; I'll be back like a flash of lightning:." And at full speed the eager girl bounded up the shrubbery walk, till the sight of Aytoun, busy in the verbena-plot, made her suddenly change her pace to one more sober. Panting with excitement, Claudia went up to the gardener, whom she was anxious to get out of the way, that he might not see the nun enter the house. She could hardly find breath to address him. " Aytoun, go to the station to meet papa. Gentle- men are coming with him from London ; there may be something for you to carry." Aytoun touched his hat, and turned to his ver- bena. " I'll just ha' time to finish this 'ere job first," said the man. " No, go directly," cried Claudia imperatively; and ransackino: her mind for some excuse for her haste, she added, " for I want you first to call at the miller's and ask his wife to come here in the morning." FUGUT. 123 Claudia, having given her order, went on her way with an uneasy consciousness that she was beginning to stoop to make use of that paltrj trickery which she had always hitherto despised. She could not conceal from herself the fact that she whose pride it had always been to follow a straight- forward course, was now doubling like a fox. " I mustn't desert my friend — I can't get papa into trouble," she muttered to herself, tiying by such considerations to overpower what, notwithstanding her zeal in behalf of the nun, offended at once her pride and her moral perceptions. CHAPTER XII. SMUGGLING. ILAUDIA sprang up the staircase, two steps at a time, and hurriedly entered her own apartment. She was annoyed to find in it Martha, her maid, engaged in laying out the white muslin dress which her young lady was to wear in the evening. "I am afraid that you'll be late, miss," observed the waiting-woman, as she went up to the toilette- table and took from the drawer brush and comb to bring the refractory locks of Miss Hartswood into something like order. " I can't dress just now, never mind these things," said Claudia, only intent on getting the maid out of the room. " I'm busy — go to the drawinsf-room, and see — see that fresh flowers are put in the vases." " I filled the vases this afternoon," replied Mar- tha. " You have really, miss, not much time left for dres.sing for dinner." SMUGGLINO, 12b " 1 tell you I'm not ready," cried Claudia, wntb impatience ; " leave me alone for five minutes." The maid retired slowly, with a dissatisfied glance at her young mistress's hair, all blown about her face by the wind. Claudia hurried to her wardrobe and took out thence a blue silk dress ; in her careless haste she caught her own muslin in the handle of a drawer, and rent it in extricating it. Then, bi-usb- ing rapidl}^ past her table, Clavidia threw down a china inkstand, but did not pause to raise it from the caq)et. Down the front staircase hastened Claudia, as Martha had retired by the back one. Garrard, in the dining-room, was laying the table for dinner, and the door which opened on the hall was wide open, so that he could see her as she passed. " It seems as if all the household were loiterinc; about, as if on the watch," thought the conscious Claudia. " If Helena go through the hall, she will be certain to come upon Garrard. She must get through the study window as I got out; I will close the red door which shuts ofi* that room from the public apartments, and then there will be little risk of her suddenly meeting with any of the house- hold." Claudia did so, and again hurried out into the open air. She was half-way down the shrubbery 126 SMUGGLING. before it occurred to her mind that she had forgotten the broad-brimmed hat, which was quite as neces- sary a part of the nun's equipment as the dress, " Thoughtless — careless that 1 am," muttered Claudia, as she turned back to repair her omission ; " but it is so new a thing to me to have to plot and to plan ; I blunder, for I never have been accus- tomed to feel my way in the dark," Claudia was glad to find that Aytoun had quitted the garden, and felt as if she had accomplished the most troublesome part of her task when she re- entered the bower, panting, with the dress on her arm, and the hat on her head, its untied strings streaming behind her. Helena was eagerly awaiting her return. "There — I must go back as quickly as possible," cried Claudia, as she snatched off the hat and threw down the dress, " When you have changed your attire for one less sure to attract attention, follow yon winding path up the shrubbery, it will lead to the back of our house. Do not enter through the door — there are people about — you will see a win- dow wide open, the window that is of the study ; enter by it, and await me; I will join you in a very few minutes, but I must now go and prepare to re- ceive the guests of my father." Claudia hastened away to perform a very rapid SMUGGLING. 127 toilette, starting iu the midst of it at the sound of the whistle which announced her father's arrival at the station. Without waiting to put in ear-ring, clasp on bracelet, or suffer her maid to give any finishing touch to her hair, Claudia tripped rapidly down- stairs in her rustling muslin attire to the study, in which, as she had expected, she found Sister Helena. Strangely altered looked the nun in her borrowed dress ; Claudia would scarcely have recognized in her the pale mournful recluse whom she had hitherto seen in long black robe and shrouding veil, the linen bandage across her forehead, the rosary hanging from her waist, Helena started at the sudden entrance of her ft'iend. She appeared confused, and almost alarmed. " Up to my room, Helena," cried Claudia ; " my father and his companions walk from the station, and may possibl}^ change their boots in this study. When the guests are once at dinner, you can return here if you will, certain of no interruption. My door is the one straight before you at the top of the staircase — I have sent away my maid — remain in my room till you hear the dinner-gong sound." Helena's only reply was a smile, as she glided past Claudia to the little back-stairs. "I like her smile less than her look of sadness," 128 SMUGGUNG. thought Claudia, as she opened the red door before mentioned, and went through the hall into the drawing-room, where she proposed to receive her guests, " It is strange wliat a difference is made by a mere change of dress ! Helena as the persecuted nun, looked the most interesting of beings this morn- ing ; and this evening, with the red glow of sunset full on her features, they seemed to me almost com- monplace. Certainly I had never before seen them so distinctly, they were so much shadowed by her veil. Perhaps there are few faces that will bear a full stream of daylight, and few characters either," mused Claudia, as, after the excitement of the last hour, she sank quietly down on the drawing-room sofa, to wait and to think. Doubts were flitting across her, as the noiseless-winged bats across the deep sky when twilight has faded away, passing so rapidly as to leave no defined image on the mind, only the im- pression that something dark had gone by. Claudia thought of her mirror of truth ; she could not con- nect the idea of Helena with that of a stainless image ; if a mist had gathered on the reflections of Euphemia, Annie, and Emma, that of the fair fugi- tive nun still less would bear the test. Helena had owned herself guilty of falsehood, and had owned it as if unconscious that such a falsehood was wrong. But it was not this that most disturbed the ueace of SMUGGLING, 129 Claudia. It was the consciousness that she lierseli had been drawn into acting a part, into speaking words inconsistent with truth, that she had been induced to mix herself up with plots and schemes requiiing disguise and concealment. " I have been sui-prised into taking strange steps," reflected Claudia ; " how astonished papa will be when I tell him all, as I certainly shall do either to-night or to-moiTOw. I wonder whether he will consider Helena justified in breaking her vows and flying from her convent, because she finds the life of a nun intolerable, and was to be sent against her will to a wild, bleak, northern island?" Claudia rose and paced up and down the drawing-room, for thought made her too restless to sit still. " Catherine Bore, indeed, escaped from her convent, after she had embraced the doctrines of Luther. She lived to be a happy wife and mother. I do not suppose that Lady Melton will be able to force her niece back to her convent, even if she find out her place of retreat with Miss Irvine. Helena will surely be able to claim the protection of English law, I will consult my father upon that question — I wish I could have consulted him from the first ; but then his client would have been so indignant had she ever dis- covered that he had been a consenting — an active party in forwarding the escape of the orphan whom (226) 9 130 SMUOGLINO. she believed that she had succeeded in sacrificing to her own worldly interests." Claudia's reflections were interrupted by the cheer- ful sound of her father's voice in the hall, which he had just entered, as he laughed with his companions at some lively anecdote which one of them had related during the walk from the station. Claudia did not go to meet her parent, as he was not alone, but turned to resume her seat on the sofa, catching sight, as she did so, of her own reflection in the gilded mirror over the mantel-piece. " No one can accuse me of vanity," murmured Claudia, as she hastily smoothed back her hair with her ungloved hands. " I was too eager to go to my friend, too impatient to dismiss my attendant, to take much care of my own appearance. I hope that papa will not be vexed." Perhaps that expression of hope, very difierent from one of assurance, had reference to something beyond the young lady's nefflect of her toilette. CHAPTER XIII. ROMANISM. iLAUDIA, absorbed in one object, had felt that the entertainment of gfuests would be irksome, and had wished that the little party had been invited for any evening rather than this. Nevertheless she enjoyed the pleasant society of the few friends who gathered around Mr. Hartswood's hospitable board. Mr. Latham, a clergyman from London, came with his wife, who had been from childhood a friend of Claudia's mother. Mrs, Latham was a gentle loving woman, upon whom family trials and delicate health had left a stamp of pensive thought, not gloom ; but something that always reminded Claudia of the holy stillness of twilight. Mrs. Latham, without casting any shadow on the gaiety of those around her, ele- vated the tone of any society into which she might enter ; mirth became more refined in her presence, though not less sparkling. Her husband was a man of pleasant manners and cultivated mind, and 132 ROMANISM. Claudia was glad that his place during dinner-time would be by her side. Much of mirth, and much of wit, was there at the table of Mr. Hartswood. The two barristers who had come with him by train, vied with each other in contributing clever jests and good stories to the intellectual feast; but Mr. Hartswood himself was the life and soul of the party. Never had Claudia seen her father in higher spirits or more humorous vein. He capped every story with one more amus- ing, and his playful repartees showed that he wielded the light weapon of wit with the skill of a master fencer. Claudia was even more proud than usual of her father, as she sat an amused and ad- miring auditor. After awhile, Mr. Hartswood and one of the lawyers engaged in an argument of too professional a nature to be of interest to all the circle, and the mui'mur of more general conversation arose. Mr. Latham devoted his attention to Claudia. The clergyman had travelled a good deal on the Conti- nent, and was willing, and pleased, to draw from the resources of his personal experience for the amusement of his young friend. Claudia did not forget Helena. The peculiar position of the nun ; her state of indecision and doubt as regarded matters of doctrine made Claudia feOMANISM. 133 eager for information regarding countries in which the Roman Catholic religion prevails. The lawyer's daughter questioned Mr. Latham about convents and their inmates, and the various superstitious customs which prove that Romanism, however out- wardly modified by time and circumstances, is yet essentially the same system as that against whose eiTors Luther raised his voice more than three centuries ago. Mr. Latham had been to Naples; he had witnessed, in the church of St. Chiara, the burial-place of the Royal Family, the so-called annual miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarinrs.* He de- scribed the chapel rich in plate, silver relievoes on the altar, silver lamps, silver Hfe-size images of saints. He told how crowds thronged the chapel so densely that it was scarcely possible even for bishop or cardinal to push his way up to the altar. Mr. Latham described the a})])earance of women, decked out in finery, who, calling themselves relations of St. Januarius (or Gennaro), with loud appeals im- plored the saint to ])erform the expected miracle. " Gennaro !" tliey cried, " do you not hear us ? why do you make us wait so long ? Gennaro, are you asleep? " ' The (lescriptioii is taken from tl>at of an Kugltsii spectator of the scene Ir »35C. — See "The Trinity of Italy " 134 ROMANISM. "Did it not remind you," observed Claudia, "of the priests of Baal on Carmel ? Only, that was a very solemn scene; and there must, at least to Protestants, have been something ludicrous in this." Mr. Latham went on to describe how, amidst loud sounds of prayer and chanting, and the wild cries of the women, a priest stood gazing on a phial containing some dark substance, supposed to be blood, which he held in his hand. " Earnestly he watched it, as if in anxiety to discover the first sign of the solid becoming a liquid ; a kind of miracle, by the way, to be easily enough performed by any good chemist. Then a bishop came to his side, and as priest and bishop together gazed on the phial, a light of joy broke over their features ; the expectant crowds became maddened by excitement ; the cries swelled into a roar ; the reKc was held up on high, a voice shouted, II miracolo k fatto ! half frantic boys rushed from behind a screen, one scattering rose-leaves, the other setting free some imprisoned birds. A cloud of smoke from a bonfire curled up from the tower of the cathedral ; the cannon of the mole, the fleet, the castle of St. Elmo, announced to city and country the glorious tidings that the dark solid kept in a phial had become, for a time, a Liquid again ! " " If St. Paul could have been present at such a ROMANISM. 135 scene," observed Claudia, " would he not have rent his clothes as he did at the superstition of the people of Lystra. One can scarcely realize such things taking place in these days which we call enlightened, and that grave cardinals and bishops should countenance them by their presence." " Turn to another part of the globe," said Mr. Latham ; " see how in Jerusalem itself occurs, year by year, a scene much of the same kind as that which I witnessed in Naples. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, crowds throng to behold what they suppose to be the annual miracle of fire descending from heaven. The members of the Greek Church, and the members of the Romanist there, push, struggle, contend against each other for the best places, with a fierce rancour which woidd disgrace spectators of a play or a bull-fight. The uproar and confusion are tremendous : actual bloodshed some- times ensues, and the Turks — Mohammedans — are actually forced to interfere to prevent those who call themselves Christians from killing one another in the blind fury which superstition inspires." " Surely the fact that Rome countenances such impostures is sufficient proof that she cannot hold the Truth in simplicity," observed Claudia. "What would the Apostle Peter have said to the doings of those who look upon the Popes as his successors!" 136 ROMANISM. " The fisherman of Galilee would have marvelled, no doubt, could he have seen his so-called successor enthroned in earthly pomp and splendour, with princes prostrate before him, and kissing his foot," said the clergyman. " Is it not from this supposed succession from St, Peter that the popes claim their infallibility ? " asked Claudia Harts wood. " Their claim is like a prodigious edifice raised on a foundation of chaft'," replied Mr. Latham. "The Papists have first to prove that St. Peter ever was Bishop of Rome at all — which they cannot prove from the Bible. They have then to show that he ever transmitted the powera intrusted to him to other bishops. And, were it possible to do this, they have further to trace the historical line of popes down from the earliest times to the present ; in the attempt to do which they will find themselves in- volved in a chaos of confusion. You are perhaps aware, my young friend, that at one period there were three popes at once, so that the people could not agi-ee in deciding which was the right one. One pope has sometimes reversed the decrees of his infallible (!) predecessor ! Pope Forraoso, in the year 896, was actually excommunicated after his death, and his body thrown into the Tiber by the following pope." ROMANISM. 137 "Oh, I am sure that in their hearts R,omanists cannot believe the pope to be infallible, whatever they may say with their lips ! " exclaimed Claudia. " They do not honour him always, even with their lips," observed Mr. Latham with a smile. " I was reading to-day a memoii" of the great Italian statesman, Massimo d'Azeglio, written by Count Maffei, also an Italian of distinction and talent. I was greatly struck by the words which he records as having been spoken of the present pope, Pius IX, by the chief of the Jesuits, in 1847. 'The present pope is the scourge of the Church ; there is no remedy but the beU of the Capitol ; ' that heijig the hell which sounds on the death of popes," Claudia opened her eyes wide in surprise, that a Jesuit, the most Romanist of all Romanists, could possibly have spoken thus of the infallible head of his Church. " To return to history," said Mr. Latham, who took pleasure in discoursing with a listener so intel- ligent as Claudia ; "it must be hard for the advo- cates of the pope's infallibility to reconcile the doctrine with one striking fact. Pope Gregory the Great, one of the most distinguished of all the so- called successors of St. Peter, thus wrote to the Archbishop of Constantinople of the wickedness of any bishop claiming supreme authority over the 138 ROMANISM. Church. His words struck me so much that I com- mitted them to memory. Thus wrote Pope Gregory : ' Call no man your father on earth ; what then, dearest brother, will you say in that terrible trial of the coming Judge, when you have sought to be called by the world, not only father, but general Father.'" "Then," cried Claudia, "Gregory condemned not one, but a whole host of his own successors, who, as 'popes (that means, papa), claim to be universal fathers. How striking, and to the point, was his quotation from the Gospel. I wonder that it does not occur to Romanists, when they read over that verse, that it condemns their religious system." " You must remember," remarked Mr. Latham, " that Romanists are not encouraged to study the Bible. L'Abbd *?...., a French clergyman, affirms, ' You have not in Paris ten pious women who have read the Gospel through once : you have ten thousand who have read "The Imitation " -f twenty times.' It is evident that what Rome especially dreads is the pure, unmixed Word of God." Claudia longed to be able to speak to Mr. Latham on the subject of Helena, to consult him regarding the fugitive nun. She probably would have done * Author of " La MatidU." t A Romanist work Romanism. 13d so bad she not feared to be overbeard by one of tbe barristers present. As it was, she considered that, through her conversation with the clergyman, she bad been laying up what her father called "ammu- nition," to maintain her arguments against the errors of Rome. Absorbed in the intellectual exercise of the hour, with all her proselyting zeal revived, and conscious that she had left a favourable impression of her sense and intellect on the mind of Mr. Latham, Claudia forgot all her doubts and mis- givings. She felt herself again a champion of truth; a follower of Luther; an honoured instrument of protecting an oppressed maiden ; and of converting a deluded nun. Claudia was sorry when her col- loquy with Mr. Latham was brought to a close, by her having, at the end of the repast, to accompany his wife to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to converse on politics, or similar subjects, over their fruit and their wine. CHAPTER XIV. SPIRITUAL SENSES. RS. LATHAM was by no means an insipid companion. When she was alone with Claudia Hartswood, conversation soon found a deeper channel than it usually takes when ladies meet together, apparently only to discuss the weather, dress, or the most trifling topics of the day. Mrs. Latham, under her quiet exterior, was a keen observer of character, and had a considerable insight into that of Claudia Hartswood. Tlie lady saw great energy, strength of will, and self-reliance in her youthful companion — qualities wliich might incite her to an apparent disregard of the opinion of the world — while strong love of approbation actually lay at the root of the whole. Mrs. Latham knew that a keen admiration for truth might be consistent with ignorance of truth — keen intelligence on some subjects, with absolute blindness on others. As Mrs. Latham now glanced at Claudia's rich luxuriant tresses, which the younw giri had been on that SPIRITUAL SENSKS. 141 evening too impatient to smooth mto order, the lady could not help mentally drawing an analogy between them and the mind of their wearer. " How lovely these flowers are, and how fragrant!" observed Mrs. Latham, as she drew towards herself one of the vases which adorned the drawing-room table. Claudia had known Mrs. Latham so long, that she felt quite at ease with the friend of her mother. The observation as to the fragrance of the nosegay recalled to her mind her conversation with her father on the preceding evening ; and, well pleased to show that she could dabble a little in meta- physics, Claudia told her guest of the analogy traced between physical and mental senses. Mrs. Latham listened quietly to the description of imagination, comprehension, judgment, discern- ment, and moral perceptions, as the sight, hearing, taste, touch, and sense of smell of the mind. " Did you go no further ? " she then observed, with a smile. " Did you not rise from considering the faculties of the mind to the spiritual senses of the renewed soul ? " " I am afraid that you will think me dull," said Claudia frankly ; " but really I do not understand you." " We have a threefold nature," observed Mrs, 142 SPIRITUAL SENSES. Latham. "As the intellectual is higher than the physical, so is the spiritual higher than the in- tellectual, and it has gifts and powers of its own." "Sight, for instance?" asked Claudia, whose curiosity was awakened by ideas which to her were new. " Yes, sight" replied Mrs. Latham, " utterly dis- tinct from and immeasurably more valuable than that mental sight which you call imagination. Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see wondrous things out of Thy law, is not a prayer for any gift merely intellectual When Saul of Tarsus fell with blinded eyes to the earth, then the eyes of his soul were opened, he saw himself to be a sinner, he saw the Saviour as the only hope of sinners, he had received a new spiritual sense, with a new spiritual nature." "Yes, that is true as regards him," observed Claudia, "And so, my dear young friend, we find that there is — if we may so speak — a spiritual ear. Hear, and your soul shall live ; he that hath ears to hear, let him hear, means something far more than mere intellectual comprehension ; nay, may be found where there is scarcely any mental power at alL The poor imbecile may have the hearing ear of obedience ; while it is recorded that a talented SPIRITUAL SENSES. 142 statesman, after listening to a gifted preacher of the truth, was heard to exclaim, ' I cannot understand a word that he says ! ' The physical ear was open, the mental sense most acute, but spiHtual hearing was altocrether wanting. This is the case with all those who are not converted." "Converted!" repeated Claudia. "A heathen may be convei-ted to Christianity, or a Papist to the Protestant faith ; but those who have been brought up to know the truth since they were christened as babies have nothincr to be converted from — or converted to — that I can see." "The celebrated Wesley, one of the greatest preachers that the world has known since the times of the apostles, took a different view of the subject," replied Mrs, Latham, mildly. "After being not only brought up as befitted a clergyman's son, but having himself taken holy orders and laboured earnestly for souls — having even crossed the Atlantic to preach the gospel as a missionary — what did he say of his own spiritual state ? ' It is now two years and almost four months since I left my native country in order to teach the Georgian Indians the nature of Christianity, but what have I learned of myself in the meantime ? Why, what I least sus- pected — that I, who went to America to convert others, was myself never converted to God.' " 144 SPIRITUAL SENSES. Claudia looked sui^prised, perplexed, and a little uneasy. She had been trained by her father to think, but here was a new field of thought opening before her, into which she half feared to enter. She was silent for some seconds, and then observed, " I hope that you won't be shocked at what I am going to say, but I've heard of some people, chiefly poor ignorant people, getting into a state of excitement, crying and groaning, and then declaring that they have been converted ; and perhaps for folk who have been thieves and di'unkards such conversion may be a very good thing, but for respectable intelligent persons, who have always loved truth and maintained it," — Claudia stopped ; she did not know in what way to finish her sentence. " For such you think that conversion is not needed ? " inquired Mrs. Latham. Claudia's glance gave an affirmative answer. "And yet, dear girl, we must remember who it was who said. Except ye he converted and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. And these solemn words are explained by those of St. Paul, If any man he in Christ he is a new creature; old things are passed away, hehold all things are become new." " Must there always be a sudden change ? " asked Claudia, who felt a strong spirit of resistance rising SPIRITUAL SENSES. 146 Up within her against a doctrine far too humbling to her pride to be readily received. " The change is not by any means always sudden," replied Mrs. Latham ; " with many it is as gradual as the change in Nature wrought by the coming of spring, and it is then impossible to know the day or the hour when the new Life was breathed into the soul. Nay, with some Christians conversion takes place so early, that no time can be remembered when the heart was not given to God." " Then how can one possibly decide whether he be converted or not ? " asked Claudia, with slight impatience. " Are you not conscious of your physical senses ? " inquired Mrs. Latham. " Do you not know that you can hear me and see me ? " "Cei-tainly," replied Claudia, with a smile. "Are you not also conscious of the exercise of your intellectual faculties — imagination, comprehen- sion, discernment ? " " I cannot help being conscious of possessing them," replied the lawyer's daughter. " And so with those spiritual senses, which are a part of the new spiritual nature," observed Mrs. Latham, earnestly. "The converted one can say with deeper meaning than the once blind man of whom we read in the Gospel, 2%is I know, that (2-? 6) IQ 146 SPIRITUAL SENSES. whereas I was blind, now I see. His spiritual eyoa are opened to the light ; and that light shows him his own helpless, hopeless state by nature, and the richness, fulness, completeness of that salvation ofi'ered to him in the gospel. Tlie world by wisdom, knew not God ; that knowledge which is life eternal comes by no mere effort of human intelli- gence." " I wonder whether my friend considers me to be spii'itually blind ! " thought Claudia Harts- wood. She then observed aloud, " Tliere is one of the mental senses which you will agi*ee with me is the same as the spiritual — moral perceptions, dis- gust at sin and approval of what is good, must show that their possessor has spiritual life, whether he call himself converted or not." Mrs. Latham gently shook her head. " Paul of Tarsus had strong moral perceptions ; what he deemed to be sin he hated, what he deemed to be truth he upheld, long ere he had received new life from above. What was the effect upon Paul when spiritual perceptions had been bestowed ? From his own righteousness, which had been to him as fragi-ant incense offered to God, he turned as from that which breathed of corruption ; while doctrines which he had formerly loathed refreshed and de- lighted his soul. He could say to the Saviour SPIRITUAL SENSES. 147 whom he once had rejected, Thy name is as oint- ment poured forth." " I suppose that you then consider that there is spiritual judgment distinct from mental judgment," said Claudia. " We have various references to it in the Holy Scriptures," replied Mrs. Latham. " The mind tastes, judges, and decides in matters regarding things of earth ; but it was no mere exercise of in- tellect to which David referred when he cried, ta^te and see that the Lord is good ! How sweet are Thy words to my taste ! Sweeter also than honey and honey-comb. To perceive this sweetness, to relish and enjoy it, belongs not to unconverted human nature ; it is one of the spiritual senses be- longing to the soul which grace has renewed." " You have drawn an analogy between four of the spiritual and bodily senses," said Claudia; " there is yet one on which you have not spoken. You have called spiritual knowledge sight, spiritual under- standing hearing, and have told me your ideas about spiritual judgment and perceptions ; but what do you consider as answering to the bodily sense of feeling?" "1 should say faith," repKed Mrs. Latham, "by which we lay hold on the promises of God, by which we realize the existence of what is invisible. In the very imperfect state of our spiritual knowledge 148 SPIRITUAL SENSES. (for we only see through a glass darkly) ive walk by faith, and not by sight. We feel, as it were, the guiding hand of Him whom as yet we see not, be- lieving where we cannot understand, trusting when all is dark before us." At this point the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Harts wood and his gentlemen guests. Claudia by no means regi-etted the inter- ruption. The impression left by that conversation upon her mind was at the time not pleasant, though it was often aftei-wards to be recalled with different emotions. Claudia was rather disposed to cavil at what she considered the fanciful notions of one who might be pious, but who was not very wise. " What ! are we to suppose that there is a dis- tinct and higher order of senses, belonging to a distinct and higher kind of nature, which may be wanting in the most intellectual of men, and yet be possessed by a charity-child or a pauper — old, deaf, and blind ?" Such was the question which Claudia asked herself, with almost a feeling of indignation at the bigotiy of her friend. " Let this lady bewilder herself, if she pleases, with her wild ideas of new life and conversion ; I have a practical work before me, which even she might deem noble and holy — that of convincing and converting a young misguided Romanist." CHAPTER XV. DISCOVERY. HE pleasant little party was over ; Mr. Hartswood had handed Mrs. Latham to her carriage, and the barristers, having accepted her offer of seats in the conveyance, had taken leave of their friendly host, Claudia did not regret the departure of the guests, for she was full of impatience to retm-n to Helena. " Shall I teJl my father to-night of my romantic Ndsitor?" thought Claudia, half eager and yet half afraid to make her parent the sharer of her secret. Before she had decided the question, Mr. Harts- wood returned from the hall, as Mrs. Latham's car- riage was driven away. " My girl," said the lawyer rather brusquely, as he laid his hands on the shoulders of his daughter, and surveyed her with a critical look expressive of some disapprobation, " books and brushes are not incompatible things ; the outside of the head needs aome attention as well as the inside. The next 160 DISUOVERY. time that I invite guests to my house, remembei that I care less for your talking like a scholar than for your looking like a lady ; " and, adding a kiss to the hint, Mr. Hartswood bade his daughter good- night. Claudia was little accustomed to receive even so mild a reproof from her father, and was keenly sensi- tive to the mildest symptom of his displeasure. Those few words from Mr. Hartswood took from her all inclination to speak to him at that time on the subject of Helena. With silent mortification, the spoiled girl returned her father's good-night kiss, and hurried up-stairs to her room, where she expected to find the young nun, who would, of course, quit the study before there was any likelihood of its being entered by Mr. Hartswood. Claudia had taken the precaution of telling Martha that she would not be required to assist her toilette at night, in order that Helena might not be disturbed by the entrance of the maid. The mind of Claudia, as regarded her fugitive friend, was something in the state of a pendulum — vibrating between the proud assurance that she her- self was performing a noble act in protecting the nun, and a suspicion that all could not be right where such secrecy was required. Claudia's mind was moved by the former feeling as she opened the DISCOVJfiRY. 161 door of her room, and glanced around, expecting to see before her the gi'aceful form of Helena. The apartment was, however, empty and still. The lighted candles ol the toilette- table showed the presence of no stranger. Perhaps Helena had re- treated into the large wardrobe when Martha had come in to light these candles. Claudia went up to the wardrobe and opened it, softly murmuring the name of the nun ; but there was no one to reply. " Surely she cannot have been so incautious as to remain in the study !" exclaimed Claudia, in alarm ; "if so, she will meet papa before I have had time to prepare him for seeing her, as he always reads or wi-ites in that room before going to rest ! What will he think, what will he say ? How wrong I was not to tell all!" Claudia's glance at that moment fell upon an envelope which lay on her toilette-table, directed in pencil to herself. With eager curiosity Claudia tore open the envelope, and read as foUows : — " Dearest, — I dare not stay till daylight. I go by the night-train. Say 'nothing to your father till the morning. I will wi-ite from Grosvenor Square. Yours till death.— S. H." Claudia read the hurried scrawl over and over again, and each time with a countenance more 162 DISCOVERY. clouded. Slic was both sin-prised and disappointed at her intended proselyte thus suduenly vanishing from her view, disconcerting her plans, and leaving her only the humiliation of having been drawn into acting a part inconsistent with her natural candour. The pendulum was swinging backwards ; Claudia was discontented both with her nun and herself. " Helena is dealing strangely by me," muttered Claudia Hartswood, as she seated herself in front of the toilette-glass, gazing fixedly into it vrith an air of abstraction. "It is scarcely of a piece with her nervous timidity and fear of taking a step alone, that she should go off suddenly in the night, with- out giving me notice, as if her life were in peril I am afraid that papa will be annoyed when I tell him of what has occurred. He will, however, do justice at least to my motives." Again the lawyer's daughter glanced at the note from the nun. " Helena does not even write a lady-like hand," she muttered ; then folding up the note, Claudia tore it in half, held the two pieces to the flame of a candle, and watched the paper as it blazed, curled, turned black, and fell into ashes. " I wonder whether mine has been but a foolish fancy, an idle bit of romance," thought Claudia; " the flaring up of a sudden friendship, leaving, like those fr-agments of paper, nothing behind but a few DISCOVERY. 163 ashes, to he blown away by a breath ! I could almost imagine that the events of these two days have passed in a dream— that my beauteous, dark- eyed nun, with her beads and cinicifix, her soft voice and mouraful story, has had no existence but in my own brain." Claudia was startled from her reflections by hear- ing the study-bell rung loudly, then almost instantly rung again in a yet more peremptory way. She started to her feet, and, as she did so, heard the study door opened with violence, and the sound of her father's voice raised to a most unusual pitch, as he called out, "Garrard! Garrard!" Mr. Harts- wood was of so equable a temperament, and life at Friern Hatch was wont to flow on in so quiet and even a current, that a loud repeated ringing and an angiy voice were quite sufficient to cause some alarm in the bosom of Claudia. With an undefined dread of what might have happened below, she rushed to the door of her room, opened it, and then flew down the back staircase, reaching the study almost at the same moment as the butler, who had quickly answered his master's summons. Never before had Claudia beheld her father with such an expression on his countenance as that which it wore when she met him at the door of his study — he was stern almost to fierceness, with a look of 154 DISCOVERY. excitement in his eyes which alarmed her. Mr. Haitswood did not appear to notice the presence of his daughter ; in a voice hoai-se and harsh with dis- pleasure, he addressed himself to his startled servant: " How has this come about ; how have thieves got entrance ; how is it that I find the lock of my cabinet picked, my desk opened, my most valuable papers can'ied away ? " Garrard quailed before the stern questioning of his master; bewildered and surprised, he looked from side to side. The words which confused the servant had a more startling effect upon Claudia. A sudden terrible fear sent the blood to her heart, her hands and feet became icy cold, she leaned back against the wall, scarcely able to stnnd. Had Mr. Hai-tswood glanced at his daughter he could not but have been struck by her altered appearance, but he was not even aware that she was before him. " Answer me directly," he continued, in tones raised yet louder ; " have you seen any suspicious character lurking near the house?" "No one, sir, no one," replied the servant ner- vously ; "I shut the shutters myself as soon as I had taken in the dessert." "Did you notice the state of that cabinet when you shut the shutters?" interrupted his master. " I noticed nothing, sir ; I did not look at the DISCOVERY. 166 cabinet ; I thought all was locked up as it always is ; you had been in the study yourself, sir, when you came in from the station." "Thieves have been in this room since I was here," said Mr. Hartswood sternly ; "I must have detectives down from London directly — 1 will tele- graph up to the poKce-station," He turned, and striding up to the table on which lay his desk, hastily took up writing materials. " But first," continued the lawyer, with the undipped pen in his hand, " let every member of this household be sum- moned directly, that I may examine all, and find if possible some clue by which to track the burglars, and bring them to summary justice. If I find that there has been collusion — " Claudia could not catch the exact meaning of the muttered words that fol- lowed, but the lawyer's knitted brows and sternly compressed lips conveyed the inariiculate threat. There was no need to summon the household ; Mr. Hartswood' s loud ringing and louder speaking had already brought every maid-servant into the passage, where Garrard already stood trembling ; Claudia could hear the slight rustling and whisper- ing as they came down the stairs. But what use could there be in questioning domestics ? Claudia knew too well that she, and she only, held the clue to the maze ; she knew too well that it was she 166 DISCOVERY. who should speak. The poor girl's heart throbbed violently, she felt like one forced to leap over a precipice, recoiling with unutterable ten-or from the brink, yet urged on by a fearful necessity, for silence now would be folly, and something worse. " Oh, papa ! " gasped out Claudia, clasping her hands, " I can tell something ; I — I know who has been in this room," Claudia had followed her father into the study. "You! what do you know?" asked the lawyer quickly. Claudia felt that his eyes were reading her through and through. She wished the servants to retire, but had not voice even to ask her father- to send them away. Her dreaded confession must be made, and, to her confusion and shame, made in the presence of witnesses. "Who has been here?" asked Mr. Hartswood, with utterance as rapid, but in tone less stera, for he saw that his daughter was trembling like an aspen before him. "A young nun — ''' "A nun!" ejaculated Mr. Hartswood, and the word was faintly echoed in tones of amazement by the maids in the passage, who now clustered more closely round the door. "And how came she here?" asked the master abruptly. DISCOVERY. 167 " She was tlyiiig from her convent ; she had beeu cruelly wronged ; I meant, yes, indeed I meant to tell you all about her when we met in — " Mr. Hai-tswood interrupted his daughter with the question, "Her name?" as he seated himself before his desk, and dipped his pen in the ink " Helena ; I am not sure of the surname, but sbe is niece of Lady Melton." Mr. Hartswood started, and hastily glanced up into the face of his daughter, who had ventured to look at him as he bent over his desk. Their eyes met, and it was as if Claudia had received an elec- tric shock, such a glance as that which she en- countered had never rested on her before. "Niece of Lady Melton," muttered Mr. Harts- wood, as he rapidly wrote down something on the paper before him. The note was not a long one; it was soon written, folded, enveloped, directed, and Mr, Hartswood motioned to Gan-ard to take it. " Carry that at once to the convent ; be the Superior sleeping or waking it matters not, she must have it without a minute's delay. And stay, rouse Aytoun at the lodge, bid him come hither directl}', I shall dispatch by him a telegram to London ; and he must go on the ' Crown ' and order a conveyance to come here at once. I think that there is no night train after a quarter to ten." The lawyer glanced I6b DISCO VEKY, at his watch, the hands pointed to five minutes to eleven. " Wait for an answer to that note, Garrard," con- tinued Mr. Hartswood ; " insist on not returning without one." With an impatient gesture of the hand he dismissed his servant, and catching sight as he did so of the maids in the passage, in a stern tone of command he bade them retire, and then motioned to Claudia to close the door of the study. She was left alone with her father, a miserable cul- prit in presence of her judge, as she felt herself now ki be. CHAPTER XVI. BITTER THOUGHTS. R. HARTSWOOD sternly pointed to a chair, Claudia rather sank than seated herself upon it. The lawyer took a second piece of paper, to write on it the telegram which he was about to dispatch to the police authorities in London. " Describe this nun," said he, dipping his pen ; "height?" "About my own, a little shorter perhaps," the mouth of Claudia felt so parched from excitement that articulation cost her an effort. "Dress? black, of course." "No, blue," faltered out Claudia. "Strange," muttered Mr. Hai-tswood, as he put down the word. "Material; style?" he inquired in the same abrupt manner. "You know, papa, my silk dress, the striped blue." "Yours!" exclaimed the lawyer in angry sur- 160 BITTEK THOUGHTS. prise ; " and how came she to wear your silk dress?" " I lent it, and the hat too." Claudia was un- consciously pressing the nails of her right hand so tightly into the flesh of her left arm, that her skin bore the mark for several days. The unhappy girl had to bear a series of questions with something of the emotions of a prisoner before the Inquisition — her feelings were stretched on the rack. Mr. Harts- wood drew from Claudia every leading particular of her intercourse with Helena ; he made no comment on the strange confession, and the only interruption to the painful examination was an occasional ejacu- lation of impatience from the lawyer at the tardiness of Gan-ard's return. If the period of his absence ap- peared long to Mr. Hartswood, to Claudia it seemed in- terminable ; she scarcely knew why she should so long for an answer to her father's note from the Superior, but it was that the confession which she was making cost her such exquisite pain, that any kind of in- ceiTuption would have been welcomed as a relief At last a break occurred ; Aytoun, who had been roused by Garrard from the deep sleep of a labouring man, appeared at the door, liis eyes still heavy with drowsiness. The gardener wondered what service could be required of him at the midnight hour, for Garrard had not stopped to explain when, as com- BITTER THOUGHTS, 161 manded, lie had called at the lodge on his way to the convent. "There is a telegram, take it to tlie station, see that it is instantly dispatched," said Mr. Harts wocd, pushing towards Aytoun a paper on which he had written a description of Helena's appearance, and a demand that detectives might be sent down to Friern Hatch early in the morning ; " then go on to the ' Crown ' at B and order a chariot and pair to be here directly. I must go up to London at once." " Oh, papa, can you not rest here to-night ! " ex- claimed Claudia, painfully struck by the pale, haggard appearance of her parent, now that the flush of angry excitement had passed away from his cheek, "Rest," he muttered gloomily; "till I have re- covered these papers there is no more rest for me." Aytoun departed on his errands ; Mr. Hartswood resumed his examination of his unhappy daughter, rapidly noting down her replies. At length the sound of creaking boots in the hall, and then the tap at the study door, told the return of Garrard. Mr, Hartswood rose from his chair, went to the door himself, took a note from the hand of Garrard, and bade the butler retire and await his further orders. As the lawyer returned to his seat, he tore open the envelope of the Lady Superior, and then 162 BITTER THOUGHTS. throwing himself on his chair, he read half aloud part of the contents of her note. " Begs to inform him that none of the sisters has broken her vows or forsaken her convent. There has never been one here of the name of Helena, noi any bearing the slightest relationship whatever to Lady Melton." An exclamation of astonishment rose to the lips of Claudia, but she dared not give it utterance. Her father did not look siu-prised, but more stemlr indignant than ever. "As I suspected, a deep-laid plot to get hold of the papers," muttered the lawyer, rising and striding rapidly up and down the room with his hands behind him, and the Superior's note crushed in his grasp. '' They might have tampered with my servants ; but no, it was my daughter in whose crediility, folly, deceitfulness, they found a ready instrument to work the ruin of her father." Mr. Hartswood stopped in his rapid pacing to and fro directly in front of Claudia, on whom the last sen- tence had fallen like the stroke of a dagger. "Go to bed, child — go to bed," he said sternly; "there is no need for you to watch or to work ; nothing that you can do can ever repair the mischief wrought by your folly." Claudia would fain have thrown herself at the BITTER THOUGHTS. 163 feet of her almost idolized father, have wept and implored his forgiveness, but she had no power either to shed tears or to utter a word at that moment. Stricken, crushed, unutterably miserable, she could only obey. She found her way up the stah'case, into her room, shut the door behind her, and locked it, then sank on her knees with a bitter, bitter cry, wrung from the heart's deep anguish, " Oh, that I could die — that I could die ! " For some time Claudia's mind seemed unable to grasp any other idea, she was utterly bewildered by the suddenness of the blow which had come upon her so unexpected, and to her so strangely mysterious. " What have I done !" exclaimed Claudia at last, springing to her feet, and pressing her clenched hands to her temples, as though to keep down the throbbings of her brain. " Am I the same Claudia as she who last entered this room, full of hope and pride, and the consciousness of a noble mission ? What have I done," she repeated more wildly, " that my own father should taunt me with credu- lity, folly, deceit, when I meant to do what was right, to defend the oppressed, to oppose persecution, win a Romanist to give up her Popish delusions ?" Claudia was in far too excited a state at that time to be able to analyze motives, or to come to a cor- rect judgment either as regarded her own conduct or 164 BITTER THOUGHTS. that of others. That the pseudo-nun was an artful impostor Claudia no longer could doubt, though what her precise object had been in weaving so in- tricate a plot was a mystery still to her friend. Claudia but knew- — and how mortifying was the knowledge ! — that she who had prided herself on detecting the slightest taint of insincerity in ihose around her, and had regarded such a taint as fatal to friendship, had been hei^self led into practising arts of deception of which, but a few days before, she would have deemed herself quite incapable ! How was it that everything relating to Helena now appeared to Claudia in a new light, that a bandage seemed to have been suddenly removed from her eyes, and that the very same coui-se of action towards the nun which Claudia had persuaded herself to be right, she now confessed to have been altogether foolish and wrong ? About midnight Claudia heard the wheels of the carriage which came to take her father to London. Mr. Hartswood did not keep it two minutes waiting. His daughter, watching from the window, saw him depart with a sickening sense of loneliness. " He never bade me good-bye," she murmured; and then, at last, the hot drops gushed from her eyes. The night was far spent before Claudia even attempted to snatch a few hours of repose. Without taking BITTER THOUGHTS. 168 off the white muslin dress which she wore, the weary girl threw herself on her bed, and from sheer exhaus- tion fell into brief and feverish sleep, to awake with a crushing weight of fear and self-reproach on her heart. An almost forgotten rhyme which had been read years before by Claudia, when she had not the faintest idea that it could apply to herself, haunted her memory now, like a straw whirled round on the eddies of some troubled water, — " Oh, theirs is peril to sadden the heart. Peril the mind to harrow, "Who wander off on the broad, broad path, Taking it for the narrow." The last line Claudia repeated over and over to her- self. She recalled her own proud boast to Emma, uttered so short a time before, in full belief of its tmth. " I am sure that I have not deceit in ray heart, any more than on my lips or in my looks." Now the poor girl more than suspected that she had been cherishing heart-deceit all along, that she had mistaken her own motives, mistaken her own char- acter, mistaken the whole bent of her earthly career. Has she whose eyes now glance over these pages ever given one quiet hour to reflection on what is her own guiding rule, her leading motive ? Many 166 BITTER THOUGHTS. hours may have been spent in pleasant day-di-eams, generous projects ; self-gratulation may have arisen from conscious superiority over others less high- minded and unworldly, but has the mirror of truth been faithfully held up to the soul ? Have we seen ourselves — do we wish to see ourselves — as we are in the sight of Him who searcheth the thoughts of the heart ? There is far more danger of our deceiv- ing ourselves, than of our deceiving others ; it is possible even to believe that we are following the leading-star of duty, when our guide is our ovm self-will holding aloft a torch kindled by pride. CHAPTER XVII. THE VICARAGE. F this Claudia Hartswood does not want our company, I am sure that we don't want hers ; if she doesn't care for us, we don't care a straw for her !" exclaimed HaiTy Holder, as he leaned over the back of his sister's ahair, watching her fingers as she ran a string into a bag for his fishing-tackle; "she's but a lawyer's daughter; and I don't like lawyers — they're like pike in the river, getting fat by gobbhng up all the smaller fry that can't get out of their way." "There are honest lawyers," observed Emma; "and I'm certain, from what his daughter has told me, that he is one of them. As for Claudia herself, she is more high-minded — " " Wheugh ! she's mighty high," said Harry with a sneer ; "you might tell that half a mile off by the way in which she walks, treading the grass as if she thought that daisies would spring up under her feet. She likes to live on the top of a hill, that she may 168 THE VICARAGE. look down upon all the rest of the world ! That's not a lass to my mind," continued the boy, striking the floor with the handle of his fishing-rod ; '' give me a sweet red strawberry, growing close to the ground, rather than the brownest acorn that ever swung on the topmost branch of a tree." " But the strawberry will never grow into an oak," observed Emma Holder. "No more will the acorn," laughed Harry, "un- less it tumble down from its high bough, and hide itself low in the gi'ound, lower than the strawberry under its leaves. But there — you've done — and I'm oflf ! Mother will be glad to get rid of my chatter ; her clothing-club list will be wintten down faster when I am out of the way." Off ran Harry to join his brothers, whose loud merry voices were heard from the field behind the parsonage house. The boy in his haste almost knocked against his father the vicar, who at that moment entered the parlour, heated after his round of afternoon visits in the parish. Mrs. Holder laid down her pen, closed her red- covered book, and greeted her husband with the placid good-humoured face like sunshine. " Well, my dear, you look tired," she observed; "you must have found it hot in the sun. Have you heard any news in the village ? THE VICARAGE. 169 Mr. Holder laid down his stick, took off his hat, and wiped his heated brow with his handkerchief; then glanced around to see that he had no auditors but his wife and Erama ere he replied. " News ? — yes, indeed ; I've never been more astonished in my life. There was a robbery last night at Friern Hatch, while guests were dining in the house." The ladies both uttered exclamations, and drew their chairs nearer to that of which the vicar had taken possession. A burglary was happily so un- common an event in the parish, that it was sure to excite curiosity and interest. " Detectives were down by daybreak," continued the vicar ; "the criminal has not yet been taken up, though the police are hard on her track. Mr. Hartswood went up to town at midnight to help in tracing her." " Her ! — surely the burglar is not a woman ! " cried Emma. " A woman — and a young and pretty one — who does not seem, as far as we can tell, to have had an accomplice," resumed Mr. Holder. " For some days, it appears, a lady (so she called herself) has been lodging at Widow Bane's, who Hves, as every one knows, in the lane which divides the Friern Hatch grounds from the convent garden. This lady was — 170 THE VICARAGE. or gave herself out to be — in delicate health, an in- valid, nervous, and requiring change of air and quiet. She called herself Miss Lelaiid, but it seems likely that she has half-a-dozen aliases, for she passed her- self off to Claudia Hartswood as Sister Helena, a nun." "To Claudia Hai-tswood ! " exclaimed Mrs. Holder and Emma in a breath ; " what had Claudia to do with her ? " added the former. " A great deal too much ; that is, to my mind, the worst part of the business," said the vicar very gravely. " This Miss Leland chose to remain very quiet, as she said, on account of her health, and cared to be seen by, or converse with, no one but her landlady, Mrs. Bane. This person recalls how her lodger drew from her every particular that she could gather regarding Friern Hatch and its in- mates : you know that JVIrs. Bane takes in their washing." " I recommended her to Mr. Hartswood myself," said Mrs. Holder ; " I know her to be — " " Never mind the widow, my dear ; the question is not about her, but her lodger. This Miss Leland went out, as it appears, every day at a particular hour, always in the same direction, always with a large black bag, which she said contained a rug for her feet and materials for sketching, as she was THE VICARAGE. 171 taking a view of the convent. It is clear that this bag must have contained something very different from rug, paint-box, or brushes, for this same bag ■ has been found, with all a nun's paraphernalia, black robe, veil, rosary, crucifix and all, in a little green bower in the shrubbery at the end of the Friern Hatch grounds." " Claudia's bower," ejaculated Emma. " But I can't understand the drift of all this," said the vicar's wife; "all seems so meaningless and con- fused. This woman, this Miss Leland, might have disguised herself as a nun, had she wished to steal into the convent ; but how such a dress could pos- sibly aid her in getting into a lawyer's house, passes my poor comprehension." " It enabled her in some extraordinary way to gain an influence over his daughter." " Oh no, papa ! " exclaimed Emma, with anima- tion; " that is really impossible. Claudia told me herself, when I passed some hoUrs with her last Monday, that her father had forbidden her to have anything to do with the nuns of the convent." " It is not of what Miss Claudia said, but of what she did that I was speaking," observed Mr. Holder drily, "Is it possible Claudia could say one thing and do another?" cried Emma, who could scarcely believe 172 THE VICAKAOE. that Mr. Hartswood's higb-souled daughter could prove so false. " I fear that she is a sadly unprincipled, deceitful girV' was the reply of the vicar. " Unknown to her father, Claudia has, by her own confession, carried on secret communication wdth this Miss Leland, whom she supposed to be one of the nuns from the convent. Miss Hartswood has met the impostor, I know not how often, in that bower at the end of the grounds ; they were there together yesterday, twice at least." Emma's countenance fell ; she remembered Claudia's confusion when she had met her in the shrubbery, her expressed desire to spend the morning alone. Emma was astonished and shocked at the duplicity of a girl whom she had deemed so truthful ; bitter is the moment when a young heart fii'st finds that it has been deceived in one whom it had admired, loved, and trusted. " This is not all," continued the vicar ; " this wretched Claudia actually smuggled Miss Leland into the house, and left her in the study of Mr. Hartswood, where the impostor, supplied with pick- locks, made but too good use of her time. Claudia never so much as threw out a hint of the presence of a stranger in the dwelling, till she found that the THE VICARAGE. 173 pseudo-nun had disappeared, carrying with her pro- perty of the utmost value." " Silver plate and mone}, no doubt," observed the practical Mrs. Holder. "No ; papers," replied the vicar. " Unless they were bank-notes, one cannot see of what use such things could be to a burglar," said the lady. " Well, well, I'm sure, what a world it is that we live in. Who ever would have guessed that that frank, bright, open-hearted girl, as she seemed, would have acted a part so disgi-aceful !" "We cannot be too thankful that Claudia's character has been found out, before she had had time to form a closer intimacy with our dear child," observed the vicar, looking tenderly at Emma, whose eyes were filling with tears. "It is an escape — a merciful escape ' " exclaimed the indignant mother. " One never knows what deceitful notions might be put into the brain of an unsuspecting girl like our Emma. This lawyer's daugh- ter ; well used, no doubt, to tricks and quibbles — " " My dear, my dear ! " expostulated the vicar. "Oh, mamma, I could never learn from Claudia anything of deceit, but hatred of it," cried Emma. "I never met with any one — not even yourself — with such a high, such a very high standard of truthfulness." 174 THE VICARAGK. The vicar shook his head very gravely. " Char- acter is a plant of slow growth," he observed ; " it is impossible that such duplicity as that shown by this unhappy girl should have sprung up in a day, a week, or a month. The more plausible such a companion may be, the more dangerous her influ- ence must prove." Mrs. Holder's maid-servant entered the parlour with a little three-cornered note, which she gave to Emma, who recognized the handwriting of Claudia. The contents of the note were brief " Dear Emma — I am lonely. Do come over to yours affectionately, C. H." " Miss Hartswood's maid waits for an answer,' said the servant. Emma silently handed the note to her mother, who read and passed it on to the vicar, while the servant quitted the room. " What am I to reply ? " asked Emma. " Certainly decline going," answered the vicar. " There are paper and pens," said Mrs. Holder, pointing to the table which she had just quitted ; " the sooner your note is sent ofi" tlie better." " But what excuse can I possibly make ? " asked Emma, as slowly and reluctantly she went to the table. " No excuse is needed under circumstances like THK VIOARAOK. 176 tbe present," said the vicar. " Write that you re- gret that you are prevented from going. Miss Hartswood is quite intelligent enough to understand what it is that prevents you." " I am astonished, after what has occurred, that Claudia should liave the face to send an invitation to my daughter ! " exclaimed Mrs. Holder. Emma, slowly and sadly, commenced her note. "Poor Claudia will be dreadfully hurt," she mur- mured, and a long sigh followed, which was partly for the mortification which she knew that her refusal would inflict on her late friend, partly on account of her own disappointment. " Stop ; do not address her as ' Dear Claudia,' " said Mrs. Holder, who had risen from her seat, and was looking over her daughter's shoulder as she wrote. " I will have no such terms of familiarity between my child and Miss Hartswood." The stiff formal note was soon written and de- spatched. Emma felt as she traced the cold lines that she was breaking the link which bound her to Claudia^ and a sore pang it cost her to do so. As soon as the note was sent, Emma ran up to her own little room and gave way to a burst of tears. This did not last long, for the busy life passed at the vicar- age afforded little time for the indulgence of tender emotions ; but when Emma joined the next social 176 THE VICARAGB. meal, her merry, noisy brothers, almost for the first time found their sister ill-tempered. Emma could hardly endure to hear their boyisli remarks on the afiair at Friem Hatch, of which they, like all the rest of those who lived near it, were full ; and it was soon discovered at the vicarage that the way to stir up the gentle Emma to anger, was to abuse one whom her afiectionate spirit would fain still have regarded as a model of honour and candour. CHAPTER XVIII. SEARCH FOR A CLUB. IHAT short note which had cost tears to her who had penned it, was to her who re- ceived it like vinegar poured on an open wound. " Sioicerely yours ; yes, sincerely indeed," mut- tered Claudia bitterly, as she tossed the letter away in disgust. " Emma cannot at least be accused of flattering the fallen, or of feigning friendship for one who will certainly never stoop to ask for a proof of it from her again." It had been the almost insupportable sense of loneliness in her troubls which had induced Claudia, after much hesitation, to ask the vicar's daughter to come. The life of Claudia had hitherto been one of almost unclouded enjoyment. The darling of a fondly loved father, possessing every comfort and advantage which his affection could secure to his child, with buoyant spirits, high health, and a keen enjoyment for intellectual pursuits, Claudia's life (aae) 12 1?8 SEARCH FOE A CLUE. had been like a morning in May. She had had no cares, no fears, no pain, and scarcely the shadow of a trouble. The storm of affliction had burst on her suddenly, and had found her quite unprepared to meet it. Claudia knew not whither to turn for shelter or comfort. She who had been proudly conscious of strength and courage, and had been sometimes almost eager to have them brought to the test, felt her strength fail and her courage shrink in her first encounter with misfortune. But it had come to the proud girl in a shape most un- expected and most distressing. Early in the morning Claudia had had to endure the ordeal of an interview with the detectives from London, and to impart to them all the information which she could give regarding the pseudo-nun. The pain, the mortification which the high-spirited girl had endured in relating to men and sti'angers the story of her own duplicity and folly, may readily be imagined. If her anguish had been keener when making her confession to her father, her humiliation was now deeper. This painful but necessary interview over, Claudia was left to solitude and to her own reflections, which were sufficiently bitter. Never had time appeared to Claudia to move at a pace so slow. She could settle to no oc- cupation, every one had become distasteful. When SEARCH FOR A CLUE. 179 she opened a book, her mind did not take in the sense of the words on which her eyes rested ; they might have been Hebrew, for aught that she knew. When Claudia attempted to write, she soon threw down her pen in despair. She had delighted to ramble alone in the shrubbery, listen to the warble of birds and the gurgle of the brook, and indulge in delicious musings ; but now all her musings were painful, and she turned with aversion from every spot connected in her mind with the faithless Helena. The black form seemed to haunt the bower ; to throw a shadow over the brook. Claudia shrank even from entering her father's study, fi-om the bitter associations which the sight of the once delightful little room now raised in her mind. Unable, at last, longer to endure this sense of isola- tion and depression, which she thought would drive her to distraction, Claudia had penned her short note to Emma ; the answer to which had poured an additional drop of gall into a cup akeady over- flowing. Claudia's self-reproach was something distinct from repentance. The former is so often mistaken for the latter, that it is well to examine into the difference between them. Claudia's spirit was, save during the interview with her father, rather soured than subdued ; she was angry indeed with herself 180 SEARCH FOR A CLUK. but rather for her blindness and credulity, her failure in detection of fraud, than from any convic- tion of moral error. She was far more angry with the impostor who had deceived, and even with the friend who, as she deemed, had forsaken her. There was still with the lawyer's daughter an attempt at self-justification, a desire to excuse her own conduct, and to regard hei-self as one led astray by her gener- ous impulses, and far more sinned against than sinning. Claudia was grieved at having ofiended her earthly parent ; she scarcely asked herself whether she had also incuiTed the displeasure of her heavenly Father. She winced under the conscious- ness that her conduct had been unworthy of herself ; the thought scarcely crossed her mind that it had been unworthy of a Christian. There was some- thing of pride and selfishness in Claudia's sorrow, as there had been in her efforts to do good. Her heart might be deeply wounded, but it was not a broken and contrite heart. Claudia longed for, yet dreaded, her father's re- turn from London. The familiar sound of the rail- way-whistle at the hour when she expected him home, gave her a shivering sensation of fear. The poor girl did not go forth, as usual, to meet her father at or beyond the gate of the drive ; she re- mained in the dining-room awaiting his coming. SEARCH FOR A CLUB. 181 But in vain she listened for the sound of the click of the gate, or that of the quick firm step on the gravel. Claudia remained standing in the attitude of listening intently, till Garrard entered the room with the matter-of-fact question : "As master has not come by this train, miss, what had better be done about dinner ? " "Let it be kept back till he does come," said Claudia ; " the night train comes in two hours hence." " But you," began the butler, who had removed the mid-day meal almost untasted by his young mistress. " I will wait ; I care not ! " replied Claudia im- patiently, turning away to the window. Two more dreary hours of sickening expectation passed slowly with Claudia. The sun set in a thick bank of clouds, dull twilight came prematurely on, preceding a moonless and starless night. Claudia spent her waiting-time by the window, watching the deepening gloom, and wondering what tidings her father would bring. She was faint and sick with unwonted fiisting ; and the darkness of outer Nature seemed to rest on her soul like a pall. It was a relief to hear at last the panting of the coming train, which, through the night stillness, sounded to Claudia like the violent throbbing of a heart. Then 1§2 SEARCia FOR A CLUE. thei-e was the shrill piercing whistle ; the train was reaching the station. This time the weary watcher was not to be disappointed. Claudia ran forth to meet her father, saw his form approaching through the darkness, and in silence parent and child em- braced — there was no cheerful greeting between them. Mr. Hartswood's daughter dared ask no questions ; she felt convinced that he brought no good tiding.s, or they would have been imparted at once. The lawyer's manner was not unkind, but gloomy and abstracted ; and Claudia could hear a weary sigh as he crossed the threshold of his home. During the first part of the cheerless meal which ensued, scarcely a word was uttered ; the presence of Garrard behind his master's chaii- acted as a restraint. When Claudia ventured timidly to steal a glance at her father, she thought that the lines of care and age had never before appeared so distinct on his face ; it grieved her soul to see them. When Gar- rard had left the room, Mr. Hartswood, who had been taking his meal with an aii- of abstraction, began to give his daughter the information for which she was pining, but for which she had not ventured to ask. The lawyer spoke, as it were, by snatches, in a quick abrupt manner, very diflerent from his usual pleasant confidential way of convers- ing with his child. SEARCH FOR A CLUE. 183 " No clue found yet. I've advertised largely Placards are already over half London." Again there was an interval of silence, while Mr. Hai-tswood refilled his glass, and drained it. "There is no lady of the name of Irvine to be found in Grosvenor Square, nor has any such person been in the habit of visiting St. George's Hospital. Such an artfully spun web of deceit I have scarcely met with during the whole course of my practice." Another pause, which Claudia feared to break. Again her father spoke, but scarcely as if addressing his daughter. " I was for more than an hour to-day with Lady Melton. She has no female relative in the world, nor knew that there was a convent near us. She is furiously indignant and angry." "At Miss Lelands passing herself ofl" as her niece ? " asked Claudia ; she could not bring herself to utter the name " Helena." " No ; at the loss of the papers, of course," re- plied Mr. Harts wood sharply. " It will be impos- sible to bring on her suit until those documents be recovered. I have offered a very large reward ; recover them we must and shall, were I to sell my last spoon to cover expenses." " May not those who are interested in stopping the suit be those who have got possession of the 184 SEARCH FOR A CLUE. papers ? " suggested Claudia. " No common thief would care to cany them off. Agaiust whom was Lady Melton going to bring this suit ? " " The person in possession of the large estate on which Lady Melton has a claim is a Sir Edmund Curtis," said the lawyer. " Sir Edmund is a man of property and position, one whose character stands high in the world ; he is one most unlikely to be involved in a hazardous plot to commit a robbeiy, however advantageous to his interests its result — if successful — might prove." " If the crime was not committed from motives of interest, might it not have been from motives of malice or revenge?" suggested Claudia. "Does Lady Melton know of any one who bears her ill- wiU?" On any other occasion Mr. Hartswood might have been pleased and amused at his daughter's shrewd conjectures, and have laughingly exclaimed, as he had done so often before, that it was a pity that she could not be called to the bar. But not a smile rose to his lips as the lawyer replied: "The same idea presented itself to my mind, and I sug- gested it to ray client. Lady Melton informed me in reply, that, about a year ago, she had dismissed from her house at an hour's notice a person who had been in her full confidence as a humble com- SEARCH FOR A CLUK. 185 panion, but who, as she accidentally discovered, had secured the situation by false references, and whose antecedents had been such as to render her ineligible to hold it. Lady Melton was astonished to find that this Miss Eagle, who had represented herself as a clergyman's daughter, had been an actress by pro- fession." "That's Helena!" ejaculated Claudia; "for never was there a being who could act a part better than she." " You have come to too hasty a conclusion," said the lawyer. " Of course I closely questioned Lady Melton as to this lady-companion, comparing her description of Miss Eagle with that of Miss Leland, alias Helena. It is quite impossible that the two should be identical : Miss Eagle is half a head taller tha.n the nun, and is at least twenty years older ; her nose is hooked, while, by your own account. Miss Leland' s is straight. They may both be actresses, indeed, but are certainly not the same individuals." "The whole affair is so mysterious, so utterly in- explicable," sighed Claudia. " It is a dark labyrinth of iniquity, which must be explored in its every winding," muttered the lawyer under his breath. " No labour or expense shall be spared on my part; for where papers of the utmost value, intrusted to my charge, have been 186 SEARCH FOR A CLUE. abstracted fi-oin my own cabinet in this most un- accountable way, something more than my pro- fessional reputation for discretion and carefulness is involved." And Mr. Hartswood fell into a train of gloomy, silent thought, which lasted till he retired to his room for the night. CHAPTER XJX. RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. jNE shock of an earthquake may rend a fragment of marble from its crag, but it requires many a stroke of the chisel to form the marble into a statue. It is generally the gradual and almost imperceptible effect of the in- struments of which God is pleased to make use, that moulds the characters of those whom he makes hia own. The first great misfortune which Claudia had felt (for she had been too young when her mother had died to know grief for her loss), had been to her like the earthquake ; but the prolonged trials that succeeded, Uke the successive blows of the chisel, were the means of making a more permanent and marked change than any single shock could have done. Painfully and slowly passed day after day, week after week. Notwithstanding the most strenuous efforts of Mr. Hartswood, no trace of Helena could be discovered. The guard of the night-train by 188 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. which she had travelled up to London remembered, indeed, a lady, young and pretty, dressed in blue silk, with a broad-brimmed hat, who had declined his offer to procure for her a cab upon her arrival at the station, and, to his surprise, had walked away, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, without any protection. The evidence of the guard was as a single footprint left on sand, no second one could be found ; it was as if the pseudo-nun had vanished into thin aii\ Money was lavished, time was spent in the search for the stolen papers, but all with no result save that of deepening disappointment. Every evening Mr. Hartswood returned to his home, grave, stern, and irritable. Cares were heavily pressing upon him. The lawyer had always lived up to, sometimes beyond his professional income ; borne on the tide of prosperity, he had looked forward to in- creasing business witli increasing reputation ; but the strange loss of the documents belonging to the most impoi-tant case in which he was engaged, had seriously affected both. Rumours were circulated, whispers went round in clubs and fashionable circles regarding the robbery at Friern Hatch, injurious to the character of Mr. Hartswood. The effect of this was soon seen. No new briefs were placed in the lawyer's hands ; professional advice was sought from those whom he knew to be greatly his inferior in RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 189 probity and talent, rather than from him whose ability and merit had once been acknowledged by aa The wearing strain upon the nerves and spirits of Claudius Hartswood told upon his temper. Even in the court of justice it cost him an effort to restrain it, and the effort was not always successful. Mr. Hartswood was once openly reproved by the sitting judge for a burst of intemperate language. In his own dwelling the unhappy man gave free vent to irritability. Claudia had been wont to boast that she had never had a rough word from her father ; never again could that boast be uttered. It became more and more a hopeless task to attempt to please him ; almost every sentence which broke fi'om his lips inflicted a pang on his sensitive daughter. She dreaded the sight of notes in Lady Melton's familiar handwriting ; Mr. Hartswood always took them up with a frown on his brow, and the furrow was cer- tain to deepen as he perused them. He became — what he never had been in former days — impatient, unreasonable, almost tyrannical with his servants. GaiTard was given warning for some trifling act of neglect ; the month's bills, though not larger than usual, caused the discharge of the cook. Mr. Harts- wood was incensed by any hf^avy draw on his purse, and yet almost equally so if any change appeared in 190 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. the routine of household arrangements. Claudia could not but see that her father was an altered man ; she was miserable at the change, and yet had to struggle to keep up a calm and even cheerful demeanour ; for if tears should start to her eyes, or even if her manner should betray depression, Mr. Hartswood's irritation was visibly increased. It was only during the hours of her father's absence that the poor girl dared give way to her grief, and then many were the tears which fell over the pages of the Bible, to which she now turned for the comfort which she could find in nothing besides. For the discipline of affliction was gradually sub- duing the proud spirit of Claudia Hartswood. She was at first conscious of having made one serious mistake, which was drawing on her a punishment which seemed to her greater than the offence, but she was now beginning to suspect that her whole previous life might have been a mistake. Claudia had looked upon herself as the victim of a heartless piece of deception ; now she was gradually led to fear that deceit had been harboured in her own breast. She had followed her own pleasure, indulged her own will, and had then complacently regarded her- self as doing the bidding and forwarding the work of her heavenly Master. Claudia had placed much RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 191 reliance on her own mental powers, bat what had they availed in time of temptation ! Imagination, the mental eye, had been deceived by the mirage raised by the spirit of romance. Judgment, discern- ment, had been grievously at fault, perverted by vanity and pride. Claudia had suffered her moral perceptions to be confused by " the musk odour of deceit." She had sought for no wisdom from above, nor — till this time of humiliation — had realized that a need for it existed. The painful state into which Claudia had now entered was rather one of preparation than of a new spiritual life. It was as the ploughing up of the weed-tangled ground, not the springing up of the heavenly seed. There are some proud spirits that, like Hagar, must be led step by step farther into the desert, before they hear the voice of the angel. Their skin-bottle of earthly pleasure has to be emptied out, drop by drop, ere they find — or even seek for — the life-giving spring which time can never exhaust. The summer was one of exquisite beauty, but to Claudia, in her deep depression, Nature itself had lost half its charms. She could not take her former interest in the partei-res, for her father now never looked at the flowers. Claudia wandered about the gi'ounds listlessly, almost envying Emma 192 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. Holder her troublesome pupils and her homely em- ployments, idleness was so oppressive ; but Claudia, without the necessity, had not the heart for work. Tlie annivei"sary of Claudia's bii'th-day arrived ; it was one which had always been remembered and kept, but now for the first time it appeared to be forgotten by all but her who, on that day, completed her sixteenth year. There was no tempting-looking parcel on her toilette-table, with loving words written upon it in the handwriting of her fond father ; nor, when Mr. Hartswood met his daughter at breakfast, was there any allusion to what he had been wont to call "this auspicious day." Claudia missed the blessing, the smile, the cordial good wish which had never been wanting before. Her father was occu- pied with his own gloomy thoughts, and to the anxious eye of affection looked aged and ill. Twice he spoke to Claudia with peevish impatience ; he complained of the heat of the weather, and of the fatigue and inconvenience of daily journeys by train after being exposed to the stifling atmosphere of law-courts. Mr. Hartswood had never till recently been wont to complain of anything ; Claudia had once laughingly observed that her father looked at life through glasses couleur de rose, now everything seemed to be viewed by him through a curtain of crape. RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 193 Mr. Hartswood went off to London, and Claudia, left to solitude, sauntered wearily under the shade of the trees, absorbed in bitter reflections. " How different were my feelings," thought she, " when I last reached one of life's mile-stones, and looked forward with eager hope on the unknown future before me ! I remember the proud conscious- ness of talent, energy, and resolute will, with which I wrote in my journal : ' This world is full of sham, humbug, and deceit — the mission of every true- hearted woman is to expose, resist, and overcome it.' I, alas ! have mistaken my mission, or have failed to fulfil it. I have been both deceived and deceiver. I have disappointed alike my father's expectations and my own. I have proved weak where I deemed myself to be strong. I seem to have advanced in nothing, unless it be in experience, bitter experience; and oh, for that what a price have I paid ! " Claudia's steps had brought her near the side- door at which the postman was leaving part of the contents of his bag. Claudia had not noticed his coming, for a screen of laurels was between them, and was only made aware of it by her casually over- hearing part of a sentence spoken to the postman by Garrard as he took in the letters. " Say what you like, I can't believe that master put our young miss up to — " (22ti> 13 194 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. To what ? Claudia did not wait to hear the end of the sentence, she was above the meanness of eaves- dropping, and instantly turned from the spot ; but those few words which her ear had caught opened to her a new and painful field for thought. What could be inferred from such words ? Was it pos- sible that any one could for a moment suspect that her father, her noble father, had been an accomplice in the abduction of the property of his client ! The mere idea of such a suspicion flushed the cheek of his daughter, and she threw it indignantly from her mind, but had no power to prevent its return. Claudia went back to the house, and met Garrard bringing in the papers, and a single note addressed to herself in the handwriting of Annie Goldie. It was long since Claudia had heard from her former companion, and welcome was the sight of the familiar hand, which showed that by one friend at least in her loneliness she was remembered. Claudia took the note and the newspaper into the study, sat down, and opened Annie's epistle. Displeasure darkened her countenance as she perused the con- tents; the following portion was read with indignant surprise : — " All sorts of disagreeable things are said, but, of course, I don't believe them • I am sure that your RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 195 father is not in league with Sir E. C. But I'm dying to know the whole story from beginning to end from yourself." Claudia tore the note into fragments. " She is certainly likely to die before I stoop to gi-atify her impertinent curiosity," muttered the lawyer's daughter ; and she took up the newspaper to divei"t her own thoughts from the subject. But here, again, Claudia was met by the same haunting theme. The first portion of the paper upon which her eyes fell was one of those para- gi'aphs which are often inserted to fill up vacant corners, and at the same time gratify the taste of the public for gossip : — " The Vanished Nun. — All efibrts to trace the mysterious individual who is alleged to have carried ofi" valuable documents from a cabinet have proved inefiectual, and we may say in the words of Shak- speare, — ' The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath, And this is of them.' " The whole story of a supposed nun being concealed by a young lady in her father's study, while he was actually in the house — and of her being given a quiet opportunity of examining the contents of his cabinet, and selecting from his papers documents bearing on a case involving a quarter of 196 BUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. a million sterling — and then disappearing with her spoil unquestioned and unseen, like some invisible agent, bears on its face such strong features of im- probability, that no skilful writer of fiction would venture on weaving such a plot. We can therefore only credit the tale on the plea that 'truth is stranger than fiction,' though we reprobate the spirit of gossip which would trifle with the reputation of a gentleman of high social position, and a distin- guished member of an honourable profession." The paper dropped from the hands of Claudia. The dreadful suspicion awakened by the words of Garrard, and strengthened by the note of Annie, was now fiilly confirmed by the paragraph just perused. Slander had dared to breathe on the hitherto un- tarnished name of her father — he was actually suspected of having invented an improbable tale to account for the disappearance of papers placed under his care. The cause of the irritability, the depression of Mr. Hartswood, was now but too evident to his daughter ; that reputation which was dearer to him than fortune, or life itself, was imperilled, and through the folly, the presumption, the deceitfulness of his daughter. With agony of spirit Claudia recalled the words of her parent on the terrible night of the first disclosure : " Nothing tliat you can do can ever repair the mischief wrought KUMOUKS AND SUSPICIONS. 197 by your folly." Claudia's soul was like a lake over which a tempest is sweeping. Honour, reputation, fair fame had appeared to her, as to her father, as of all things the most precious. To preserve them she would have sacrificed pleasure, profit, health, and have deemed the sacrifice made to a sense of duty. Claudia had formed a kind of religion out of her pride. With fierce, passionate resentment the injured gii-l now thought of Helena. The only relief from self-reproach was found in cast- ing the reproach on the tempter. " Viper — serpent — that I have warmed in my bosom, that it should sting my heart ! " exclaimed Claudia, passionately, wringing her hands. "But she will not always escape from just retribution — vengeance will overtake her at last — the wrong will one day be righted — my father's character will again stand spotless and bright in the sight of the world ! But oh ! in the meantime what may not he — what may not I have to suffer ! And it is only just that I should suffer ; the deceiver could have had no power to betray had I — wretched that I am — but obeyed my parent and distrusted myself ! " The shivering sigh which followed told of the anguish of a soul tortured by unavailing regi^ets for the past and gloomy fears for the future. CHAPTER XX A MOVE. lEffi miseries of that birth-clay had not yet reached their climax. Before hood the melancholy solitude of Claudia was disturbed by the entrance of Garrard He was the bearer of a telegram which a messenger had just brought from the station. A flash of hope brightened the gloom of Claudia. "The papers are found!" she exclaimed, as, stai't- ing up from her seat, she snatched the missive from the salver on which it was brought, and eagerly tore the envelope open. But her flash of hope was transient as the gleam of summer light which plays amid clouds. The telegram was from a Mr. Paley, whose name was familiar to Claudia, as he had long acted as clerk to her father. The message which it contained ran thus : — " Mr. Hartswood was taken ill in Court to-day. He is now at my lodging in 2 Little Bread Court, Gray's Inn Lane." A MOVE. 199 Claudia uttcre^l no exclamation ; she only trem- bled and turned very pale. This was, she felt, a time for action and not lamentation. She knew not of what nature or what gi'a\aty her father's ill- ness might be, she but knew that her post must be by his side. " Garrard, my father is ill — I must go to Lon- don directly ; when does the next train pass ? " she inquired with assumed composure. "There will be one in half an hour," answered Garrard. " Ring for Martha, she must accompany me to town," said Claudia, as she quitted the study to make preparation for so hasty a journey. She was surprised at the calmness with which she was able to make arrangements and give directions. As Mr. Hartswood's illness might be tedious, and such as to prevent his return to the country, Claudia had her desk and some few necessaries packed to take with her, and also various articles which the invalid might require. It was some comfort to Claudia thus to think for and act for her parent ; the necessity for exercising consideration and foresight prevented the burden of anxiety from being so overwhelming as it would otherwise have proved. Claudia dared not let her mind dwell on the terrible fear of what might await her on her arrival in London, until she found 200 A MOVE. herself, with Martha beside her, seated in the train which would bear her thither. Two gentlemen were Claudia's fellow-passengers in the railway-camage. They appeared to be jovial sporting characters, and a mingled scent of tobacco and brandy which pervaded the carriage, and the free stare with which they surveyed the young lady as she entered, gave Claudia a feeling of repulsion. With the maidenly dignity and sense of propriety which Miss Hartswood already possessed, she kept perfectly quiet in her comer of the carriage, looking out on the landscape, and not even exchanging a word with the servant beside her. But Claudia could not avoid hearing the conversation passing between her fellow-travellers, who cliatted gaily with each other, as if no one else were present. " Look ye, Tom," said one of them to his com- panion, glancing out of the window ; " that old house on the hill yonder is Friern Hatch, the scene of that odd affair about the mysterious nua" Claudia felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and wished herself a thousand miles off*. The other young man laughed. "Such a rare bit of good luck for the Curtises ! " he said, stroking his long moustaches. "The old cove has one foot in the grave, so it don't matter much to him, but his son — who's well known on the course — won't A MOVE. 201 think half a million or so a thing to be sneezed at. Jack Curtis never gained so much by any throw of the dice as he did by the canying off of these papers. Ha, ha, ha ! it was a rare bit of luck ! " "If it can be called luck," observed the other, shrugging his shoulders. "Thieves don't usually carry off deeds or letters to make thread-papers or kite-tails. If I were Lady Melton, with half a million of money at stake, I'd not take the matter quietly." "She does not take the matter quietly," rejoined the other; "they say the old lady's furious, and that it's as likely as not that she'll prosecute the fellow \yho so strangely let her property slip through his fingers." Claudia could scarcely sit still. Had the conver- sation between the two young men not taken a different turn, she must have betrayed herself by her emotion. It was unendurable to hear strangers thus playing with the reputation of her father, at a time too when she was in an agony of suspense lest she should find that beloved parent dying. After the peaceful seclusion of the country, the noise, the bustle, the confusion of the great city after her arrival at the London station were especi- ally trying to Claudia. Her impatience to reach her father was intense, and the slow pace of a lame cab- 202 A MOVE. horse, and then a dead-lock amongst carts and waggons, which lasted for several minutes, increased to a painful degi'ee the irritation of her nervous system. The atmosphere of London felt so thick, the heat so oppressive, that the poor girl could not breathe freely, and her temples throbbed with violent pain. At length the cab reached the place of its destina- tion, turning into a narrow stone-paved court, which was near enough to a noisy thoroughfare for its rattle and noise to sound like a perpetual fall of water; yet in itself so dreary and dull that it looked to Claudia the very image of desolation. Small, square, dusty-paned windows from either side looked out on the narrow court. Sickly blades of grass — rather gray than gi'een — grew here and there be- tween the stones with which it was paved ; there were a few lilac and privet shrubs in the centre, with soot-blackened stems and shrivelled leaves, that seemed as if they had never felt the pure breath of spring, nor caught a sunbeam from tlie strip of smoky sky above them. View there was none, save of dirty brick houses surmounted by dirtier stacks of chimnies ; living creature there was none to be seen, but two dingy sparrows, that must have found their way by mistake into the centre of that prison-like enclosure of brick buildings. Claudia A MOVE. 203 had little time or inclination to look around her, but in a single glance took in a photograph-like im- pression of the dreariness of the court. There was a dulness in the very tinkle of the bell, whose rusty handle appeared by the dark heat- blistered door of the house at which the cab had now stopped. Claudia could not wait till the driver's summons was answered, she sprang impatiently from the conveyance, and herself repeated the ring. The door was presently opened, creaking as if unwilling to admit a visitor, by the landlady of the lodging. The woman's appearance was forbidding : a greasy black cap, trimmed with faded red flowers, sur- mounted an untidy mass of iron-gray ringlets. Mrs. Maul's mouth was large, her under jaw protruded, ill-temper was stamped on her face. " My father, Mr. Harts wood, is he here ? " gasped Claudia, trying to read in the face of the woman whether dangerous illness — whether death might not be in that sombre dwelling. " Yes, he's here ; Mr. Paley, my lodger, brought him here ; he'd had a kind of fit, but he's come round again," replied the landlady drily, no look of sympathy for the agitated girl softening her hard smoke-dried features. " If you want to see Mr. Hartswood, he's on the first-floor, and I'll show you." 204 A MOVE. But Claudia did not wait to be shown up-stairs ; she sprang past Mrs. Maul, and in two seconds was on the landing-place, with her trembUng fingers on the handle of the door of the room occupied by her father. She turned that handle softly, for she feared to startle the invalid, or awaken him perhaps from slumber, and entered the apartment with noise- less step. To her unutterable relief Claudia saw her parent seated by a table, and, as appeared at first glance, looking much the same as when he had quitted home in the morning. Mr. Hartswood was surprised and annoyed at the entrance of his daughter. " What on earth brings you here ? " uttered in a harsh, almost angry tone, was the lawyer's welcome to Claudia. " Dear papa, Mr. Paley telegraphed to me that you were ill." " Paley' s an old idiot ; I wish that he would mind his own business," interrupted Mr. Harts- wood. "I'm as well as ever I was in my life. It was but a little dizziness." The lawyer put his hand to his brow, and Claudia observed that there was something strange and almost wild in the expression of his eyes, which made her feel very uneasy. " I daresay that the sweet countjy air," she A MOVE. 205 began ; but Mr. Hartswood abruptly cut short hei sentence. " Sweet country fiddlestick ! " he exclaimed. " I'm not going back to Friern Hatch. These journeys to and fro are what kill me. I've told Mrs. — what's her name — that as these rooms are vacant, I mean to stop here." " Not here surely, papa," said Claudia, glancing round the apartment, which, with its dingy curtains, faded carpet, and old horse-hair chairs, looked to her extremely uninviting. " Yes, here," replied Mr. Hartswood, striking the floor with his foot; " I can't afford lodgings that might suit your fine taste, and I'll not stir a step from London till — tUl I've recovered these papers ! " He gi'ound his teeth as he ended the sentence, and his eyes looked more wild than before. " If you stay, I hope that you will let me stay with you," said Claudia faintly. " You can do as you like about that; I can't afford to keep up two establishments, I must sub- let the Hatch, if I can ; but, of couree, you may pre- fer staying amongst your laurels and roses till I get a tenant," replied Mr. Hartswood. His tone con- veyed a sneer. " I would rather keep beside you, papa, wherever 206 A MOVE. you choose to be," said Claudia. " If you permit, 1 will speak to the landlady about it at once." Claudia pulled the faded bell-rope, as her father's silence spoke his consent. Mr. Hartswood rose, and ■with a step far less firm and elastic than had been his six weeks before, entered his sleeping apartment, which was divided by folding-doors from that in which he had been sitting. With feelings of sickening depression, Claudia held a brief colloquy with Mrs. Maul. The ill- tempered landlady seemed to be little disposed to make matters smooth for the poor young lady who had come to dwell under her roof. Her house was full enough akeady, she said — she did not care to have lady-lodgers — Mr. Paley had the ground-floor, Mr. Hartswood the first-floor — she and her family filled up every other part of the house. There was, in- deed, a back attic, if that would do for the young miss; but as for her fine lady's-maid, there was not a comer in which she could be put up; Polly (the landlady's general servant) did everything lodgers could require. A short time previously it would have appeared to Claudia almost impossible to have existed in such a prison as this lodging-house in Little Bread Court. But ner spirit was humbled, her pride subdued, and care for personal comfort was almost lost in anxiety A MOVE. 207 on account of her father. Claudia at once closed with the offer of the attic. " Anything, any place, is good enough for me," was her silent reflection, as she followed Mrs. Maul up a steep and carpetlesa staircase, after desiring that her maid might carry up thither the parcels which she had brought. CHAPTER XXI. THE COURT. H! Miss Hartswood, this is not a fit j:>lacc for you!" was the exclamation of the astonished lady's-maid, as she entered the wretched little apartment of which her young mistress was taking possession. Mrs. Maul, who, with some difficulty, had passed Martha and her crinoline on the nan'ow staircase, overheard the exclamation, and the landlady's dis- agreeable face wore a sneer as she muttered half aloud, " Them grand lady's-maids as are always turning up their noses at what is good enough for their betters, end in a workhouse at last." But Martha might well be pardoned for criticizing the attic-room in Little Bread Court. The apart- ment was small and close, and seemed all the smaller and closer for having been apparently the lumber- room for empty boxes and all kinds of rubbish, amongst them worn-out brooms and a broken coal- scuttle. The plaster was peeling from the sloping THK COURT. 209 sides of the ceiling, owing to the extreme heat of a room situated just under the slates upon which the hot summer sun glowed fiercely. The furniture of the room looked as if it had been picked up in some low pawnbroker's shop. Dust lay thickly upon chest and chair, upon the soiled patchwork of the coverlet, and over the stained and uneven floor. " T have no choice for to-night, Martha," replied Claudia Hartswood, "for my father will not quit this lodging to-day; and while he is so unwell I could not bear to leave him alone. Just see if you caimot open that window, and let in a breath of fresh air," "It will hardly he fresh air," thouglit Martha, as she puUod and strained at the sash, which, if it had been made to open at all, appeared very unwilling to do so. The maid succeeded at hist in raising the sash about two inches, and then surveyed her fingers blackened with dust and soot, with a disgust which she scarcely concealed. "I hope that I shall persuade papa to return to Friern Hatch to-moiTow," said Claudia; "in the meantime, I must not mind a little discomfort." Claudia wearily seated herself on a broken-backed chair — she felt sick from anxiety and the close musty heat of tlie place. Her temples throbbed and ached, so that it was a painful effort even to keep 210 THE COURT. her eyes open. Martha, after arranging the few articles which her young lady had brought with her to London, quitted the room to return to the station, rejoiced to escape from passing even a single night in Little Bread Court. As soon as she found her- self alone, Claudia sank on her knees and returned thanks for the blessing of finding her father in a state less alarming than her anxious fears had fore- boded. She was grateful for being still permitted to be near him, to minister to his comfort, after having been to him the cause of so much annoyance and pain. Claudia prayed very heartily and humbly that the dark clouds which hung over her and her parent might soon pass away, that her father's honour might be cleared in the sight of all men, that his health might be perfectly restored, and that he might freely and fully forgive his weak, erring child. The poor girl had never experienced such relief in pouring out supplications, as she did when she knelt down for the first time in that wretched London attic. How often were Claudia's prayers to be repeated with yet more earnest devotion in that dreary, com- fortless abode, for her hope that her sojourn there might be a very brief one was not to be realized. Mr. Hartswood adhered firmly to his resolve not to quit London; and dissatisfied as he was with his THE COURT. 211 lodging, as indeed he was ^^ath everything else, he 80 greatly disliked the trouble of a change, that Claudia soon found that it was worse than useless to propose one. The state of Mr. Hartswood's health was such as would have embittered a life spent in a paradise of beauty. The anxiety and annoyance which the lawyer had lately endured had had an effect on his brain, not producing actual madness, but symptoms so nearly resembling its effects as to render it difficult to define the difference between them. The once cheerful, sweet-tempered com- panion — the clear-headed, intellectual man — the tender, considerate father — had become peevish, gloomy, and suspicious. Mr. Hartswood was haunted by a fear of approaching poverty and ruin, which not only depressed his spirits, but completely destroyed all comfoi-t in domestic arrangements. Claudia's slender purse had been drained by her own journey and Martha's; but when she asked for a little money, she met with so painful a rebuff that it needed a considerable amount of courage to re- peat the request. But money was absolutely need- ful; many things were required, and Claudia was in real difficulty and perplexity how to procure them. Much of annoyance met the poor young maiden commencing housekeeping under circumstances so painful, Mr. Hartswood seemed to expect that tea- 212 THE COURl. saddy and wine-decanter would fill themselves while Mrs. Maul, on the other hand, appeared to consider it natural that they should empty them- selves; for the supplies which Claudia had with great difficulty obtained rapidly disappeared with no difficulty at all. Washing bills, butcher and gi-ocer's bills became to Claudia objects of actual dread. She had a horror for debt, and she knew not how to account to others for delay of payment, without betraying to strangers the peculiar and dis- tressing state of her father's mind. Such cares as these may be called petty, but to Claudia thej formed an accumulating and almost insupportable burden. They were lightened by no personal kind- ness shown to herself by him who caused them. Unreasonable aversion to those once most tenderly loved is no unusual symptom of incipient derange- ment. Claudia, with bitter grief, found herself treated with harshness and regarded with suspicion by the parent whose idol she had been, and who had placed in her honour and truth trust the most full and implicit. So agonizing to her feelings was this trial, that a hundred times Claudia, doubting her own power to sustain it longer, half resolved to avail herself of her father's permission, and return to the peaceful country home which she had left for his sake, and remain there at least until Friera Hatch THE COURT. 213 should be let — an indefinite period which might never arrive. But Claudia always repelled the idea of this flight from her post of duty as being cowardly and self-indulgent. She was not aware that Mr, Hai-ts wood's altered manner arose from any affection of the brain or perversion of mind; but Claudia knew her parent to be in weak health and very low spirits, requiring all the tender care which a loving child could bestow. In the days of her joyous childhood, her happy youth, there had been three qualities on the posses- sion of which Claudia had especially prided herself — a brave spirit, a strong love of truth, and fervent filial affection. But it is one thing to possess such qualities when they shine like torches in some sheltered hall, and another thing to preserve them when they resemble these same torches borne aloft through pelting rain and rushing blast by one whose feet are stumbling over a difficult path! It is one thing to let a boat drift down the current of some glassy sea, and anothei- thing to steer her over a stormy sea against wind and tide, shipping water at every plunge over the foaming billows! One of Claudia's trials was that she was disappointed with herself, that she now discovered that she was by no means all that she had believed herself to be. To iufiev calmly, smile cheerfully, look forwa'xl hope- 214 THE COURT. fully, was no longer within her power. Her filial devotion, which, under a parent's encouraging smile, would have carried her through tempest and fire, was put to a long weary trial by the change in that parent's demeanour. Where there had been confi- dence, there was suspicion; where tender kindness, frowns and reproofs; liberality was succeeded by a niggardly closeness which interfered every day, and aU day long, with Miss Harts wood's personal comfoi-t. Claudia's afiection for her father had been to her once a source of honest delight, now it em- bittered her cup of sorrow. Claudia also found how difficult it is to adhere strictly to truth when under the influence of fear. Falsehood is but too natural an accompaniment of a state of bondage, and Claudia was enduring a kind of domestic slavery which made it no easy task to keep free from deceit of look and of lip. The girl who had been wont to speak out freely every thought which arose in her mind, sure to meet with indulgence and candour, if not with sympathy and praise, had now to be carefully guarded in every sentence that she uttered. It needed resolution to confess that she had made some small necessary purchase, or given a simple order. Claudia often wondered whether her character were rapidly deterio- rating, it seemed so increasingly difficult to obey THE COURT. 215 t\xe dictates of conscience ; every day appeared to jnalce her more sensible of her failures ; but this was because her self-knowledge was becoming deeper ; circumstances were throwing increasing light on the mirror of truth ; and, through tears of regret and disappointment, Claudia was looking steadily at her own sad reflection within it. There was abundant time for thought during the long dreary days. Mr. Hartswood was usually absent for many hours at a time : he never ofiered to take his daughter with him as his companion, though the poor girl, like a prisoned bird, longed to leave her cage and stretch her wings — if but for a little while. When Claudia grew weary of the dull sitting-room, or the yet duller attic above, her only resource was a constitutional walk up and down the pavement of the hot, naiTOw court, to breathe air mingled with dust and smoke, where all the small square windows to the right, to the left, in front and behind, seemed like so many dull eyes watching the youthful captive at every step which she took. Claudia often felt inclined to break bounds, and plunge alone into the tide of human life which she could hear surging without the precincts of Little Bread Court. She did so two or three times, ven- turing a short way along the more cheerful streets, but soon turned back, aware that her father would 216 THE COURT. be displeased at her wandering abont London with- out a companion, and feeling that it would be wrong to do that without his knowledge which she knew that she would fear to confess. Claudia would turn back to her miserable abode, in which she could not enjoy even the solace of stillness. Mrs. Maul had a family of neglected, uneducated children, and her only idea of managing their tempers was by the sharp word and the angry blow. Scolding voices, cries of passion or of pain, became sounds but too familiar to the ear of Claudia Hartswood, and pain- fully they contrasted with what she had heard in her peaceful home — the music of the soft breeze, and the notes of the nightingale's song ! CHAPTER XXII. WEARY LIFE. DON'T know how it is that I can nevei get an eatable egg in this place ! " cried Mr. Haiiswood, pushing away wdth a look of disgust that which had been brought for his breakfast. " We have been here for nearly four weeks, and it's the same complaint every morning," " Indeed, papa, it is not for want of my speaking to Mrs. Maul," replied Claudia, whose last colloquy with the landlady on the subject had been very unpleasant. " Mrs. Maul was almost as angrx- when I expressed a suspicion about the age of the 'new-laid eggs,' as she was when I suggested that these curtains might not be the worse for a little soap and water. She declared that fresher eggs were not to be had in all London, Of course she was trying to throw dust in my eyes ; dust being the only thing," continued the poor girl, with a desperate attempt at a joke, "which can be had here in any quantity — ' free, gratis, and for nothing.' " 218 WEARY LIFE. Mr. Hartswood was not in the least disposed to smile. "As for dust," he observed, "I could write my name in it on the chest of drawers in my room; that idle girl Polly can never even have touched it." " I don't think that Polly is idle — she is a poor little overworked drudge," said Claudia, who felt real pity for the girl. " She has to wait on us, and on Mr. Paley, her mistress, her mistress's mother, and a herd of children besides." " Those wretched children ! " exclaimed Mr. Harts- wood, in a tone of impatience; "they made such a racket overhead this morning that they almost drove me out of my room." "Oh, you have not one quarter as much of their music as falls to my lot, papa ! " cried Claudia. "The favourite haunt of these little Bedouins is the staircase between the second floor and the attic. Yesterday, coming down from ray room in the dusk, I stumbled over little Sam half asleep at the top of the staircase, and had a narrow escape from hurling him head-foremost to the bottom, and of following myself with a flying leap, which might have broken my neck." Claudia was trying hard to be lively, for she had been reproached, ten minutes before, for having grown so silent and dull. But her forced mirth met with no response from her father. WEARY LIFE. 219 "I see nothing very amusing either in the idea of falling yourself, or of being the cause of the fall of another," said Mr. Hartswood, with cruel em- phasis, as he pushed back his chair, and rose from the table. Claudia felt the sting of the taunt, and had a struggle to keep down the tears which came so much more readily to her eyes than the forced smile to her lips. Mr. Hartswood, with his hands behind him, walked to the window, and remained for some time looking out on the court without speaking. He then turned round with the muttered remark, "In such a den of a place as this, who would look for anything like comfort ? " "Then why should we not leave it, papa?" asked Claudia, with timid eagerness. " You want to go, I suppose," said Mr. Harts- wood, drily. " Oh yes, if you — " " Then I'm sure that I don't know why you stay here," interrupted the lawyer. "Friern Hatch is empty, as you are aware ; I never required, nor do I wish the society of a daughter who is tired of being with her father," and taking up his hat, Mr. Hartswood quitted the room, to repair, as was his wont at that hour, to one of the courts of law. 220 WEARY LIFE. Claudia moaned aloud, as soon as her father was beyond hearing her. Life had become to her such a weary, oppressive thing. " I wonder what makes that young lady so very, very unhappy," thought Polly, the general servant, as she carried away the tray with the breakfast things jingling upon it. "She has plenty to eat and drink, no mistress to worrit her, and no work to do from morning till night 1 Dear, I wish I was she ! " Long sat Claudia, listless and joyless, scarcely sensible of aught but a gnawing pain at her heart. A-t last she took pen and paper ; sad thoughts were forming themselves into verse ; it was some relief to give vent to soitow in the language of prayer, — " Hear, Almighty Father, Power divine, The sighs that reach no other ear than Thine, The anguish which no other eye may see ; Thou who art merciful as well as just, Eaise not Thine arm to crush a worm to dust, Who, humbly prostrate at Thy footstool laid. Invokes Thy mercy, and implores Thine aid ! " The tears of Claudia fell on her paper and blistered the page. She was so much absorbed in her writing, that she did not at first notice Polly's knock at the sitting-room door. "Here's a lady as wants to see you," said the servant girl, opening the door, and without further WEARY LIFE. 221 ceremony ushering a visitor in. Claudia rose hastOy, surprised at any acquaintance finding her out in her dismal retreat, and vexed at being dis- covered in tears. Yet was there a sense of comfort, almost of pleasure, when Claudia saw again the sweet countenance of Mrs. Latham, and felt again the pressure of her hand and of her lips. She felt grateful to the friend of her mother for seeking her out at a time when all the rest of the world had either forsaken her or forgotten. Mrs. Latham had brought with her roses, whose sweet fragrance })er vaded the room. CHAPTER XXIIL SYMPATHY. I HAT a balm to a wounded spirit is the sympathy of a friend ! " How keenly Claudia realized this during: the Ions in- terview which followed the entrance of Mrs. Latham. Only severe illness had prevented the lady from coming before : that illness had rendered her man- ner yet more gentle and tender, personal suffering had deepened feeling for the sufferings of others. Claudia knew that no mean curiosity had brought her friend to her side. The heart of the unhappy girl, which had been like a drooping vine, putting forth tendrils but finding nothing to which they could cling for support, experienced the greatest relief in pouring out to an indulgent listener the whole story of her woes. Claudia concealed no- thing, palliated nothing ; she was aware that Mrs. Latham must not only have heard the tale of her intercourse with Helena, but had probably heard it related with such exaggerations and distortion of SYMPATHY. 223 facts as were current in a gossiping world. Mrs, Latham might even have heard, although she would never believe them, the calumnies which would make Mr. Harts wood himself a secret abettor of a robbery committed in his own house. It was well, therefore, that she should know the whole truth from the lips of Claudia herself, however humbling the confession of her folly might be to the lawyer's daughter. Mrs. Latham quietly listened to the agitated girl, without interrupting her narrative even by a question ; but Claudia instinctively felt that deep interest and sympathy were aroused in her silent hearer. " And all this misery came upon me on the very evening when you and I were conversing together in my dear bright home ! " exclaimed Claudia, as she concluded her story, " When I saw you bend- ing down to smell those beautiful flowers in the vase, how little I dreamt that my happiness would be shorter-lived than their blossoms ! I was feeling 80 proud and so joyous ! I remember — you will forgive my folly now ! — I remember that I was almost angry because you seemed to think that there were some things needful which had never been mine, that the soul has senses of its own, higher, nobler than the intellectual, which an 224 SYMPATHY. ignorant boor mlglit have, and a gifted statesman might lack. 1 could not bear such a humbling theory ; I fancied myself to be so clear-sighted, that it irritated me to think that any one could possibly consider me blind." "And now, dear Claudia," said her friend, "re- viewing calmly all the past, how do you yourself regard the subject on which we conversed on that evening ? " " My eyes are opened to some things to which they were closed before," answered Claudia. " I see that I am very unlike what I then deemed my- self to be ; I had never believed that I could prove 80 weak, so foolish, so sinful." Tears dropped from the downcast eyes of Claudia as she made the con- fession ; then raising them to those of her friend, in an earnest tone she continued: "Oh, Mrs. Latham, is this sense of helplessness, and shame, and regret for the past the spiritual sight of which you were speaking when we last met ? Is this the kind of opening of the eyes for which David prayed ? / could not pray for it, it makes me so wretched. When Adam and Eve's eyes were opened they hid themselves from God ; it seems as if God were hiding His face from me ! " Claudia could not stifle her sobs. Mrs. Latham put her arm around the weeping girl, and diew her close to hei SYMPATHY. 226 bosora. Claudia had never known the loving care of a mother, now she felt as if she had found one. "The spiritual sight which is given to the chil- dren of God, dear Claudia, is not merely this jjain- fal, humiliating knowledge of self," said the lady. " The light which His Spirit bestows shows us indeed our own errors, but it shows us also that which makes the contrite heart sing for joy. Light is a gladsome thing, and spiritual sight is the source of bliss the most intense and perfect that the soul can know upon earth." " I cannot understand what you mean by spiritual sight, if it be anything but seeing our own errors," said Claudia ; " the light which shows them to us can certainly cause us no joy." " Let me exemplify my meaning," said the lady, "by reminding you of the story of the disciples who met the Lord on their way to Emmaus, as they discoursed together and were sad. Those disciples had some faith, though imperfect ; but it brought them sorrow, not gladness. Their minds were full of their Lord, but religion appears to have brought them then neither comfort nor peace." " So it is with me," murmured Claudia. " But the moment that their eyes were opened. ,22GJ 1& 226 SYMPATHY. and they knew the Lord," said her friend, " all their sorrow passed away, like the shadows of night when the sun bursts forth from the east. The glimpse of the risen Saviour sufficed to make His disciples happy." " But we can have no such blessed glimpse now," observed Claudia. "Oh, say not so, my dear child. We cannot indeed behold our Lord with our bodily eyes as did the disciples, but we may with that spiritual sense which is the gift of His Spirit. Claudia, how do you look upon your Lord now ? " " As my Master, Judge, and the Saviour of sinners," replied Claudia with reverence; "I have always regarded Him thus." " But have you looked upon Him as your own, your 'personal Saviour, as one who died for your sins, who loves you, who calls you by your name and says, ' Thou art Mine ? ' Do you realize that the Redeemer yearns over you now with a love more lasting, more deep, more intense than that of a mother ? " " If I could but believe that," faltered Claudia, " I could be happy indeed. But how can I ever believe it, unworthy as I am of such love ! " " Oh, my child, look upwards instead of inwards ; lift up the eyes of your soul to Him who says of SYMPATHY. 227 His feeble wandering sheep, / mill heal their back- sliding s ; I will love them freely. Yes, freely Christ loves, freely He forgives, fi-eely He saves : ^^ok up to Him for pardon, life, grace, happiness ; it is His delight to lavish all these gifts upon those who cast themselves on His mercy." Claudia's eyes were still brimming over with tears ; but the light of hope was dawning now on her soul. "You spoke just now," continued her friend, " of our first parents hiding fi^om God ; vain at- tempt of the sin-convicted soul until it is led to hide in God. When our eyes are opened to see Christ as our all-sufficient Saviour — when faith can, as it were, touch His hands and side wounded for us — then a well-spring of joy is opened for us which eternity cannot exhaust, our everlasting life has begun." Mrs. Latham's voice was silent, but her heart was pleading in prayer for the poor stricken lamb at her side. Not a word was spoken for several moments either by Claudia or her friend, but lines were haunting the mind of the girl with which she had long been familiar, but which she had never before understood. " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Tbea ! " i2a SYMPATHY. Trouble and humiliation had Leon as a gale driving her close and closer to that Rock ; but, for the first time, Claudia now cast herself entirely upon it, clinging with the grasp of faith to the only sure gi'ound for peace now, or for glorj- herfr after. OHAPTER XXIV. NEW LIFE. H, how I wish that I lived nearer to you, that I could constantly see you, and have your advice in every difficulty ! " cried Claudia, after some further conversation with her friend, "I wish it also," replied Mrs. Latham; "but this place must be three miles at least from my home, and my late severe illness has thrown me sadly into arrears with my parish work," Mrs. Latham looked greatly fatigued with her journey through the hot streets in a rattUng hired convey- ance, for she kept no carnage of her own. " Parish work ! " repeated Claudia with glisten- ing eyes ; " how delightful it must be to work for God ! How thankful I should be to be allowed to do something — were it ever so little — to show my gratitude and love ! " Is not this ever the feeling of the soul renewed and converted ? As sovm ;i.s the eyes are opened to 230 NEW LIFE. the knowledge of God's love, as soon as Faith lays hold on His promises, the spiritual ear listens eagerly for the answer to the question, " Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do ? " As it is in the physical, so is it in the spiritual nature, the senses are closely linked with each other, aD alike owing their exist- ence to the new life which God has imparted. " I am afraid that you could scarcely work with me," observed Mrs. Latham, "glad as I should be of your aid ; but the distance between us is great." " I fear that I shall have difficulty in ever reach- ing your home," said Claudia; "I have no servant here to escort me, I cannot go about London alone, and my father is always absent during the greater part of the day." Mrs. Latham reflected a little ; she was anxious to find employment for the energies of Claudia Harts wood, to prevent her pining in lonely inaction, and to cheer her spirits by the consciousness that she was using her talents for God. "There is a ragged-school very near to this place," she observed. " It so happens that a valued servant of mine has married a saddler whose shop is almost close to the entrance of this court ; she goes every morning to teach for two hours in the Need Lane School, your house would be little out of her way. Mrs. Giles would be a most unobjectionable NEW LIFE. 231 escoi-t, and, I am sure, would willingly call for you every day at a quai-ter to ten, if you would like to volunteer as a ragged-school teacher. Earnest labourers are needed so much ! " Claudia, with eager pleasure, heard of this unex- pected opening to a course of usefulness, afforded to her by an arrangement so simple and easy. " You do not know how such work would encourage and cheer me ! " she exclaimed with an animation which she had not shown since she had found herself the victim of Helena's fraud. " It is not merely that I wish to be useful," she continued, with her natural candour ; " I am afraid that a great deal of selfish- ness mixes with my desire to teach. I have gi'own weary, oh, so weary of having nothing to do, 1 liave become so tired of my own society, that any kind of change — any sort of work — would be welcome ; I had almost said any company, even that of ragged-school children." Mrs. Latham felt tender sympathy for the poor caged prisoner. She rejoiced to see how Claudia's spirits were rising under the influence of hope, as the parched and withering plant revives beneath a refreshing shower. "But 1 must ask the consent of my father," said Claudia more gravely. " Mr. Hartswood is not likely to object when 232 NEW LIFE. you tell him that Mrs, Giles was ray servant for nearly ten years," said the lady. " He told my husband long ago how much he approved of girls making themselves useful in teaching the poor." But Claudia knew by bitter experience that her father was very different now from what he had been "long ago." Irritable and soured in temper, Mr. Harts wood was disposed to regard everything from the gloomiest point of view. For his daughter to desire an object seemed sufficient to make him oppose it. A temptation arose before the mind of Claudia to make her aiTangements for visiting the school without mentioning the subject to her father at all. Had she not the sanction of the friend of her mother ? was it not right to teach the ignorant? why should she suffer hindrance in doing God's work from the causeless suspicions or groundless fears of another ? Mr. Hartswood was never at home during the hours when she would be absent ; not only could Claudia carry out the proposed scheme without causing her father inconvenience, but without its coming to his knowledge. The temptation was subtle, but was instantly re- pelled. Claudia was not to become less open and truthful in word and look, when Truth, in its highest and holiest form, first found a place in her heart ; her new-born spirit of loving trust in a heavenly NEW LIFE. 233 Father was not to make her less submissive to the will of an earthly parent. Claudia had suffered too much from listening: to the deluding voice which bids us do evil that good may come, to enter again on a course of deceit to accomplish a pious end. " I will speak to papa when he comes home, and write and tell you his wishes," said Claudia. " He may not think me fit to teach others," continued the poor girl in a hesitating tone, " after all that has happened. My dear father is displeased with me, justly displeased. Oh, Mrs. Latham, I hope — I be- lieve that God has forgiven my sin, but I would give all that I have upon eai-th to be sure that my father could quite forgive me — fully trust me again ! " Claudia spoke from a deeply-wounded heart, and Mrs. Latham was convinced that loneliness and per- sonal discomforts formed by no means the sharpest part of the trial of the penitent girl The clergy- man's wife had heard something of Mr. Hartswood's ebullitions of temper even in a court of justice ; she knew that it was whispered in various quarters that not only the health of the lawyer, but the powers of his mind were affected; and she was strengthened in her fear that the change noticed by strangers must be most painfully felt in his home. " You may — we may make this a subject for prayer, my love," said the lady, gently jirossing the 234 NEW LIFE. clasped bands of Claudia. " It is such an unspeak- able relief to bring our earthly trials as well as our spiritual wants to the footstool of grace." " And may we not pray that these lost papers may yet be found, that all this honible mystery may be made as clear as daylight ? " cried Claudia. " This may be but an earthly desire, but it is so near — so very near to my heart." "This care — like all other cares- — you are not only permitted but con-manded to cast upon Him who careth for you, my dear child. Pray with submission, pray with faith, and be assured that though the answer may not come at once, or come in a way that you Uttle expected— though your patience may long be tried, delay is not denial, and that He who knows what is best will give what is best to the child who trusteth in Him." The visitor soon afterwards departed, but metapho- rically, as well as literal!}^, she had left her flowers behind her. The aching void in the heart of Claudia was filled. The weary wanderer in life's desert had seen the fountain gush forth, a spring of love, and peace, and joy, of which none but those who have tasted it once can tell the exquisite sweetness. Religion had been to Claudia as a beautiful picture upon which the mental eye had rested with plea- sure, before remorse had drawn a dark veil before NEW LIFE, 235 it. But with very different feelings do we look upon a picture, however it may raise our admira- tion, from those with which we behold the rich landscape which it so coldly represents, spread out in living beauty around us ; when we feel the warm sunshine that bathes it in light, and survey the wide-spreading horizon, knowing that we ourselves are heirs of all that its circle encloses. Wonderful is 'physical life, that endows flesh and blood with power of motion, giving sight to the eyes, hearing to the ears, existence to all the senses that are to the organic form vehicles of varied delight. But this physical life we share in common with beasts that perish. More wonderful is intellectual life, that opens out wide prospects to the eye of imagination, that gives quickness to comprehension, that enables its pos- sessor to perceive, discern, and judge as if by in- tuition. But this grand intellectual life we share with the angels that fell ! Most wondrous is spiritual Kfe, that life which flows alone from union with Him who ia Himself the Life ! The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of Ood, for they are spirit- ually discerned (1 Cor. ii. 14). This is a truth which the world refuses to accept, yet it is dis- tinctly declared by Christ Himself. That which is 236 NKW LIFE. born of the Jlesh is Jlesh ; that luhich is horn of the Spirit is spi7'it (John iii. G). Ye must be born again (John iii. 7). To the children of the kingdom all things have become new ; new hopes, new desires, new motives are theirs ; where their treasure is their heai-ts are also ; they delight in God's Word and God's work. This glorious spiritual life they share with angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven ; it is that life begun upon earth over which death itself has no power ! In regard to the time of conversion the experience of believers will vary, Mrs. Latham could recall no period of her life when religion had not the first place in her heart, no period when she had been quite destitute of spiritual life. Claudia, on the contrary, though she had been gradually prepared for the change by regret, reflection, and weariness of heart, ever looked back on that day in August as on the bii-th-day of her soul. Of the first breathings of spiritual life it has been well written,* " Very many true children of God, as they know not the day nor the hour when their Lord shall return, so they knew not the day nor the hour when He first came to be guest with them, sinners as they were. Not the day but the fact is the point we want to know. An oak is an oak, though we may not know when * " Kruit Ln Old Age," by the Rev. F. Hott NEW LIKR 237 the acorn from which it grew was planted. Let the tree be there, a tree bearing fruit to God, and we know that the Spirit of God has wrought — tliat there is a living soul ! " Oh ! that I could persuade each of my readers to pause, close the book for awhile, and solemnly ask these questions of conscience. Have I this new life, this new nature ? Have I spiritual sight — do I look to Christ for salvation ? Do I listen for His guiding voice with the willing ear of obedi- ence ? With the hand of Faith do I touch, as it were, the hem of His garment ? Do I taste the sweetness of His love, and realize the fragrance of that holiness which His Spirit alone can impart ? If all these things as yet be strange to me, may I not rest until they are mine — till with spiritual life I receive the spiritual senses which are a proof of its existence, and can say, like the man whose eyes were opened. One thing I knoiv, that luhereas I was blind, now I see! CHAPTER XXV. WAITING AND WORKINa ILAUDIA had always been fond of flowers, but never had she felt such pleasure in the finest exotics as in those sweet red roses which Mrs. Latham had brought. As the young maiden placed them in water she kissed their soft petals, and inhaled their perfume with a sense of delight. She now cherished the roses for the sake of Him who has written His loving-kindness upon earth in blossoming lines of beauty. The sunshine which, but a short time before, had seemed to Claudia oppressive, now cheered and gladdened her heart. Every sunbeam that found its way into the narrow London court came with a message of hope. Even the poor birds, twittering on dark, shrivelled branches, told now of providential care — not one of them was forgotten by Him who made it. For the first time since she had left Friern Hatch Claudia did not find time hang heavy on her hands. She set eagerly to work to prepare for tlie teaching WAITING AND WORKING. 239 which she hoped ao soon to commence ; she brought down her Bible, now to her a treasuiy of wealth untold, to select appropriate verses for ragged chil- dren to learn, and she drew upon her memory for anecdotes to illustrate her scriptural lessons. Claudia's vivid imagination, quick comprehension, and intuitive tact woulfl be a great advantage to her as a teacher ; both physical and intellectual powers are precious gifts when they are consecrated to God. Claudia was so happy in her new occupation, with Bible, pen, and paper before her, that almost unconsciously her lips burst into a song of praise — " Thee to serve, and Thee to know, Forms the bliss of saints below ; Thee to see, and Thee to love. Forms the bliss of saints above ! " It may be thought that Claudia, preparing to teach a ragged class, was engaged in much the same occupation as when she searched her father's books, and drew upon the knowledge of his guest for argu- ments to effect the conversion of a Roman Catholic nun ; both appeared to be work for souls. The gi-eat difference was not in the nature of the em- ployment, but in the spirit in which it was pur- sued. Claudia was not novr seeking to display her powers of persuasion, or her talent for logic ; she was hoping for no earthly distinction or praise to accrue 240 WAITING AND WORKING. to herself from success ; she wished to teach the Lord's lambs because she loved Him, and aU the honour that she sought was to hear at last the gracious " well done " of the Master. Claudia was still busy with her little preparations when her father returned. She received him with a brighter smile than her face had worn for months. Mr. Hai-tswood seated himself with a weary air, took off his hat, and wiped his heated brow Claudia had a cooling beverage ready for her father — light slippers to replace his dusty boots, and kneeling down, put them herself on his feet — then brought to him the roses, which she had placed in a stone- ware jar. " Are these not delightful, papa ! " said Claudia ; " they fill the whole room \vith fragrance — and roses are your favourite flowers." " You've not had the folly to buy them ? " was the stern, ungracious reply. " Oh no ; I've been guilty of no such ex- travagance," said Claudia, gaily. "I had a visitor to-day. Can yoa guess who found me out in — I cannot say rural seclusion ? " Mr. Hartswood was in no humour for sfuessinsr, but he was well pleased to hear of the visit of Mrs. Latham. One of the causes of the lawyer's irri- tability and depression was a persuasion that all WAITING AND WORKINO. 241 the world had forsaken hira. Not only had he re- ceived no fresh briefs since his papers had been carried off by the pseudo-nun, but his acquaintance appeared to be falling away, as the rest of the herd are said to forsake the stricken deer. This apparent desertion was partly owing to Mr. Hartswood's choice of Little Bread Court for his place of abode ; but his gloomy mind attributed it entirely to the worldliness of mankind, which made summer friends take wing when prosperity's sunshine was clouded. Claudia perceived that her account of the visit was not unacceptable to her father ; but, when she mentioned the ragged-school plan, all his irritable manner returned. "Humbug and nonsense!" cried Mr. Hartswood, pushing back his chair from the table. " No daughter of mine shall go hunting about London alleys and lanes to pick up barefooted beggars out of the gutter!" " Not hunting about, dear papa," said Claudia, with perfect good-humour ; " they are all caught and caged ready to my hand ; and Mrs. Latham says — " " I wish that Mrs. Latham would mind her own parish, and not put nonsensical schemes into the head of a silly girL If you want some one to teach, why don't you look after the romping brats here, who drive me wild with their noise overhead?" 1^26) 16 242 WAITING AND WORKING. Mr. Hartswood made an impatient movement with bis arm as he uttered the last words, which threw down the roses which Claudia had put near her father. The water was spilled, and the jar was broken. Claudia went on her knees to repair the mischief as well as she could, first gently raising the roses, and then picking up the fragments of the jar. Mr. Hartswood was as angry at the little accident as if it had been caused by wilful carelessness on the part of his daughter. He was aware that the broken stoneware jar would figure as Dresden china in the landlady's bill. It was no small disappointment and mortification to Claudia to have to write to Mrs. Latham that Mr. Hartswood refused to let his daughter teach in the Need Lane School. Her regret had not, how- ever, the bitterness which would have been hers but for the new spring of hope and love of which she had tasted. Claudia could take disappointment meekly, for she was seeking in all things now to subject her will to that of her heavenly Master. " I am not yet worthy to be allowed to work in the vineyard," thought Claudia, as she closed her desk after writing her note ; " but, perhaps, if I watch and wait, some little quiet corner may be found even for me." WAITING AND WORKING. 243 As Claudia was retiring to rest, the sound of a peevish cry recalled to her mind the words of her father : " Why don't you look after the romping brats here?" Though uttered in impatience, these words might convey a valuable hint. "It is possible," reflected Claudia, " that the work which I was so eager to begin outside this house may be awaiting me within it. I may find neglected, unmanageable children without even cross- ing tho threshold." The sympathies of Claudia were, indeed, far more easily enlisted on behalf of homeless, hungry, ragged scholars, than on behalf of the noisy imps who quarrelled in the attic-room next to her own, or chased each other up and down the upper flight of stairs. Claudia disliked having any communication that was not actually indispensable with their vulgar mother, whose covetousness and meanness made her especially repulsive to the young lady. But Claudia felt that she must not choose her own work, but thankfully accept whatever might be assigned to her by the Great Master. She arose in the morning with the prayer on her lips, — " Show me what 1 ought to do, Every day my strength renew ; Let me live the life of faith, Let me die the Christian's death ;" 244 WAITING AND WORKIMG. and, in the spirit of that prayer, to fulfil the duties of the day. After breakfast Mr. Hartswood went out as usual, and Mrs. Maul came soon after to speak about household arrangements. These colloquies with the landlady always tried the temper of Claudia. The petty wonies of domestic life were as hateful to the spirited intellectual girl, as a yoke on the neck would be to the stag accustomed to range freely through the forest. The yoke had hithei-to chafed and galled Claudia almost beyond endurance, but now she was trying to bear it with meekness as part of the " heavenly discipline " which she needed. As Mrs. Maul was about to quit the room after having received, with her usual ill grace, a mild expostulation on an exorbitant charge, Claudia stopped the landlady, and speaking with an effort which brought the colour to her now usually pale cheek, she made the proposal to teach the children in terms considerate and courteous. " You are so much occupied in other ways," said the young lady in conclusion, " that you ma}'- not have, as I have, time to give to instinicting your children." But instead of gratifying the mother, the implied need of such instruction roused the landlady's pride. " Thank you; but I am quite able to pay for my WAITING AND WORKING. 245 children's schooling," was the tart reply ; " I want no charity teaching for them ; and my lodgers have no need to trouble themselves at all about my family concerns;" and with an insolent toss of the head, the landlady quitted the room. Thus a second time was Claudia baffled in her attempt to engage in useful work ; a second time met with rebuff instead of encouragement in her endeavours to do good. Claudia was tempted, as many a Christian has been tempted, to think that she was laid aside as a useless, worthless instrument, when her very mortification and disappointment were as the grindstone to shai-pen that instrument for the work which it was yet to perform. Claudia was cheered by the reply to her note to Mrs. Latham, which she received in the course of the day. " Be not discouraged, dear one ; disciples who would fain work, like Maiiha, and serve much, seem sometimes, by circumstances, to be debarred from working at all. I experienced this in my late try- ing illness, but I also found that the waiting time is a blessed time, if, like Mary, we seek to spend it at the feet of our Lord. Be on the watch for small opportunities for usefulness, but do not fall into the mistake of supposing that all work is that which men usually call by that name. To combat dis- 246 WAITING AND WORKIJrO. trust, discontent, and pride ^vithin our own sinful hearts, may be the special labour assigned to us by our Master, to be performed in his strength, and for his sake, an acceptable sei-\"ice to the Lord." " Have I any, even the smallest, opportunity for usefulness?" reflected Claudia, as she laid down the note of her friend. " There is but one thing that occurs to me now, and it seems almost too trifling to be regarded as a duty at all. Papa complained yesterday of his linens needing repair, and yet was annoyed when I suggested buying new ones. I might certainly do something for his comfort with my needle. Emma Holder does much, I know, in this way for her parents ; but of all things I dislike mending linen ; I would far rather employ my mind than my fingers — any drudge can prick rags ! But may not pride lurk in that thought? After all, the question is not whether work be small or great, pleasant or irksome, but whether it be the work given to us to do. I remember once reading, I foro-et in what book, that if two angels were sent to earth, the one to govern an empire, the other to sweep a ci'ossing, they would undertake their missions wath equal readiness, and fulfil them with equal pleasure." Claudia rose, and opening one of the folding-doors, which divided the sitting-room from her Other's WAITING AND WORKING. 247 apjirtment, entered the latter, to examine into the state of his wardrobe. Another little office of love presented itself as Claudia looked round the dusty, untidy room, which the over-worked general servant had neither the time nor the taste to arrange in such order as that to which Mr. Harts wood had long been accustomed. Claudia, once so full of pride of intellect, so lofty in her aspirations, so am- bitious in her day-di-eams, did not now think it beneath her dignity to dust and arrange, as well as to mend and darn. The well-known lines of Her- bert, like a familiar strain of music, recurred to her mind as she pursued her unwonted occupation — " Who sweeps a room as in Thy siglit, Makes tliat and the action fine." On Ml'. Harts wood's return he found his daughter busy in repairing one of his shirts. Claudia was a little disappointed at not receiving from her father a word of approbation, or even a smile ; but the consciousness that she had done what she could brought with it its own reward. Nor was Claudia to lay her head on her pillow that night without an opportunity of speaking a word for her Master, and casting a ray of joy on a path more dreary than her ow^n. True, the word was spoken but to a poor young general servant ; the 248 WAITING AND WORKING. joy was caused but by the gift of an old bymn-book Poor Maltha, who had never time to go to church, and who had been in danger of forgetting, in the hurry and bustle of a lodging-house, what she had learned in a Sunday school ; the orphan, whose heart was gradually withering up from want of human sympathy, was delighted by the kindly notice of the fair young lady, who asked her whether she loved her Lord, and found comfort in brinofing her troubles to him. Claudia felt that she had touched a chord which responded, and that, shut out as she herself was from the sphere of use- fulness which she longed for, she was yet granted the privilege of ministering to one neglected soul. Thankful for this prixalege, and submissively wait- ing till more should be given, Claudia went to her rest. Her pilgi'image was still through the desert into which her own act of folly had led her, but the stream of mercy followed her, and she was " a day's march nearer home." CHAPTER XXVL HOME CARES. MONGST the letters which Mr. Hartswood received at breakfast-time on the foUow- iucf morninor -^as one in the direction of which Claudia recognized the handwriting of Mrs. Latham. Mr. Hai-tswood opened it, glanced care- lessly over the note, and then threw it upon the table, concludino; his meal in silence, which Claudia did not venture to break, though a little impatient to know what her friend had written, as she felt sure that it regarded herself " Mrs. Latham wants me to allow you to accom- pany her and her husband to the Museum to- morrow," said Mr. Hartswood at last, "to see some ancient curiosities just arrived from Assyria. She writes about some ]\Irs. Giles calling for you at ten (it being a school holiday to-morrow), and taking you to the house of some invalid in Museum Street, where your friends will meet you without going out of their way. It's an odd enough place of rendez- 250 HOME OARES. vous ; but odd places suit odd people. I should uot have wondered if Mrs. Latham had invited you to meet her in Bedlam." "I should gladly meet her anywhere," thought Claudia. "Mrs. Latham writes," continued the lawyer, " that she or her husband will escort you back here before dusk. Do you care to go?" he asked, abruptly. Claudia cared much, less on account of the visit to the Museum than for the opportunity which it would give her of enjoying the society of her friend. " If you have no objection, dear papa," she replied. "As you were working yesterday, I suppose that you have earned a right to play to-morrow," said Mr. Hartswood, with an approach to the playful- ness of manner which once made his society dehght- ful. " You may write and tell your friend that this duenna of hers may call for you at ten, but that I expect you home again in good time for dinner." Claudia was pleased to find that her attention to her father's comfoii had not been unnoticed after all, and that though he never seemed to forget or forgive her conduct regarding Helena, yet that it was not quite impossible to win from him a token of approbation. Claudia's impulse was to throw HOME CARRS. 251 lier arms round her father's neck, kiss him and thank him, as she would have done a few months before, but she dared no longer assert the sweet privilege of a child. Since she had come to Little Bread Court, Claudia had never received kiss or smile from her father. It almost seemed on the succeeding day as if Mr. Hai-tswood regi'etted having accorded even a few hours' relaxation to his daughter, and was resolved to make her pay a heavy penalty for a short pleasure. He appeared at the breakfast-table more gloomy and irritable than usual, but, unhappily, not so silent. It was only by constantly realizing the pre- sence of one Friend who pitied and could help her, that Claudia could endure, without bursting into tears, the bitter taunts, the perpetual fault-finding to which she was exposed from her earthly protector. Scarcely was the miserable meal concluded, at which Claudia had felt as if every morsel which she swallowed would choke her, when a new source of annoyance came, in the form of the week's account, which Mrs. Maul brought in to be settled. If Claudia had been distressed at the bitterness, she was now almost alarmed at the violence of temper shown by the lawyer. In happier days Mr. Harts- wood had never forgotten the self-respect which re- strains a gentleman from giving way to outbursts of 252 HOME CARES. passion under far greater provocation than that occasioned by overcharges in a bill ; but now, with clenched hand, swollen veins, and flashing eyes, the lawyer abused and threatened in tones so loud, that Mrs. Maul cowered beneath the storm. She left the room, muttering to herself that her lodger must either be drunk or mad, and that had he not given her notice that he would quit, she must have given him notice to do so, for that she was going to stand such language from no one, were he a prince of the blood ! The storm of passion over, Mr. Hartswood threw himself on the sofa, folded his arms, and for some time appeared to be lost in gloomy meditation Claudia almost feared to move, for the sKghtest rustle of a dress disturbed her father. Presently he pressed his hand on his temples, as if in pain. " I trust that you do not suffer from headache, dear father," said Claudia, anxiously. Mr. Hartswood looked displeased at the question, and did not vouchsafe a reply. Martha opened the door, and addressed Claudia with the words, " There's a Mrs. Giles a- waiting for you," and then retreated at once, glancing timidly at the lawyer as she did so, as if she feared an ex- plosion, for the sound of his loud altercation with her mistress had been heard all over the house- HOME CAR?:S. 253 "Who's this Mrs. Giles?" asked the lawyer, sharply. "You remember, papa, the former servant of her own whom Mrs. Latham promised to send to take me to meet her," said Claudia nervously, for her father's brow was darkening. " If you would pre- fer my staying at home, I will send my excuses by her directly." " I suppose that since you've made the engage- ment you must keep it," said Mr. Hartswood, with impatience. " Not if you are unwell — " "Who said that I was unwell?" cried Mr. Hai-is- wood, as angrily as if the expression implied an in- sult. " Go and get ready at once, and don't keep this Mrs. Giles waiting." " I shall probably be back before j^ou return home, papa," said Claudia, lingering at the door, for something in her father's appearance made her uneasy at leaving him even for but half a day. "I'm not going out," said the lawyer. "Then I am sure that you are not well!" cried Claudia, quitting the door, and approaching her parent with tender apprehension. " Let me — do let me write an excuse, and stay here quietly beside you." " You'd only be in my way ; I want to be alone 254 nOME CARES. I don't care to liave you perpetually watching ann worrying me!" Mr. Hartswood stamped, as if to give empliasis to the ungracious words which he uttered, and Claudia dared linger no longer. She went to her attic room to make her brief prepara- tions for her walk with a heart wounded and oppressed Her expected pleasure was changed into pain, but pain softened by her spirit of submission. Instead of chafing against what might have been deemed harshness and unkindness, Claudia now asked for patience to bear without a murmur the trial which she owned that she deserved. "I must go and meet Mrs. Latham," thought Claudia ; " but I will accompany her to no place of amusement. I will return hither with Mrs. Giles as soon as I have explained to my dear kind friend that my father is alone here, and ailing, and that I feel that I ought not to be long away from his side." As soon as his daughter had quitted the room, Mr. Hartswood rose, and, with knitted brows and compressed lips, strode up and down the small dull apartment like a caged lion pacing his den. " Why should I go forth," was his bitter reflec- tion ; "why attend a court to watch the progress of cases in which I have no concern, or go to the police-oflice to hear for the fiftieth time that nothing has been discovered regarding the stolen papers ?" HOME CAKES. 266 Mr. Hartswood was in a highly nervous state, and was' aware that the perpetual wear upon his spirits was actually endangering his sanity. The lawyer had been a man of high moral character as well as of intellectual endowments, and he had ever enter- tained a respect for religion, carefully attending to its outer forms, which, like the daughter whom he had trained, he had mistaken for religion itself Sorrow and disappointment had drawn Claudia nearer to the som-ce of true comfort, and she had found peace even in tribulation ; but with Mr. Hartswood mortification, exposure to calumny, and fear of impending ruin had had a different effect. His faith was shaken, for it had never been deep- rooted ; his peace was destroyed, for he could not bow in submission to trial which his self-righteous- ness deemed undeserved. A spirit of rebellion had taken possession of his soul, and where that spirit abides tliere can never be peace. James Hartswood cared not to go out on that sunny morning in September, though there was nothing to tempt him to remain in his dingy, cheer- less lodging. Had he known what visitors were about to invade his retreat, he would have avoided their unwelcome intrusion by quitting the house, had rain been descending in torrputs. CHAPTER XXVII. UNWELCOME VISITORS. E will glance now for a few moments into an elegant boudoir in Westbourne Tenvace, where Lady Melton, reclining on a damask-covered sofa, is awaiting the announcement of her can-iage being at the door ; she and her cousin, Sir Tybalt Trelawiiey, having resolved on a drive to Gray's Inn Lane. "Nothing can be clearer, more obvious, more indisputable than the fact that there has been col- lusion, fraud, deception," said Sir Tybalt, speaking with dogmatic decision of manner, mouthing his words, and tapping the palm of his left hand with two fingers of his right, to give force to the expres- sion of his opinion. Sir Tybalt is a middle-aged, soldierly-looking man, with a very small amount of forehead, and a very large amount of whisker and moustache, the latter so overhanging his mouth aa completely to conceal it, and make his voice seem to come muffled througli a thicket of hair. Sir Tybalt UNWELOOM E VT.Sri'URS. 257 uas unlimited faith in his own powerful judgment, a faith shared by few who hav^e tried it, but he is ready to throw down the gauntlet to any one auda- cious enough to set up an opinion in opposition to his own. Three ideas have fixed themselves in Sir Tybalt's not very capacious brain. Firstly, that he is able to see much further through a millstone than any other person can see ; secondly, that all lawyers must of necessity be rogues; and lastly, that his cousin's pro- fessional adviser, Mr. Hartswood, is the most cunning of lawyers, and, consequently, the greatest of rogues. " The story of the nun is indeed most strange and improbable," observed Lady Melton, " and would never have been believed for a moment, were it not that, as the French proverb tells us, le vrai n'est j'^as toujours le vraisemhle." " Sir Robert Walpole said, and said truly, that every man has his price," remarked Sir Tybalt, with the air of one conscious of his own profound know- ledge of the world. " This Friern Hatch robbery has been a kind of jockey transaction from the beginning to the end. You ride my horse and win the race, there's a hundred pounds in your pocket " (Sir Tybalt was not addressing his cousin. Lady Melton, but Lady Melton's lawyer, in his supposed character of a jockey). " My rival winks and whispers, 'You nde that liorse and lose the race, there's a (226 17 258 UNWELCOME VISITORS. thousand pounds in your pocket!'" Sir Tybalt's fingers came down on liis palm with more emphasis than before. " Poor old Curtis might not be up to that kind of gambling transaction, but we know that he died last night, and it is his sporting son that we have to deal with now. Youna Curtis is well aware that his success in the race— I mean the law-suit — is as good as two hundred thousand pounds to him or to you ; it's worth his while to pay well ; he'll not stickle at a few thousands in closing his bargain Ajid so the affair is managed, the horse falls lame, or stumbles, or bolts off the course, but " — here Sii Tybalt drew up his moustachio-covered lip in a sar- castic sneer — " but, of course, the jockey is in no way to blame." Sir Tybalt leaned back on the cushioned chair, highly satisfied with the neatness of the illustration of which he had made use. " I should never have thought of doubting James Hartswood," said Lady Melton, looking perplexed ; " he bore the very highest character. I placed the utmost confidence in him." " Ah ! my dear cousin, your sex is so trustful ; you need the support and help of those who have had larger experience of the world and its ways ; those who can look under the surface of things, and neither be beguiled by soft words nor buUied by hard ones." Sir Tybalt stroked his huge moustachios UNWELCOME VISITOKS. 2^.9 with complacency ; he felt that he had been draw- ing a portrait of himself. " I spoke with some warmth to Mr. Hartswood when we last met," said Lady Melton; "perhaps with too much warmth, for I am a little quick in temper, you know, and the loss of all my most valu- able papers might have exhausted the patience of a Griselda. But I really felt sorry for poor Harts- wood after the words were spoken ; I never saw a person who had aged so rapidly, or lost so much flesh in so short a time. They say that some weeks ago he had a faint or a fit in court ! " " My dear Maria, a man like Hartswood may well betray some uneasiness when he has reputation, fortune, everything on the cast of the die. But I would have no more mercy upon him than I would have on a fox lurking near my hen-roosts, though I might not catch him with a chicken in his mouth. I want to confront this man and his daughter ; she must be either his tool and accomplice, or an actual imbecile, there's no alternative between the two," said Sir Tybalt with decision. " We'll see if the girl sticks to her most improbable story. I'll put up wath no doubting ; no evasions — short answers to the point I will have ; these Hartswoods shall find that they have some one to deal with who can't be humbugged, and won't be silenced " 26t) UNWELCOME VISITORS. And in this mood Sir Tybalt Trelawney accom- panied his cousin in her eastward drive. He was a kind of human Juggernaut, who, himself insensible to any of the more delicate impressions of our nature, cared not how he might over-ride the feelings, crush down the spirit, torture the nerves of his victims. What was it to Sir Tybalt that the mind of the unhappy Hartswood was in so wavering a state that a little pressure from without might throw it altogether off its balance, and reduce the gifted lawyer to a raving maniac ? Trelawney had made up his mind that Hartswood had acted a fraudulent part, and that it was his own office to expose and punish the fraud. He set about his work in his coarse rough way, like a bungler at- tempting to perform a delicate operation with axe and hand-saw. Unconscious of the impending danger, though fai from easy in mind regarding her father, Claudia pursued her way, with Mrs. Giles for her escort. As they passed through the City squares, Claudia conversed with her quiet sensible companion about the ragged school at which she taught, and the invalid in Museum Street whom she was about to visit. " This is by no means the first time that Mrs. Latham has asked me to call and see poor Miss UNWELCOME VISITORS. 261 Louisa Leicester," said Mrs. Giles, in reply to a question from Claudia. " The place is so far from his parish, that Mr. Latham cannot visit Miss Leicester often without neglecting other duties. It is only lately that Mrs. Latham has had strength to visit at all." " Is this poor invalid lady a friend of Mr. Latham ? " asked Claudia. "He has been a most kind friend to her," replied Mrs. Giles. " Some weeks ago, as Mr, Latham was walking near the Strand, he saw a terrible accident. A. heavy ladder, which had been placed against a house where some repaii-s were going on, suddenly fell on two ladies, who chanced at the time to be passing. They were picked up, the one — the mother — dead, the daughter grievously bruised, but not insensible. Mr. Latham, I need hardly say, gave every assistance in his power, and the poor young lady was conveyed, by her own desire, to her lodgings in Museum Street, with the lifeless body of her mother, Mr. Latham accompanying her in the cab." " What a fearful shock to the unhappy daughter!" exclaimed Claudia. "She must almost have wished that the accident which killed her mother had united them by taking her also." " Miss Leicester has never recovered from tlie 262 UNWELCOME VISITORS. shock," observed Mrs. Giles, "and I fear that she never will. It seems to me that she is gradually sinking. The doctor says that no bones are broken — one sees little of outward hurt — but she is in terribly low spirits, nothing can rouse her, and she is wasting away to a shadow." " I feel for her from my heart ! " cried Claudia : and she thought, " How small, how insignificant do my trials appear compared with those of this pooi afflicted young lady." "Is Miss Leicester in distressed circumstances as regards money ? " inquired Claudia, after walking on for some moments in silence. "Though not rich, she does not seem to me poor," replied Mrs. Giles ; " Miss Leicester seems to want no comforts ; but kind good Mr. Latham would never allow her to want. The young lady appears to be otherwise very friendless ; except the land- lady, a nurse, and the doctor, I have never found- any one beside her, nor have I heard of any relative coming to see her. I suppose that Mr. Latham has learned to whom to send in case of ]\Iiss Leicester's iUness being likely to end in death. The doctor thinks that if it were possible to gain her confidence, and interest her mind in anything, she might recover yet ; but I have found it useless to try to draw from her even a word. I believe ; indeed I know," con- UNWELCOME VlSITultS. 203 ^ tinued Mrs. Giles, " that one reason why Mrs. Latham wished you to meet her to-day at Miss Leicester's lodging, was the hope, miss, that you, being nearer her own age, might possibly win more confidence, and do more to comfoi-t the poor young lady than those whom she already has seen." Claudia felt grateful to Mrs. Latham for not having forgotten her own ardent desire to do some work for her Master. If she might not teach in the school, she might speak soothing words in the sick- room. Strong sympathy was awakened in her breast towards the motherless girl, who was so deeply suffering from the effect of a sudden bereave- ment. Claudia recalled her own terrible anxiety after receiving the telegram from London telling of the illness of her father. Her imagination, the mind's quick eye, beheld with vivid distinctness the fearful scene of the falling of the ladder, which had crushed out the life of one victim, and with it all the happiness of another. Claudia quickened her steps, impatient to see the sufferer, and silently praying as she w^alked that she might be enabled to give some consolation to one so heavily afflicted. Museum Street was soon reached. Mrs. Giles was evidently no unexpected or unwonted visitor. The landlady, who opened the door, shook her head oravely on being asked after the state of her lodger 264 UNWELCOME VISITORS. *' Just the same ; only growing yet weaker. Miss Leicester will scarcely look at food, and don't take enough to keep life in a bird. She scarce ever speaks — she never cries ; a hearty cry, I take it, would do her a deal of good ; but when she thinks as no one is by, she moans as if her poor heart was a-breakin' , " Mrs. Giles did not require to be shown the way to the room on the first fl.oor to which she now pro- ceeded, accompanied by Miss Hartswood. Very gentle was Claudia's tap on the panel ; she had a dread of intruding on the sacredness of grief; and had not Mrs. Giles opened the door, and silently motioned to the young lady to enter, she would scarcely have ventured, stranger as she was, to show herself to Miss Leicester. The room was small, but perfectly neat ; the white-curtained bed faced the door. On it, not in it, dressed in the deepest mourning, which made her pale and delicate complexion appear more white by contrast, lay stretched the poor orphan maiden. Claudia started as her gaze fell upon the sufferer before her, and could hardly stifle an exclamation of surprise, for in the invalid — the bereaved mourner — she in.stantly recognized one who had been to her as her evil genius — the deceiver — the betrayer — Helena ! CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WEB OF DECEIT. F a meeting so sudden and unexpected was startling to Claudia Hartswood, its effect was overpowering on the wretched girl who thus found herself confronted by one whom she had deeply injured and cruelly deceived. To the astonishment of Mrs. Giles, the feeble wasted invalid, who had appeared scarcely able to move, sprang from the bed upright on her feet, gazing wildly on Claudia, as she might have done on some dread apparition. The impression upon the good visitor's mind was, that the unhappy young lady had gone out of her senses. " What brought you here ? " gasped Helena, her very lips white with emotion. She gi-asped the post of the bed, as she spoke, with her thin nervous fingers, to keep her from falling. Claudia might have given a stern reply to such a question. She might have spoken of tiiat i-etri- butive justice which the heathen spoke of under the name of Nemesis, which, even in this life so often Md THK WEB OF DECEIT. pursues die guilty. But Helena looked so fearfully ill, and had already suffered so much, that Claudia had not the heart even to question, far less to up- braid her. She joined her persuasions to those of her companion to induce Helena to rest again on the bed ; both feared that the miserable girl might otherwise drop down dead where she stood. But Helena remained standing, her glassy eyes fixed upon Claudia. She repeated the question, " What brought you here ?" and added in a sepulchral tone, " I know you have come to search for these papers." At this moment there was a gentle tap at the door, followed by the entrance of Mr. Latham and his wife, Avho beheld with astonishment the scene before them. " What is all this — what has happened ? " ex- claimed Mrs. Latham, naturally drawing the same conclusion as Mrs. Giles had done, from the wild excited appearance of the sick girl, as she stood clenching the post, with her long dark hair stream- ing back from her ghastly, agitated face. "This is Helena the nun," said Claudia, in a low tone, to her friends ; " it is no chance that has guided me here this day." " No chance indeed !" cried Mr. Latham ; pity for the sufferer before him, blending with indigna- I'UK WKH OV DECEIT. 267 tion on his discovering the real character of one who had excited his strongest compassion. Witli a gesture of authority the clergyman made the invalid suffer herself to be replaced on the bed; and Claudia, at a suggestive glance from Mrs. Latham, brought a glass of water which stood on a table near, and offered it to the lips of Helena. " Not from you — no — no — not from you .'" mut- tered the unhappy girl, pushing aside the proffered glass, and turning her face towards the wall. " Let me speak to her," said Mr. Latham, whose pity for the guilty did not render him neglectful of the inteicst of the innocent. At the wave of his hand his wife and her companions retired a few paces back, leaving to the clergyman the office of addressing an unhappy wanderer, and urging on her the necessity of making such full confession and reparation as could alone prove sincerity of repent- ance. " I do not marvel that you have found no peace — never can you find peace while a guilty secret is weighing on your conscience," said the minister ol the gospel. " Through you the happiness of a home has been wrecked, the character of an upright man has been traduced ; what your object and motives have been I know not — but this I do know, that while there is mercy and forgiveness offered 268 THE WEB OF DECElt. even to the most guilty, none dare hope to receive them while persisting in treading a path of deceit. I demand of you, Miss Leicester — Helena — as you value your soul, tell me what has become of those papers which you took from the cabinet in that dwelling into which you were admitted by the iU- placed confidence of one whose friendship you won under false pretences." " Sewn up — in that pillow," mm-mured Helena in a scarcely audible tone, pointing to one on a chair that was near her. Claudia could scarcely refrain from spnnging for- ward and possessing herself of the treasure at once. It seemed as if her earthly hopes, her father's honour, happiness — eveiything — were placed within reach of her hand. But she restrained her impatient eagerness, knowing that it was better to leave the conduct of the afiair in which she was so deeply interested, to the friend in whom she could confide. " There are writing materials, I see, upon that table," said Mr. Latham ; " I will take down Miss Leicester's confession from her own lips — my wife and Mrs. Giles will sign the paper as witnesses. It may be of the utmost importance to have a legally attested document proving how Lady Melton's papers came into our possession." As the clergy- man spoke, he was teaiing open the cover of the THE WEB OF DECEIT. 269 cushion, and revealing in the very centre of the stuffing of horse-hair a sealed packet containing papers. Mr. Latham acted thus promptly because he was uncertain how long the wretched Helena would have the will or the power to confess. She had been startled into speaking the truth ; but de- ception had, alas ! been the habit of her life — and where such has been the case, candour can scarcely be looked for, even from one on a death-bed. It took Mr. Latham more than an hour to draw from Helena's unwilling lips anything like a consistent and clear account of what it was absolutely neces- sary to know in order to understand the strange mystery regarding the abstraction of the papers Instead of attempting to describe all that passed during that painful intei*view, I will briefly relate the leading points in the sad history of Helena Vane. Her mother, whose name was Theresa, had been the daughter of a strolling player, and had com- menced her own career as a " little prodigy," after- wards appearing as an actress upon several provincial stages. Such a life was not calculated to raise the tone of her character ; and Theresa was one of those who appear never to have been ])Ossessed of a con- science. By an unhappy maniage with a man fol- lowing the same profession as herself, Theresa became 270 THE WEB OF DECEIT. the mother of Helena ; but even maternal instinct had little power in her hardened heart — she treated her babe with the same neglect which she herself experienced from her husband. Nearly twenty years after the birth of Helena, a severe cold having deprived Mrs. Vane of the powers of her voice, her career on the stage was necessarily closed, and she sought a less exciting: and fatiguing kind of existence as a lady's-companion. By means of her singular tact and daring forgery of references, Mrs. Vane, under the name of Miss Eagle, became the confidential attendant of Lady Melton. After the unprincipled woman had been long enough in her new position not only to acquire considerable influence with Lady Melton, but to obtain intimate acquaintance with her private affairs, some facts re- garding Theresa's antecedents were accidentally dis- covered ; and Lady Melton, indignant at the fraud which had been practised upon her, dismissed " Miss Eagle " with contumely at an hour's notice from her home. The lady was still not aware of her real name, nor of the fact of her being a mother. The dark soul of Theresa Vane became possessed by a fierce spirit of revenge ; she resolved that Lady Melton should pay dearly for having detected and exposed her. Mrs. Vane was well acquainted with the details of the impending lawsuit between Lad> THE WEB OF DECEIT. 271 Melton and Sir Edmund Curtis — she had assisted in arranging the papers by means of which the former hoped to make good her claim to a large property then in the possession of the latter, Theresa found, by secret inquiries, that Lady Melton, not long after dismissing her companion, had engaged Mr. Harts- wood as her professional advisei", and had, after the interval of some months, entrusted to him the care of her papers, preparatory to commencing her law- suit against Sir Edmund Curtis. Mrs. Vane resolved to become possessed of these valuable papers, and found a tool with which to work her evil designs in her daughter Helena, who had been brought up in France, and who had inherited her mother's talents with more than her mother's attractions. Unhap- pily, Helena had also the dissimulation, and power of acting an assumed part, which enabled her, as the reader knows, to carry out the scheme devised by her unprincipled mother. When the Vanes had possession of the papers, the next question was, What use could be made of the stolen documents ? Theresa, with whom covet- ousness was almost as strong a motive as revenge, regarded them as the means of securinor to herself a provision for the rest of her life. But the papers were to her something Kke what gold is to the soli- tary inhabitant of a desert island The police wer? 272 THE WEB OF DECEIT. taking such energetic measures to discover the per- son who had broken into the lawyer's cabinet — so large a reward was offered lor the apprehension of such person, that the Vanes were afraid to take any step that might lead to detection. Theresa knew the immense value of the papers to Sir Edmund Curtis, but she dared make no overtures to a gentle- man of character so much respected, lest such over- tures should result in her daughter being handed over to the police. But Sir Edmund was old, and in very bad health. His son, fond of horse-racing and gambKng, would probably be an easier person to deal with, and was likely erelong to enter into possession of his father's estate. In time the police would relax their in- effectual efforts to track out the pseudo-nun. Should young Curtis prove as unprincipled as Theresa ex- pected to find him, the possession of papers on which depended his retaining £200,000 might be worth to the Vanes a sum of hush-money sufficient to support them in comfort and ease. " I will bide my time," said Theresa Vane, little dreaming how short her time upon earth was to be. In the midst of her plots and her schemes, the wretched woman was suddenly cut off by the fearful accident of which Mr. Latham luid been a liorrified witness, THE WEB OF DICCEIT. 2/3 Helena found herself alone and desolate, deprived of the fatal guidance which had led her so far astray. The miserable girl, brought up without even moral training, could scarcely be said to have any sense of religion, but she was not without a strong tincture of superstition. Helena could not help regarding her mother's awful fate as a judgment ; it terrified and almost overwhelmed her reason. Haunted by the thought that Mrs. Vane's death might be con- nected with the possession of the stolen documents, Helena yetjiad not sufficient moral courage, or even sufficient energy of decision, to make her resolve on parting with " the accursed thing" that had brought such evil upon her. It is probable that Helena, with sealed lips and terror-stricken soul, might have lain on that sick-bed till death should have closed her last door of retreat, had not the sudden appear- ance of Claudia stai'tled her into breaking silence at last, and Mr. Latham induced her to unburden her conscience of the "perilous stuff" wliich lay so heavily upon it. (226) 18 CHAPTEIi XXIX. A SUDDEN CHANGE. E left Mr. Hartswood pacing up and down his dingy apartment, revolving in painful thought the difficulties of his position. Tidings which he had that morning received of the death of Sir Edmund Curtis brought these difficulties more vividly before him. Mr. Hartswood had formed of the baronet's successor an opinion similar to that held by most of those who knew him ; the lawyer believed him to be a man who would have httle scruple in destroying papers which, brought forward in a court of law, might deprive him of half his fortune. Mr. Hartswood thought it more than pro- bable that the valuable documents which had been abstracted from Friern Hatch were by this time re- solved into their original elements ; and that Tom Curtis, if he had not actually prompted the daring robbery, was at any rate reaping the fruits of the crime committed by another. James Hartswood's temples ached with a dull A SUDDEN CHANGE. 275 pain, as if pressed in with a band of iron. Every petty annoyance had become to him now a source of intense initation, which he seemed to have no more power to overcome than if he had been a sickly, peevish child. It worried him to catch his foot in the threads of the faded carpet, where time had almost worn it into a hole. It worried him when a Savoyard with his monkey chanced to find his way into Little Bread Court ; the droning grind of the barrel-organ almost drove the lawyer wild. This annoyance was soon got rid of by energetic gestures from the window, but it was quickly succeeded by others. Some neighbour had fixed upon that morn- ing for beating carpets, and Mrs. Maul's children had taken to the diversion of fighting on the stairs. Mr. Hartswood felt a strong impulse to rush out upon the young urchins, and enforce good manners with his cane. " I fear that I am growing crazy ! " muttered the lawyer to himself; "I have had enough to make me mad. Ruined by the deceit of my child, on whose candour I could have staked my existence ; insulted by rivals ; forsaken by friends ; suspected by the world ; when riding on the full tide of prosperity, suddenly stranded, — "why, there's actually a carriage entering the court to rub the gi-ass from the stones!" cried Mr. Hartswood, inteiTupting himself in his 276 A SUDDEN CHANGE. gloomy soliloquy, as the clatter of hoofs and rattle of wheels echoed in the naiTow enclosure. Mr. Harts- wood walked to the window, and recognized, with anything but satisfaction, the blue and red liveries worn by the servants of Lady Melton. He was yet more annoyed at catching a glimpse of Sir Tybalt's iiuge whisker within the conveyance. The lawyer had but slight acquaintance with the cousin of Lad}' Melton, but had read through his shallow character at a glance, and had scarcely endured with patience his overweenuig conceit and self-importance, when there had been no personal discourtesy towards him- self expressed by the knight. Now Mr. Hartswood had an intuitive perception that Sir Tybalt had come in the character of a bully, and that an un- pleasant scene with the knight was certain to ensue. The bull ranging the open field may care little for the barking of a cur that it can silence in a moment ; but on the bull baited at the stake, smarting from a dozen wounds already, and almost goaded to mad- ness, the attack of the same cur may inflict intoler- able pain. Mr. Hartswood could no longer trust his own self-command ; his nerves were quivering and vibrating, the most despicable adversary would, he knew, have him at advantage ; the lawyer was pain- fully aware that he was not what once he had been. With a spirit of defiance and gloomy desperation A SUDDEN CUANGE. 277 James Harts wood heard the rustle of Lady Melton's silk dress, and the heavy tramp of Sir Tybalt's boots as the visitors mounted the stairs. The lawyer received his unwelcome guests with formal courtesy. Lady Melton, a little fluttered and excited, took her place on the black horse-hair sofa ; but Sir Tybalt stiffly declined the proflfered seat — he prefen-ed standing ; and Mr. Hartswood preserved his erect position also, the two men facing each other like pugilists in the ring. After the first stiff interchange of courtesies was over an awkward silence ensued, broken only by Sir Tybalt's little preparatoiy cough. Lady Melton was unconsciously buttoning and unbuttoning her light kid glove, and avoided looking at her lawyer. Her cousin spoke at last, with more than his usual pomposity of manner. " Perhaps you may not have been informed — perhaps you may not have heard, Mr. Hartswood, that the decease of Sir Edmund Curtis occuiTed last night." " I am aware of the fact," was the curt reply. Another significant cough from Sir Tybalt. " And may I venture — may I presume, sir, to inquire how you became possessed of the information ? " There was nothing necessarily oflfensive in the question itself, but a great deal in the tone in which 278 A SUDDEN CHANGE. it was put, at least so it seemed to Mr. llai-tswooil, whose spirit was like gunpowder, needing a very small spark to cause an explosion. With ill-suppressed passion quivering in his voice, the la\vyer replied, " May I ask, sir, why it concerns you to know ? " " Mr. Hartswood, very few words of explanation are necessary," said Sir Tybalt, with the air of one commencing a studied and lengthy oration ; " I could wish that you had been present the other day when a gentleman with whom I have the honour to be acquainted mentioned — I know not upon what authority — but mentioned that your relations with the family of Curtis are of a closer nature than — than under existing cii'cumstances — you understand me — is to be desired." " I wish that I had been present," cried James Hartswood, with flashing eyes, " that I might have had the satisfaction of kicking the impertinent libeller down-stairs ! " The lawyer looked so fierce as he uttered the sentence, so likely to act out his words, that Sir Tybalt intuitively drew back one step, and Lady Melton, alai-med at the prospect of s^ serious quarrel, interposed in a feeble attempt to soften the irritation of her professional ad^dser. " You misapprehend the meaning of my cousin, Mr. Hartswood ; I'm sure that he never — " But Sir Tybalt, \vitb the bull-dog obstinacy of his A SUDDKN CHVNGK. 279 nature, would not suffer the lady to divert him from his attack, and interrupted her in the midst of her sentence. "There must be no room for misapprehension on any side," quoth the knight ; " it is expedient, necessaiy to come to a full and clear understanding. You cannot be ignorant, sir, of what is the common subject of talk in every club-room, of what has even been hinted at in the periodicals which are circu- lated through the kingdom. Most valuable docu- ments were entrusted to your care — nay, Lady Melton, I must and will speak — most valuable papers, sir, I repeat, were entrusted to your care ; — where are those papers now ? " " Here ! — here ! " exclaimed the voice of Claudia, who, as the eager bearer of good news, had suddenly entered the room as the last words fell from the lips of Sir Tybalt. Claudia sprang towards her father, panting with excitement, and placed a sealed packet in his hand. The expression of Mr. Hartswood's countenance, the fierce eyes, the hps white with passion, the hand instinctively clenched, told Claudia more than the words which she had just heard that she had scarcely arrived in time to prevent a dan- gerous quarrel, " The papers ! " exclaimed Lady Melton, starting from her seat. 280 A SUDDEN CHANGt " The papers ! " echoed James Hartswood, ahnosl as much astonished as if they had dropped from the ceiling. A sarcastic smile curled the moustachio-covercd lip of Sir Tybalt. The sudden appearance of the lost documents, instead of dispelling, had served to confirm his suspicions. " They who hide well, find well," was the proverb which rose to his mind. But Claudia had happily not come alone — Mr. Latham had followed close on her steps, a calm minister of religion, whose character carried influ- ence, and whose words commanded attention. Mr. Latham was known to both Lady Melton and her cousin, and as soon as he explained in few words that he carried in his hand the attested confession of the pseudo-nun herself — the key to the whole perplexing mystery — curiosity in his hearers took the place of every other emotion. The clergyman became the centre of an eagerly listening group, as in a clear distinct voice he read aloud the confession of Helena, after explaining briefly the circumstances which led her to make it. Mr. Latham was only interrupted by occasional exclamations from Lady Melton, who now, for the first time, heard that she owed the loss of her papers to the malice and re- venge of " Miss Eagle," and that a terrible fate had Claudia placed a sealed packet in his hand. Page 2-jq. A STTDDEX CnANGE. 281 overtaken tlie wretclied woman in the midst of her evil 'career. The countenances of the variotis persons forming that little gi'oup might have afforded, during the reading, a good study for an artist. Lady Melton, her lips apart, her gaze rivetted upon the reader, as she bent forward to catch every word, seemed to listen witli eyes and mouth as well as with ears. Sometimes an expression of amused surprise flitted across her countenance, then flashed forth indigna- tion. Sir Tybalt stood leaning against the mantel- piece, and had any one been at leisure to observe him, something of incredulity and dissatisfaction might have been traced in tlie lines of his brow and the manner in which he twisted his longf moustache. It was more provoking to the })ompous Sir Tybalt to be found mistaken in his judgment, than gratify- ing to know that his cousin was likely to gain a very large foi'tune. To be proved to liave made such mistakes was no new thing for Sir Tybalt, but he was ever very slow to perceive that such was the case, and might usually be cited as an example of the aphorism that " He who's convinced against liis will. Is of the same opinion still." James Hartswood stood with folded arms, more deeply, though more silently interested than evei) 292 A SUDDEN CHANGE. his client could be. Lady Melton had only a fortune at stake ; he had his priceless reputation. Mr. Hartswood's mental condition raiglit be compared to the physical condition of Mazeppa when released from his fearful position of being bound on a wild hoi-se. He was half dizzy with the sudden transi- tion from a state of despair to one of hope — he scarcely realized his own deliverance— he still felt, as it were, the aching pain left from the galling of the bonds from which he had just been set free. The flush of anger which had lately suffused Harts- wood's face had passed away ; under the absorbing interest with which he heard the confession of Helena read, the lawyer forgot for the time the existence of Sir Tybalt Trelawney. Claudia sat a little behind her father, glad to be screened by him from the eyes of all observers. With her thankfulness for the recovery of the papers was blended a deep sense of shame. Her father's character was freed from all reproach by Helena's confession ; but Claudia must still appear in the story as the foolish, self-confident girl who, carried away by romantic sentiment, had entered on a slippery course, and beginning by being a dupe, had ended by being a deceiver. Claudia felt deeply humbled ; but she accepted the humiliation, not only as the just desert of her conduct but as a A SUDDEN CHANGE. 283 wholesome discipline for her proud, impetuous nature. Since her parent was no longer to suffer with her, Claudia would he content to bear the obloquy from which her high spirit naturally recoiled. " It is a strange story indeed — a most singular story ! " exclaimed Lady Melton, as Mr. Latham concluded his reading. " Had I had the faintest idea that Miss Eagle — I mean Mrs. Vane — had had a daughter, I should have had a key to the whole mystery. But I did not imagine that two such beings, compounded of malice and deceit, existed in the world.' " Great excuse is to be made for one receiving such a wretched education as did the unhappy Helena," observed Mr. Latham. "From early childliood she was never taught to distinguish between right and wrong ; she breathed an atmo- sphere of duplicit;,, and who can wonder that her moral perceptions were blunted and her mind in- fected by the contagion of evil example. She is now apparently sinking broken-hearted into an early grave, and claims compassion and forgiveness." " She has mine," thought Claudia Hartswood ; "my deepest compassion, my fullest forgiveness. Oh, if I — brought up in a Christian home, taughi to practise and love sincerity — could fall into lip- deceit, look-deceit, heart-deceit — how dare I judge 284 A SUDDEN CHANGE. one who never possessed the blessings lavished upon me ! " Lady Melton's mind was too much occupied with the subject of her pending lawsuit to have much attention to give to the fate of Helena Vane. Turn- ing towards her lawyer, who was examining with keen interest the contents of the packet of papers placed in his hands, she said gaily, " Now that wo have rescued our artillery from the enemy's lines, Mr. Hartswood, I propose that we settle the plan of our coming campaign. Mr. Latham and Sir Tybalt will \ielp to form our council of war." But Mr. Latham's duties called him homewards, and after receiving warm thanks for the important aid which he had given in restoring the stolen documents to their rightful owner, he took his departure from Little Bread Court. Sir Tybalt also suddenly remembered a pressi^*]^ engagement, and after, in a stiff awkward manner, uttering a few words of congratulation, which might be taken by the lawyer as a kind of apology, he went forth a sadder, though, it is to be feared, a not much wiser man. Then, leaving her father and his client to talk over business, Claudia, with rapid step, sought her own room. She needed quietness and solitude after the excitement of that most eventfiil day. As soon A SUDDEN CHANGE. 285 as she had entered her apartment, and closed the door behind her, Claudia fell on her knees, and poured out a fervent thanksgiving. And with thanksgiving was mingled prayer that she miglit never forget — never let go the fruit of bitter experi- ence gathered in the desert of tribulation. It is by such experience of failure and error that Christian.s learn their own sinfulness and weakness, and are led to exchange self-confidence for lowly trust in a Strength not their own. CHAPTER XXX. THE RETURN. |UMMER has departed ; autumn passed away ; winter has come — but winter so mild in its breath, so radiant in its brightness, that the sun each morn melts away the filagree frost-work with which night had silvered each blade and spray. Still golden leaves cling here and there to the boughs of the elms, and the latest lingering flowers smile in December sunshine. It is a bright joyous-looking morning, and the fresh crispness of the country air is breathed with a keen sense of eiyoyment by Mr. Hartswood, as, accompanied by his daughter, he is whirled away in an open carriage from dingy, fog-swathed London. Ee is snatching an interval from professional labours to spend his Christmas holidays at Friern Hatch, his rural home. There is calm satisfaction on the countenance of the lawyer, as he leans back in the soft-cushioned carriage ; he looks — what he is — a successful man. No longer the worn, harassed, TUE RETURN. 287 irritable beiiig whose haggard features told of the j\augs of a wounded spirit, James Hartswood's health has returned through the stimulating effects of employment, hope, and success. He was first introduced to the reader as regarding his great pending lawsuit as a general might regard an open- ing campaign ; now he is as the same general returning from it in triumph — for his logic and eloquence have won a victory, a just verdict has been given in favour of his client, and the reputa- tion of her counsel is higher than it ever was before. Therefore Mr. Hartswood laughs and chats gaily as the carriage rolls swiftly along the road, bordered with elms, which leads to Friern Hatch. Claudia is more pensive and thoughtful than her father. Perhaps her mind reverts to the solemn scene at which she was present but a few weeks before, when she bent over Helena's death-bed, and the poor girl expired in her arms. There was some gleam of hope flickering over that death-bed, for the unhappy Helena had expressed deep repentance for sin ; yet where deceit has been interwoven with every action of life, a shadow of doubt as to the sincerity of words and even tears must rest on the minds of survivors. It is the just punishment of those habitually false, that truth itself is not be- lieved if it comes from their lips. •288 THE RETUKK. It had been a great satisfaction to Claudia to he enabled to act a sister's part towards the woman who had so cruelly deceived her. The lodging in Little Bread Court being exchanged for one not far from Museum Street, had rendered it easy for Claudia to pass much of her time in nurs- ing Helena. Never, perhaps, can Christians more fully realize that they are working for their gi'cat Master, than when they follow His example in doing good to those who have wronged them. " Not sorry to escape from London, eh, Claudia ; and leave its smoke, noise, and bustle behind you?' said Mr. Hartswood, in his old affectionate tone "You will own, though, that our last abode was a great improvement upon that dreary dungeon. Little Bread Court, in which I so ruthlessly buried my poor little girl alive." " The place was no paradise," observed Claudia ; " and yet I have dearer, sweeter recollections con- nected with the gloomy little court than with any other place in the world ! " " What, notwithstanding the extinguisher which I put upon your laudable ambition to become a ragged-school teacher ? " laughed her father. " I was a little hard upon you, Claudia. But though I still think that you must wait for the appearance of your first white hair before you dive into London THE RETURN. 289 lanes anJ alleys to hunt up ragged recruits, I have no objection to your making yourself useful in a quiet way in the country, where you will again he so much alone during my daily absence in London. You can ask your friends the Holders to cut out a little parish work for you ; there's nothing like work for bracing the spirits " (the lawyer spoke from his own experience); "and there never was a truer proverb than ' Better wear out than rust out.' Only mind you, Claudia," continued her father, as a turn in the road brought within view of the travellers the picturesque gables of the convent, "there must be no more meddling with nuns, either with false or with real ones." "Oh, dear father," exclaimed Claudia with emo- tion, " the lesson which I learned in the summer was far too painful to be ever forgotten. My folly and presumption cost me too dear." "You meant well, you meant well," said the lawyer good humouredly, for all his irritation and anger had long since passed away; "to convert from error and protect from oppression are noble works in themselves ; the lesson which you have learned is simply this — that we defeat our own object if we attempt to do a right thing in a wrong way." "And in a wrong spirit," thought Claudia, who (2^6) 19 290 THE RETXTRK had traced all her errors to their souice, the pride of a self-righteous heart. Rapidly rolls the light vehicle along the familiar drive, up to the door of the bright pleasant home, which Claudia has not entered since the summer day when she left it with a spirit full of regi'eta and foreboding. Mr. Hartswood springs from the carnage and hands his daughter into the house ; his step as elastic, his glance as cheerful as before his troubles commenced. After giving a few brief orders, the lawyer went into his study, and Claudia, before taking off her bonnet and furs, passed into the garden and shrubbery. She was glad to be for a short time alone, to meditate over the past, and re- volve the course which she should take in the future. How many recollections, some very painful and humbling, were entwined with the objects with which Claudia now was surrounded. The trees stripped of their summer foliage, the narrow mnd- ing path strewn with dead leaves, the little mur- muring rill, the creeper-covered bower, the dark fir from whose projecting branch had waved the scarf of cerise, aU recalled to Claudia an episode in her life Mever to be remembered without regret. The healitd wound leaves its scar behind. Claudia would have been glad had her father exchanged Friern Hatch for some other country abode where TBK RETURN. 291 she might have beguu life as it were anew, formed fresh ties, nor felt hersftlf hampered and cramped by difficulties resulting from former errors. Claudia had lost none of the fervour with which she had embraced spiritual religion ; it was still her desire and prayer to be permitted — even in the humblest way — to labour for souls ; had she entered a new sphere, had the Holders been to her perfect strangera, nothing would have been easier or more pleasant than to have offered herself to the vicar's wife as cottage visitor or Sunday-school teacher. But Claudia had been deeply hurt by the refusal of Emma to come and be with her at a time when a friend was most needed ; the lawyer's daughter had understood too well the cause of that cold refusal Mrs, Holder had deemed the dupe of Helena no meet associate for her young daughter. "And shall I force my company upon those who have shown that they desj)ise me ! " cried Claudia bitterly, as she threw herself down on the rustic seat in her shady bower, " Shall I, stamped — branded, as it were, in their opinion as one not to be trusted, beg humbly to be admitted to work with, or under, Emma Holder ! " Claudia bit her nether lip, and drew herself up ; pride had been wounded — crushed— but it was not dead; the pain which it inflicted showed that it yet iiad power. 292 THE RETURN. Claudia could not but be aware that in talents she was far superior to Emma, in earnestness and zeal, in every good work, she would be at least Emma's equal ; yet Claudia felt that, even with her talents and devotedness, she might do harm rather than good, if she, a young inexperienced girl, should at- tempt to labour amongst the village poor inde- pendent of the pastor and the ladies of his family. If she did not work with those who knew every individual in the parish, Gaudia might be a hinderer rather than a helper, and bring discredit upon her own profession of religion. " Oh, how much easier it is to err than to undo the consequences of an error ! " sighed Claudia Hartswood. "Fresh as I am from the school of adversity, I am far more likely now to be useful amongst the poor, than when I deemed mere in- tellectual powers sufficient for giving instruction in spiritual things. But I shrink with extreme repug- nance from coming forward to offer my services to the Holders. I am crippled in my usefulness by shame, the fear of a mortifying rebuff. Shame ; is that — can that be with me but another name for pride ? Am I dooming myself to stand all the day idle at the gate of the vineyard, because at the first step I must stoop very low in order to enter ? " Claudia was erelong roused from her solitary \ THE RETURN. 293 musings by the cheerful voice of her father calling to her from the garden. She instantly obeyed his Bummons. But ere Claudia had quitted her quiet bower her resolution had been taken ; what that resolution was shall be seen in the following chapter. CHAPTEE XXXI. CONCLUSION. ||NOW fell during the night, the pure bright snow, throwing its spotless mantle over meadow and road, clothing the shrub- beries, giving new beauty to every object that be- fore was beautiful, and softening every harsher feature of the landscape. To a stranger from a Tropic land how wondrously lovely must appear the first sight of Nature robed in her shining garments of snow ! The boys of the Holder family are all out en- joying the first opportunity given by the season of pelting each other with snow-balls. The vicar with his wife and daughter are in their little parlour, where a roaring, crackling wood-fire difiuses its cheerful warmth around, Emma is seated close to the fire, with her feet on the fender. She has recently recovered from severe illness, which has left its traces in the greater delicacy of her features ajad the more thoughtful expression of her fjice. CONCLUSION. 295 The vicar has just been reading aloud from the weekly paper with which he indulges himself, a concise account of the close of the famous law-suii of Melton v. Curtis, while his wife plies her in- dustrious needle beside him. "A great triumph for Hartswood," observed the vicar, as he laid down the paper. " He and his daughter came back to Friern Hatch yesterday, I hear," said Mrs. Holder, without glancing up from her work. " Oh yes ; I saw the can^iage drive by, and Claudia, poor dear Claudia, looked up at my window ! " exclaimed Emma, to whom the return of the Hartswoods was an event of no small interest. " I have been thinking, my dear," observed the vicar to his wife, " that you might as well call at Friern Hatch to welcome her back." "Not I," replied Mrs. Holder coldly; "I certainly have no intention of taking the first step to renew our intercourse with Miss Hartswood." And the lady stitched vigorously, as if the completion of her gusset were to her a matter of more importance than anything connected with the inmates of the house on the hill. Emma could not refrain from sighing : she was very anxious to renew that actj^uaintance with 296 CONCLUSION . Claudia which, in her own heart at least, was ripening into friendship. She ventured on a sug- gestion. " Claudia might be such a help to us, mamma; she is so energetic and clever. You know that I was obliged to give up my Sunday-class almost as soon as I had begun it, and I am scarcely allowed to visit at all in the cottages as long as the winter lasts." " Other qualifications besides mere energy and cleverness are required for teaching and visiting," obseiwed Mrs. Holder. " But, if we are to believe our friend Mi'S. Latham, Claudia Hartswood has a great deal more," said the vicar. " In her note, which was written, I think, to remove unfavourable impressions made by that unfortunate burglary affair, Mi-s. Latham writes that she knows no girl more conscientious and high- minded than Claudia Hartswood." " High-minded ; yes, that word may be taken in two different senses," observed Mrs. Holder. " My belief is that there is not a prouder girl under the sun than Claudia ; she set herself up as a kind of standard of perfection, a censor of the rest of the world. Pride must have a fall, she has had hers, I only hope that it has humbled her a little." " Are you not a little severe, my love ? " said tlie vicar. CONCLUSION. 297 Mrs. Holder made no reply. It is possible that pride had something to do with the lady's aversion to " taking the first step " towards commencing anew her intercourse with the Hartswoods. Her maternal feelings had been mortified by what she had considered Claudia's assumption of superiority over Emma. Mr, Hartswood was rising rapidly in his profession, it was now thought likely that he might, ere many years should pass, reach one of its highest honours ; his acquaintance was sought by the gifted and the gi'eat. The vicar's wife was aware of all this ; she remembered that at the time of Claudia's humiliation she had, so to speak, turned her back upon the motherless girl, and now to change her conduct towards her would be, in the opinion of Mrs. Holder, either to show vacillation of purpose, or to appear to worship success. Again Emma sighed, hopeless of persuading her mother to show indulgence towards Claudia, for, with all her excellent qualities, the vicar's wife was somewhat deficient in the charity which thinketh no evil, while possessing a confidence in her own opinion which rendered it difficult to move her from any position which she had once taken up Tlie vicar, however, was not so easily discouraged as his daughter. 298 CONCLUSION. "Are you not a little severe?" be repeated, after a pause. " Let us suppose that Claudia Harts wood is humbled by the painful affair of the pseudo-nun ; let us suppose that she has come back from London anxious to make up for the past, with the acquisi- tion of a little self-knowledge and experience which are invaluable to a ' worker ; ' would you shut her out from a field in which she might really be useful, and force upon the poor girl the conviction that though the Master may have forgiven her error, His servants will never forget it ? " " Oh, if Claudia were really humbled," began the vicar's wife ; but she was interrupted by the maid coming in to say that Miss Hartswood was at the door, and requested to know whether she could see Mrs. Holder. "Claudia herself!" exclaimed Emma with joy, lighting up her pale face. " You see, my dear, you are not left to take the first step," observed the vicar, as the maid retired, bearer of her mistress's request that Miss Hartswood would come in. Claudia had chosen an hour when she expected Mrs. Holder to be alone, and coming, as she did, intent upon making an effort humiliating and pain- ful, it embarrassed her on entering the room to find that both the vicar and Emma were present. The \ COKCLUSION. 299 kiudly greeting of the former, and the warm pressure of the hand of the latter, reassured her, however, a little. Though the manner of Mrs. Holder was somewhat cold, it was not repelling ; the words of her husband had had some effect on the mind of the lady, an effect much strengthened by the sub- dued and softened demeanour of the once self-con- fident girl. Almost as soon as she had taken her seat, Claudia, with her natural straightforwardness, came at once on the subject which had brought her to the vicarage that morning. She spoke with heightened colour and downcast eyes, but with a frank simplicity which won its way with Mrs. Holder. " When I was in London I asked my father's leave to teach in a ragged school which was near, but papa thought me too young to do so. He told me yesterday, however, that he was willing that I should try to do what I could in this village. If you would only permit me to learn from you, to work under you, to help you in some — in any — way I should be truly grateful. I hesitated whether I should venture to ask you, after — after what happened in the summer, for I know " — here poor Claudia hesitated, and the good-natured vicar came to her aid. 300 CONCLUSION. "Oh, we'll find a nook for you," lie cried, "and be heartily glad of your help. My wife has almost more work than she can manage with so raany young ragamuffins at home, and as for our poor dear Emma," he turned fondly towards his daughter, "she has lately been quite laid by; but as she regains her strength, she will resume her duties with twice as much cheerfulness and spirit when she has a friend and companion like Claudia to help her in every good work." The ice was broken, and all difficulties melted away like the snow on the pathway under the beams of the glowing sun. Claudia from that day entered upon a course of active usefulness, which, though begun in the obscurity of a quiet country village, was to extend in ftiture years over a wide and important field. Claudia, in after-life, became an acknowledged leader amongst those of her own sex engaged in philanthropic labours, by her pen, her voice, her influence enlightening and comforting thousands. If the earnest and successful worker was ever then tempted to cherish a feehng of pride, or to listen with complacence to praise, she found a ready antidote to flattery from without, or pre- sumption rising within, by recalling the humbling passage in her life which has been the subject of my story. Claudia had learned in a way that CONCLUSION. 301 had indelibly engraved the lesson on her mind that the heart is deceitful above all tilings; and that intellectual powers are in themselves but dangerous gifts, unless combined with, and sub- jected to, those which belong to the higher spiritual nature. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. rorm L0-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 ■/:^\\ %y ^ Ill!i,n°lilll^,;!^„f^.f 2!0f^A_L LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 379 932 7 1 7>^. ~^:-- r: sa ->^