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BERtCELBY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
Kate C o y e 11 1 r y 
 
 An Autobiography 
 
Kate Coventry 
 
 An Autobiography 
 Edited by 
 
 G. J. Whyte Melville 
 
 Author of Digby Grand 
 
 Originally publifhed in Frnfer's Magazine 
 
 London 
 
 John W. Parker and Son Weft Strand 
 
 1856 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PUINTED BY WERTIIEIMER AND CO., 
 
 CIttCLS PLACE, FINSDUIiy CIllCUS. 
 

 KATE COYEXTRT; f ^'^ 
 
 gin giutobiograpljir. ^^^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 { TT^ATE/ said Aimt Deborah to me, as we sat 
 with our feet on the fender one rainy after- 
 noon, — or, as we were in London, I shoukl say one 
 rainy morning, — in June, ' I think altogether, 
 considering the weather and what not, it would be 
 as well for you to give up this Ascot expedition, 
 my dear.' 
 
 I own I felt more than half inclined to cry — most 
 girls would have cried, — but Aunt Deborah says I 
 am very unlike the generality of women ; and so, al- 
 though I had ordered a peach-coloured mantle, and 
 such a bonnet as can only be seen at Ascot on the 
 Cup Day, I kept back my tears, and swallowed that 
 horrid choking feeling in my throat, whilst I replied 
 with the most careless manner I could assume, 
 ' Goodness, aunt, it won't rain for ever : not that I 
 care; but think what a disappointment for John !' 
 
 I must here be allowed the privilege of my sex, to 
 enter on a slightly discursive explanation as to who 
 Aunt Deborah is, and who I am, not forgetting 
 
 08G 
 
2 AUNT DEBORAH. 
 
 cousin JohUj who is good-nature itself, and without 
 whom I cannot do the least bit. My earliest recol- 
 lections of Aunt Deborah, then, date from a period 
 when I was a curly-headed little thing in a white 
 frock (not so very long ago, after all), and the first 
 occasion on which I can recollect her personality 
 with any distinctness, was on a certain birthday, 
 when poor grandfather said to me in his funny way, 
 ' Kate, you romp, we must get you a rocking-horse/ 
 
 Aunt Deborah lifted up her hands and eyes in 
 holy horror and deprecation. ^A rocking-horse, 
 Mr. Coventry,' said she ; ' what an injudicious selec- 
 tion ! (Aunt Deborah likes to round her periods, as 
 the book-people say.) The child is a sad Tom-boy 
 already, and if you are going to teach her to ride, I 
 won't answer for the consequences in after-life, when 
 the habits of our youth have become the second 
 natui'e of our maturity.' 
 
 Imagine such sentiments so expressed by a tall, 
 austere lady, with high manly features, piercing dark 
 eyes, ?^ front of jet-black hair coming low down on a 
 somewhat furrowed brow. Cousin John says all dark 
 women are inclined to be cross ; and I own I think 
 we hlondes have the best of it as far as good temper 
 is concerned. My aunt is not altered in the slightest 
 degree from Avhat she was then. She dresses in- 
 variably in grey silks of the most delicate shades and 
 texture ; carries spectacles low down upon her nose, 
 where they can be of no earthly use except for in- 
 
THE HOESINGHAM HAND. 3 
 
 spection of the carpet; and wears lavender kid gloves 
 at all hours of the day and night, — for Aunt 
 Deborah is vain of her hand^ and preserves its white- 
 ness as a mark of her birth and parentage. Most 
 families have a crotchet of some sort on which they 
 plume themselves ; some will boast that their scions 
 rejoice one and all in long noses ; others esteem 
 the attenuated frames which they bequeath to their 
 descendants as the most precious of legacies ; one 
 would not part with his family squint for the finest 
 pair of eyes that ever adorned an Andalusian maiden ; 
 another cherishes his hereditary gout as a priceless 
 patent of nobility ; and even insanity is prized in 
 proportion to the tenacity with which it clings to 
 a particular race. So the Horsinghams never cease 
 talking of the Horsingham hand ; and if I want to 
 get anything out of Aunt Deborah^ I have only to 
 lend her a pair of my gloves^ and apologise to her for 
 their being so large that she can get both her hands 
 into one. 
 
 Now, the only thing we ever fall out about is what 
 my aunt CdiW% propriety . I had a French governess 
 once, who left because I pinned the tail of Cousin 
 John's kite to her skirt, and put white mice in her 
 work-box ; and she was always lecturing me about 
 what she called 'les convenances' Aunt Deborah 
 don't speak much French, though she says she un- 
 derstands it perfectly, and she never lets me alone 
 about propriety. When I came home from church 
 
4 woman's rights. 
 
 that rainy Sunday, with Colonel Bingham, under his 
 umbrella (a cotton one), Aunt Deborah lectured me 
 on the impropriety of such a thing — though the 
 Colonel is forty if he is a day, and told me repeatedly 
 he was a ' safe old gentleman/ — I didn't think him 
 at all dangerous, I'm sure. I rode a race against 
 Bob Dashwood the otiier morning, once round 
 the inner ring, down Rotten Row, to finish in 
 front of Apsley House, and beat him all to ribbons 
 — wasn't it fun ? And didn't I kick the dirt in his 
 face? He looked like a wall that's been fresh 
 plastered, when he pulled up. I don't know who 
 told Aunt Deborah. It wasn't the coachman, for he 
 said he wouldn't ; but she heard of it somehow, and 
 of course she said it was improper and unladylike, 
 and even imfeminine, as if anything a woman does 
 can be unfeminine. I know Bob didn't think so, 
 though he got the worst of it every way. 
 
 To be sure, we women are sadly kept down in this 
 world, whatever we shall be in the next. If they 
 would only let us try, I think we could beat the 
 ' lords of the creation,' as they call themselves, at 
 everything they undertake. Dear me, they talk 
 about our weakness and vanity ; — Avhy, they never 
 know their own minds for two minutes together; 
 and as for vanity, only tell a man you think him 
 good-looking, and he falls in love with you directly ; 
 or if that is too great a bounce — and indeed very few 
 of them have the slightest pretensions to beauty — 
 
MAN S VANITIES. 5 
 
 you need only hint that he rides gallantly^ or waltzes 
 nicely^ or wears neat boots, and it will do quite as 
 well. I recollect perfectly that cousin Emily made 
 her great marriage — five thousand a year and the 
 chance of a baronetcy — by telling her partner in a 
 quadrille, quite innocentlj^, that ' she should know 
 his figure anywhere.'' The man had a hump, and 
 one leg shorter than the other ; but he thought 
 Emily was djdng for him, and proposed within a 
 fortnight. Emily is an artless creature — ' good 
 common sense,' Aunt Deborah calls it, — and so she 
 threw over Harry Bloomfield, and married the hump 
 and the legs that didn't match and the chance of 
 the baronetcy forthwith ; and now they say he beats 
 her, and I think it serves her right. 
 
 But we women — gracious ! if we only take the 
 trouble, we can turn the Avhole male sex round oiu* 
 little fingers. Who ever saw half a dozen of us 
 hovering and watching, and fussing round a mascu- 
 line biped, thankful even to be snubbed rather than 
 not noticed at all? Who ever saw us fetch and 
 carry like so many retrievers, and 'sit up,' so to 
 speak, for a withered rose-bud, at the fag end of an 
 over-blown bouquet. Not that we don't love flowers 
 in their proper places, and keep them too, sometimes 
 long after their colour has faded, and their perfume 
 gone ; but we don't make a parade of such things, 
 and have the grace to be ashamed of ourselves when 
 we are so foolish. 
 
O MY GLASS. 
 
 But it's quite different with men. They give in to 
 us about everything if we only insist — and it's our 
 own fault if we don't insist; for, of course, if they 
 find us complying and ready to oblige, why there's 
 no end to their audacity. ' Give 'em an inch, and 
 they take an ell.' HoAvever, they do try to keep us 
 down as much as they can. Now there's that ^cry 
 exercise of riding that they are so proud of. They 
 get us a side-saddle, as they call it, of enormous 
 weight and inconvenience, on which they plant pom- 
 mels enough to impale three women; they place us 
 in an attitude from which it is next to impossible to 
 control a horse should he be violent, and in a dress 
 which ensures a horrible accident should he fall, 
 added to which, they constantly give us the worst 
 quadruped in the stable; and yet, with all these 
 drawbacks, such is our own innate talent and capa- 
 city, we ride many an impetuous steed in safety 
 and comfort that a man would find a dangerous and 
 incontrollable *■ mount.' For my part, I only wish I 
 had been born a man — that's to say, if I could keep 
 my own ideas and feelings. To be sure, I should 
 lose a good many personal adornments ; not that I'm 
 vain enough to consider myself a beauty, but still 
 one cannot help being anxious about one's own ap- 
 pearance, particularly if one has a full-length glass 
 in one's bedroom. I need not be ashamed to own 
 that I know I've got bright eyes, and good teeth, 
 and a fresh colour, and loads of soft brown hair, and 
 
COUSIN JOHN. 7 
 
 not a bad figure — so my dress-maker tells me; 
 though I think myself I look best in a riding-habit. 
 Altogether you can't call that a ])erhct fright; but, 
 nevertheless, I think if I might I would change 
 places with Cousin John. He has no Aunt Deborah 
 to be continually preaching p7'opjnett/ to him. He 
 can go out when he likes without being questioned, 
 and come in without being scolded. He can swagger 
 about wherever he chooses without that most odious 
 of incumbrances called a chaperons; and though I 
 shouldn't care to smoke as many cigars as he does 
 (much as I like the smell of them in the open air), 
 yet I confess it must be delightfully independent to 
 have a latch-key. 
 
 I often wonder whether other people think Cousin 
 John good-looking. I have known him so long, that 
 I believe I can hardly be a fair judge. He is fresh- 
 coloured, to be sure, and square, and rather fat, and 
 when he smiles, and shows all his white teeth, he 
 has a very pleasant appearance ; but I think I ad- 
 mire a man who looks rather more of a roue — not 
 like Colonel Bingham exactly, whose face is all 
 wrinkles and whiskers, but a little careworn and 
 jaded, as if he was accustomed to diflaculties, and 
 had other things to occupy his thoughts besides his 
 horses and his dinner. I don't like a man that stares 
 at you ; and I don't like a man that can't look you 
 in the face. He provokes me if he is all smiles, and 
 I've no patience with him if he's cross. I'm not 
 
8 ASCOT PROPOSED. 
 
 sure I know exactly what does please me best^ but I 
 do know that I like Cousin John's constant good- 
 humour, and the pains he takes to give me a day's 
 amusement whenever he can, or what he calls ' have 
 Cousin Kate out for a lark'; and this brings me back 
 to Aunt Deborah and the expedition to Ascot, a 
 thing of all others I fancied was so perfectly 
 delightful. 
 
 'My dear/ said Aunt Deborah, as she folded her 
 lavender-gloved hands, ' if it wasn't for the weather 
 and my rheumatism, I'd accompany you myself; but 
 I do consider that Ascot is hardly a place for mi/ 
 niece to be seen at without a chaperone, and with no 
 other protector than John Jones — John Jones/ re- 
 peated the old lady, reflectively, ' an excellent young 
 man, doubtless — I heard him his Catechism when 
 he was so high — but still hardly equal to so respon- 
 sible a charge as that of Miss Coventr3\' 
 
 I knew this was what John calls a ^ back-hander ' 
 at me, but I can be so good-tempered when I've any- 
 thing to gain, therefore I only said — 
 
 ' Well, aunt, of course you're the best judge, and I 
 don't care the least about going; only when John 
 calls this afternoon, you must explain it all to him, 
 for he's ordered the carriage, and the luncheon, and 
 everything, and he'll be so disappointed.' 
 
 I've long ago found out, that if you want to do 
 anything, you should never seem too anxious about 
 it. 
 
" LONG AGO. 9 
 
 Aunt Deborah is fonder of John than she likes to 
 confess. I know vfhj, because I overheard my okl 
 nurse tell the housekeeper when I was quite a little 
 thing; and what I hear, especially if I'm not in- 
 tended to hear it, I never forget. There were three 
 Miss Horsinghams, all with white hands, — poor 
 mamma, Aunt Deborah, and Aunt Dorcas. Now, 
 Aunt Deborah wanted to marry old David Jones 
 (John's papa). I can just remember him — a snuffy 
 little man with a brown wig, but perhaps he wasn't 
 always so ; and David Jones, Avho was frightened at 
 Aunt Deborah's black eyes, thought he would rather 
 marry Aunt Dorcas. Why the two sisters didn't toss 
 up for him I can't think ; but he did marry Aunt 
 Dorcas, and Aunt Deborah has been an old maid 
 ever since. Sometimes even now she fixes her eyes 
 on Cousin John, and then takes them off with a 
 great sigh. It seems ridiculous in an old lady, but 
 I don't know that it is so. That's the reason my 
 cousin can do what he likes with Aunt Deborah ; 
 and that's the reason why, v/lien he called on that 
 rainy afternoon, he persuaded her to let me go down 
 to Ascot with him all alone by our two selves the 
 following day. 
 
 How pleasant it is to wake on the morning of a 
 gala day ; to hear the carts and cabs rumbling and 
 clattering in the streets, and to know that you must 
 get up early, and be off directly after breakfast, and 
 wiU have the whole livelong day to amuse yourself 
 
lO WINDSOR FOREST. 
 
 in. What a bright sunshiny morning it Tvas, and 
 what fun I had going with John in a Hansom cab to 
 Paddington — I like a Hansom cab, it goes so fast, — 
 and then down to AVindsor by the train, in a car- 
 riage full of such smart people, some of whom I 
 knew quite well by name, though not to speak to — 
 the slang aristocracy, as they are called, muster in 
 great force at Ascot. Nor could anything be more 
 delightful than the drive through Windsor Forest up 
 to the Course — such a neat phaeton and pair, and 
 John and I like a regular Darby and Joan sitting 
 side by side. Somehow that drive through Wiiidsor 
 Forest made me think of a great many things I 
 never think of at other times. Though I was going 
 to the races, and fully prepared for a day of gaiety 
 and amusement, a half-melancholy feeling stole over 
 me as we rolled along amongst those stately old 
 trees, and that lovely scenery, and those picturesque 
 little places set down in that abode of beauty. I 
 thought how charming it would be to saunter about 
 here in the early summer mornings, or the still 
 summer nights, and listen to the thrush and the 
 blackbird and the nightingale in the copse, and 
 then I thought I would not care to wander here quite 
 alone, and that a whisper might steal on my car, 
 sweeter than the note of the thrush and the night- 
 ingale ; and that there might be a somebody without 
 whom all that sylvan beauty would be a blank, but 
 Avith whom any place would become a fairyland. 
 
THE COURSE. II 
 
 And tlien I fell to Avondering wlio that somebody 
 would be, and I looked at Cousin John, and felt a 
 little cross — which was very ungrateful, and a little 
 disappointed — which was very unjust. 
 
 ^Here we are Kate: that's the Grand Stand, 
 and we '11 have the carriage right opposite ; and the 
 Queen's not come, and we're in heaps of time; and 
 there's Frank Lovell,' exclaimed the unconscious 
 John as we drove on to the Course, and my day- 
 dreams Avere effectually dispelled by the gay scene 
 which spread itself before my eyes. 
 
 As I took John's arm, and walked into the en- 
 closure in front of the stand, I must confess that 
 the first impression on my mind was this, — 'never 
 in my life have I seen so many well-dressed people 
 collected together before;' and when the Queen 
 drove up the Course with her brilliant suite of car- 
 riages and outriders, and the mob of gentlemen and 
 ladies cheered her to the echo, I was such a goose 
 that I felt as if I could have cried. After a time 
 I got a little more composed, and looked about at 
 the different toilettes that surrounded me. I own 
 I saw nothing much neater than my own ; and I was 
 pleased to find it so, as nothing gives one greater 
 confidence in a crowd than the consciousness of 
 being well-dressed. But what I delighted in more 
 than all the bonnets and gowns in the universe, 
 were those dear horses, with their little darlings of 
 jockeys. If there is one thing I like better than 
 
12 THE KACE FOR THE CUP. 
 
 another, it is a tliorouglibred horse. What a gentle- 
 man he looks amongst the rest of his kind ! How he 
 walks down the Course, as if he knew his own value 
 — self-confident, but not vain; and goes swinging 
 along in his breathing-gallop as easily and as 
 smoothly as if I was riding him myself, and he 
 was proud of his burthen ! When Colonist won 
 the Cup, I felt again as if I could have cried. It 
 was a near race, and closely contested the whole 
 way from the distance in. I felt my blood creeping 
 quite chill, and I could perfectly understand then 
 the infatuation men cherish about racing, and why 
 they ruin their wives and children at that pursuit. 
 What a relief it was when the number was up, and 
 I could be quite satisfied that the dear bay horse 
 had won. As for the little jockey that rode him, 
 I could and would have kissed him ! Just then 
 Cousin John came back to me, with his sunny, 
 laughing face, and I naturally asked him, Miad he 
 won his money?' John never bets; but he replied, 
 ' I ^m just as pleased as if I 'd won a fortune ; only 
 think, Frank Lovell has landed twelve hundred !' 
 'Well,' I replied, ' I am glad of it, — which is very 
 good of me, seeing that I don't know Mr. Lovell.' 
 * Don't know Frank Lovell!' exclaimed John. 'The 
 greatest friend I have in the world.' (jNIen's friends 
 always are the greatest in the world) . ' I ^11 intro- 
 duce him to you; there he is, — no he isn't. I saw 
 him a moment asro.' And forthwith John launched 
 
A FINISHED GENTLEMAN. I3 
 
 into a long biography of his friend Frank Lovell : 
 how that gentleman was the nicest fellow, and the 
 finest rider, and the best shot in the universe ; how 
 he knew more about racing than any man of his 
 age, and had been in more difficulties, and got out 
 of them better, and robbed the public generally with 
 a more plausible air ; how he sang a capital song, 
 and was the pleasantest company, and had more 
 brains than the world gave him credit for (as indeed 
 might easily be the case) ; how he was very good- 
 looking, and very agreeable, and met with great 
 success (whatever that means) in society ; how Lady 
 Scapegrace was avowedly in love with him; and he 
 had throAvn over pretty Miss Pinnifer because he 
 wouldn't leave the army, and six months afterwards 
 was obliged to sell his commission, when Outsider 
 won the 'Two Thousand'; together with various 
 other details, which lasted till it was time to have 
 luncheon, and go back to "Windsor to catcli the four 
 o'clock train. Though evidently such a hero of 
 John's, I confess I didn't like what I heard of 
 Frank Lovell at all. 
 
14 NIGHT WATCHES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 W"^ 
 
 I'VE got such a sweet little house in Lo-mides- 
 street, to my mind the very best situation in 
 London. When I say ice, of course I mean Aunt 
 Deborah and myself. We live together, as I hope A\-e 
 always shall do, as Aunt Deborah says, till ' one of 
 us is married.' And, notwithstanding the difference 
 of our ages, we get on as comfortably as any two 
 forlorn maidens can. Though a perfect fairy -palace 
 within, our stronghold is guarded by no giant, griffin, 
 dragon, or dwarf; nothing more frightful than a 
 poHceman, whose measured tread may be heard at the 
 midnight hour pacing up and down beneath our 
 windows. ^ It 's a great comfort,' says Aunt Deborah, 
 ^ to know that assistance is close at hand. I am a 
 lone woman, Kate, and I confess to feeling nervous 
 when I lie awake.' I quite agree with my aunt, 
 though I'm not nervous, but I must say I hke the 
 idea of being watched over during the hours of sleep, 
 and there is something romantic in hearing the 
 regular tramp of the sentinel Avhilst one is curled up 
 snug in bed. I don't much think it always is the 
 policeman, — at least I knoAv that one night when I 
 got up to peep if it was a constable, he was wrapped 
 
MY BOUDOIE. 15 
 
 in a very loose cloak, such as is by no means the uni- 
 form of the forcCj and was besides^ unquestionably, 
 smoking a cigar, which I am given to understand is 
 not permitted by the regulations when on duty. I 
 watched the glowing light for at least ten minutes, 
 and when I went to bed again, I covild not get to 
 sleep for wondering who the amateur policeman 
 could be. 
 
 But the house is a perfect jewel of its kind. Such 
 a pretty dining-room, such a lovely drawing-room, 
 opening into a conservatory, with a fountain and 
 gold fish, to say nothing of flowers (I am passion- 
 ately fond of flowers), and such a boudoir of my own, 
 where nobody ever intrudes except my especial 
 favourites — Cousin John, for instance, when he is 
 not in disgrace, — and which I have fitted up and 
 furnished quite to my own taste. There ^s the 
 ' Amazon' in gilt bronze, and a bas-relief from the 
 Elgin marbles — not coloured like those flaxen-haired 
 abominations at Sydenham, but pure and simple as 
 the taste that created it ; and an etching Landseer did 
 for me himself of my little Scotch terrier growling ; 
 and a veritable original sketch of Horace Vernet — 
 in Avhich nothing is distinguishable save a phantom 
 charger, rearing straight up amongst clouds of smoke. 
 Then I 've put up a stand for my riding- whips, and a 
 picture of my own thoroughbred favourite horse over 
 the chimney-piece; altogether, Aunt Deborah de- 
 scribes the apartment exactly, when she says to me. 
 
I 6 OUR ADDRESS. 
 
 as she does about once a-week, ' My dear, if you were 
 a man, I should say your room was fitted up in the 
 most perfect taste ; but as you happen to be a young 
 lady, I won't say what I think, because I know you 
 won't agree with me;' and I certainly do not agree 
 with Aunt Deborah upon a great many subjects. 
 
 However, there 's no situation like Lowndes-street. 
 I 'm not going to tell the number, nor at which end 
 of the street we live ; for it's very disagreeable to have 
 people riding by and stopping to alter their stirrup- 
 leathers, and squinting up at one's draA\-ing-roora 
 windows where one sits working in peace, and then 
 cantering off and trotting by again, as if something 
 had been forgotten. No; if curiosity is so very 
 anxious to know where I live, let it look in the Court 
 Guide ; for my part, I say nothing, except that there 
 are always flowers in the balcony, and there's no 
 great singularity about that. But there are two great 
 advantages connected with a ' residence in Belgravia/ 
 which I wonder are not inserted in the advertise- 
 ments of all houses to let in that locality. In the 
 first place, a lady may walk about all the forenoon 
 quite alone, without being hampered by a maid or 
 hunted by a footman ; and in the s,ccond, she is most 
 conveniently situated for a morning ride or walk in 
 the park ; and those are about the two pleasantest 
 thmgs one does in London. 
 
 Well, the same conversation takes place nearly 
 every morning at breakfast, between Aunt Deborah 
 
HANNAH MORE. 1 7 
 
 and myself — (we breakfast early, never after half-past 
 nine, however late we may have been the night 
 before). Aunt Deborah begins — 
 
 ^My dear, I hope we shall have a quiet morning 
 together ; I 've directed the servants to deny me to 
 all visitors ; and if you ^11 get your work, I will pro- 
 -ceed with my readings from excellent Mrs. Hannah 
 More.' 
 
 Kaie. — 'Thank you, aunt^ Hannah More amuses 
 me very much — ' (I confess that prim moralist does 
 make me laugh). 
 
 Aunt Deborah (reprovingly). — 'Instructive, Kate, 
 not amusing ; certainly not ludicrous. If you '11 
 shut the door, we '11 begin.' 
 
 Kate. — ' Can't we put it off for an hour ? I must 
 get my ride, you know, aunt. What's the use of 
 horses if one don't ride ?' 
 
 Aunt Deborah. — 'Kate, you ride too much; I 
 don't object to the afternoons with John Jones, but 
 these morning scampers are really quite uncalled 
 for ; they're spoiling your figure and complexion ; 
 it's improper — more, it's unfeminine; but as you 
 seem determined upon it, go and get your ride, and 
 come back a little sobered ; ' and Kate — that's me 
 — disappears into the boudoir, from which she 
 emerges in about five minutes with the neatest habit 
 and the nicest hat, and her hair done in two such 
 killing plaits — John Jones says I never look so well 
 as when I 've got my hair dressed for riding. 
 
 c 
 
15 EIDING V. KEADING. 
 
 I always go out for tliese morning excursions quite 
 alone. Aunt Deborah fought for a long time, and 
 insisted on my taking the coachman ; but he is an 
 old family servant, and I soon knocked him up com- 
 pletely. In the first place, the ride is always soft, 
 and I hate going slow, so he used to get a dreadful 
 stitch in his side trying to keep up with me on one 
 of the high-actioned coach-horses; then he didn't see 
 the fun of having two horses to clean when he got 
 home, instead of one ; so when he found he couldn't 
 get another helper, we begged him off between us, 
 and I go out now unincumbered by that excellent 
 and pursy old man. After all, I ought to be able to 
 take care of myself. I have ridden ever since I was 
 five years old ; and if habit is second nature, as Aunt 
 Deborah says, I 'm sure my habit ought to be natural 
 enough to me. I recollect as well as if it was yes- 
 terday, when poor papa put me on a shaggy Shetland 
 pony, and telhng me not to be frightened, gave it a 
 thump, and started me off by myself. I wasn't the 
 least bit afraid, I know that. It was a new sensa- 
 tion, and delightful : round and round the field we 
 went, I shaking my reins with one hand, and holding 
 on a great flapping straw hat with the other ; the 
 pony grunting and squeaking, witli his mane and tail 
 floating on the breeze, and papa standing in the 
 middle, waving his hat and applauding with all his 
 might. After that, I was qualified to ride anything ; 
 and by the time I was twelve, there wasn't a hunter 
 
EARLY LESSONS. 1 9 
 
 in the stables that I wouldn't get on at a moment's 
 notice. I am ashamed to confess that I have even 
 caught the loose cart-horses in a field, and ridden 
 them without saddle or bridle. I never was beat 
 but once, and that was at Uncle Horsingham's, when 
 I was about fifteen. He had bought a mare at 
 Tattersall's for his daughter to ride, and brought her 
 down to Dangerfield, thinking she would conduct 
 herself like the rest of her species. How well I re- 
 member my governess's face when she gave me 
 leave to go to the stable with Sir Harry, and look 
 over the new purchase. I was a great pet of Uncle 
 Horsingham ; and as Cousin Amelia was not much 
 of an equestrian, he proposed that I should get upon 
 the chesnut mare first, and try her paces and temper 
 before his daughter mounted her. As we neared the 
 stables, out came one of the grooms with a side- 
 saddle on his head, and the longest face I ever 
 beheld. 
 
 ' Oh Sir 'Arry/ said he — I quote his exact words 
 — '^that new mare's a wicious warmint : afore I was 
 well into the stable, she ups and lets out at me just 
 above the knee : I do believe as my thigh's broke.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, man,' said my uncle ; ' put the saddle 
 on, and bring her out.' Presently the chesnut mare 
 appeared ; and I saw at once that she was not in the 
 best of humours. But I was young, full of spirits, 
 and fresh from lessons ; so, fearing if one of the men 
 should venture to mount her she might show temper. 
 
20 A YOUNG A:\IAZ0N. 
 
 and I should lose my ride, I made a sign to the head 
 groom to give me a hand; and, before my uncle had 
 time to exclaim, ' For goodness sake, Kate ! ' I was 
 seated, muslin dress and all, on the back of the ches- 
 nut mare. "What she did I never could quite make 
 out ; it seemed to me that she crouched as if she was 
 going to lie down, and then bounded into the air 
 with all four legs off the ground. I was as near gone 
 as possible ; but for the only time in my life, I caught 
 hold of the pommel with my right hand, and that 
 saved me. In another instant she had broke from 
 the groom's hold, and was careering along the ap- 
 proach, like a mad thing. If I had pulled at her 
 the least, she would have run away with me. 
 
 Luckily, the park was roomy, and the old trees far 
 apart ; so when we got upon the grass, I knew who 
 would be mistress. I gave her a rousing good gallop, 
 shook my reins and patted her, to show her how con- 
 fident I was, and brought her back to my uncle as 
 quiet as a lamb. Unfortunately, however, the mare 
 had taken a dislike to certain stone pillars which 
 supported the stable gates, and nothing would induce 
 her to pass them. Flushed with success, I borrowed 
 my uncle's riding-whip to punish her; and now began 
 a battle in good earnest. She reared and plunged, 
 and wheeled round and round, and did all she knew 
 to get rid of me ; whilst I flogged and jerked, and 
 screamed at her (I didn't swear, because I didn't 
 know how), and vowed in my wicked little heart, I 
 
BRILLIANT. 21 
 
 would be killed rather than give in. During the 
 tussle, we got nearer and nearer to a certain large 
 pond, about a hundred yards from the stable gates, 
 at which the cattle used to water in the quiet sum- 
 mer afternoons. I knew it wasn't very deep, for I 
 had seen them standing in it often. By the time we 
 were close on the brink, the whole household had 
 turned out to see ' jNIiss Kate killed ' ; and just as I 
 hit the mare a finishing cut over the ears, I caught 
 a glimpse of my governess in an attitude of com- 
 bined shame, horror, and disgust, that I shall never 
 forget. The next moment we were over-head in the 
 pond, the mare having dashed blindly in, caught her 
 fore-feet in the bridle, and rolled completely over. 
 What a ducking I got to be sure; but it was nothing 
 to the scolding I had to endure afterwards from all 
 the females of the family, including my governess ; 
 only Uncle Horsingham stuck up for me, and from 
 that time till the day of his death, vowed he had 
 ' never known but one plucky fellow in the world, 
 and that was his little niece, Kate/ 
 
 No wonder I feel at home on Brilliant, who never 
 did wrong in his life, who will eat out of my hand, 
 put his foot in my. apron-pocket, follow me about 
 like a dog, and is, I am firmly persuaded, the very 
 best horse in England. He is quite thoroughbred, 
 though he has never been in training — and is as 
 beautiful as he is good. Bright bay, with such 
 black legs, and such a silky mane and tail ! I 
 
11 TO SEE. 
 
 know lots of ladies whose hair is coarser than 
 Brilliant's. Fifteen hands three inches, and Cousin 
 John says well up to his weight — an honest fourteen 
 stone. With the smallest nose, and the leanest 
 head, and the fullest dark eye, and the widest, 
 reddest nostril, — his expression of countenance, 
 when a little blown, is the most beautiful I ever 
 beheld; and not a white mark about him, except 
 a tiny star in the very middle of his forehead: 
 I know it well, for I have kissed it often and often. 
 The picture over my chimney-piece does not half 
 do him justice ; but then, to be sure, its pendant, 
 painted by the same artist, and representing my 
 other horse. White- Stockings, flatters that very 
 plain and excellent animal most unblushingly. 
 
 Of all delights in the world, give me my morning 
 canter up the park on Brilliant. Away we go, under- 
 standing each other perfectly ; and I am quite sure 
 that he enjoys as much as I do the bright sunshine, 
 and the morning breeze, and the gleaming Serpen- 
 tine, with its solitary swan, and its hungry ducks, 
 and its amphibious dogs continually swimming for 
 the inciting stick, only rescued to produce fresh 
 exertions ; and the rosy children taking their morn- 
 ing walk; and, above all, the liberty of London 
 before two o'clock in the day, when the real London 
 begins. I pat Brilliant's smooth, hard neck, and he 
 shakes his head, and strikes at an imaginary but- 
 terfly with one black fore-leg, and I draw my rein 
 
TO BE SEEN. 2 2 
 
 a thought tighter, and away we go, much to the 
 admiration of that good-looking man with mous- 
 tachios who is leaning on his umhrella close to 
 the rails, and smoking the cigar of meditation as 
 if the park was his own. 
 
 I often wondered who that man was. Morning 
 after morning have I seen him at the same place, 
 always with an umbrella, and always with a cigar. I 
 quite missed him on the Derby Day, when of course 
 he was gone to Epsom (by the bye, why don't we go 
 to the Derby just as much as to Ascot ?) ; and yet it 
 was rather a relief, too, for I had got almost shy 
 about passing him ; it seemed so absurd to see the 
 man every day and never to speak; besides, I fancied, 
 though of course it could only be fancy, that he 
 looked as if he was expecting me. At last I couldn't 
 help blushing, and I thought he saw it; for I'm 
 sure he smiled, and then I was so provoked with 
 myself that I sent Brilliant up the ride at a pace 
 nothing short of a race-horse could have caught. 
 
24 MY MAID. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 T WONDER, whetlier any lady in England has a 
 maid "who, to use that domestic's own expression, 
 is capable of ' giving satisfaction.' If any lady does 
 rejoice in such an Abigail, I shall be too happy to 
 ' swap ' with her, and give anything else I possess, 
 except Brilliant, into the bargain. Mine is the 
 greatest goose that ever stood upon two legs, and 
 how she can chatter as she does with her mouth fall 
 of pins, is to me a perfect miracle. Once or twice 
 in the week I have to endure a certain ordeal which, 
 although a positive pleasure to some women, is to 
 my disposition intense martyrdom, termed dressing 
 to go out ; and I think I never hated it more than 
 the night of Lady Horsingham's ball. Lady Hor- 
 singham is my poor uncle's widow ; and as Aunt 
 Deborah is extremely punctilious on all matters 
 relating to family connexions, we invariably attend 
 these solemnities with a gravity befitting the oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Now I may be singular in my ideas ; but I con- 
 fess that it does appear to mc a strange way of 
 enjoying oneself in the dog-days, to make one's 
 
pleasure! 25 
 
 toilette at eleven p.m.j for tlie purpose of sitting 
 in a carriage till twelve, and struggling on a stair- 
 case amongst a mob of one's fellow-creatures till 
 half-past. After fighting one's way literally step by 
 step,, and gaining a landing by assault, one looks 
 round and takes breath, and what does one see? 
 Panting girls looking in vain for the right partner, 
 who is probably not ten yards from them, but 
 wedged in between substantial dowagers, whom he 
 is cursing in his heart, but from whom there is no 
 escape, or perhaps philosophically and perfidiously 
 making the best of his unavoidable situation, and 
 flirting shamefully with the one he likes next best 
 to the imprisoned maiden on the staircase ; or, 
 the tables turned, young fledglings pining madly for 
 their respective enslavers, and picturing to them- 
 selves how she may be even now whirling round to 
 that pealing waltz in the arms of some former adorer 
 or delightfully new acquaintance, little heeding him 
 who is languishing in his white neckcloth, actually 
 within speaking distance, but separated as eff'ectually 
 as if he were in another country. By-the-bye, its 
 fatal when people begin to think of each other as 
 he's and she's ; the softest proper name that ever was 
 whispered is not half so dangerous as those demon- 
 strative pronouns. In one corner is a stout old gen- 
 tleman, wedged against the wall, wiping the drops 
 from his bald head, and wondering what Jane and 
 Julia can see in these gatherings to make them wild 
 
a 6 WALL-FLOWERS. 
 
 about going to every ball for which they can get an 
 invitation. Deluded father ! both Jane and Julia 
 have the best of reasons in this very house. You 
 grudge not to spend a broiling September day 
 in the pursuit of your game : each of your fair 
 daughters^ sir, flatters herself that she, too, has 
 ■winged her bird. 
 
 Swaying backwards and forwards in the mass, like 
 some goodly merchantman at anchor, pitching and 
 rolling to a ground-swell, behold the chaperone ful- 
 filling her destiny, and skilfully playing tliat game 
 which to her is the business of Hfe. Flushed and 
 hot in person, she is cool and composed in mind. 
 Practice makes perfect; and the chaperone is as 
 much at home here as the stock-broker on ^Change, 
 or the betting-man in the ring, or the fisherman 
 amidst the roar and turmoil of the waves. With 
 lynx eyes she notes how Lady Carmine's eldest girl 
 is 'carrying on' with young Thriftless, and how 
 Lord Looby's eye-glass is fixed on her own youngest 
 daughter ; yet for all this, she is not absent or pre- 
 occupied, but can whisper to stupid Lady Dulwich 
 the very latest intelligence of a marriage, or listen, 
 all attention, to the freshest bit of scandal from Mrs. 
 General Gabbler. But perhaps by this time you 
 have floated with the tide into the doorway, and re- 
 ceived from your hostess the cordial shake of the 
 hand or formal bow which makes you free of the 
 place. So with patience and perseverance you work 
 
PASSION-FLOWERS, 27 
 
 your way at last into tlie dancing-room, and you 
 now see what people come here for; dancing, of 
 course : each performer has about eighteen inches of 
 standing-room, and on that space must be enacted in 
 hopeless pantomime the intricate evolutions of the 
 quadrille, or the rotatory struggles of the waltz. 
 Sidling and smiling, and edging and crushing, the 
 conscientious dancers strive to fulfil their duties, and 
 much confusion and begging of pardons are the 
 natural results. 
 
 However, it's a rare place for love-making. What 
 with the music, and the crowd, and the confusion, 
 the difficulty is more to make out what one^s partner 
 does say, than to prevent his being overheard by 
 other people; but, I must confess, if anybody had 
 anything very particular to say to me, I had rather 
 hear it in the quiet country by moonlight, or even 
 coming home from Greenwich by water, or any- 
 where, in short, rather than in the turmoil of a 
 London ball. But that's all nonsense ; and I hope I 
 have too much pride to allow any man to address me 
 in such a strain. Trust me for setting him down ! 
 
 It's no wonder, then, that I was cross when I was 
 dressing for Lady Horsingham's ball ; and that silly 
 Gertrude (that's my maid's name, and what a name 
 it is for a person in that class of life !) put me more 
 and more out of patience with her idiotic conversa- 
 tion, which she tries to adapt to my tastes, and of 
 which the following is a specimen : — 
 
2 8 JOHN AGAIN. 
 
 ' Master John will be at her ladyship's ball, miss, 
 I make no doubt ; ' brushing away the while at my 
 back hair_, and pulling it unnecessarily hard : no 
 maid ever yet had a ' light hand.' 
 
 No answer. "What business is it of her's, and 
 why should she call him Master John? Gertrude 
 tries again : ' You look pale to-night, miss ; — you 
 that generally has such a colour. I'm afraid you're 
 tired with your ride.' 
 
 'Not a bit of it — only sleepy. Why it's time one 
 was in bed.* 
 
 ' Lor, miss, I shouldn't want to go to bed, not if 
 I was going to a ball. But I think you like *orse 
 exercise best; and to be sure, your 'orse is a real 
 beauty. Miss Kate.' 
 
 The very name of Brilliant always puts me in 
 good humour, so, of course, T can but answer, ' That 
 he is, Gertrude, and as good as he's handsome ; ' on 
 which my voluble handmaid goes off again at score. 
 
 ' That's what I say, miss, when I see him coming 
 round to the door, with his long black tail, and his 
 elegant shape, and his thin legs.' Thin legs ! — I 
 can't stand that; to hear my beautiftil Brilliant's 
 great strong legs called thin, as if he was made of 
 paper. I feel I am getting savage again, so I cut 
 Gertrude short, and bid her 'finish my hair,' and 
 hasten my dressing, for Aunt Deborah don't take 
 long, and we shall be late for the ball. At the men- 
 tion of the word 'ball,' off goes Gertrude again. 
 
A NICE MATCH. 29 
 
 ' What a grand ball it'll be, miss, as all her lady- 
 ship's is ; and I know there'll be no young lady there 
 as will be better dressed than my young lady^ nor 
 better looking neither; and I'm sure^ to see you and 
 Master John stand up together, as you did last 
 Christmas, when we was all at Dangerfield ! and I 
 says to the steward, * Mr. Musty/ says I, ' a hand- 
 somer couple than them two I never clapped eyes 
 on. Master John, he looks so fresh, and so healthy 
 and portly, as becomes a gentleman.' And he says, 
 ' No doubt,' says he ; ' and Miss Kate, she steps 
 away like a real good one, with her merry eyes and 
 her trim waist, as blooming,' says he, 'as a bean- 
 field, and as saucy as ' ' 
 
 ' There, that will do, Gertrude ; now my pocket- 
 handkerchief and some scent, and my gloves and my 
 fan. Good night, Gertrude.' 
 
 ' Good night, miss ; I do humbly hope you'll 
 enjoy your ball.' 
 
 Enjoy my ball, indeed ! How little does the girl 
 know what I enjoy, and what I don't enjoy ! Lady 
 Horsingham will be as stiff as the poker, and about 
 as communicative. Cousin Amelia will look at 
 everything I've got on, and say the most disagree- 
 able things she can think of, because she never can 
 forgive me for being born two years later than her- 
 self. I shall know very few people, and those I do 
 know I shall not like. I shall have a headache 
 before I've been half an hour in the room. If I 
 
30 COUSIN AMELIA. 
 
 dance I shall be hot, and if I don't dance I shall be 
 bored. Enjoy my ball, indeed ! I'd much rather 
 be going haymaking. 
 
 Up went the steps, bang went the door, and ere 
 long we were safely consigned to the 'string' of 
 carriages bound for the same destination as ourselves. 
 After much ' cutting in,' and shaving of wheels, and 
 lashing of coach-horses, with not a little blasphemy, 
 'Miss Horsingham' and 'Miss Coventry' were an- 
 nounced in a stentorian voice, and we were struffdino- 
 in a mass of silks and satins, blonde and broad-cloth, 
 up the swarming staircase. Everything happened 
 exactly as I had predicted; Lady Horsingham ac- 
 costed Aunt Deborah with the most affectionate 
 cordiahty, and lent me two fingers of her left hand, 
 to be returned without delay. Cousin Amelia looked 
 me well over from head to foot, and asked after my 
 own health and Brilliant's with a supercilious smile. 
 How that girl hates me ! and I honestly confess to 
 returning the feeling with some cordiality. As far 
 as appearance goes, I think Avithout vanity I may 
 say I have the best of it, Cousin Amelia being very 
 short and pale, with a ' turn-up ' nose and long 
 ringlets. Why does a little woman with a turn-up 
 nose always wear her hair in ringlets ? Is it that 
 she wishes to resemble a Kiug Charles's spaniel? 
 And why are our sex so apt to cherish feelings of 
 animosity towards those who are younger and better- 
 looking than themselves? While I asked myself 
 
MKS. LUMLEY. 3 I 
 
 these questions, I was suddenly accosted by a lady 
 who had been some time in conversation with my 
 chaperone, and from whom, I saw by Aunt Debo- 
 rah's countenance^ she was anxious to make her 
 escape. Poor old soul! What could she do? a 
 double rank of dowagers hemmed her in in front ; 
 on one side of her, was her unwelcome acquaintance 
 and the banisters, — on the other, myself and three 
 demure young ladies (sisters) , who looked frightened 
 and uncomfortable, — whilst her rear was guarded by 
 a tall cavalry officer with enormous moustachios, 
 heading an impervious column of dandies worse than 
 himself. Aunt Deborah was like a needle in a bot- 
 tle of hay. Taking advantage of her position, the 
 lady before-mentioned seized me by both hands, and 
 vowed she should have known me anywhere by my 
 likeness to my poor mamma. ' I must make your 
 acquaintance, my dear Miss Coventry — your uncle. 
 Sir Harry, was one of my oldest friends. I see you 
 so often in the park, and you ride the nicest horse 
 in London, a bay with a white star.' Of course I 
 bowed an affirmative, and shook my new friend by 
 the hand with a cordiality equal to her own. A con- 
 versation begun in so promising a manner as by a 
 reference to my favorite, was sure to go on swim- 
 mingly ; besides, we could not have got away from 
 each other if we would ; and ere long I found Mrs. 
 Lumley — for that was the lady's name — a most 
 amusing and satirical personage, with a variety of 
 
32 A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 anecdotes about all her friends and acquaintance, 
 and a sort of flippant charm of manner that was 
 quite irresistible. 
 
 Besides all this, she was doubtless a very pretty 
 woman — less striking perhaps than winning. At 
 the first glance you hardly remarked her — at the 
 second you observed she was very well dressed — at 
 the third it occurred to you all of a sudden that she 
 was far better -looking than half the regular red-and- 
 white beauties of the season ; and after five minutes' 
 conversation, all the men were over head and ears 
 in love with her. She was neither dark nor fair — 
 neither pale nor ruddy — neither short nor tall. I 
 never could succeed in making out the colour of her 
 eyes, but she had wonderfully long thick eyelashes 
 with a curl in them (I wish mine had been cut when 
 I was a baby), and a beautiful healthy-looking skin, 
 and such good teeth. After all, I think her great 
 attraction was her nose. It had more expression in 
 its straight, well-cut bridge and little sharp point, 
 than all the rest of her features put together. I 
 believe it was her nose that conquered everything, 
 and that her small feet, and pretty figure, and white 
 hands, and dashing ways, and piqua7ite conversation, 
 had much less to answer for than one saucy little 
 feature. How she rattled on : ' You don't know 
 Lady Scapegrace, Miss Coventry, do you? There 
 that bold-looking woman in yellow. Beautiful black 
 hair, hasn't she? — false, every bit of it! She'll 
 
CHARITY. 23 
 
 how to me to-night, because she sees me with your 
 good aunt ; there, I told you so ! Since she and Sir 
 Guy are living together again she sets up for being 
 respectable — such stories, my dear! but I don^t 
 believe half of ^em. However, I 've seen her with 
 my own eyes do the oddest things — at best, I'm afraid 
 she 's a shocking flirt ! There 's your cousin, Mr. 
 Jones; — you see I know everybody: how black he 
 looks — he don't like me — a great many people 
 don't,^ — but I return good for evil — I like every- 
 body — it's never worth while to be cross;' and as 
 she said so she smiled with such a sunny, merry 
 expression that I liked her better and better. 
 
 Cousin John certainly did look very cross, ' Who 
 introduced you to that horrid woman, Kate ? ' said 
 he, as soon as a fresh convulsion in the crowd had 
 stranded us a few steps higher up, and Ave were 
 separated from Mrs. Lumley and her attractions. 
 
 ' My aunt, sir,' I replied, demurely, telling a 
 ' white one ' for the sake of teasing him. ' Why ? 
 Have you any objections?' 
 
 ' Oh, of course, if my aunt did, it 's all right,' 
 replied he. ' I don't know a great deal of her, and 
 what I do know I don't much like. But, Kate, 
 there 's a friend of mine wishes to be presented to 
 you. You 've often heard me mention Frank Lovell 
 — well, there he is : do you see him ? — turning 
 round now to speak to Lady Scapegrace.' 
 
 Good heavens ! it was the man I had seen in the 
 
 D 
 
34 TKANK LOVELL. 
 
 park so often, if possible, better loolcing with his hat 
 off than I had thought him in his morning costume, 
 with the eternal cigar in his mouth. I have a sort 
 of dim recollection of his making his bow to my 
 aunt, who received him as she does all good-looking 
 young men, with a patronising smile, and a \dsion 
 of John ' doing the polite,' and laughing as he 
 ceremoniously introduced ' Captain LovelF and 'Miss 
 Coventry,' and something said about ' the honoiu' of 
 the next waltz;' and, although I am not easily 
 discomposed, I confess I felt a little shy and uncom- 
 fortable till I found myself hanging on Captain 
 Lovell's arm, and elbowing our way to a place 
 amongst the dancers. 
 
 I must say he wasn't the least Avhat I expected, — 
 not at all forward, and never alluded to om' previous 
 meeting, or to Brilliant, till we went to have an ice 
 in the tea-room, when Captain Lovell began to 
 enlarge upon the charm of those morning rides, and 
 the fresh air, and the beautiful scenery of Hyde- 
 park; and though I never told him exactly, he 
 managed to find out that I rode every day at the 
 same early hour, ' even after a ball ! ' and that I was 
 as likely to be there to-morrow as any day in the 
 week ; and so we had another turn at ' the Colom- 
 betta' waltz, and he took mc back to my aunt, half- 
 inclined to be pleased with him, and more than half- 
 inclined to be angry with myself. I am afraid I 
 couldn't help watching him as he loitered about 
 
A "good waltz. 35 
 
 amongst the crowd, now deep in conversation with 
 Lady Scapegrace, now laughing with my new friend, 
 Mrs. Lumley. He looked so like a gentleman, even 
 amongst all the high-hred men there ; and though 
 so handsome, he didn^t appear the least conceited. 
 I began to wonder whether all could he true that I 
 had heard of him, and to think that a man who 
 liked such early walks could not possibly be the roue 
 and ^good-for-nothing' they made him out. I was 
 roused out of a brown study by Cousin John's voice 
 in my ear, — ^ Now then, Kate, for our waltz. The 
 room 's a little clearer, so we can go the ' pace ' if 
 you like.' And away we went to 'the Odalisque' 
 faster than any other couple in the room. Somehow 
 it wasn 't half such a pretty air as the Colombetta, 
 and John, though he has a very good ear, didn't 
 seem to waltz quite so well as usual : perhaps I was 
 getting a little tired. I know I wasn't at all sorry 
 when my aunt ordered the carriage ; and I thought 
 the dawn never looked so beautiful as it did when 
 we emerged from those hot, lighted rooms into the 
 pure fragrant summer air. I confess I do love the 
 dawn, even in London. I like to see the ' gates of 
 morning' open with that clear light-green tinge 
 that art has never yet been able to imitate ; and if I 
 could do as I liked, which none of us can, I should 
 always be up and dressed by sun-rise. 
 
 As we drove down Grosvenor-place, I saw Captain 
 Lovell walking home, smoking a cigar. I think he 
 
;^6 DAWN. 
 
 caught a glimpse of my face at the carriage-window, 
 for I am almost sure he bowed, but I shrank back 
 into the corner, and pretended to go to sleep ; and 
 when we arrived in Lowndes-street, I was not at all 
 sorry to wish Aunt Deborah good night, and go up- 
 stairs to bed. 
 
RICHMOND. 
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 ' IV^^^ then, Kate, late as usual ; my phaeton's at 
 the door, and we've only an hour and five 
 minutes to do the twelve miles/ said Cousin John's 
 cheery voice, as he accosted me on the following 
 morning, running upstairs to change my dress, after 
 my early ride. Yes, notwithstanding the ball the 
 night before, I was not going to disappoint BrilKant. 
 of his gallop ; besides, these things are all habit : if 
 you once get accustomed to early lioiurs, nothing is 
 so easy as to keep to them. Why, even Captain? 
 Lovell was in the park as usual with his cigar — he 
 seems regular enough about that, at all events — and 
 he took his hat off so gracefully when he spied me 
 cantering up the Eide, that I hadn't the heart to 
 pass without stopping just to say, *How d'ye do? ' 
 but of course I didn't shake hands with him. 
 
 ' Come, Kate, bustle, bustle,' exclaimed that fidget,' 
 John ; and in less time than my lady-readers would: 
 believe, I had put on my pink bonnet and my white 
 dress, and was bowling down to Richmond by the 
 side of my cousin, behind a roan and a chesnut that- 
 stepped away in a style that it did one good to see. 
 
38 "in time." 
 
 ' What a clipper that ofF-horse is, John/ said I, as 
 we cleared London, and got to the level road by Kew 
 Gardens; 'let me take the reins for five minutes, 
 they're going so pleasantly;' but John don't like 
 me to drive anything more sporting than a pony- 
 carriage^ and he refused point-blank, which, to say 
 the least of it, Avas brutal on his part. If I had n't 
 thought it would make me sick, I should have liked 
 to smoke, on purpose to provoke him. We did the 
 distance with three minutes to spare, and as we 
 pulled up in front of the Castle Hotel, I was proud 
 to hear the admiration our tout ensemble elicited from 
 a knot of idlers lounging round the door. ' 'Ere 's 
 a spicy set-out, Bill !' said one. ' Crikey ! vot a 
 pretty gal !' said another. ' Vould n't I like to be 
 Vilikins with she for a Dinah !' exclaimed the dir- 
 tiest of the conclave ; and although I appreciated 
 the compliment, I was forced to turn my back on 
 my unwashed admirer, and reply to the greetings of 
 the pic-nic party we had come down to join. 
 
 There was Mrs. Molasses and her two daughters, 
 to begin with, people of unheard-of wealth, of which 
 they seemed to carry a large portion on their persons. 
 The mamma, ample, black-eyed, frcsh-colom'ed, and 
 brocaded, with an extremely natural wig. The eldest 
 daughter, Mary, with whom I had afterwards reason 
 to be better acquainted, pale, languid, very quiet, 
 and low-toned, with fine eyes, and soft dark hair, 
 and what people call an interesting look. She took 
 
SIR GUY SCAPEGRACE. " 39 
 
 tlie sentimental line — was all feeling and poetry, 
 and milk and water, and as easily frightened as she 
 was reassured again. The younger girl, Jane, was 
 the very reverse of her sister, short and dark and 
 energetic — rather blue, and I thought a little im- 
 pudent — however, I liked her the best of the two. 
 Then came Sir Guy and Lady Scapegrace. The 
 Baronet, a stout, square, elderly man, with enormous 
 dyed whiskers and hair to match, combining as much 
 as possible the manners of the coachman with the 
 morals of the roue. A tremendous dandy of the 
 Four-in-hand Club school, high neckcloth, huge 
 pins, gorgeous patterns, enormous buttons, and a 
 flower in his mouth. His lady as handsome as a 
 star, though a little hollow-eyed and passee. She 
 looked like a tragedy queen, with her magnificent 
 figure, and long black hair, and fierce flashing eyes, 
 and wo-begone expression, and the black velvet ribbon, 
 with its diamond cross, which she always wore round 
 her neck. Ah me ! what stories that diamond-cross 
 could tell, if all be true that we hear of Lady Scape- 
 grace. A girl sold for money, to become a rebellious 
 wife to an unfeeling husband. A handsome young 
 cousin, who cut his own throat in despair — they 
 brought it in temporary insanity of course ; an 
 elopement with a gallant Major to the south of 
 France, and a duel there, in which the Major was 
 shot, but not by Sir Guy; — an English lady of rank 
 travelling on the Continent, independent and alone. 
 
40 HIS LADY. 
 
 breaking banks in all directions with her luck^ and 
 liearts with her beauty ; a reconciliation, entirely for 
 money-considerations, which drove another far less 
 erring woman into a mad-house (but that was Sir 
 Guy^s fault) ; and a darker talc still of a certain 
 potion prepared by her hand, which the Baronet was 
 prevented from swallowing only by his invariable 
 habit of contradicting his wife on all points, and 
 which the lady herself had the effrontery to boast 
 ' would have settled all accounts/ Not a word of 
 truth in any of these stories, probably, but still, 
 such is the character the world's good-nature affixes 
 to that dark handsome woman at whom Cousin 
 John seems so very much alarmed. 
 
 Then there was an elderly Miss Minnows, who 
 was horribly afraid of catching cold, but in whose 
 character I could perceive no other very salient 
 point; and a fair-haired young gentleman, whose 
 name I did not distinctly catch, and who looked 
 as if he ought to have been at school, where, indeed, 
 I think he would have been much happier; and 
 sundry regular stereotyped London men and women, 
 well bred and well dressed, and cool and composed, 
 and altogether thoroughly respectable and stupid; 
 and a famous author, who drank a great deal of 
 wine and never opened his lips to speak; and I 
 think that was all, — no, by-thc-byc, there was Cap- 
 tain Lovell, who came very late, — and wc went 
 soberly into Richmond-park, and dined under a tree. 
 
A PIC-NIC. 41 
 
 I do not think I quite like a pic-nic. It is all 
 very well, like most other arrangements, if eveiy- 
 thing goes right ; but I sat between Sir Guy Scape- 
 grace and the light-haired young gentleman; and 
 although I could hear lots of fun going on at the 
 other end of the table-cloth, where Cousin John and 
 ]Mary ]Molasses, and Captain Lovell had got together, 
 I was too far off to partake of it, and my vis-a-vis, 
 Lady Scapegrace, scowled at me so from under her 
 black eyebrows, though I believe utterly uncon- 
 sciously, that she made me feel quite nervous. Then 
 it was not re-assuring to have that odious Sir Guy 
 pressing me to eat everything, and looking right 
 under my bonnet, and asking me to di'ink cham- 
 pagne at least four times; and if I turned to my 
 other neighbour, and ventured to address him on the 
 most common-place subject, he blushed so painfidly 
 that I began to think he was quite as much afraid of 
 me as I was of Sir Guy. Altogether, I was rather 
 glad when the things were cleared away, and put 
 back into the hampers, and the gentlemen asked 
 leave to light their cigars, and we broke up our 
 circle, and lounged about and enjoyed ourselves in 
 the shade of those fine trees on that dry velvet 
 sward. We were rather put to it, though, for 
 amusement, and had to propose games of forfeits 
 and other pastimes; and Cousin John, quite im- 
 wittingly, got me into a sad scrape by boasting 
 about his horses. 'Not such another pair out of 
 
42 FOUND OUT. 
 
 London to-day,' expatiated John to the company in 
 general. ' We came down in seven minutes under 
 the hour from my aunt's door in Lowndes-street ; 
 did n't -we, Kate ? And never turned a hair ; did 
 we, Kate? Why^ they went so smooth^ Kate 
 couldn't keep her hands off the reins; could you, 
 Kate? And there are few better judges, let me 
 tell you, than Miss Coventry.' I saw the ladies 
 look at me, and then at each other ; and I knew 
 by that indescribable glance, which none but a 
 woman can thoroughly appreciate, how from that 
 moment they had vowed, one and all, to hate me 
 eternally in their hearts. The offence had been 
 committed; the sentence had gone forth. I had 
 been tried for heing fast, and found guilty nem. con. ; 
 from sneering Lady Scapegrace to unmeaning Miss 
 Minnows, each stared at me for about two seconds, 
 and so made up her mind. I cannot think why it is 
 that this should be so great a crime in the eyes of 
 my own sex. Next to being attractive to the other 
 half of creation — and that I can easily understand 
 is totally unpardonable — there is nothing makes a 
 woman so angry with her sister as high spirits, 
 natural courage, and above all, a love for a horse. 
 It is very hard upon us that we should be debarred 
 from all out-of-door exercises, and amusements by 
 the prejudices of those very individuals who ought to 
 back us up in our efforts to enlarge the circle of our 
 amusements. I cannot see why it follows, that be- 
 
AN OFFER. 43 
 
 cause I do not mind ' -weather/ I must, therefore, be 
 utterly regardless of morality, nor how my knack of 
 breaking-in a horse should imply an infraction of 
 all the commandments. Are men the only bipeds 
 that can be at the same time brave and virtuous ? 
 Must pluck and piety be for ever divorced in the 
 female character? Shall I never be able to keep 
 the straight path in life because I can turn an 
 awkward corner vrith four horses at a trot ? Female 
 voices answer volubly in the negative ; and I give in. 
 
 But odious Sir Guy thinks none the worse of me 
 for my coaching predilections. ' Fond of dl'i^dng, 
 Miss Coventry ?' says he, leering at me fi^om over his 
 great choking neckcloth. ' Seen my team ? three 
 greys and a piebald. If you like going fast, I can 
 accommodate you. Proud to take you back on my 
 drag. What? go on the box. Drive, if you like. 
 Hey?' 
 
 I confess for one instant, much as I hated the old 
 reprobate, I should have liked to go, if it was only 
 to make all the women so angry; but just then I 
 caught Captain Lovell's eye fixed upon me with a 
 strange, earnest expression, and all at once I felt 
 that nothing shoiild induce me to trust myself with 
 Sir Guy. I couldn't help blushing, though, as I 
 declined ; more particularly when my would-be cha- 
 rioteer swore he considered it ' an engagement, hey ? 
 — only put off to another time — get the coach new 
 painted — begad. Miss Coventry's favourite colour!' 
 
44 ENNUI. 
 
 and the old monster grinned in my face till I could 
 have boxed his ears.' 
 
 The author by this time was fast asleep, with a 
 handkerchief over his face — INIiss INIinnows search- 
 ing in vain for a fabulous pair of clogs^ as she 
 imagined the dew must be falling — it Avas about six 
 P.M., and hot June weather. Sir Guy was off to the 
 hampers in search of ' brandy and soda,' and the rest 
 of the party lounging about in twos and threes^ when 
 Captain Lovell proposed we should stroll down to the 
 river, and have a row in the cool of the evening. 
 Mary Molasses voted it 'charming'; Lady Scape- 
 grace was willing to go anywhere away from Sir 
 Guy; John of course all alive for a lark; and though 
 Mrs. Molasses preferred remaining on dry land, she 
 had no objection to trusting her girls with us. So 
 we mustered a strong party for embarkation on 
 Father Thames. Our two cavaliers ran forward to 
 get the boat ready, Captain Lovell bounding over 
 the fences and stiles almost as actively as Brilliant 
 could have done ; and John, who is no mean pro- 
 ficient at such exercises, following him ; whilst we 
 ladies paced along soberly in the rear. 
 
 ' Can you row. Miss Coventry ? ' asked Lady 
 Scapegrace, who seemed to have taken rather a 
 fancy to me, probably out of contradiction to the 
 other women ; ' I can — I rowed four miles once on 
 the Lake of Geneva,' she added, in her deep melan- 
 choly voice, ' and we were caught in one of those 
 
THE BULL. 45 
 
 squalls, and nearly lost. If it hadn't been for poor 
 AlphonsCj not one of us could have escaped. I won- 
 der if drowning's a painful death, Miss Coventry — 
 the water always looks so inviting.' 
 
 "^ Goodness, Lady Scapegrace!' exclaimed I; ' don't 
 take this opportunity of finding out : none of us can 
 swim but John; and if he saves anybody, he's 
 solemnly engaged to save me.^ 
 
 'I quite think with you, Lady Scapegrace/ said 
 the romantic Miss Molasses ; ' it looks so peaceful, 
 and gives one such an idea of repose ; I for one have 
 not the slightest fear of death, or indeed of any mere 
 bodily changes — gracious goodness ! the bull ! the 
 bull ! ! ' 
 
 What a rout it was ! The courageous young lady 
 who thus gave us the first intimation of danger, 
 leading the flight with a speed and activity of which 
 I should have thought her languid frame totally in- 
 capable; Lady Scapegrace making use of her long 
 legs with an utter forgetfulness of her usually grave 
 and tragic demeanour; and the rest of the party 
 seeking safety helter-skelter. 
 
 It was, indeed, a situation of some peril. Our 
 course to the river-side had led us through a long 
 narrow strip of meadow-land, bounded by high im- 
 pervious thorn fences, such as I knew would be hull- 
 finches in the winter, and which now, in all the lux- 
 uriance of summer foliage, presented a mass of thorns 
 and fragrance that no mortal could expect to get 
 
46 A ROUT. 
 
 through. At either end of the field was a high hog- 
 backed stile, such as ladies usually make considerable 
 difficulties about surmounting^ but which are by no 
 means so impossible of transit when an infuriated 
 bull is bringing up the rear. We were already a 
 quarter of the way across the field, when Miss Mary's 
 exclamation made us aware of our enemy^ who had 
 been quietly cropping the grass in a corner behind 
 us, but who now, roused by our gaudy dresses, and 
 the piercing screams of some of our party, was lash- 
 ing himself into a rage, and looking sufficiently mis- 
 chievous to be a very unpleasant acquaintance. It 
 was impossible to turn round and make for the stile 
 we had just left, as the bull now occupied a position 
 exactly between us and that place of safety ; it was 
 hopeless, particularly in our light muslin gowns, to 
 attempt the hedge on either side ; there was nothing 
 for it but a fair run to the other end of the meadow, 
 about a quarter of a mile — and sauve qui pent Avas 
 now the order of the day. 
 
 I will not allow that I am deficient in courage ; 
 on the contrary, as Cousin John says, ' I am rather 
 proud of my pluck; ' but there is nothing so conta- 
 gious as a panic, and I too ran for my very life. The 
 bull came galloping after us, tossing his head and 
 rolling his great body about as if he quite enjoyed 
 the fun; nor do I know how the adventure would 
 have ended, for he must have overtaken some of us 
 before we could reach our haven, had not Lady 
 
THE FOE. 47 
 
 Scapegrace caught her foot in the long grass^ and 
 falKng prostrate, buried her face in her hands, and 
 given herself up, as she afterwards assured me_, to 
 the prospect of a horrible and violent death. I could 
 not leave her in such a situation. By an impulse for 
 which I cannot account, I stopped short, turned 
 round, got between the pursuer and his fallen foe, 
 and with a beating heart and my knees knocking 
 together, faced the great mischievous brute, with no 
 other weapon, offensive or defensive, than a laced 
 pocket handkerchief, I believe he w^as a well-mean- 
 ing bull after all ; for instead of crashing in upon me, 
 as I half expected he would, and immolating me on 
 the spot, he too stopped short, stared, bellowed, and 
 began sniffing the grass, and pawing up the turf, and 
 whisking his tail about, just as Brilliant does when 
 he is going to lie down. I don't think he had ever 
 seen a young lady, certainly not a French bonnet 
 before, and he didn't seem to know what to make of 
 the combination ; so there we stood, he and I, staring 
 each other out of countenance, but without proceed- 
 ing to any further extremities. I know I have plenty 
 of courage, for after the first minute, 1 wasn't the 
 least bit afraid; I felt just as I do when I ride at a 
 large fence — as I get nearer and nearer, I feel some- 
 thing rising and rising within mc, that enables me 
 to face anything ; and so when I had confronted the 
 buU for a little time, I felt inclined to carry the war 
 into the enemy's country, and advance upon him. 
 
48 A CONQUEST. 
 
 But of course all this is very indelicate and unfemi- 
 nine^ and it would liave been far more virtuous and 
 lady-like to have run shrieking away, like ]\Iiss 
 Molasses ; or laid down and given in at once like 
 poor Lady Scapegrace, who was quite resigned to 
 being tossed and trampled upon, and only gave vent 
 every now and then to a stifled moan. 
 
 Well, at last I did advance a few steps, and the 
 bull gave ground in the same proportion. I began 
 to think I should beat him after all; when, to my 
 great relief, I must allow, I heard a voice behind me 
 exclaim, ' By Jove, what a plucky girl ! ' and I 
 thought I heard something muttered that sounded 
 very like ' darling ' ; but of coiu'se that couldn't be 
 meant for me ; and Captain Lovell, hot, handsome, 
 and breathless, made his appearance, and soon drove 
 our enemy into the farthest corner of the field. As 
 soon as the coast was clear, we raised poor Lady 
 Scapegrace, who kissed me with tears in her eyes as 
 she thanked me for what she called ' saving her life.' 
 I had no idea the woman had so much feeling. Cap- 
 tain Lovell gave each of us an arm as we walked on 
 to join our party, and he explained how the screams 
 of Miss Molasses had reached him even at the river- 
 side, and how he had turned and hastened back im- 
 mediately, ' Fortunately in time to be of some use. 
 But I never saw a finer thing done, ]\Iiss Coventry ; 
 if I live to a hundred, I shall never forget it ' — and 
 he looked as if he would have added, ' or you either.' 
 
HOME ! 
 
 49 
 
 Many were the exclamations_, and mucli the con- 
 versation created by our adventure. The ladies who 
 had run away so gallantly, were of course too much 
 agitated for the proposed boating excursion; so^ after 
 sundry restoratives at the hotel, we ordered the 
 carriages to return to town. Cousin John gave 
 ' Frank ' (as he calls him) a place in the back seat of 
 his phaeton; and he leaned over and talked to me the 
 whole way home. What a pleasant drive it was in 
 the moonlight, and how happy I felt ! I was really 
 sorry when we got back to London. Frank seemed 
 quite anxious to make Aunt Deborah's acquaintance; 
 and I thought I shouldn't wonder if he was to call in 
 Lowndes-street very soon. 
 
50 AUNT D. S COLD. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "TTrHEN Aunt Deborali is laid up witli one of her 
 coldsj she always has a wonderful accession of 
 ' propriety ' accompanying the disorder ; and that 
 which would appear to her at the worst a harmless 
 escapade when in her usual health and spirits^ he- 
 comes a crime of the blackest dye when seen through 
 the medium of barley-broth and water-gruel, these 
 being Aunt Deborah's infallible remedies for a ca- 
 tarrh. Now the cold in question had lasted its 
 victim over the Ascot meeting, over our pic-nic to 
 Richmond, and bade fair to give her employment 
 during the greater part of the summer, so obstinate 
 was the enemy when he had once possessed himself 
 of the citadel; and, under these circumstances, I 
 confess it appeared to me quite hopeless to ask her 
 permission to accompany Cousin John on a long- 
 promised expedition to Hampton Races. I did not 
 dare make the request myself; and I own I had gi'eat 
 misgivings, even when I overheard from my boudoir 
 the all-poweiful John preferring his petition, which 
 he did with a sort of abrupt good humour peculiarly 
 his own. 
 
CROSS-STITCH. 5 1 
 
 ' Going to take Kate out for another lark^ aunt, if 
 you have no objection/ says John, plumping down 
 into an arm-chair, and forthwith proceeding to en- 
 tangle Aunt Deborah's knitting into the most hope- 
 less confusion. ' Only some quiet races near town ; 
 all amongst ourselves, you know — gentlemen riders, 
 and that sort of thing.' 
 
 Aunt Deborah, who is a good deal behindhand in 
 all matters connected with the turf, and who has set 
 her face into a determined refusal when she hears 
 the word ' racing,' rather relaxes at the mention of 
 'gentlemen riders,' and replies gravely — 'John, I 
 want to talk to you about Kate. The girl's wild 
 after horses and hounds, and all such unfeminine 
 pursuits. I wonder you like to see it yourself, my 
 dear. Now don't you think it would be far better to 
 encourage her in domestic tastes and amusements? 
 I give you my word, she hasn't done a bit of worsted- 
 work for a fortnight.' 
 
 John's face must have been good at this piece of 
 intelligence; if there is one thing he hates more 
 than another, it is ' cross-stitch.' But he replied 
 with exemplary gravity, that ' Cousin Kate never 
 was strong, you know, aunt, and she is ordered to 
 be a good deal in the open air, with plenty of horse- 
 exercise ', and this is delightful weather for riding.' 
 
 ' Well, John,' says Aunt Deborah, ' of course, if you 
 don't mind it, I needn't ; you'll be the sufferer, my 
 dear, not I' (I wonder what she meant by that ?) ; ' and 
 
5 2 WHITE-STOCKINGS. 
 
 I must let her go, if you choose to take her, John. 
 How like your father you're growing, my handsome 
 boy ! ' and Aunt Deborah kissed Cousin John on the 
 forehead, with tears in her eyes ; and they called to 
 me to get ready, and the horses came round, and in 
 less than ten minutes we were up and away. 
 
 It was very gratifying to overhear the compli- 
 mentary remarks made upon the general appearance 
 of White- Stockings, whom I had ridden down, to 
 save Brilliant, and who, despite his ugliness, is a 
 very hunting-looking horse. 
 
 ^ Looks a game ^un, don't he, squire?' remarked 
 a jolly-looking Surrey farmer, in top-boots, to a di- 
 lapidated friend in a Avhite neckcloth. ' Shouldn't 
 wonder if he couldn't kick the dirt in some of their 
 faces, with that tight lass to keep his head straight.' 
 The friend was a melancholy man, and nodded his 
 silent affirmative with a sigh. I think, early as it 
 Avas, they had both been drinking. 
 
 'Look at that chesnut horse!' exclaimed a good- 
 looking boy of some twenty summers, who had 
 coached his own drag down, like a second Phaeton, 
 only as yet with better luck, and was noAv smoking a 
 huge cigar on its roof; ' Isn't he the image of old 
 Paleface? Who's the woman, cli ? — Does nobody 
 know her ? I '11 ask her to come and sit up here. 
 She looks like a lady, too,' he added, checking him- 
 self; ' never mind, here goes ! ' and he was jumping 
 off the coach, to tender me, I presume, his polite 
 
A MISTAKE. 
 
 53 
 
 invitation in person^ when his arm was caught by the 
 man next him, who was no other than John's friend. 
 Captain LovelL 
 
 ^Charley, stop!^ exclaimed Frank, flushing all 
 over his handsome face and temples ; ' I know her, 
 I tell you ; have a care, it^s Miss Coventry/ and in 
 another instant he had bounded to the earth, ac- 
 costed my chaperon with a hearty ' Jack, how goes 
 it ? ' and was deep in conversation with my humble 
 self, with his hand on my horse's neck — (Frank 
 always wears such good gloves) — and his pleasant 
 countenance beaming with delight at our chance 
 interview. I liked the races better after this, and 
 should have spent a happier day, perhaps, without 
 the society of Mrs. Lumley, who appeared likewise 
 on horseback, quite unexpectedly, and was riding the 
 most beautiful brown mare I ever saw in my life. I 
 quite wished I had brought down Brilliant, if only 
 to have met her on more equal terms. As we were 
 the only two ladies on horseback, of course we were 
 obliged to fraternise (if the weaker sex may use such 
 an expression), as, indeed, we must have done had 
 we been the bitterest foes on earth, instead of 
 merely hating each other with common civility, 
 jNIrs. Lumley seemed on particularly good terms 
 with Frank Lovell, — I do not know that I liked 
 her any the better for that, — and expressed her 
 sentiments and opinions to the world in general with 
 a vivacity and freedom peculiarly her own. 
 
54 A MEPHISTOPHELES IN KINGLETS. 
 
 'I am out on Hhe sly/ you know,' she observed, 
 with an arch smile. ' I have a good quiet aunt who 
 lives down at Richmond, and I do penance there for 
 a time, whenever I have been more than usually 
 wicked; but to-day I could not resist the fine 
 weather, and the crowd and the fun, and, above all, 
 the bad company, which amuses me more than all 
 the rest put together, though I do not include you. 
 Miss Coventry, nor yet Mr. Jones, but I am afraid I 
 must Captain Lovell. Come, let's ride amongst the 
 carriages, and see the ninnies.' 
 
 So Mrs. Lumley and I plunged into the crowd, 
 leaving Frank to return to his drag and his betting- 
 book, and Cousin John somewhat discontentedly to 
 bring up the rear. 
 
 ' After all, I don't see much harm in Hampton,' 
 said my lively guide, as we tlu'caded our way between 
 the carriages ; ' though, to be sure, there are some 
 very queer-looking people on the course. I could 
 tell you strange stories of most of them, INIiss 
 Coventry, only you wouldn't believe me. Do you 
 see that old, plainish woman, with such black hair 
 and eyebrows — something like Lad}'^ Scapegrace, 
 only not so handsome as my favourite enemy ? — 
 Would you believe it, she might marry three coronets 
 at this moment if she chose, and she wont have any 
 one of them ! She is not good-looking, you can 
 see ; she can scarcely write her own name. She has 
 no conversation, I happen to know; for I met her 
 
WHO S WHO. S^ 
 
 once at dinner, and she cannot by any chance put an 
 ' H ' into its right place. Yet men see something in 
 her that is totally inexplicable to us, and she seems 
 to have a mysterious influence over all ages and all 
 sorts. One of these infatuated noblemen is decrepid 
 and twaddling ; the other a stern reserved man, that 
 up to forty years of age was supposed to be the very 
 impersonation of common sense ; and the third, 
 young, clever, and handsome, a man that might 
 marry half the nicest women in England, if he liked. 
 And why do you think she wont pick and choose 
 from such a trio? ^hy, forsooth, because she has 
 set her stupid heart on a drunken stock-broker, who 
 wont have a word to say to her, and would have been 
 here to-day, I have no doubt, if he hadn't been 
 afraid of meeting her. Well, there's a stranger story 
 than thai about the girl with long fair hair in the 
 next caniage. You can see her now, in a pink 
 bonnet, drinking sherry and soda-water — it is sup- 
 posed that she is old Goldfinch's daughter, and that 
 he wont give her a farthing ; but I know somebody 
 who knows his lawyer, and that gu'l ivill have half a 
 million, if she don't drink herself to death before 
 old Goldfinch takes his departure from this wicked 
 world. She is beautiful, and clever, and accom- 
 phshed, and all the young men are in love with her ; 
 but she cannot keep sober, and in thi-ee years' time 
 she will have lost her youth, and her health, and her 
 faculties, and, in all probability, will finish in a mad- 
 
56, A SYREN 
 
 house. There's Frank LoveU making fierce love to 
 her now.' 
 
 And as Mrs. Lumley concluded with this amiable 
 remark, I looked round for Cousin John^ and rode 
 away from lier^ in disgust at her flippancy, and sick 
 at heart to think of such a man as Captain Lovell 
 wasting his smiles on such a creature. To he sure, 
 he only said three words to her, for when I looked 
 round again at the carriage he was gone. There is 
 something very amusing to me in the bustle of a 
 race-course ; and yet, after talking to INIrs. Lumley^ 
 the gloss seemed to be only on the surface. She 
 had told me enough of the company to make me 
 fancy there must be some strange history belonging 
 to each. Like the man that saw through the roofs 
 of the houses in Madrid, thanks to the agency of his 
 familiar, I thought that my demon on a side-saddle 
 had taught me to see into the very hearts and 
 secrets of the motley assemblage. 
 
 There was a handsome girl, with beautiful teeth 
 and neatly braided hair, and such a brilliant smile,^ 
 attracting a crowd round her, as she sang piquant 
 songs in a sweet deep-toned voice that ought to have 
 made her fortune on the stage, if it had been properl}'' 
 cultivated — sang them, too, with a look and manner 
 that I have seen seldom rivalled by the cleverest 
 actresses ; and I thought what a face and form were 
 wasted here to make profit for one knave, and sport 
 for some fifty fools. As she accompanied herself on 
 
MISPLACED. 57 
 
 the harpj and touched its strings with a grace and 
 expression which made amends for a certain want of 
 tuition^ I could not help fancying her in a drawing- 
 room, surrounded by admirers, making many a heart 
 ache with her arch smile and winning ways. With- 
 out being jooszVife/y beautiful, she had the knack so 
 few women possess, of looking charming in every 
 attitude, and with every expression of countenance ; 
 and although her songs were of a somewhat florid 
 school, yet I could not help thinking that, with those 
 natural gifts, and a plaintive old ballad, Enghsh or 
 Scotch, such as ' Annie Laurie' or ' The Nut-brown 
 Maid,' to bring them out, in a pretty drawing-room, 
 with the assistance of a good dressmaker, — dear ! 
 she might marry a duke, if she liked. 
 
 And yet all this belonged to a dark, close-shaved 
 ruffian, with silver rings and a yellow handkerchief, 
 who scowled and prowled about her, and looked as if 
 he was likely enough to beat her when they got home. 
 But she hands up an ivory bowl for contributions 
 amongst the young dandies on the roof of a neighbour- 
 ing coach, who have been listening open-mouthed to 
 the Siren, and shillings and half-crowns, and a bit of 
 gold from the one last out of the Bench, pour into it : 
 and she moves off, to make way for three French glee- 
 maidens, with a monkey and a tambourine, and the 
 swells return to their cigars and their betting, and 
 we are all attention for the next event on the card, 
 because it is a gentleman-riders' race; and the per-: 
 
58 PAEACHUTE. 
 
 formances will consequently be as different as possible 
 from Avhat we have just seen. 
 
 ' We '11 secure a good place for tbis^ Kate,' says 
 Cousin JohUj edging his horse in as near the judge's 
 stand as he can get ; ' Frank Lovell has a mare to 
 run, and I have backed her for a sovereign.' 
 
 ' Dear, I hope she'll Avin ! ' is my ardent rejoinder. 
 
 ' Thank you, Kate/ saj^s kind Cousin John, who 
 concludes I take an unusual interest in his specula- 
 tions ; and forthwith we proceed to criticize the three 
 animals brought to the post, and to agree that Capt. 
 Lovell' s Parachute is far the best-looking of the lot ; 
 or, as Sir Guy Scapegrace says to the well-pleased 
 owner, ' if make and shape go for anything, Frank, 
 she ought to beat them as far as they can see.' 
 
 Sir Guy is chaperoning a strange-looking party of 
 men and women, who have been very noisy since 
 luncheon time. He is attired in a close-shaved hat 
 (which he had the effrontery to take off to me, but 
 I looked the other way), a white coat, and a red 
 neckcloth, the usual flower in his mouth being re- 
 placed for the occasion by a large cigar. Captain 
 Lovell hopes * I admire his mare — she has a look of 
 Brilliant from here. Miss Coventry. ' Baby Larkins,' 
 of the Lancers, is to ride; and The Baby will do 
 her justice, if any one can — he's far the best of the 
 young ones, now.' 
 
 ' Do you mean his name is ' Baby ? ' ' said I, much 
 amused ; or that you call him so because he is such 
 
THE BABY. 59 
 
 a cliild? He looks as if he ought to be with mamma 
 
 still.' 
 
 ' We always called him ' Baby ' in the Lancers/ 
 explained Frank, ' because he joined us so very young. 
 He is nineteen, though you would guess him about 
 twelve, but he's got the brains of a man of sixty and 
 the nerves of a giant. Ah! Parachute, you may 
 kick, old girl, but you wont get rid of that child ! ' 
 
 And sure enough ' The Baby ' sat like a rock, with 
 a grim smile, and preserving throughout a silence 
 and sang froid which nothing seemed able to over- 
 come. Two more seedy-looking animals made up 
 the entry. The lamer one of the two was ridden 
 by a stout major, with a redundancy of moustaches 
 — the other by a lanky cornet of Heavy Dragoons, 
 who seemed not to know where on earth to dispose 
 of his arms and legs, besides finding his cap some- 
 what in his way, and being much embarrassed with 
 his whip. They gallop up and down before starting, 
 till I wonder how any galloping can be left for the 
 race; and after a futile attempt or two they get 
 away, The Baby making strong running, the stout 
 major waiting closely upon his infantine antagonist, 
 while the long cornet, looming like a windmill in the 
 distance, brings up the rear. 
 
 ' Parachute still making running,' says John, stand- 
 ing erect in his stirrups, his honest face ]pe3,ming 
 with excitement — ' Woa, horse ! — Stand still, White- 
 Stockings — now they reach the turn, and The 
 Baby takes a pull — Gad, old Ganymede's coming 
 
6o THE FINISH. 
 
 up. Well done^ Major — no, the old one 's flogging. 
 Parachute -vvins. "Now Baby! — now Major — the 
 horse ! — the mare ! — Best race I ever saw in my 
 life — a dead heat — Ha ! ha ! ha ! ' The latter ex- 
 plosion of mirth is due to the procrastinated arrival 
 of the long cornet, who flogs and works as religiously 
 home as if he had a hundred more behind him, and 
 who reaches the weighing enclosure in time to ascer- 
 tain with his own eyes that Ganymede has won, the 
 lame plater who rejoices in that classical appellation 
 having struggled home first by a head, 'notwith- 
 standing,' as the sporting papers afterwards expressed 
 themselves, ' the judicious riding and beautiful finish 
 of that promising young jockey, JNIr. B. Larkius.^ 
 ' The Baby ' himself, however, is unmoved, as usual, 
 nodding to Parachute's disappointed owner without 
 moving a muscle of his countenance. He merely 
 remarks, ' Short of work, Frank — told you so afore 
 I got up ; and putting on a tiny Avhite overcoat like 
 a plaything, disappears, and is seen no more. 
 
 What a confusion there is in getting away. Sir 
 Guy Scapegrace has a yearly bet Avith the young- 
 Phaeton, who wanted to invite me on his box, as to 
 Avhich shall get first to Kensington on their way 
 back to town. You Avould suppose Sir Guy Avas very 
 happy at home, by his anxiety to be oft": the two 
 drags are soon bumping and rolling and rattling 
 along the sward. The narrow lane through which 
 they must make their way is completely blocked up 
 with spring vans, and tax-carts, and open carriages. 
 
A START. 6 1 
 
 and sliut carriages^ and brougliams and landaus, and 
 every description of vehicle that ever came out of 
 Long Acre, whilst more four horse coaches, with 
 fast teams and still faster loads, are thundering in 
 the rear. Slang reigns supreme, and John Gilpin's 
 friend, who had a ' ready wit/ would here meet with 
 his match. Nor are jest and repartee (what John 
 calls 'chaff') the only missiles bandied about; toys, 
 knocked off ' the sticks ' for the purpose, darken the 
 air as they fly from one vehicle to another — and the 
 broadside from a well- supplied coach is like that of 
 a seventy-four. Fun and good humour abound, but 
 confusion gets worse confounded. Young Phaeton's 
 wheel is locked with a market gardener's, who is 
 accompanied by two sisters-in-law and the suitors of 
 those nowise disconcerted damsels, all more or less 
 intoxicated. Thriftless has his near leader in the 
 back seat of a pony-carriage, and Sir Guy's off- 
 wheeler is over the pole. John and I agree to make 
 a detour, have a pleasant ride in the country, never 
 mind about dinner, and so get back to London by 
 moonlight. As we reach a quiet sequestered lane^ 
 and inhale the pleasant fragrance of the hawthorn — 
 always sweetest towards nightfall — we hear a horse's 
 tramp behind us, and are joined by Frank Lovell, 
 who explains with unnecessary distinctness that ' he 
 always makes a practice of riding bach from Hampton, 
 to avoid the crowd, and always comes that way ; ' if so, 
 he must be in the habit of taking a considerable detour, 
 but he joins our party, and we ride home together. 
 
62 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 How beautifully tlie moon shone upon the river as 
 we crossed Kew Bridge that calm, silent, summer 
 night — how it flickered through their branches_, and 
 silvered over the old trees; and what a peaceful, 
 lovely landscape it was. I thought Frank's low 
 sweet voice quite in keeping with the time and the 
 scene. As we rode together, John lagging a good 
 deal behind (that bay horse of John's never could 
 walk with AVhite Stockings), I could not help think- 
 ing how much I had misunderstood Captain Lovell's 
 character: what a deal of feeling — almost of ro- 
 mance — there was under that conventional exterior 
 which he wore before the world. I liked him so 
 much more now I came to know him better. I was 
 quite sorry when we had to Avisli him ' good night,' 
 and John and I rode thoughtfully home through the 
 quiet streets. I thought my cousin's manner was 
 altered, to«, though I scarce knew how. His fare- 
 well sounded more constrained, more polite than 
 usual, when he left me at Aunt Deborah's door; and 
 whilst I was imdressiug, I reflected on all the pro- 
 ceedings of the day, and tried to remember Avhat I 
 had done that could possibly have displeased good- 
 natured John. The more I Avcnt over it backwards 
 and forwards, the less could I make of it. ' Can it 
 be possible,' I thought at last — 'can it be possible 
 that Cousin John — ' and here I popped out my can- 
 dle and jumped into bed. 
 
AT HOME. 62 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T REALLY had not courage to take my usual 
 canter the morning after Hampton races. I 
 did not feel as if I could face the umbrella and the 
 cigar at the rails in ' the Ride,' and yet I rang the 
 bell once for my maid to help me on with my habit, 
 and had my liand on it more than once to order my 
 horse, but I thought better of it. Poor Aunt Debo- 
 rah's cold was still bad, though she was downstairs; 
 so I determined to take care of her, in common 
 gratitude, and gi^e her the advantage of my agree- 
 able society. I am very fond of Aunt Deborah, in 
 my own way, and I know there is nothing she likes 
 so much as a ' quiet morning with Kate.^ 
 
 The hours passed off rather slowly till luncheon 
 time. I did forty-two stitches of worsted- work — I 
 never do more than fifty at a time, unless it's 
 'grounding' — and I got off Hannah More because 
 Aunt Deborah was too hoarse to read to me, and I 
 really cannot read that excellent work to her without 
 laughing ; but I thought luncheon never would be 
 ready, and when it did come I couldn't eat any. 
 However, I went upstairs afterwards, and smoothed 
 
64 A MORNING VISIT. 
 
 my hair, and set my collar straight, and was glad to 
 hear Aunt Deborah give her usual order that she 
 was ' at home/ with her usual solemnity. I had not 
 been ten minutes in the drawing-room, before a 
 knock at the door brought my heart into my mouth, 
 and our tragic footman announced ' Captain Lovell,' 
 in his most tragic voice. In marched Frank, who 
 had never set eyes on my aunt in his life, and shook 
 hands with me, and made her a very low bow, with a 
 degree of effrontery, that nothing but a man could 
 ever have been capable of assuming. Aunt Deborah 
 drew herself up — and she really is \&vj formidable 
 when she gets on her high horse — and looked first at 
 me, and then at Frank, and then at me again, and I 
 blushed like a fool, and hesitated, and introduced 
 * Captain Lovell' to ^ my aunt. Miss Horsingham' ; 
 and I did n't the least know what to do next, and 
 had a great mind to make a bolt for it and run 
 upstairs. But our visitor seemed to have no mis- 
 givings whatever, and smoothed his hat, and talked 
 about the weather, as if he had kno^vn us all from 
 childhood. I have often remarked, that if you only 
 deprive a man of the free use of his hands, there is 
 no difficulty which he is unable to face. Give him 
 something to handle and keep fidgctting at, and he 
 seems immediately to be in his element ; never mind 
 what it is, a paper-knife, and a book to open, or a 
 •flower to pull in pieces, or a pair of scissors and a 
 bit of thread to snip, or even the eud of a stick 
 
AN INTRODUCTION. 65 
 
 to suck, and he draws inspiration, and what is more 
 to the purpose, conversation, from any and all of these 
 sources. 
 
 But let him have his hands entirely to himself, 
 give him nothing to ' lay hold of,' and he is com- 
 pletely dumb -foundered on the spot. Here was 
 Frank brushing and smoothing away at his hat till 
 it shone like black satin, and facing my aunt with a 
 gallantry and steadiness beyond all praise ; but I 
 believe if I could have snatched it away from him 
 and hid it under the sofa, he would have been routed 
 at once, and must have fled in utter bewilderment 
 and dismay. After my aunt had replied courteously 
 enough to a few common-place observations, she 
 gave one of her ominous coughs, and I trembled for 
 the result. 
 
 ' Captain Beville/ said my aunt ; ' I think I once 
 knew a family of your name in Hampshire ; the New 
 Forest, if I remember rightly.' 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said Frank, no wise disconcerted, 
 and with a sly glance at me, ' my name is Lovell.' 
 
 ' Oh,' replied my aunt, with a considerable as- 
 sumption of stateliness, 'then, a-hem. Captain Gre- 
 ville, I do n't think I have ever had the pleasure of 
 meeting you before.' 
 
 And my aunt looked as if she did n't care whether 
 she ever met him again. This would have been a 
 ' poser' to most people, but Frank applied himself 
 
66 BRASS. 
 
 diligently to liis hat, and opened the trenches in his 
 own way. 
 
 ' The fact is. Miss Horsingham/ said he, ' that I 
 have taken advantage of my intimacy with your 
 nephew, to call upon you Avithout a previous intro- 
 duction, in hopes of ascertaining what has become of 
 an old brother officer of mine, a namesake of yours, 
 and consequently, I should conclude, a relative. 
 There is, I believe, only one family in England of 
 your name. Excuse me. Miss Horsingham, for so 
 personal a remark, but I am convinced he must have 
 been a near connexion from a peculiarity which 
 everyone, who knows anything about our old English 
 families, is aware belongs to yours, — my poor friend 
 Charlie had a beautiful ' hand^; you, madam, I per- 
 ceive, own the same advantage, therefore I am con- 
 vinced you must be a near connexion of my old 
 comrade. You may think me impertinent, but there 
 is no mistaking ' the Horsingham hand.' ' 
 
 Aunt Deborah gave in at once. 
 
 ' I cannot call to mind at this moment any relative 
 of mine who is likely to have served with you ' (nor 
 was this to be wondered at, the warrior aiix blanches 
 mains being a fabulous creation of Avicked Frank) ; 
 ' but I have no doubt. Captain Lovcll, that you are 
 correct. I have great pleasure in making your ac- 
 quaintance, particularly as j'ou seem Avell acquainted 
 with our belongings. Do you stay any length of 
 time in town ?' 
 
THE HORSINGHAM HAND. 67 
 
 ' I seldom remain till the end of the season ; but 
 this year I think I shall. By the way, Miss Hor- 
 singham, I saw a curious old picture the other day 
 in the west of England, purporting to be a portrait 
 of the celebrated ' Ysonde of Brittany, with the 
 White Hand^ — in which I traced a strong resem- 
 blance to some of the Horsinghams, with whom I 
 am acquainted. Yours is, I believe^ an old Norman 
 family, and as I am a bit of an antiquary^ (O Frank I 
 Frank !), 'I consulted my friend. Sir J. Burke, on 
 the subject, who assures me that the ' Le Montants' 
 — Godfrey le Montant, if you remember, distin- 
 guished himself highly in the second crusade — that 
 the Le Montants claimed direct descent from the old 
 Dukes of Brittany, and consequently from the Aery 
 lady of whom we are speaking. Roger le Montant 
 came over with the Conqueror, and although strangely 
 omitted from the Roll of Battle Abbey, doubtless 
 received large grants of land in Hampshire from 
 "William ; and two generations later, we can trace 
 his descendant, Hugo, in the same locality, under 
 the Anglicized name of Horsengem, now corrupted 
 to Horsiugham ; of which illustrious family you are 
 of course aware yours is a younger branch. It is 
 curious that the distinguishing mark of the race 
 should have been preserved in all its shapely beauty' 
 (added Frank, with the gravest face possible, and 
 glancing at the lavender kids), "^ through so many 
 changes and so many successive generations.' 
 
68 A NICE YOUNG MAN. 
 
 Aunt Deljorali was delighted. ' Such a clever 
 young man, my dear/ she said to me afterwards; 
 * such manners ! such a voice ! quite one of the old 
 school — evidently well-read, and with that respect 
 for good blood Avhich, in these days, I regret to 
 say, is fast becoming obsolete. Kate! I like him 
 vastly ! ' 
 
 In the meantime, she entered freely into conversa- 
 tion with our visitor ; and before he went away, by 
 which time his hat looked as if it had been ironed, 
 ' She hoped he would call again ; she was always at 
 home till two o'clock, and trusted to have the 
 pleasure of his company at dinner, as soon as she 
 was well enough to get anybody to meet him.' 
 
 So Frank went off to ride in the Park, on the 
 neatest possible brown hack; for I saw him quite 
 plainly trot round the corner, as I went into the bal- 
 cony to water my poor geraniums. 
 
 Well, I waited and waited, and John never came 
 for me, as was his usual habit; and I began to think 
 I must lose my ride, for I am not allowed to go by 
 myself in the afternoons ; and at last I was obliged 
 to coax Aunt Deborah to take me out in the open 
 carriage, for it was a beautiful day, and it would be 
 just the thing for her cold : so we went dowagering 
 about, and shopped in Bond-street, and looked at 
 some lace in llegent-street, and left cards for Lady 
 Horsingham, as in duty bound, after helping her to 
 *make a good ball'; and then we M'ent into the 
 
THE RING. 69 
 
 Ring, and I looked and looked everywhere, but I 
 coiild not see anything like Frank or his brown hack. 
 To be sure the Ride was as crowded as a fair. But 
 I did see Cousin John, and I 7nust say it was too bad 
 of him to keep me waiting and watching all the 
 afternoon, and then never to take the trouble of 
 sending a note or a message, but to start off by him- 
 self, and escort Miss Molasses^ as if he was her 
 brother at least, if not a nearer relation. Miss 
 Molasses, forsooth ! with her lackadaisical ways, and 
 her sentimental nonsense ; and that goose John 
 taking it all in open-mouthed, as if she was an angel 
 upon earth. Well^ at all events, she don't ride like 
 me. Such a figure I never saw on a horse! all on 
 one side, like the handle of a teapot^ bumping when 
 she trots^ and wobbling when she canters, with 
 braiding all over her habit^ and a ivhite feather in 
 her hat, and gauntlet gloves [of course one may wear 
 gauntlet gloves for huntings but that's not London), 
 and her sallow face. People call her interesting, 
 but / call her bilious ; and a wretched long-legged 
 Rosinante, with round reins and tassels, and a netting 
 over its ears, and a head like a fiddle-case, and no 
 more action than a camp-stool. Such a couple I 
 never beheld. I wonder John wasn't ashamed to be 
 seen with her, instead of leaning his hand upon her 
 horse's neck, and looking up in her face with his 
 broad honest smile ; and taking no more notice of 
 her sister Jane, who is a clever girl, with something 
 
70 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 in her, than if she had been the groom. I was pro- 
 voked with him beyond all patience. Had it been 
 Mrs. Lumley, for instance, I could have understood 
 it ; for she certainly is a chatty amusing woman, 
 though dreadfully bold ; and it is a pleasure to see her 
 canter up the park, in her close-fitting habit, and her 
 neat hat_, with her beautiful round figure swaying 
 gracefully to every motion of her horse, yet so im- 
 perceptibly, that you could fancy she might balance 
 a glassful of water on her head without spilling a 
 drop. To say nothing of the brown mare, the only 
 animal in London I covet, who is herself a picture ; 
 such action ! such a mouth ! and such a shape ! I 
 coaxed Aunt Deborah to wait near Aj)sley House, on 
 purpose that we might see her before we left the 
 Park ; and sure enough we did see her, as usual, sui'- 
 rouuded by a swarm of admirers, and next to her, 
 positively next to her, Frank Lovell, on the very 
 brown hack that had been standing an hour at ow 
 door. He saw me too, and took his hat off; and she 
 said something to him, and they both laughed ! 
 
 i asked Aunt Deborah to go home, for it was 
 getting late, and the evening air Avas not very good 
 for her poor cold. I did not feel well myself, some- 
 how; and when dear aunty told me I looked pale, I 
 was forced to confess to a slight headache. I am 
 not subject to low spirits generally — I have no 
 patience with a woman that is ; but, of course, one 
 is sometimes a ' little out of sorts ' : and I confess I 
 
DISGUST. 71 
 
 did not feel quite up to the mark that evening — I 
 cannot tell why. If John flatters himself it was be- 
 cause he behaved so brutally in disappointing me, he 
 is very much mistaken; and as for Captain Lovell, I 
 am sure he may ride with anybody he likes^ for what 
 I care. I wonder^ with all his cleverness, he can't 
 see how that woman is only laughing at him. How- 
 ever, it's no business of mine. So I went into my 
 boudoir, drank some tea, and then locked myself in, 
 and had a ' good cry.' 
 
72 THE COVEY SCATTERED. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TT is wonderful how soon the London season comes 
 to an end ; and, in fact^ it is difficult to say when 
 its tide is really at the flood. Single men — and 
 they are necessary ingredients for gaiety wherever 
 there are young ladies — single men seldom go to 
 town much before the Derby. Then comes Ascot, 
 for which meeting they leave the metropolis, and 
 enjoy some quiet retreat in the neighbourhood of 
 Windsor, taking with them many potables, and what 
 they call a ' dog cook.' After Ascot, people begin to 
 think about going away ; and before you know Avliere 
 you are, three more weeks have elapsed, and it is 
 July, Dear, what a scatter there is then ! Some off 
 to Norway, some to Cowes, some to Caithness, and 
 some to Galway. Those that remain for Goodwood, 
 are sure to go to Newmarket ; and the man Avho 
 sticks religiously to the pavement, and resists the 
 allurements of all the above-mentioned resorts, only 
 does so because he is meditating a trip to California, 
 Kamtscliatka, or the Rocky INIountaius, and is so 
 preoccupied with portable soup, patent saddle-bags, 
 bowie-knives, and revolvers, that he might just as 
 well be at his ultimate destination in person, for all 
 
THE BIRD WINGED. 73 
 
 the benefit one gets from his society. I confess I 
 don't Hive the end of the season. You keep on try- 
 ing to be gay, whilst your friends are dropping off, 
 and disappearing one by one. Like the survivor in 
 some horrid pestilence, you know your time must 
 come too ; but you shut your eyes to the certainty, 
 and greet every fresh departure with a gaiety more 
 forced, and a smile more and more hopeless. 
 
 Well, my London season, too, was drawing to its 
 close; and I confess I had enjoyed it very much. 
 What with my morning gallops, and afternoon saun- 
 ters (for John had returned to his allegiance, and 
 came to take me out regularly, although he always 
 joined Miss Molasses' party when we got into the 
 Park) ; what with Aunt Deborah's tiresome cold, 
 which obliged me to go about a good deal by myself, 
 and the agreeable society of Frank Lovell, who 
 never missed an opportunity of being with us, I 
 had been very happy; and I was quite sorry to 
 think it was all so soon to come to an end. John 
 was already talking of a fishing excursion to Nor- 
 way, and actually proposed that I should accompany 
 him, an arrangement which Aunt Deborah declared 
 ' was totally impracticable ' ; and which I confess 
 I do not myself think would have been a very good 
 plan. I had made several pleasant acquaintances, 
 amongst whom I may number Lady Scapegrace, that 
 much-maligned dame having taken a great fancy to 
 me ever after the affair of the bull; and proving, when 
 
74 NOT so BLACK. 
 
 I came to know her better, a very different person 
 from what the world gave her credit for being. With 
 all her faults — the chief of which were an uncon- 
 trollable temper, and much too strong feelings for 
 the nineteenth century — she had aM'arni affectionate 
 heart, and was altogether an energetic, straightfor- 
 ward woman, very much in earnest, whether for good 
 or for evil. But there was one thing that vexed me 
 considerably, amongst all my regrets for past plea- 
 sures and castles in the air for the future ; and this was 
 the conduct of Captain Lovell. What did he mean ? 
 I couldn't make him out at all. One day calling 
 on my aunt at eleven in the morning and staying to 
 luncheon, and making himself so agreeable to her, 
 and bringing bouquets of the loveliest flowers (which 
 I know came from Harding's, or else direct from 
 Covent Garden) to me, and then going away as if he 
 had fifty more things to say, and lingering over his 
 farewell as if he was on the eve of departure for 
 China, instead of May-fair, and joining me again in 
 the Park, and asking me if I was going to the opera, 
 and finding out all my engagements and intentions, 
 as if he couldn't possibly live five minutes out of my 
 sight, and then, perhaps, never coming near us for 
 days together, till even my aunt * wondered what 
 had become of that pleasant Captain Lovell,' and 
 when he met me in the Park taking oft' his hat with 
 a civil bow, as if Ave had only been introduced the 
 night before; all this I couldn't make out, and I 
 
FLIRTS. 75 
 
 didn't half like, as I told Lady Scapegrace one hot 
 morning, sitting with her in her boudoir. I was a 
 good deal at Lady Scapegrace's now; and the more 
 so, because that was the place of all others at which 
 I was least likely to meet Sir Guy. ' Men are so 
 uncertain, my dear/ said her ladyship, sitting in a 
 morning deshabille, Avith her long black hair combed 
 straight out over her shoulders, and reaching nearly 
 to her knees ; ^ if you ask me candidly whether he 
 means anything, I tell you I think Frank Lovell a 
 shocking flirt.' ' Flirt ! ' I replied, half crying with 
 vexation, ' it's time enough for him to flirt with me 
 when I give him any encouragement ; but I don't. 
 Lady Scapegrace, and I never will. I hope I 'm too 
 proud for that. Only when a man is always in one's 
 pocket wherever one goes, when he sends one bou- 
 quets, and rides out in the rain to get one's bracelet 
 mended, and watches one from a corner of the room 
 if one happens to be dancing with anybody else, and 
 looks pleased when one is dull, and cross when one 
 laughs; why, he either does prefer, or ought to 
 prefer, one's societ}'- to that of Miss Molasses and 
 Mrs. Lumley, and that is why I tell you I can't 
 quite make out Captain Lovell.' 
 
 ' Don't talk of that odious woman,' exclaimed 
 Lady Scapegrace, between whom and Mrs. Lumley 
 there was a polite feud of some years' standing : 
 ' she is ready and willing to jump down Frank 
 Lovell's throat, or any one else's for the matter of 
 
76 THE WAY TO WIN. 
 
 thatj SO bold as slie is^ and so utterly regardless — 
 such stories^ my dear; but take my advice_, Kate, 
 play that cheerful cousin of yours against Master 
 Frank. I never knew it fail yet, if you only go the 
 right way to woi'k. Men are not only Aery vain, but 
 very jealous ; don't let him think you are going to 
 marry your cousin, or he may consider it a capital 
 arrangement, and a sort of matter-of-course affair, 
 which is all in his favom*. ^Nlen like Frank always 
 prefer other people's property ; and, I have no doubt, 
 he would be over head and cars in love with you if 
 you were not single, so don't be going to marry j\Ir. 
 Jones; but just appeal to him about every earthly 
 thing you do or say, look after him when he leaves 
 the room, as if you couldn't bear him out of your 
 sight. Get Frank to abuse him if you can, and then 
 fight his battles fiercely; and directly the latter 
 thinks there is a rival in the field, he will be doAvn 
 on his knees, you mark my words, in two days' time 
 at the furthest. I think I ought to know what men 
 are, my dear' (and to do Lady Scapegrace justice, 
 she had studied that variety of the creation to some 
 purpose, or she was much maligned) : ' I know that 
 they can't, any of them, see three yards before their 
 noses, and that you can turn and twist them which 
 way you will, if you only go upon this principle — 
 that they are full of vanity and self-conceit, and 
 totally deficient in brains.' 
 
 ' But I 'm sure Captain Lovell's a clever man,' said 
 
NOT AT HOME. 77 
 
 I, not disposed to come to quite such sweeping con- 
 clusions as those of my monitress; 'and — and — I 
 don't mean to say that I care about him, Lady Scape- 
 grace; but still, it mightn't answer with Am, and — 
 and — I shouldn't like to lose him altogether.' 
 
 'Pooh ! lose him — fiddlestick !' rejoined her lady- 
 ship; 'you'll see. He is to join our party at Green- 
 wich this afternoon. By the w^ay, when Sir Guy 
 heard you were coming, he proposed to drive us all 
 down on that horrid coach; but I told him we 
 should be taken for the people that usually occupy it, 
 and nothing should induce me to go, so that plan 
 was given up. But you and I will go down in the 
 barouche, and I '11 call for you, and we'll take Mr. 
 Jones with us ; and mind you're very civil to him, 
 and only notice the other in a quiet good-humoured 
 way, for he mustn't think you do it out of pique, 
 and before the whitebait is on the table, you'll see 
 he'll be a different man. But now you must go — 
 there's a dear. I '11 call for you at five — it's too bad 
 to turn you out, but I 'm never at home to any one 
 between three and half-past four. Good-bye, dear, 
 good-bye.' 
 
 And Lady Scapegrace kissed me most affection- 
 ately, and promised to call for me punctually at five, 
 till which hour I cannot make out why her time was 
 always engaged. 
 
 As I tripped down stairs, hoping to make my 
 escape without being attended by the whole esta- 
 
78 SUNNY HOURS. 
 
 blishment to open the house-door^ whom should I 
 come across but odious Sir Guy^ in a sort of scarlet 
 fancy dress^ which I concluded was his morning 
 * demi-toilette.' He actually had the effrontery to 
 propose that I should accompany him to the 
 stable^ and that he should then 'show me his bou- 
 doir, hey ? You look like a rose this morning, Miss 
 Coventry, should like to transplant you — what?* 
 and whilst he stood dodging and grinning on the 
 stairs, I managed to slip by him, and get safe into 
 the street. I Avonder ivhen men think they are be- 
 ginning to grow old ; I am sure Sir Guy fancies he 
 is still in the flower of his youth, and so charming 
 that nobody can resist him. 
 
 What a pleasant day we had ! Only we four, — 
 Lady Scapegrace, Cousin John, Captain Lovcll, and 
 I. We went down in Lady Scapegrace's barouche, 
 and walked in Greenwich Park, and adjourned to a 
 nice room with a bay window, and such a look-out 
 over the river, blushing rose-colour in the evening 
 sun. And the whitebait was so good, and the cham- 
 pagne-cup so nice ; and we were all in such spirits, 
 and Frank was so kind, and attentive, and agreeable, 
 I couldn't find it in my heart to be cross to him ; so 
 it ended in our making up any little imaginary dif- 
 ferences we may have had, and becoming better 
 friends than ever. As Ave sat in the balcony over 
 the river — the two gentlemen smoking their after- 
 dinner cigars, and avc ladies sipping our coffee, — I 
 
GEEENWICn. 7 9 
 
 thought I had never enjoyed an evening so much; 
 and even John, who was generally dreadfully afraid 
 of Lady Scapegrace, became quite lively and gallant 
 (for him), and they laughed, and talked, and joked 
 about all sorts of things, while Frank leant over my 
 shoulder, and conversed more gravely than was his 
 habit, and I listened, and thought him pleasanter 
 even than usual. By the way, that lilac bonnet 
 never quite lost the odour of tobacco afterwards. 
 
 ' How quick the time passes,' said Prank, with 
 almost a sigh. ' Can't we do anything to put off 
 horrid London, and home, and bed — let's all go to 
 VauxhalL' 
 
 ' What do you say, Mr. Jones ? ' inquired Lady 
 Scapegrace, who was always ready for a lark — 
 ' you're our chaperon, you know ; do you think you 
 can be responsible ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, John,' I exclaimed. ' You promised to 
 take me once before the end of the season ; we shall 
 never have such another chance,' 
 
 'This is a capital night to go,' remarked Frank, 
 ' because there is a new riding-woman, and you can 
 take a lesson. Miss Coventry, in case you should 
 wish to perform in public' Cousin John could not 
 possibly hold out against all three ; and although I 
 think in his heart he did not entirely approve, the 
 carriage was ordered, the bill paid, and we were 
 rolling along through the cool summer night en 
 route for Vauxhall. 
 
8o VAUXHALL. 
 
 * My dear/ said Lady Scapegrace to me, as we 
 sidled through the entrance of that place of arause- 
 mentj and the gentlemen remained behind to pay, 
 'you are doing anything but what I told you; 
 scarcely three words have you spoken to your cousin, 
 who, by the way, is very pleasant — I think I shall 
 take him up, and improve him on my own account ; 
 but as for you, my dear, I can see plainly it's all over 
 with you ! ' 
 
 ' And you really leave town to-morrow ? ' said 
 Frank, as we walked arm-in-arm up one of those 
 shaded alleys which lead to the * Hermit,' or the 
 ' Gipsy,' or some other excuse for a tete-a-tete, not 
 too much under the lamps. By the way, why is it 
 that a party never can keep together at Vauxhall ? 
 Lady Scapegrace and I had particularly stipulated 
 that we were not to separate under any circum- 
 stances, 'Whatever happens, do let us keep to- 
 gether,' we mutually implored at least ten times 
 during the first five minutes, and yet no sooner did 
 we pair off arm-in-arm, than the distance began 
 gradually to increase, till we found ourselves ' in 
 couples,' totally independent of each other's proceed- 
 ings. In this manner we saw the horsemanship, and 
 the acrobats, and the man with the globe, and all 
 the other eccentricities of the circus. I really think 
 I could have ridden quite as nicely as Madame Rose 
 d' Amour, had I been mounted on an equally well- 
 broken animal with the one which curveted and 
 
SIR guy's TARTNER. 8 I 
 
 caracoled under that much-rouged and widely- 
 smiling dame. They do look pretty, too, at a little 
 distance, these histrionic horsewomen, with their 
 trappings, and their spangles, and their costume of 
 Francis I. I often wonder whether people really 
 rode out hawking, got up so entirely regardless of ex- 
 pense, in the days of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. 
 From the horsemanship we went to see the people 
 dance, which they did with a degree of vigour and 
 hilarity, such as might he introduced, in a modified 
 form, with great advantage, into good society : and 
 here we came across Cousin John and Lady Scape- 
 grace, just in time to witness a short and abrupt 
 interview between the latter and Sir Guy. Yes — 
 there was Sir Guy, with the flower in his mouth and 
 all — dancing, actuallj^ dancing — and he can't be 
 much less than sixty — with a little smart lady 
 wearing the most brilliant colour, and the blackest 
 eye-lashes, and the reddest lips, and the lightest eyes 
 I ever saw upon a human being. The little lady, 
 whose hair moreover was dressed a /' Impcratrice, 
 thereby imparting additional boldness to a coun- 
 tenance not remarkable for modesty, frisked and 
 whisked round Sir Guy with a vivacity that must 
 have been of Parisian growth; whilst the baronet 
 laboured ponderously along with true British deter- 
 mination, like a man who habitually wears very 
 thick shoes, and is used to take his own time. In 
 the course of his evolutions he brought his foot 
 
82 FOUND OUT. 
 
 down heavily on the skirt of a lady^s dress, and 
 turning round to apologise, found himself faee 
 to face with his wife ! To do him justice he was 
 not the least taken aback — anger rather than 
 confusion seemed to be his dominant feeling; and 
 although he tried to smother a rising oath in a laugh, 
 or rather a grin — it was such a muscular contraction 
 of the mouth as does not give me the idea of a smile. 
 
 ' Come out for a lark, too, my lady ? hey ? ' said the 
 baronet, studiously interposinghislarge person between 
 ' my lady ' and his partner. ' Reminds one of Paris ; 
 dance with anybody, whether one knows them or not' ; 
 and Sir Guy tried to look as if he was telling the 
 truth, with indifferent success. But Lady Scapegrace's 
 face was a perfect study ; I never saw a countenance so 
 expressive of scorn — intense scorn — and yet, as it 
 seemed to me, not so much of him as of herself. 
 
 ' I am glad you amuse yourself, Sir Guy,' she said 
 very quietly, but her lip was as white as ashes while 
 she spoke. ' I should think this place must suit you 
 exactly. Mr. Jones, we shall be late for the fire- 
 works,' and she swept on, taking no farther notice 
 of the discomfited Sir Guy, whilst Frank and I 
 followed in her wake, feeling rather awkward even 
 at witnessing this ill-timed rencontre. 
 
 ' And so you leave town to-morrow, Miss Coven- 
 try,' said Frank, and I thought his voice shook a 
 little whilst he spoke: ' I shall ride down Lowndcs- 
 street every day, and think how deserted it looks ! 
 
" AU EEVOIE." 83 
 
 No more walks in the morning for me — no more 
 pleasant rides in the afternoons ; I shall send my 
 hacks home and sulk by myself, for I shall be 
 miserable when my friends are gone. Do you know, 
 Miss Coventry^ — I listened, all attention ; how could 
 I tell Avhat he might not be going to say — *do you 
 know that I have never had courage to ask you 
 something till to-night — ' (goodness ! I thought, now 
 it's coming, and my heart beat as it does when I ^m 
 going out hunting) — ' I want you to give me' — (a 
 lock of my hair, thinks I ; Avell ! — I don't know — 
 perhaps I may) — ' I want you to give me — I\Iiss 
 Horsingham's receipt for making barley-water ; but 
 I know it's a long business to write out, and I 'm 
 afraid of being troublesome.' So that was all ! was 
 it? I felt half-inclined to laugh, and more than 
 half-inclined to cry, but ; turning round, I was some- 
 what consoled to find Lady Scapegrace and her 
 cavalier close behind us, and I do confess I rather 
 attributed Frank's extremely moderate request to 
 their immediate vicinity : there was no opportunity 
 however of renewing the subject. John had said all 
 he had to say to his companion ; John soon gets high 
 and dry with these smart ladies, and they seemed 
 mutually tired of each other, so we got the carriage, 
 and took our departure, Frank pressing my hand as 
 he bade me farewell, and whispering ' au revoir, Miss 
 Coventry; something tells me it won't be very long 
 before we meet again.' What could he mean ? 
 
OUT OF TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TT was a melancholy Avork to glide out of London 
 by the last train, and to think that one's gaieties 
 were over for that summer, and that there was 
 nothing to look forward to, till the hunting season 
 but Dangerfield and Lady Horsingham, and the 
 wearisome monotony of a regular country-house life. 
 Aunt Deborah and I settled ourselves comfortably 
 in a roomy first-class carriage, she with her knitting, 
 and I with the last Punch, — in which, by the way, 
 was a portrait of a dandy, the very image of Frank 
 Lovell — and prepared for our journey, as ladies 
 generally do, by arranging multifarious outworks of 
 smelling-bottles, shawls, reticules, parasols, etc., with- 
 out which paraphernalia no well^red woman can 
 possibly travel a hundred yards. I confess I dreaded 
 the trip. I was too well aware, by experience, that a 
 railway always makes Aunt Deborah rather cross, 
 and me very sleepy, so I kncAv what was coming, and 
 I was not disappointed. Before we had fairly left 
 the outskirts of London, I saw, by the way in which 
 my aunt laid down her knitting, and the ominous 
 cough or two iu which she indulged, that I was in 
 
A PIRST-CLASS LECTURE. 85 
 
 for a lecture; and sure enough^ just as we emerged 
 on the open fields, and began to smell the fresh 
 country air, it began. 
 
 ' Kate/ said my aunt, as we are going to a very 
 regular and well-conducted establishment, I think it 
 is a good opportunity for me to say a few words to 
 you as regards your past conduct.' 
 
 ' Good gracious, aunt,^ I replied, quite frightened_, 
 ' what have I done ? ' 
 
 ' My dear,' said my aunt, ' I have seen a great 
 deal going on lately that I have taken no notice of; 
 but it don't follow that I should approve of it any 
 more than John.' 
 
 * And what has John got to do with it, T should 
 like to know?' I rejoined, firing up on the instant, 
 for such a chance of carrying the war into the 
 enemy's country was not to be neglected, — '^John, 
 indeed ! I 'm sure, aunt, John encourages me in all 
 my unfemhiine pursuits, as you call them ; and if he 
 has been telling tales or setting you against me, I '11 
 soon let him know what I think of such conduct — 
 I '11 soon tell him that I 'm not going to be account- 
 able to him ; indeed, that I 'm not going to — ' 
 
 ' Hush, my dear,' said Aunt Deborah, 'there is no 
 occasion for all this animosity against John. After 
 all, it is very natural, poor fellow, that he should 
 feel aggrieved and annoyed; there's that Captain 
 Lovell — I don't mean to say that he's not an 
 agreeable, well-informed young man, — but there he 
 
86 THE SQUIRE. 
 
 is, coming to see you at all hours — riding witli vou 
 ill the Park — whispering to you at the Opera — 
 bringing you new music and old china, and fresh 
 flowers ; and conducting himself altogether as if lie 
 was either your accepted suitor or mine, and I don't 
 think the latter very likely, Kate; Avhereas, you 
 know, John — ' my aunt stopped short ; the ringing 
 of a bell, and loud exclamations of ' Trotter's-hcath ! 
 Trotter's-heath ! all out for Sheepslianks, Fleecyfold, 
 and Market INIuddlebury ! ' announced that we had 
 arrived at the INIuddlebury Junction ; and the oppor- 
 tune entrance into the carriage of a stranger, who 
 seemed extremely anxious concerning tlie safety of a 
 brace of pointers that accompanied him, effectually 
 prevented ray aunt from proceeding with her dis- 
 course; while the dead silence which followed the 
 renewed puffing of the engine, and A-ibration of the 
 train, gave me an opportunity of studying attentively 
 the person and features of our new fellow-traveller. 
 
 I don't think I ever saw a man so freckled in 
 my life ; even the backs of his hands (for he wore 
 no gloves — I should think didn't even know his 
 number!) were studded with spots, till you could 
 have hardly put a pin's point on a place free from 
 this horrid disfigurement. His face, too, was like a 
 plum-pudding, on which the fruit had been showered 
 with a most liberal hand ; but the features were 
 good, and had it not been for his red liair, a little 
 grizzled, and his stiff red whiskers, the bright blue 
 
A BASHFUL MAN. 87 
 
 eyes and white teetli would have almost entitled him 
 to be considered ' handsome/ He had a strong, stiff- 
 built figure, about the middle size, well-made for 
 everything but dancing; and large useful feet en- 
 cased in the stoutest double-soled shooting shoes. 
 The latter articles of costume proved him at once to 
 be a country gentleman. Every one must have re- 
 marked this peculiarity in that enviable class. Their 
 attire, particularly as regards the lower man, is in- 
 variably of a nature to defy the utmost inclemency 
 of the weather, and is worn totally irrespective of the 
 season^ or the pursuit in which the owner may 
 chance to be engaged at the time. But even inde- 
 pendent of these tell-tales, the stranger's social 
 position was easily enough discerned by the defer- 
 ence with which he was treated 'along the line^; and 
 the title of 'Squire,' which greeted him from guards, 
 porters, and book-keepers, at every station we passed. 
 So humane a master of dumb animals, or one so 
 fidgetty as to their welfare, I never came across; 
 and this, I confess, prepossessed me in his favour. 
 Every time the train stopped, out jumped our fellow- 
 traveller, and off he went to a certain van containing 
 his treasures, from which he emerged with a very 
 red face, and a constantly repeated apology for dis- 
 turbing me on his return to his seat. Despite of his 
 thick shoes and his freckles, I could see the man was 
 a gentleman ; but, dear me ! Avhat a contrast to the 
 smart gentlemen I had lately been accustomed to 
 
88 VERY DEMURE. 
 
 meat. Beyond a ' beg your pardon, I fear I ^m very 
 much in your way/ accompanied by such a ^^vid 
 blush as can be performed only by a red-haired man, 
 the Squire did not venture on any communication, 
 either with me or my aunt ; and with the latter's 
 lecture fresh in my mind, I did not, as may be sup- 
 posed, dare to take the initiative by dropping my 
 gloves, or pretending I couldn't pull up the window, 
 or any other little lady-like manoeuvre which lays 
 the foundation of a temporary intimacy, and often 
 furnishes one with an agreeable hour's conversation. 
 I can not see why one should sit ' mum ' opposite the 
 same persons for miles, merely because one has never 
 been introduced. 
 
 "When we arrived, at length, at the Dangerfield 
 station, where Lady Horsingham's emblazoned coach 
 and fat horses were in waiting for us, ' the Squire,* 
 who was here treated with a deference bordering on 
 idolatry, got out too. He made an involuntary- 
 motion with his hand, as though he would have taken 
 his hat off, and wished us * good morning ' ; but his 
 shyness got the better of him, and he disappeared 
 from the platform, entangled amongst his dumb 
 favourites, with a blush that was visible even at the 
 back of his head, where the tips of his ears met the 
 rim of his Avhite hat. As avc toiled up the sandy 
 lane leading from Dangerfield station to Dangerfield- 
 park, we were overtaken by a smart high dog-cart,, 
 drawn by a clever, raking-looking bay marc, and 
 
bachelor's buttons. 89 
 
 driven by the owner of the freckles, the pointers, 
 and the white hat. 
 
 ' Bachelor, my dear/ said Aunt Deborah, as he 
 whisked by ; ' and not at all a bad-looking man, 
 either.' 
 
 ' How do you know he's a bachelor, aunt ? ' I 
 naturally inquired. 
 
 ' Common sense, my dear/ replied Aunt Deborah, 
 sententiously ; ' I judge of people by their belong- 
 ings; no lady could get into that dog-cart without 
 dirtying her dress against the wheel ; and if he had 
 a wife, that handsome bay horse would go with 
 another in her carriage, instead of his. Besides, he 
 wouldn't be so fond of his pointers, if he had anything 
 else to care for; and above all, Kate,' added my aunt, 
 conclusively, ' his silk handkerchief wasn't hemmed, 
 and he'd a button wanting in the front of his shirt.' 
 
 All my life I have had a sinking at my heart 
 when I have heard the ring at that great Dangerfield 
 front door-bell. It was better in my poor uncle's 
 time, for he would have made any place lively ; but 
 since his death, the Park has relapsed into its natu- 
 ral solemnity ; and I am quite sure, that if ever I 
 do go into a convent, my sensations will be exactly 
 like those which 1 have always experienced when 
 visiting Aunt Horsingham. The moat alone is enough 
 to give one the 'blues'; but, in addition to that, thick 
 horse-chesnuts grow up to the very windows, and 
 dark Scotch firs shed a gloom all over the Park. 
 
90 
 
 DANGERFIELD. 
 
 Dangerfield is one of those places that seem always 
 to be in the shade. How the strawberries ever ripen, 
 or the flowers ever bloom, or the birds ever sing 
 there, is to me a mystery. Outside, there are dark 
 walks, and yew hedges, and cypresses ; and here and 
 there, a copper beech, with la^ns that are never 
 mown, and copses that are never thinned, to say 
 nothing of that stagnant moat, with its sombre and 
 prolific vegetation ; whilst, within, black oak Avains- 
 coatiug, and heavy tapestry, and winding staircases, 
 and small deep-set windows, and oddly-shaped rooms, 
 with steps at the door like going down into a bath, 
 and floors considerably up and down hill, and queer 
 recesses that frighten one out of one's wits to go into, 
 form altogether a domicile that would tame the 
 wildest Merry-Andrew, in a fortnight, into as staid 
 and sober, and stupid a personage as the veriest Lady 
 Superior could desire. Aunt Horsingham received 
 us, as usual, with a freezing smile. 
 
 ' How do you do, Kate?' said she, putting two of 
 her cold bony fingers into my hand ; I 'm afraid you 
 will find it rather dull here, after London ; but it is 
 wholesome for young people to be occasionally sobered 
 a little. 
 
 Aunt Horsingham is tall and thin, with a turned- 
 up nose, rather red at the point, a back that never 
 stoops, and a grim smile that never varies. She 
 dresses in bright colours, afiecting strange and start- 
 ling contrasts, both of hues and material. Her 
 
AUNT HORSINGHAM. pi 
 
 hands are always cold, and seldom clean ; and she 
 has sundry uncomfortable notions about damping 
 the spirits of youth, and checking the exuberance of 
 its gaiety, which render her a perfect terror and 
 bugbear to the rising generation. When I was a 
 little thing, laughing, prattling, and giggling, as chil- 
 dren will, an admonishing look from my aunt, with 
 a gaunt finger held aloft, and a cold ' Kate, don't be 
 silly, my dear,' was always sufficient to make me dull 
 and gloomy for the rest of the day. 
 
 I should like to know, indeed, why children are not 
 to be ' silly V Are grow^n-up people always so rational 
 in their amusements, or irreproachable in their de- 
 meanour ? ' Let the child, alone,' poor Uncle Harry 
 used to say ; and once I overheard him mutter, ' I 've 
 more patience with a young fool than an old one. Such 
 training has not had a good effect on Cousin Amelia. 
 She has been so constantly tutored to conceal her 
 emotions, and to adopt the carriage and manners of 
 an automaton, that the girl is now a complete hypo- 
 crite. It is quite impossible to make her out. If 
 you tickled her, I don't believe you could get her to 
 laugh ; and if you struck her, I very much doubt 
 whether she would cry. My aunt calls it ' self-com- 
 mand'; I call it 'imbecility.' She shook hands 
 with me in her provokingly patronising manner — 
 ' hoped I had brought my horses with me ' (as if I 
 was coming to spend months at Dangerfield without 
 Brilliant) ; * supposed I had my side-saddle in the 
 
92 ^' WEARY — WEARY." 
 
 cap-box'; and showed me ray room, without so 
 much as a single kind word of welcome or a cousinly 
 caress. It was quite a relief to help dear Aunt 
 Deborah to unpack her dressing-case and kiss her 
 pleasant face^ and give her the warm cup of tea, 
 without which Aunt Deborah never dreams of dress- 
 ing for dinner. 
 
 Oh ! those solemn, heavy, silent, stupid dinners, 
 with the massive plate and the dark oak wainscoting, 
 and the servants gliding about like ghosts at a fes- 
 tival in Acheron — what a relief it would have been 
 even to have had a cloAvnish footman spill soup over 
 one's dress, or ice-cream down one's back, or any- 
 thing to break the monotony of the entertainment ; 
 but no ! there we sat. Aunt Horsingham remarking 
 that the 'weather was dull,' and the "^ crops looking 
 very unpromising'; Aunt Deborah, with her eyes 
 fixed on a portrait of the late Mr. David Jones, as a 
 boy, opposite Avhich she invariably took her place, 
 and on which, though representing an insignificant 
 urchin in a high frill and blue jacket, she gazed 
 intently during the whole repast; Cousin Amelia 
 looking at herself in the silver dish-covers, and when 
 those were removed, relapsing into a state of irritable 
 torpor ; and as for poor me ! — all I coidd do Mas to 
 think over the pleasures of the past season, and dwell 
 rather more than I should otherwise have done on 
 the image of Frank Lovell, and the very agreeable 
 acquisition he would have been to such a party ; and 
 
DEADLY LIVELY. ^^ 
 
 then tlie evenings were, if possible, worse than the 
 dinners — work, work, work, — mum, mum, mum, — 
 till tea, and after tea Aunt Horsingham would read 
 to us, in her dry harsh voice, long passages from the 
 Spectator, very excellent articles from the Ramble?-^ 
 highly interesting in their day, no doubt, but which 
 lose some of their point after an interval of nearly a 
 century ; or, worse than all, Pope's Homer, or Cow- 
 per's Task, running the lines into each other, so as 
 to avoid what she called ' the sing-song of the 
 rhymes,' till the poet's effusions sounded like the 
 most extraordinary prose, cut into lengths, as we 
 ladies should say, for no earthly purpose but to 
 make nonsense of the whole thing. Her ladyship 
 never went to bed till eleven, so there, having dined at 
 half-past six to a minute, we were forced to sit three 
 mortalhours and a half, swallowing yawns, and repress- 
 ing that inexplicable disorder termed the fidgets, till 
 the welcome bed-candles arrived. No wonder men 
 drink and smoke, and commit all sorts of enormities, 
 to fill up those dreadful hours after dinner. I think 
 if ever I take to tobacco, it will be at Dangerfield. 
 
 Then, of course, the Hall was haunted, and, 
 of course, my passage was the one which the ghost 
 particularly afiected. It was a sad story, that 
 of ' the Dangerfield ghost.' I have got it all 
 out of Aunt Deborah at different times; and 
 though I don't exactly believe in the spectre, I 
 can't help sometimes crying over the incidents. 
 
94 THE DANGERFIELD GHOST. 
 
 The fact is, the Ilorsiughams were quite as proud 
 of their ghost as they were of their hand; and 
 although not a very creditable tale to any of the 
 family, Aunt Deborah would never forgive rae if I 
 were not to relate the tragedy which conferred on 
 Dangerfield the honour of being a haunted house. 
 
 In the reign of George II., the head of the house. 
 Sir Hugh Horsingham, married a young wife, and 
 brought her home to Dangerfield, with the usual 
 demonstrations and rejoicings peculiar to such an 
 event. Sir Hugh was a dark, morose man, consider- 
 ably older than his bride. Stern and forbidding in 
 his manners, but possessing deep feelings under a 
 reserved exterior, and a courage and determination 
 not to be daunted or subdued. Such a man Avas 
 capable of great things, for good or for evil; and 
 such was the very nature on which a woman's in- 
 fluence might have produced the most beneficial 
 results. But, unfortunately, young Lady Horsing- 
 ham had but one feeling for her lord, and that was 
 intense terror of his anger. She never sought to 
 win his confidence, she never entered into his poli- 
 tical schemes, his deeper studies, or even his country 
 amusements and pursuits ; all she thought of was 
 how to avoid offending Sir Hugh, and ere long this 
 one idea grew to such a pitch, that she quite 
 trembled in his presence, could scarcely answer dis- 
 tinctly when he spoke to her, and seemed hardly to 
 draw breath in freedom save when out of his sight. 
 
COUSIN EDWARD. 95 
 
 Such a state of things could have but one -ending — 
 distrust and suspicion on one side, unqualified aver- 
 sion on the other. A marriage, never of inclination, 
 as, indeed, in those days amongst great families few 
 marriages were, became an insupportable slavery ere 
 the first year of wedded life had elapsed ; and by the 
 time an heir was born to the house of Horsingham, 
 probably there was no unhappier couple within fifty 
 miles of Daugerfield than dark Sir Hugh and his 
 pretty, fair-haired, gentle wife. No ! she ought 
 never to have married him at all. It was but the 
 night before her wedding that she walked in the 
 garden of her father's old manor-house with a 
 bright, open-hearted, handsome youth, whose brow 
 wore that expression of acute agony which it is so 
 pitiable to witness on a young countenance, that 
 look almost of physical pain, which betokens how 
 the iron has indeed ' entered the suiferer's soul.' 
 ^Ah, you may plead, 'Cousin Edward,' but we 
 women are of a strange mixture, and the iveakest of 
 us may possess obstinacy such as no earthly consider- 
 ation can overcome.' ' Lucy ! Lucy ! for the last 
 time, think of it — for the love of Heaven, do not 
 drive me mad — think of it once more — it is the 
 last, last chance.' The speaker was white as a sheet, 
 and his hollow voice came in hoarse inarticulate 
 whispers as he looked almost fiercely into that dear 
 face to read his doom. Too well he knew the set, 
 fixed expression of her delicate profile. She did not 
 
96 A LAST APPEAL. 
 
 dare turn towards him ; slie could not have looked 
 him in the face and persevered, but she kejit her 
 eyes fastened on the horizon, as though she saw her 
 future in the fading sunset; and Avhilst her heart 
 seemed turning to very stone, she kept her lips 
 firmly closed; she repressed the tears that would 
 have choked her, and so for that time she conquered. 
 
 Lucy had a great idea of duty ; hers was no high, 
 principled love of duty from the noblest motives, 
 but a morbid dread of self-reproach. She had not 
 character enough to do anything out of her own 
 notions of the beaten track. She had promised her 
 father she would many Sir Hugh Horsingham; — 
 not that he had the slightest right to exact such a 
 promise, — and she felt bound to fulfil it. She never 
 remembered the injury she was doing ' Cousin Ed- 
 ward/ the right which such devotion as his ought to 
 have given him. She knew she loved him better 
 than anyone in the world ; she knew she was about 
 to commit an act of the greatest injustice towards 
 Sir Hugh ; but she had ' promised papa,' and though 
 she would have given Avorlds to avoid fulfilling her 
 compact, she had not strength of mind to break the 
 chain and be free. 
 
 Cousin Edward ! Cousin Edward I you should 
 have carried her off then and there ; she would have 
 been truly grateful for tlic rest of her life, but she 
 would have died sooner than opened her lips. He 
 was hurt — reckless — almost savage. He thought 
 
NEVERMORE. 97 
 
 her sullen. ' Once more, Lucy,' lie said, and his eye 
 glared fiercely in the waning light, ' once more, will 
 you give me one word, or never set eyes on me 
 again ? ' Her lip never moved. ' I give you till we 
 pass that tree,^ — he looked dangerous now — ' and 
 then ' — he swore a great oath — ' I leave you for 
 ever.^ Lucy thought the tree looked strange and 
 ghastly in the rising moon, she even remarked a 
 knot upon its smooth white stem, but she held out 
 whilst one might have counted ten; and when she 
 turned round, poor girl ! Cousin Edward was gone. 
 
q8 LUCY A BRIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 QO tlie bells rung merrily at Dangerfield, and the 
 rustics huzzaed for their landlord^ and the 
 comely village maidens en\ied the bride ; and Lucy 
 was Lady Horsiugham now, with new duties and a 
 high position, and a large, fine, gloomy house, and 
 jewels in her hair, and an aching heart in her bosom. 
 Nevertheless, she determined to do her duty as a 
 wife ; and every hour of the day she resolved not to 
 think of Cousin Edward. 
 
 "Years elapsed, and pretty Lucy became a gentle, 
 handsome woman — kindly, courteous, and beloved 
 by all, timid and shrinking only with Sir Hugh. 
 Her husband, wearied and discontented, mixed him- 
 self fiercely in all the intrigues of the day — became 
 a stanch partisan of the House of Stuart, and sought 
 for excitement abroad in proportion as he missed 
 congeniality of feeling at home. It was an unhappy 
 household. Their one child was the mother's sole 
 consolation; she scarcely ever let it out of her 
 presence. They were a pretty sight, that loving 
 couple, as they basked in the sun of a fine sum- 
 mer's morning, on the terrace in front of the manor- 
 
COUSIN EDWAKD S CAREER. gg 
 
 house. The boy, with his mother's blue eyes and his 
 own golden curls, and the arch, merry smile that he 
 never got from stern Sir Hugh ; and the fair, grace- 
 ful woman, with her low white brow and her soft 
 brown hair, and her quiet gestures, and gentle, 
 sorrowing face — that face that haunts poor Cousin 
 Edward still. 
 
 ' Mamma ! ' says the urchin, pouting his rosy lips, 
 ' why don't you play with me ? — what are you 
 thinking of?' and a shade passes over that kind face, 
 and she blushes, though there is no one with her 
 but the child, and catches him up and smothers him 
 in kisses, and says, ' You, my darling,' but never- 
 theless, I do not think at that moment she was 
 thinking either of her boy or Sir Hugh. 
 
 And where was Cousin Edward all the time? 
 Why, at that particular instant sword-point to sword- 
 point with Colonel Bludyer of the Dragoons, slightly 
 wounded in two places — cool and wary, and seeming 
 to enjoy, with a sort of fierce pleasure, such a safety- 
 valve for excitement as a duel with one of the best 
 fencers in Europe. 
 
 Cousin Edward was an altered man since he stood 
 with the future Lady Horsingham in the moonlight. 
 ' An evil counsellor is despair ; ' and he had hugged 
 that grim adviser to his heart. He had grown 
 handsomer, indeed, than ever ; but the wild eye, the 
 haggard brow, and the deep lines about his mouth, 
 spoke of days spent in fierce excitement — nights 
 
lOO THE JACOBITES. 
 
 passed in reckless dissipation. He had never forgotten 
 Lucy through it all, but even her image only goaded 
 him to fresh extravagances — anything to deaden 
 the sting of remembrance — anything to efface the 
 maddening past. So Cousin Edward^ too, became 
 a Jacobite ; and was there a daring scheme to be 
 executed^ a fool-hardy exploit to be performed — life 
 and limb to be risked without a question — who so 
 ready and so reckless as ' handsome Ned ]Mcredith ? ' 
 
 In the course of their secret meetings and cabals, 
 he became slightly acquainted with Sir Hugh Hor- 
 singham ; and with the inexplicable infatuation pe- 
 cuhar to a man in love, he took a pleasure in being 
 near one so closely connected with Lucy, although 
 that one was the very person who had deprived him 
 of all he valued on earth. So it fell out that Sir 
 Hugh Horsingham and Ned Meredith were supping 
 at the Rose and Thistle, in close alliance, the table 
 adjoining them being occupied by those stanch 
 Hanoverians, Col. Bludyer and Mr. Thornton. 
 
 ' Here 's ' the Blackbird,' ' * said Cousin Edward, 
 tossing off a huge goblet of Bourdeaux, and looking 
 round the room with an air of defiance as he proposed 
 so well-known a toast. Sir Hugh was a man of a 
 certain grim humour, and as he drained his goblet 
 and nodded to his companion, he added, ' May the 
 
 * One of the many pass-words by which the adherents of 
 the Chevalier distiuguished that ill-fated Triuce. 
 
'over the water.' ioi 
 
 rats dance to his whistle_, and the devil — that ^s you, 
 Ned — take the hindmost ! ' 
 
 Colonel Bludyer rose from his chair, placed his 
 cocked-hat on his head, and turned the buckle of his 
 sword-belt in front. ' The Kin^ !' he shouted, raising 
 his hat with one hand and filling a bumper with the 
 other. ' The King ! ' he repeated, scowling fiercely 
 at his two neighbours. 
 
 ' Over the water ! ' roared Ned Meredith ; and the 
 Colonel, turning rapidly round, and mistaking his 
 man, flung his cocked-hat right in Sir Hugh Hor- 
 singham's face. Swords were out in a second — 
 thrust, parry, and return passed like lightning, but 
 the bystanders separated the combatants ; and Mere- 
 dith, determining for the sake of Lucy, that Sir 
 Hugh should encounter no unnecessary danger, took 
 the whole quarrel on himself, and arranged a meeting 
 for the following morning with the redoubtable 
 Colonel Bludyer. Thus it was that while Lucy and 
 her boy were basking in the summer sunshine. 
 Cousin Edward was exhausting all his knowledge of 
 swordsmanship in vain endeavours to get within that 
 iron Colonel's guard. The duel was fought on the 
 ground now occupied by Leicester-square, Sir Hugh 
 and Mr. Thornton officiating as seconds, though the 
 latter being disabled from the effects of a recent 
 encounter, they did not, as was usual in those days, 
 fight to the death, merely ' 'pour se desennuyerJ' 
 Stripped to their shirts — in breeches and silk stock- 
 
I02 A DUEL. 
 
 ings, -with no shoes — the antagonists langedj and 
 glared, and panted, and twice paused for breath by 
 mutual consent, with no further damage than two 
 slight wounds in Ned's sword-arm. 
 
 ' Very pretty practice/ said !Mr. Thornton, coolly 
 taking a pinch of snuff, and offering his box to Sir 
 Hugh ; ' I ^m in despair at not being able to oblige 
 you this fine morning/ 
 
 ' Some other time/ replied Sir Hugh, with a grim 
 smile; 'T> — ation,' he added, 'Ned's down.' 
 
 Sure enough. Cousin Edward was on the grass, 
 striving in vain to raise himself, and gasping out that 
 he ' wasn't the least hurt.' He had got it just be- 
 tween the ribs, and was trying to stanch the blood 
 with a delicate laced handkerchief, in a corner of 
 which, had he examined it closely. Sir Hugh would 
 have found embroidered the well-known name of 
 ' Lucy.' Poor Cousin Edward ! it was all he had 
 belonging to his lost love, and he would have been 
 unwilling to die without that fragment of lace in 
 his hand. 
 
 ' A very promising fencer,' remarked Colonel 
 Bludyer, as he wiped his rapier on the grass. ' If he 
 ever gets over it, he wont forget that *■ plongeant ' 
 thrust in tierce. I never knew it fail, Thornton — 
 never, with a man under thirty.' So the Colonel 
 put his coat on, and drove off to breakfast; while 
 Sir Hugh took charge of Ned Meredith, and as soon 
 as he was recovered — for his wound was not mortal 
 
TOO LATE. 103 
 
 — carried him down Avitli him to get thoroughly 
 "well at Dangerfield Hall. 
 
 It is an old, old story. Love outraged and set at 
 defiance, bides his time, and takes his revenge. 
 Dangerfield looked like a different place now, so 
 thought Lucy ; and her spirits rose, and the colour 
 came back to her cheek, and she even summoned 
 courage to speak without hesitating to Sir Hugh. 
 When Cousin Edward was strong enough to limp 
 about the house, it seemed that glimpses of sun- 
 shine brightened those dark oak rooms, and ere 
 he was able to take the air, once more leaning on 
 Lucy's arm, alas ! alas ! he had become even dearer 
 to the impassioned, thoughtful woman, that he ever 
 was to the timid vacillating girl. There was an 
 addition now to the party on the terrace in the bright 
 autumn mornings, but the little boy needed no longer 
 to ask Mamma ^ What she was thinking of;' and the 
 three would have seemed to a careless observer a 
 happy family party — husband, wife, and child. Oh ! 
 that it could but have been so. 
 
 In the mean time. Sir Hugh was again, as usual, 
 busied Avith his state intrigues and party politics, and 
 absented himself for weeks together from the Hall; 
 riding post to London night and day, returning at 
 all sorts of unexpected hours, leaving again at a mo- 
 ment's notice, and otherwise comporting himself in 
 his usual mysterious, reserved manner. Yet those 
 who knew him best, opined there was something 
 
I04 THE WORM AT THE CORE. 
 
 wrong about Sir Hugh. He was restless and 
 preoccupied; his temper less easily excited about 
 trifles than was his wont, but perfectly ungovernable 
 when once he gave way to it. No man dared to 
 question him. He had not a friend in the world 
 who would have ventured to offer him a word of 
 advice or consolation ; but it was evident to his ser- 
 vants and his intimates, that Sir Hugh was ill at 
 ease. Who can tell the struggles that rent that 
 strong proud heart ? Who could see beneath that 
 cold surface, and read the intense feelings of love, 
 hatred, jealousy, or revenge, that smouldered below, 
 stifled and kept down by the iron will, the stubborn, 
 indomitable pride ? There is a deep meaning in the 
 legend of that Spartan boy, who sufl^ered the stolen 
 fox to gnaw his very vitals, the while he covered him 
 with his tunic, and preserved on his brave face a 
 smile of unconcern. Most of us have a stolen fox 
 somewhere; but the weak nature writhes and moans, 
 and is delivered from its torment ; while the bold, 
 unflinching spirit preserves a gallant bearing before 
 the world, and scorns to be relieved from the fangs 
 that arc draining its very life away. 
 
 Whatever Sir Hugh saw or suspected, he said not 
 a word to Lucy ; nor was it until surmise had be- 
 come certainty, that he forbade ' Cousin Edward ' tlic 
 house. To him he would not condescend to explain 
 his motives; he simply wrote to him to say, that on 
 his return, he should expect to find his guest had 
 
FORBIDDEN. I05 
 
 departed, and that he had sufficient reasons for re- 
 questing his visits might not be repeated. With his 
 wife, he was, if possible, more austere and morose 
 than ever ; so, once more, the Hall resumed its old 
 aspect of cheerlessness and desolation, and its mis- 
 tress went moping about, more than ever miserable 
 and broken-hearted. Such a state of things could 
 not long g;o on : the visits forbidden openly, took 
 place by stealth ; and the climax rapidly approached 
 which was to result in the celebrated Dangerfield 
 tragedy. 
 
 At this period, there was set on foot another of 
 those determined plots, which, during the first two 
 reigns of the House of Hanover, so constantly 
 harassed that dynasty. Sir Hugh, of course, was a 
 prime mover of the conspiracy, and was much in 
 London and elsewhere, gathering intelligence, raising 
 funds, and making converts to his opinions. Ned 
 Meredith, having, it is to be presumed, all his 
 energies occupied in his own private intrigues, had 
 somewhat withdrawn of late from the Jacobite 
 party; and Sir Hugh heard, with his grim, unmoved 
 smile, many a jest and inuendo levelled at the 
 absentee. 
 
 One stormy winter's evening, the baronet, well 
 armed, cloaked, and booted, left his own house for 
 the metropolis, accompanied by one trusty servant. 
 He was bearing papers of importance, and was hurry- 
 ing on to lay them, with the greatest despatch, before 
 
Io6 A SCOUT. 
 
 his fellow conspirators. As niglit was drawing on, 
 Sir Hugh's horse shied away from a wild figure, 
 looming like some spectre in the fading light ; and 
 ere he had forced the animal back into the path, his 
 bridle was caught by a half-naked lad, whom the 
 rider at once recognised as an emissary he had often 
 before employed to be the bearer of secret intelli- 
 gence, and who, under an affectation of being half- 
 Avitted, concealed much shrewdness of observation, 
 and unimpeachable fidelity to the cause. 
 
 ' Whip and spur, Sir Hugh — whip and spur,' 
 said the lad, who seemed flustered and confused with 
 drink ; ' you may burst your best horse betwixt this 
 and London, and all to get there before you're 
 wanted. A dollar to drink. Sir Hugh, like Hand- 
 some Ned gave me this morning — a dollar to drink, 
 and I'll save you a journey for the sake of the 
 * Bonny White Rose,' and the ' Bird with the Yel- 
 low Bill.' ' 
 
 Sir Hugh scrutinised the lad with a piercing eye, 
 flung him a crown from his purse, and bid him ' out 
 with what he had to say, for that he himself was 
 hurried, and must push on to further the good cause.' 
 The lad was sobered in an instant. 
 
 'Look ye here, Sir Hugh,' he said eagerly; ' Hand- 
 some Ned went down the road at a gallop this morn- 
 ing. There's something brewing in London, you 
 may trust me. Sir Hugh, and I tried to stop him to 
 learn his errand; but he tossed me a crown, and 
 
SUSPICION. 107 
 
 galloped on. He took tlie liill-road. Sir Hugh, and 
 you came up tlie vale j but lie's bound for Danger- 
 field^ I linow, and mayhap he's got papers that will 
 save your journey to London : no offence, Sir Hugh/ 
 added the lad, for the baronet's face was black as 
 midnight. 
 
 ' None, my good boy,' was the reply in a hoarse, 
 thick voice. 'Hold, there's another crown for you 
 — drink it every farthing, you villain ! or I never 
 give you a sixpence again : ' and Sir Hugh rode on, 
 as though bound for London, but stopped a mile 
 farther forward, at a place where two roads met ; and 
 entrusting his papers to his servant, bade him hasten 
 on with them, whilst he galloped back through the 
 darkness in the direction of his home. 
 
 Home, indeed ! Had it ever been home to Sir 
 Hugh ? Would it be home to-night ? When he 
 got back there, and skulked into his own house like 
 a midnight thief — what would he do ? — why was 
 he galloping so fast ? Sir Hugh set his teeth tight, 
 and holding his powerful horse hard by the head, 
 urged him on faster than before. The lights are all 
 out in the little village of which he is sole master, 
 and his horse's hoofs clattering through the street, 
 rouse the sleepy inmates for an instant, ere they re- 
 turn to their peaceful rest. Sir Hugh is not sleepy, 
 he feels as if he never should want to sleep again. 
 
 How dark it is in the Park, under those huge old 
 trees ! He fastens his horse to one of the di'ooping 
 
I08 CERTAINTY. 
 
 branches, and after removing his pistols from their 
 holsters, spreads his cloak over the heaving flanks of 
 the heated animal. Habit is second nature, and he 
 does not forget the good horse. He strides through 
 the shrubberies, and across Lucy's garden, crushing 
 with his heavy boot-heel the last flower that had 
 lingered on into the winter. There is a light 
 streaming from one of the windows in the gal- 
 lery. Ha ! — he may be right — he may not have 
 returned in vain. For an instant, a feeling of 
 sickness comes over him ; and he learns for the 
 first time that he had cherished a hope he might 
 be deceived. 
 
 He can let himself in by the garden gate with his 
 own pass-key. Ere he is aware, he is tramping up 
 the corridor in his heavy horseman's boots — his 
 hand is on the door — there is a woman's shriek — 
 and Sir Hugh's tall, dark figure fills the door way of 
 Lucy's sitting-room, where, alas ! she is not alone, 
 for the stern, angry husband is confronted by Ned 
 Meredith ! 
 
 Lucy cowers down in a corner of the room, with 
 her face buried in her hands. Cousin Edward di*aws 
 himself up to his fall height, and looks his antagonist 
 steadily in the face, but with an expression of calm 
 despair, that seems to say fate has now done her 
 worst. Sir Hugh is cool, collected, and polite ; nay, 
 he can even smile, but he speaks strangely, almost 
 in a whisper, and hisses through his set teeth. He 
 
HAZAED. 109 
 
 lias double-locked the door behind him, and turns to 
 Cousin Edward with a grave, courteous bow. 
 
 * You have done me the honour of an unexpected 
 visit, Mr. Meredith/ he says ; ' I trust Lady Horsing- 
 liam has entertained you hospitably? Pray do not stu', 
 Madam. Mr. Meredith, we are now quits; you 
 saved my life when you encountered Colonel Bludyer ; 
 I forbore from taking yours, when I had proofs that 
 it was my right. We have now entered on a fresh 
 account, but the game shall be fairly played. Mr. 
 Meredith, you are a man of honour — yes, it shall 
 be fairly played.' Ned's lip quivered, but he bowed 
 and stood perfectly still. ' Lady Horsingham,' con- 
 tinued Sir Hugh, ' be good enough to hand me those 
 tables, they contain a dice box. Nay, Mr. Meredith,' 
 seeing Ned about to assist the helpless, frightened 
 woman ; ' when present, at least, I expect my Avife to 
 obey me.' Lucy was forced to rise, and, trembling 
 in every limb, to present the tables to her lord. Sir 
 Hugh placed the dice box on the table, laid his 
 pistols beside it, and taking a seat, motioned to 
 Cousin Edward to do the same. ' You are a man of 
 honour, Mr. Meredith,' he repeated ; ' Ave will throw 
 three times, and the highest caster shall blow the 
 other's brains out.' Lucy shrieked, and rushed to 
 the door ; it was fast, and her husband forced her to 
 ^it down and watch the ghastly game. 
 
 * Good God, Sir Hugh ! ' exclaimed Cousin Ed- 
 ward, ' this is too horrible — for your wife's sake — 
 
I I O THE MAN. 
 
 any reparation I can make, I will; but this is 
 murder, deliberate murder/ 
 
 •^You are a man of honour, Mr. Meredith/ re- 
 iterated Sir Hugh; 'I ask for no reparation but 
 this — the chances are equal, if the stakes are high. 
 You are my guest, or, rather, I should say. Lady 
 Horsingham's guest. Begin.' Cousin Edward's face 
 turned ghastly pale : he took the box, shook it, hesi- 
 tated, but the immovable eye was fixed on him; 
 the stern lips repeated once more, ' You are a man 
 of honour, and he threw — ' Four.' It was now Sir 
 Hugh's turn. With a courteous bow he received 
 the box, and threw — 'Seven.' Again the adver- 
 saries cast, the one a six, the other a three; and now 
 they were even in the ghastly match. Once more 
 Cousin Edward shook the box, and the leaping dice 
 turned up — ' Eleven.' Lucy's white face stood out 
 in the lamp-light, as she watched vaih. stony eyes 
 that seemed to have lost the very power of sight. 
 
 Tor God's sake, forego this frightful determina- 
 tion, Sir Hugh/ pleaded Cousin Edward ; ' take my 
 life in a fair field. I will ofl'cr no resistance; but 
 you can hardly expect to outdo my throw, and 
 nothing shall induce mc to take advantage of it : 
 think better of it. Sir Hugh, I entreat you.' 
 
 ' You are a man of honour, Mr. Meredith, and so 
 am I,' Avas the only reply, as Sir Hugh brandished 
 the box aloft, and thundered it down on the table — 
 'Sixes!' 'Good casting/ he remarked, and at the 
 
THE STAKE. I i I 
 
 same instant, cocking the pistol nearest to him, dis- 
 charged it full into his antagonist's bosom. The 
 bullet sped through a delicate lace handkerchief, 
 which he always wore there^ straight and true into 
 Cousin Edward's heart. As he fell forward across 
 the table, a dark stream flowed slowly, slowly along 
 the carpet, till it dyed the border of Lucy's white 
 dress with a crimson stain. She was on her knees, 
 apparently insensible ; but one small hand felt the 
 cold, wet contact, and she looked at it, and saw that 
 it was blood. Once more she uttered a shriek that 
 rang through those vast buildings, and rushed again 
 to the door to find it locked. In sheer despair she 
 made for the window, threw open the casement, and 
 ere Sir Hugh could seize or stop her, flung herself 
 headlong into the court below. When the horrified 
 husband looked down into the darkness, a wisp of 
 white garments, a bruised and lifeless body, was all 
 that remained of Lady Horsingham. 
 
 That night one-half of Dangerfield Hall was con- 
 sumed by fire. Its mistress was said to have perished 
 in the flames. The good neighbours, the honest 
 country people, pitied poor Sir Hugh, galloping back 
 from London, to find his house in ruins and his wife 
 a corpse. His gay companions missed ' Ned Mere- 
 dith' from his usual haunts; but it was generally 
 supposed he had obtained a mission to the court of 
 St. Germains, and there was a rumour that he had 
 perished in a duel with a French marquis. A certain 
 
112 LUCYS GHOST. 
 
 half-witted lad, avIio had followed Sir Hugh back to 
 Dangerfield on that fearful night, might have eluci- 
 dated the mystery ; but he had been kidnapped, and 
 sent to the plantations. After many years he re- 
 turned to England, and on his death-bed left a 
 written statement, implicating Sir Hugh in the 
 double crime of arson and murder. But long ere 
 this the culprit had appeared before a tribunal which 
 admits of no prevarication, and the pretty boy with 
 the golden curls had become lord of Dangerfield 
 Hall. The long corridor had been but partially 
 destroyed. It was repaired and re-furnished by suc- 
 cessive generations; but guests and servants alike 
 refused to sleep again in that dreary wing, after the 
 first trial. Every night, so surely as the old clock 
 tolled out the hour of twelve, a rush of feet was 
 heard along the passage — a window looking into the 
 court was thrown open — a piercing scream from a 
 woman's voice rung through the building — and 
 those who were bold enough to look out, averred 
 that they beheld a white figure leap wildly into the 
 air and disappear. Some even went so far as to 
 affirm that drops of blood, freshly sprinkled, were 
 found every morning on the pavement of the court. 
 But no one ever doubted the Dangerfield ghost to be 
 the nightly apparition of Lucy, Lady Horsingham. 
 At length, in my grandfather's time, certain boards 
 being lifted to admit of fresh repairs in the accursed 
 corridor, the silver-mounted guard of a rapier, the 
 
LAYING THE GHOST. II3 
 
 stock and barrel of a pistol, with a shred of lace, on 
 Avhich the letter ' L ' was yet visible, were discovered 
 by the workmen. They are in existence still. 
 Whatever other remains accompanied them turned 
 to dust immediately on exposure to the air. That 
 dust was, however, religiously collected and buried 
 in the mausoleum appropriated to the Horsinghams. 
 Since then the ghost has been less troublesome ; but 
 most of the family have seen or heard it at least 
 once in their lives. I confess, that if ever I lie 
 awake at Dangerfield till the clock strikes twelve, I 
 invariably stop my ears, and bury my head under 
 the bed-clothes for at least a quarter of an hour. 
 By these means I have hitherto avoided any personal 
 acquaintance with the spectre ; but nothing on earth 
 would induce me to walk down that corridor at mid- 
 night, and risk a private interview with the Danger- 
 field ghost ! 
 
114 DREARY MORNINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A S for spending a whole morning in tlie di*awing- 
 room with the ladies, it is what I cannot and 
 will not submit to. Working and scandal, scandal and 
 working, from half-past ten till two^ is more than I 
 can stand, so, the very first morning I was at Danger- 
 field, I resolved to break the chain at once, and do as 
 I always meant to do for the future. Accordingly, 
 immediately after breakfast I popped my bonnet on, 
 — the lavender one, that had done a good deal of 
 London work, but was still quite good enough for 
 the country, — and started off for a walk by myself, 
 confiding my intentions to no one ; as I well knew if 
 I did, I should have Aunt Deborah's ' Kate, prmj 
 don't overheat yourself, my dear. Do wrap yoiu'self 
 up, and take care not to catch cold'; and Lady 
 Horsingham's sarcastic smile, and ' In my time, Miss 
 Coventry, young ladies were not in the habit of 
 trailing all over the country by themselves ; but I 
 expect soon to hear of their farming and fishing, 
 and shooting, I shouldn't wonder — not worse than 
 hunting, at any rate. However, I say nothing.' And 
 Cousin Amelia, with her lackadaisical sneer, and her 
 avowal that she ' was not equal to much walking ' ; 
 
A COUNTRY WALK. II5 
 
 and her offer to ' go as far as the garden with me in 
 the afternoon/ So I tripped down the back stair- 
 case, and away to the stables, with a bit of sugar for 
 BriUiant, who had arrived safely by the train, in 
 company with White-Stockings; and on through 
 the kitchen-garden and the home-farm up to the 
 free, fresh, breezy down. 
 
 I do enjoy a walk by myself, and it was the 
 last chance I should have of one ; for Cousin John 
 was expected that very day, and when Cousin 
 John and I are anywhere, of course we are inse- 
 parable. But I am sure an occasional stroll quite 
 by oneself does one more good than anything. I 
 think of such quantities of things that never occur 
 to me at other times — fairies, brigands, knights, 
 and damsels, and all sorts of wild adventures ; and I 
 feel so brave and determined, as if I could face any- 
 thing in a right cause, and so good, and I make such 
 excellent resolutions, and walk faster and faster, and 
 get more and more romantic, like a goose, as I know 
 I am. 
 
 Well, it was a beautiful morning, early in au- 
 tumn — blue sky, light fleecy clouds, a sharp clear 
 air from the north, the low country studded with 
 corn-ricks, and alive with reapers, and cart teams, 
 and cattle. A green valley below me, rich in fine 
 old timber, and clothed with high thick hedge-rows, 
 concealing the sluggish river that stole softly away, 
 and only gleamed out here and there to light up the 
 
ii6 'dreasis.' 
 
 distance, whilst above and around me stretched far 
 and wide the vast expanse of down^ cutting sharply 
 against the sky, and dwarfing to mere shi'ubs the 
 clumps of old fir-trees that relieved its magnificent 
 monotony. I was deep in a day-dream, and an 
 imaginary conversation with Frank Lovell, in which 
 I was running over with much mental eloquence 
 what / should say, and what he would say, and what 
 7 should reply to that, when a shrill whistle caused 
 me to start and turn suddenly round, whilst at the 
 same instant a great black retriever bounced up 
 against my legs, and two handsome pointers raced 
 by me as if just emancipated from the kennel. The 
 consequence of all this was, that I stepped hastily on 
 a loose stone, turned my foot the wrong way under 
 me, and came down with a slightly' sprained ankle, 
 and the black retriever, an animal of exceedingly 
 noisome breath, afiectionately licking my face. 
 
 ' Down, Juno ! I beg your pardon a million times; 
 get down, you bitch ! How shall I ever apologise ; 
 confound you, get down' ; said an agitated voice 
 above me ; and, looking up, I espied the red-haired 
 stranger of the railway, dressed in a most conspicuous 
 shooting costume, white hat and aU, whose dogs had 
 been the means of bringing me thus suddenly to the 
 earth, and on whom I was now dependent for succour 
 and support till I should be able to reach home. 
 
 In such an emergency, my new friend was not half 
 so confused and shy as I should have expected. He 
 
' THE SQUIRE ' AGAIN. -II 7 
 
 seemed to summon all his energies to consider what 
 was best to be done ; and as my foot pained me con- 
 siderably when I tried to walk (particularly down- 
 hill)^ he made no more ado, but lifted me carefully 
 in his arms, and proceeded incontinently to carry me 
 off in the direction of Dangerfield Hall, where he 
 seemed intuitively to know I was at present residing. 
 
 It Avas, to say the least of it, an unusual situation. 
 A man I had never seen but once before in my life 
 — and here was I lying in his arms (a precious 
 weight he must have found me !), and looking up in 
 his face like a child in its nurse's, and the usages of 
 society making it incumbent on us both to attempt a 
 sort of indifiPerent conversation about the weather, 
 and the country, and the beauty of the scenery, 
 which the juxtaposition of our respective faces ren- 
 dered ludicrous in the extreme. 
 
 '^ A tempting day for a walk. Miss — ah — ah' (he 
 didn't know my name — how should he? — and was 
 noAv beginning to get very red, partly from the re- 
 turn of his constitutional shyness, and partly from 
 the severity of his exertions) . ' I hope your foot 
 does not pain you quite so much ; be good enough to 
 lean a little more this way.' Poor man, how his 
 arms must have ached ! Whilst I replied somewhat 
 in this fashion : ' Thank you, I'm better ; I shall 
 soon be able to walk, I think : this is indeed a lovely 
 country. Don't you find me very heaAy?' ' I think 
 I could carry you a good many miles,' he said, 
 
Il8 MY ANKLE. 
 
 quietly; and then seemed so shocked at such an 
 avowal, that he hardly opened his lips again, and 
 put me down the very first time I asked him, and 
 offered me his arm with an accession of confusion 
 tliat made me feel quite awkward mjself Truth to 
 tell, my ankle was not sprained, only twisted; and 
 when the immediate pain wore off, I was pretty 
 sound again, and managed, with the assistance of 
 my new acquaintance's arm, to make a very good 
 Avalk of it. So we plodded on quite sociably towards 
 tlie Hall, and my friend took leave of me at the 
 farm with a polite bow, and a sort of hesitating 
 manner that most shy men possess, and which would 
 lead one to infer they have always got something 
 more to say that never is said, I knew I should be 
 ■well scolded if I avowed my accident to any of the 
 family ; besides, I did not quite fancy facing all the 
 inquiries as to how I got home, and Cousin Amelia's 
 sneers about errant damsels and wandering knights ; 
 so I stole quietly up to my room, bathed my foot in 
 eau de Cologne, and remained perdue till dinner-time, 
 in despite of repeated messages from my aunts, and 
 the arrival of Cousin John. 
 
 People may talk about country pleasures and coun- 
 try duties, and all the charms of country life ; but it 
 appears to me that a good many things are done 
 under the titles of pleasure and duty, which belong 
 in reality to neither ; and that those who live entirely 
 in the country, inflict on themselves a great variety 
 
A DINNER-PARTY. II9 
 
 of unnecessary disagreeables, as they lose a great 
 many of its cliief delights. Of all receipts for weari- 
 ness, commend me to a dinner-party of country 
 neighbours by daylight — people who know each 
 other just well enough to have opposite interests and 
 secret jealousies — who arrive ill at ease in their 
 smart dresses, to sit through a protracted meal with 
 hot servants and forced conversation, till one young 
 lady on her promotion being victimised at the piano- 
 forte, enables them to yawn unobserved, and wel- 
 come ten o'clock brings round the carriage and tipsy 
 coachman, in order that they may enter on their 
 long, dark, dreary drive home through lanes and 
 bye-ways, which is only endurable from the consi- 
 deration that the annual ordeal has been accom- 
 plished, and that they need not do it again till this 
 time next year. 
 
 There was a dinner-party at Dangerfield regularly 
 once a month, and this Avas the day. Aunt Horsing- 
 ham was great on these occasions, astonishing the 
 neighbours as much with her London dresses, as did 
 Cousin Amelia with her London manners. We all 
 assembled a few minutes earlier than usual in the 
 drawing-room, so as to be ready to receive our guests, 
 and great was the infliction on poor Aunt Deborah 
 and my humble self. How they trooped in, one 
 after another ! Sir Brian and Lady Banneret, and 
 Master Banneret, and two Miss Bannerets : these 
 were the great cards of the party ; so Lady Horsing- 
 
I20 COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 ham kissed Lady Banneret and the young ladies, 
 and opined Master Baaneret was grown, much to the 
 indignation of that young gentleman, who being an 
 Oxonian, of course considered himself a man. Sir 
 Brian was a good-humoured, jolly old boy, with a 
 loud laugh, and stood with his coat-tails lifted, and 
 his back to the empty fire-place, in perfect ease and 
 contentment : not so his lady ; first she scrutinised 
 everything Lady Horsingham had got on ; then she 
 took a review of the furniture, and specially marked 
 one faded place in the carpet ; lastly, she turned a 
 curious and disappointed glance on myself. I ac- 
 counted for the latter mark of displeasure by the 
 becoming shade of my gown ; I knew it was a pretty 
 one, and would meet with feminine censure accord- 
 ingly. The Bannerets were soon followed by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Plumridge, a newly-married couple, who 
 were feted accordingly. Mr. Plumridge was a light- 
 haired, unmeaning-looking individual, partially bald, 
 with a blue coat and white satin neckcloth; his 
 bride a lively, sarcastic, black-eyed little woman, who 
 must have married him for her own convenience — 
 they said, afterwards, she Avas once a governess ; but 
 at all events she held her own handsomely when 
 alone with the ladies after dinner, and, partly from 
 good liumour, partly from an exceedingly ofi'-hand 
 natural manner, forced even Lady Baimeret to be 
 civil to her. Then came the Marmadukes and the 
 Mary golds, and old Miss Finch in a sedan-chair from 
 
'our secret.' 121 
 
 the adjoining Adllage, and a goodisli-looking man 
 whose name I never made out, and Mr. Sprigges, 
 the curate ; and lastly, in a white heat and a state of 
 utter confusion, my shy acquaintance of the railway 
 and the pointers, who was ushered in by Lady Hor- 
 singham's pompous butler under the style and title 
 of Mr. Haycock. He appeared to be a great friend 
 of the family; and, much to his own discomfiture, 
 was immediately laid violent hands on by my aunt 
 and cousin — the former not thinking it necessary to 
 present him to me, till he offered me his arm to take 
 me in to dinner, when her face of reproval on his 
 stammering out, he ' had met Miss Coventry before/ 
 was worth anything, expressive as it was of shocked 
 propriety and puzzled astonishment. 
 
 When you have a secret only known to your two 
 selves, even Avith a shy man, it is wonderful how it 
 brings him on. Before the soup was off the table, 
 Squire Haycock and I had become wonderfully good 
 friends. He had hoped ' my ankle did not pain me,' 
 and I had trusted ' his arms did not ache' ; he had 
 even gone the length of ' vowing ' that he would have 
 shot his clumsy retriever for being the cause of the 
 accident, only he let him off because if it hadn't 
 been for the dog — ' and here, seeing cousin Amelia's 
 eye fixed upon us, my companion stopped dead short, 
 and concealed his blushes in a glass of champagne. 
 Taking courage from that well-iced stimulant, he 
 reverted to our railway journey in company. 
 
122 DISCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 ' I knew you again, this morning, Miss Coventry, 
 I assure, you, a long way off; in fact, I was going 
 the other way, only, seeing you walking in that lonely 
 part of the down, I feared you might be frightened ' 
 (he was getting bright scarlet again), ' and I deter- 
 mined to watch you at a little distance, and be ready 
 to assist you if you were alarmed by tramps, or 
 sheep-dogs, or — ' 
 
 I thought he was getting on too fast, so I stopped 
 him at once by replying : 
 
 ' I am well able to take care of myself, Mr. Hay- 
 cock, I assure you, and I like best walking quite 
 alone'; after which I turned my shoulder a little 
 towards him, and comjiletely discomfited him for the 
 rest of dinner. One great advantage of diffidence in 
 a man is, that one can so easily reduce him to the 
 lowest depths of despondency; but then, on the 
 other hand, he is apt to think one means to be more 
 cruel than one docs, and one is obliged to be kind in 
 proportion to previous coldness, or the stupid creature 
 breaks away altogether. When the ladies got up to 
 leave the dining-room, I dropped my handkerchief 
 well under the table, and when it was returned to 
 me by the Squire, I gave him such a look of grati- 
 tude as I knew would bring him back to me in the 
 evening. Nobody hates flirting so much as myself, 
 but what is one to do shut up in a country-house, 
 with no earthly thing to occupy or amuse one ? 
 Tea and coffee served but little to produce cor- 
 
LADIES CONVERSATION. I 23 
 
 diality amongst the female portion of tlie guests 
 after their flight to the drawing-room. Lady Hor- 
 singham and Lady Banneret talked apart on a sofa ; 
 they were deep in the merits of their respective 
 preachers and the failings of their respective maids. 
 Mrs. Marmaduke and Mrs. Marygold having had a 
 'Book-Club' feud, did not speak to each other, but 
 communicated through the medium of Miss Finch, 
 whose deafness rendered this a somewhat unsatis- 
 factory process. Aunt Deborah went to sleep, as 
 usual ; and I tried the two Miss Bannerets consecu- 
 tively, but ascertained that neither would open her 
 lips, at least in the presence of mamma. At last I 
 found a vacant place by the side of Mrs. Plumridge, 
 and discovered immediately, with the peculiar free- 
 masonry which I believe men do not possess, that 
 she was one of my sort. She liked walking, riding, 
 driving, dancing, all that I liked, in short ; and she 
 hated scandal-gossiping, sensible women, morning 
 visits, and worsted -work, for all of which I confess 
 to an unqualified aversion. We were getting fast 
 friends when the gentlemen came in from their wine, 
 honest Sir Brian's voice sounding long before he 
 entered the room, and the worthy gentleman himself 
 rolling in with an unsteady step, partly from incipient 
 gout, and partly, I fancy, from a good deal of port 
 wine. He took a vacant seat by me almost imme- 
 diately, chiefly, I think, because it was the nearest 
 seat, and avowing openly his great regard and ad- 
 
124 'the squire' changed. 
 
 miration for my neighbour, Mrs. Plumridge, pro- 
 ceeded to make himself agreeable to both of us in 
 his own way, — though I am concerned to state that 
 he trod heavily on my sprained foot, and spilt the 
 greater part of a cup of coffee over her satin gown. 
 The Squire, whose nerves for the present were strung 
 above blushing pitch, soon joined our little party, 
 and whilst the two Miss Bannerets performed an 
 endless duet on Aunt Horsingham's luckless piano- 
 forte, and their brother, choking in his stiff white 
 neckcloth, turned over the leaves, Sir Brian bantered 
 Mr. Haycock gracefully on his abstemiousness after 
 dinner, an effort of self-denial of which no one 
 could accuse him, and vowed, with much laughter, 
 that ' Haycock must be in love ! in love, Miss 
 Coventry, don't you think so ? A man that always 
 used to take his two bottles as regularly as myself — 
 I am a foe to excess, ladies, but Haycock's an an- 
 chorite, d me — a monk. Haycock! monks 
 
 musn't marry, you know! — wouldn't he look well 
 with his feet shaved, Miss Coventrj^, and his head 
 bare, and a rope round his neck?' Sir Brian was 
 getting confused, and had slightly transposed the 
 clerical costume to which he alluded ; but was quite 
 satisfied that his little badinage was witty and amus- 
 ing in the extreme ; indeed, Mrs. Plumridge and I 
 couldn't help laughing ; but poor Squire Haycock's 
 embarrassment Avas so intense, that he ordered his 
 carriage immediately, and took leave, venturing how- 
 
HOME. 125 
 
 ever^ at the very last^ to shake me by the hand, and 
 braving once again the banter of the inebriated 
 baronet. 
 
 ' Stole away/ said Sir Brian : ' a shy man. Miss 
 Coventry, a shy, diffident man, my friend Haycock, 
 but true as Steele — not a better landlord in the 
 county — excellent neighbour — useful magistrate — 
 good house — beautiful garden — lots of poultry, and 
 a glass bee-hive — wants nothing but a wife : — order 
 the carriage, my lady. ^Irs. Plumridge, you must 
 come and see us at Slopperly, and don't forget to 
 bring Plumridge. Miss Coventr}^, you 're a charm- 
 ing young lady, mind you come too; so jolly Sir 
 Brian wished us both a most affectionate good night, 
 and shaking Aunt Horsingham violently by both 
 hands, packed himself into his carriage in a state of 
 high good-humour and confusion. I have since 
 heard that on his arrival at Slopperly he stoutly re- 
 fused to get out, declaring that he preferred to ' sit 
 in the carriage whilst they changed horses,' and 
 avowing, much to his old butler's astonishment, 
 his resolution to go ' at least one more stage that 
 night.' 
 
126 MY DIARY. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 T MUST despair of being able, in simple narrative, 
 to convey the remotest idea of the dulncss of 
 Dangerfield Hall ; but as during my residence there 
 I beguiled the weary hours by keeping a Diary 
 (bound in blue velvet, with brass clasps, and a Bra- 
 mah lock), I have it in my power, by transcribing a 
 few of its pages, to present to my readers my own 
 impressions of life in that well-regulated establish- 
 ment. I put things do\^Ti just as they happened, 
 with my own reflections, more or less philosophical, 
 on the events of each day. My literary labours were 
 invariably carried on after the family had retired for 
 the night; and I may observe that a loose white 
 dressing-gown, trimmed with Mechlin lace and pink 
 ribbons, one's hair of course being ^ taken down/ 
 is a costume extremely well adapted to the eftbrts 
 of composition. I take a day from the Diary at 
 random. 
 
 Thursday. — Up at half-past seven : peeped in the 
 glass the instant I was out of bed, and wondered 
 how Cousin Amelia looks when she wakes; yellowish, 
 I should think, and by no means captivating, par- 
 ticularly if she wears a nightcap. I don't care how 
 
REFLECTIONS AT THE GLASS. 1 27 
 
 ugly a woman is_, she has no right look anything but 
 fresh in the morning, and yet how few possess this 
 advantage. Nothing like open air and plenty of 
 exercise; saving one's complexion is undoubtedl}'- 
 the very way to spoil it. Saw Brilliant and White- 
 Stockings going to exercise in the park : what cod- 
 dles they look on these fine autumn mornings, 
 covered with clothing. Felt very keen about hunting; 
 the same feeling always comes on at the fall of the 
 leaf; shouldn't wonder if I could jump a gate, with 
 my present nerves. Should like once in my life to 
 plant a field of horsemen, and show these gentlemen 
 how a woman can ride. Interrupted in my day- 
 dreams by Lady Horsingham's bell, and huddled on 
 my things in a tremendous hurry ; forced to wash 
 my hands in cold water, which made the tips of my 
 fingers as red as radishes for the rest of the day. 
 Got down to prayers by half-past eight, and took 
 Aunt Deborah her tea and toast from the breakfast- 
 table at nine. 
 
 Breakfast dull, and most of the party cross : Aunt 
 Horsingham is generally out of humour at breakfast 
 time, particularly on Sundays. Cousin Amelia sug- 
 gested my towels were too coarse, ' they had rubbed 
 a colour into my cheeks like a dairy-maid's.' John 
 said I looked like a rose ; a tea-rose, he added, as I 
 handed him his cup. Cousin John is getting quite 
 poetical, and decidedly improved since he left Lon- 
 don. I wonder whom he got that letter from that 
 
128 COUSIN JOHNS LETTER. 
 
 was lying on liis plate when he came down ? I am 
 not curious, but I just glanced at the direction, and 
 I am certain it was in a lady's hand — not that it's 
 any business of mine, only I should think Miss 
 Molasses would hardly have the face to ivrite to him. 
 I wonder whether there is anything between John 
 and Miss Molasses. I asked him, half spitefully, the 
 other day, how he could bear to be parted from her 
 now the season was over ; and he seemed so pleased 
 at my taking an interest in the thing at all, that I 
 had no patience to go on with my cross-questioning. 
 I don't think she's good enough for John, I must 
 confess, but he is easily imposed on by young ladies, 
 as, indeed, for that matter, are the rest of his great 
 thick-headed sex. When breakfast was over, and 
 Cousin Amelia went off as usual to practise her 
 music for an hour or two, I thought I might steal 
 away for a visit to my favourites in the stable ; in- 
 deed, I saw John at the front-door, in a hideous 
 wide-awake, with a long cigar in his mouth; but 
 I was waylaid by Aunt Horsingham, and as these 
 visits to the stable are strictly forbidden, I was 
 obliged to follow her into the drawing-room, and 
 resign myself for the Avholc morning to that dreadful 
 worsted-work, more especially as it was coming on 
 a drizzling mist, and there was no pretext for my 
 usual walk. 
 
 ' I am glad to see you getting more sociable, 
 Kate,' said Lady Horsingham, in her dry, harsh 
 
RESISTANCE. 1 29 
 
 voice, as I took a seat beside her and opened my 
 work-basket; 'it is never advisable for any young 
 lady to affect singularity ; and I have observed with 
 some concern, that yoiir demeanour on many occa- 
 sions is very unlike that of the rest of your sex.' 
 
 I never give in to Aunt Horsingham; after all, 
 she's not my own aunt, so I answered as pertly as 
 ever I could. 
 
 ' No ; you mean I do n't spend the morning in 
 looking in the glass, and talking evil of my neigh- 
 bours; I don't scream when I see a beetle, or go into 
 convulsions because there 's a mouse in the room. 
 I 've got two legs, very good legs, Aunt Horsingham 
 — shall I show you them ? — and I like to use them, 
 and to be out of doors amongst the trees, and the 
 grass, and the daisies, instead of counting stitches 
 for work that nobody wants, or writing letters that 
 nobody reads. I had rather give Brilliant a good 
 ' bucketing ' [Aunt Horsingham shuddered, I knew 
 she would, and used the word on purpose] over an 
 open heath or a line of grass, than go bodkin in a 
 chariot, seven miles an hour, and both windows up. 
 Thank you, Aunt Horsingham, you would like to 
 make a fine lady of me — a useless, sickly, lacka- 
 daisical being, instead of a healthy, active, light- 
 hearted woman ; much obliged to you — I had 
 rather stay as I am.' 
 
 ' Miss Coventry,' said my aunt, who was com- 
 pletely posed by my volubility, and apparently 
 
130 MASCULINE WOMEN. 
 
 shocked beyond tlie power of expression at my 
 opinions ; ^ Miss Coventry/ she repeated^ ' if these 
 are indeed your sentiments^ I must beg, nay, I must 
 insist, on your keeping them to yourself whilst 
 under this roof. (' Amelia, my dear ' [to my cousin, 
 who was gliding quietly into the room,] ' Amelia, go 
 back to your music for ten minutes.') I must insist. 
 Miss Coventry, that you do not innoculate my daugh- 
 ter with these pernicious doctrines — this mistaken 
 view of the whole duties and essentials of your sex. 
 Do you think men appreciate a Avoman who, if she 
 had but a beard, would be exactly like one of them- 
 selves? Do you think they like to see their ideal 
 hot and dishevelled, plastered with mud, and drag- 
 gled with wet ? Do you think they wish her to be 
 strong and independent of them, and perhaps theii' 
 superior at those very sports and exercises on which 
 they plume themselves ? Do you think the}'- are to 
 be taken by storm, and, so to speak, bullied into 
 admiration? You're wrong, Kate, you're wrong; 
 and I believe I am equally wrong to talk to you in 
 this strain, inasmuch as the admiration of the other 
 sex ought to be the last thing coveted or thought of 
 by a young person of yours.' 
 
 ' I'm sure. Aunt, I don't want the men to admire 
 me,' I replied ; ' but I would not give much for the 
 admiration of one who could be jealous of me for so 
 paltry a cause as my riding better than himself; and 
 as for ideals, I do n't know much about such things, 
 
A HAPPY HOYDEN. I3I 
 
 but I think a man's ideal may do pretty well what 
 she likes, and he is sure to think everytliing she does 
 do is perfect. Besides^ I do n't see why I should 
 huJly him into liking me because I am fond of the 
 beautiful 'out of doors' instead of the fire-side. 
 And courageous women^ like courageous men, are 
 generally a deal more gentle than the timid ones, 
 I've known ladies who would not venture into a 
 carriage or a boat, who could wage a war of words 
 bitterer than the veriest trooper would have at his 
 command ; and I 've heard Cousin John say that 
 there is scarcely an instance of a veritable heroine in 
 history, from Joan of Arc downwards, who was not 
 in her private life as sweet, as gentle, and as womanly, 
 as she was high-couraged and undaunted when the 
 moment came that summoned her energies to the 
 encounter. Unselfishness is the cause in both cases, 
 you may depend. People that are always so dread- 
 fully afraid something is going to happen to them, 
 think a great deal more of self than anything else ; 
 and the same cause which makes them tremble at 
 imaginary danger for their own sakes, will make 
 them forgetful of real sufferings in which they 
 themselves have no share. I had rather be a hoyden, 
 Aunt Horsingham, and go on in my own way. I 
 have much more enjoyment; and, upon my word, I 
 do n't think I 'm one bit a worse member of society 
 than if I was the most delicate fine lady that ever 
 
132 LUNCHEON. 
 
 fainted away at the over-powering smell of a rose- 
 leaf, or the merry peal of a noisy child's laugh/ 
 
 My aunt lifted up her hands and gave in; for the 
 return of Cousin Amelia from the music-room effec- 
 tually prevented further discussion ; and we beguiled 
 the time till luncheon by alternate fits of scandal 
 and work, running through the characters of most 
 of the neighbours within twenty miles, and com- 
 pletely demohshing the reputation of my friend, as 
 they called her, lively, sarcastic little Mrs. Plum- 
 ridge. John was off rabbit-shooting; so of course 
 lie did not appear at that meal so essential to ladies ; 
 and after Cousin Amelia, by way of being delicate, 
 had got through two cutlets, the best part of a 
 chicken, a plateful of rice-pudding, and a large glass 
 of sherry, I ventured to propose to her that if the 
 afternoon held up we should have a walk. 
 
 ' I 'm not equal to much fatigue,' said she, with a 
 languid air and a heavy look about her eyes which I 
 attributed to the luncheon, ' but if you like, we '11 go 
 to the garden and the hothouses, and be back in 
 time for a cup of tea at five o'clock.' 
 
 * Anything to get out of the house,' was my reply ; 
 and forthwith I rushed upstairs, two steps at a time, 
 to put on my things, whilst my aunt whispered to 
 her daughter, loud enough for me to hear, ' She 
 really ought to have been a man, Emmy ; did you 
 ever see such a hoyden in your life?' 
 
THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 1 33 
 
 It was pleasant to get out even into that formal 
 garden. The day was soft and misty_, such as one 
 often finds it towards the close of autumn — dark^ 
 without being chilly and the withered leaves strewed 
 the earth in all the beauty of wholesome natural 
 decay. Autumn makes some people miserable ; I 
 confess it is the time of year that I like best. 
 Spring makes me cross if it's bad weather, and 
 melancholy if it 's fine. Summer is very enjoyable, 
 certainly, but it has a luxuriance of splendour that 
 weighs down my spirits ; and in those glorious hot, 
 dreamy, hay-making days, I seem unable to identify 
 myself sufficiently with all the beauty around me, 
 and to pine for I do n't exactly know what. Winter 
 is charming, when it don't freeze, with its early 
 candle-light and long evenings ; but autumn combines 
 everything that to me is most delightful — the joys 
 of reality and the pleasures of anticipation. Cousin 
 Amelia do n't think so at all. 
 
 ' A nasty raw day, Kate,' she remarked, as we 
 emerged from the hothouse into the moist, heavy air. 
 ' How I hate the country, except whilst the straw- 
 berries are ripe. Let's go back to the house, and 
 read with our feet on the fender till tea-time.' 
 
 ' Not yet, Emmy,' I pleaded, for I really pined for 
 a good walk ; ' let 's go on the high road as far as the 
 mile-stone — it's market-day at INIuddlebury, and we 
 shall see the tipsy farmers riding home, and the car- 
 riers' carts with their queer-looking loads; besides. 
 
134 OUR WALK. 
 
 think what a colour you'll have for dinner. Come 
 on, there's a dear !' 
 
 The last argument was unanswerable ; and Cousin 
 Amelia putting her best foot foremost, we soon 
 cleared the garden and the approach, and emerged on 
 the high road three miles from Muddlebury, and 
 well out of sight of the windows of Dangerfield Hall. 
 As we rose the hill, on the top of which is perched 
 the well-known milestone, and my cousin began 
 already to complain of fatigue, the sound of hoofs 
 behind us caused us both to stop and look round. 
 
 ^It's cavalry/ said Amelia, who jumps rather 
 rapidly to conclusions, and is no judge of a horse. 
 
 ' It 's a stud,' was my reply ; ' somebody coming 
 to hunt with ' the Heavy-top.' Let's stand in this 
 gateway and see them pass.' We took up a position 
 accordingly ; and if I felt keen about the commence- 
 ment of the season previously, how much more so 
 did I become to watch the string of gallant well- 
 bred horses now jogging quietly towards us with all 
 the paraphernalia and accessories of the chase ? 
 
 Two, four, six, and a hack, all clothed and hooded, 
 and packed for travelling. Such a chesnut in the 
 van, with a minute boy on him, who cannot have 
 weighed four stone — strong, flat, sinewy legs (the 
 chcsnut's, not the boy's), hocks and thighs clean, 
 full, and muscular as Brilliant's, only twice the size ; 
 a long, square tail, and a wicked eye, — how I should 
 like to ride that chesnut. Then a brown and two 
 
CAPTAIN LOVELL's STUD. 1 35 
 
 bays, one of the latter scarcely big enough for a 
 hunter, to my fancy, but apparently as thoroughbred 
 as Eclipse; then a grey, who seemed to have a 
 strong objection to being led, and who held back 
 and dragged at his rein in a most provoking manner ; 
 and lastly, by the side of a brown hack that I fancied 
 I had seen before, a beautiful black horse, the very 
 impersonation of strength, symmetry, courage, speed, 
 and all that a horse should be. 
 
 'Ask the groom whose they are,^ whispered 
 Amelia, as he went by. ' I don't quite like to speak 
 to him; he looks an impudent fellow, with those 
 dark whiskers.' 
 
 1 should like to see the whiskers that would 
 frighten me ; so I stepped boldly out into the road, 
 and accosted him at once. 
 
 ' Whose horses are those, my man ? ' I asked, with 
 my most commanding air. 
 
 ' Captain LovelPs, miss,' was the reply. My heart 
 jumped into my mouth, and you might have knocked 
 me down with a feather. 
 
 ' Captain Lovell's ! ' exclaimed Amelia ; ' why, 
 that's your old flirt, Kate. I see it all now,' — but I 
 hardly heard her, and when I looked up the horses 
 were a mile off, and we were retracing our steps 
 towards Dangerfield Hall. 
 
 What a happy day this has been, and how unpro- 
 mising was its beginning. And yet I don't know 
 why I should have been so happy. After all, there 
 
136 MY WINDOW. 
 
 is nothing extraordinary in Captain Lovell's sending 
 down a stud of horses to hunt with so favoui'ite a 
 pack as 'the Heavy-top' hounds. I wish I had 
 summoned courage to ask the man when his master 
 was coming, and where he was going to stay ; but I 
 really could n't do it, no^ not if my life had depended 
 on it. All the way home, Cousin Amelia laughed, 
 and sneered, and chattered, and once she acknow- 
 ledged I was ' the best tempered gii'l in the world' ; 
 but I am sure I have not an idea Avhy I deserve 
 this character : her words fell perfectly unheeded on 
 my ear. I was glad to get to the solitude of my 
 own room, when it was time to dress for dinner, 
 that I might have the luxury, if it was only for five 
 minutes, of thinking undisturbed : but there was 
 Aunt Deborah to be attended to; for poor Aunt 
 Deborah, I am sorry to say, is by no means well, 
 and Gertrude came in ' to do my hair ' ; and then 
 the dinner-bell rang, and the wearisome meal, and 
 the long evening dragged on in their accustomed 
 monotony; but / did not find it as dull as usual, 
 though I was more rejoiced than ever when the 
 hand-candles came, and we were dismissed to go 
 to bed. 
 
 And now they are all fast asleep, and I can sit at 
 my open window, and think, think, think as much 
 as I like. What a lovely night it is ! The mist has 
 cleared ofi", and the moat is glistening in the moon- 
 light, and the old trees are silvered over and black- 
 
WHERE IS he: 137 
 
 ened alternately by its beams; the church tower 
 stands out massively against the sky. How dark 
 the old belfry looks on such a night as this^ con- 
 trasting with the white tombstones in the church- 
 yard, and the slated roof shimmering above the 
 aisle ! There is a faint breeze sighing amongst the 
 few remaining leaves, now rising into a pleading 
 whisper, now dying away with a sad unearthly 
 moan. The deer are moving restlessly about the 
 park, now standing out in bold relief on some open 
 space brightened by the moonlight, now flitting like 
 spectres athwart the shade. Everything breathes of 
 romance and illusion; and I do believe it is very 
 bad for one to be watching here, dreaming wide 
 awake, instead of snoring healthily in bed. I wonder 
 what he is about at this moment ? perhaps smoking 
 a cigar out of doors, and enjoying this beautiful 
 night. I wonder what he is thinking of ! Perhaps, 
 after all, he's stewed up in some lamp-lit drawing- 
 room, talking nonsense to Lady Scapegrace and 
 Mrs. Lumley, or playing that odious whist at his 
 club. Well, I suppose I may as well go to bed; 
 one more look into the night, and then — hark ! 
 what is it ? how beautiful ! how charming ! distant 
 music from the wood at the low end of the park; 
 the deer are all listening, and now they troop down 
 towards the noise in scores : how softly it dies away 
 and rises again : 'tis a cornet-a-piston, I think, and 
 though not very skilfully played, it sounds heavenly 
 
138 ECHO ANSWERS. 
 
 by moonliglit. I never thought that old air of 
 ' You'll remember me ' half so beautiful before. Who 
 can it be ? I have never heard it since I came here. 
 It can't be Captain Lovell's groom, it's not quite im- 
 possible it might be Captain Lovell himself. Ah ! if 
 I thought that ! Well, it has ceased now. I may as 
 Avell go to bed. What a happy day this has been, 
 and what dreams I shall have. 
 
A HUNTING MORNING. 1 39 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 T7IIIDAY. — This has been an eventful day. I 
 thought somehow it \yould be so ; at aU events, 
 the first day's hunting is always an era to me — so 
 when I came down to breakfast in my riding-habit, 
 and braved the cold glances of my aunt and the 
 sarcasms of my cousin, I was prepared for a certain 
 amount of excitement, although, I confess, I did not 
 bargain for quite so much as I got. 
 
 'You'll enjoy yourself to-day, I trust. Miss Co- 
 ventry,' said Aunt Horsingham, looking as black as 
 thunder. 
 
 ' Mind you don't get a fall,' observed Cousin 
 Amelia, with a sneer; but I cared little for their 
 remarks and remonstrances. White-Stockings was 
 at the door. Cousin John ready to lift me into my 
 saddle, and I en\'ied no mortal woman on earth, no, 
 not our gracious Queen upon the throne, when I 
 found myself faii'ly mounted, and jogging gently 
 down the park, in all the delightful anticipation of a 
 good day's sport. I think I Avould rather have 
 ridden Brilliant of the two, but John suggested that 
 the country was cramped and sticky, Avith small 
 
140 THE ' HEAVY-TOP ' HOUNDS. 
 
 fields and blind fences. Now, White- Stockings is 
 an animal of great circumspection, and allows no 
 earthly consideration to hurry him. He is, more- 
 over, as strong as a dray-horse, and as handy, so 
 John declares, ' as a fiddle/ To him, therefore, was 
 entrusted the honour of carrying me on my first ap- 
 pearance with the Heavy-top hounds. The meet was 
 at no great distance from Dangerfield Hall, and 
 being the beginning of the season, and a favourite 
 place, there was a considerable muster of the elite of 
 the county, and a goodly show of very respectable 
 horses to grace the covert side. As we rode up to 
 the mounted assemblage, I perceived, by the glance 
 of curiosity, not to say admiration, directed at my- 
 self and White- Stockings, that ladies were unusual 
 visitors in that field, and that the Heavy -top gentle- 
 men were not prepared to be cut down, at all events 
 hy a woman. Cousin John seems to know them all, 
 and to be a universal favourite. 
 
 ' Who^s the lady, Jones, my boy ? ' whispered a fat 
 squire in a purple garment, with a face to match ; 
 'good seat on a horse, eh? rides like a bird, I'll 
 warrant her.^ I did not catch John's answer; but 
 the corpulent sportsman nodded, and smiled, and 
 winked, and wheezed out, ' Lucky dog — pretty cou- 
 sin — double harness.' 
 
 I don't know what he meant ; but that it was 
 something intensely ludicrous, I gather from his 
 nearly choking with laughter at his own concluding 
 
THE CAPTAIN IN PINK. I4I 
 
 observation^ though John blushed and looked rather 
 like a fool. 
 
 ' Who's that girl on the chesnut ? ' I again heard 
 asked by a slang-looking man with red whiskers 
 meeting under his chin ; ' looks like a larker — I 
 must get introduced to her/ added the conceited 
 brute. How I hated him ! If he had ventured to 
 speak to me, I really think I could have struck him 
 over the face with my riding-whip. 
 
 ' I told you it would not be long before we met, 
 Miss Coventry/ said a well-known voice beside me ; 
 and, turning round, I shook hands with Captain 
 Lovell ; and I am ashamed to confess, shook all over 
 into the bargain. I am always a little nervous the 
 first day of the season. How well he looked in his 
 red coat and neat appointments, with his graceful 
 seat upon a horse, and so high-bred, amongst all the 
 country squires and jolly yeomen that surrounded 
 us ! He had more colour, too, than when in Lon- 
 don ; and altogether I thought I had never seen him 
 looking so handsome. The chesnut with the wicked 
 eye, showing off his fine shape, now divested of 
 clothing, curvetted and bent to his rider's hand as 
 if he thoroughly enjoyed that light restraining 
 touch : the pair looked what the gentlemen call ' all 
 over like going,' and I am sm'e one of them thought 
 so too. 
 
 ' I saw your horses on their way to Muddlebury, 
 yesterday,' I at length found courage to say ; ' are 
 
142 THE SQUIKE IN SCAKLET. 
 
 you going to hunt all the season with the Heavy- 
 top?' 
 
 ' How long do you stay at Dangerfield ? ' was the 
 counter question from Frank ; ' you see I know the 
 name of the place already ; I believe I could find my 
 way now about the park ; very picturesque it is, too, 
 by night, Miss Coventry. Do you like music by 
 moonlight ? ' 
 
 ^Not if it's played out of tune/ I answered, with a 
 laugh and a blush ; but just then Squire Haycock, 
 whom I scarcely knew in his hunting costume, rode 
 up to us, and begged as a personal favour to himself 
 that we would accompany him to a particular point, 
 from which he could ensiu-e us a good start if the fox 
 went away — his face becoming scarlet as he ex- 
 pressed a hope ' Miss Coventry would not allow her 
 fondness for the chase to lead her into unnecessaiy 
 danger'; whilst Frank looked at him with a half- 
 amused, half-puzzled expression, that seemed to say, 
 ' What a queer creature you are; and what the deuce 
 can that matter to you ?' 
 
 I wonder why people always want to oblige you 
 when you don't Avant to be obliged; Hoo ci\il by 
 half,' is much more in the way than ' not half civil 
 enough.' So we rode on with Squire Haycock, and 
 took u^ a position at the end of the wood that com- 
 manded a view of the Avholc proceedings, and, as 
 Frank whispered to me, was ' the likeliest place in 
 the world if we wanted to head the fox.' 
 
'the old sort.' 143 
 
 The Heavy-top hounds are an establishment such 
 as, I am given to understand, is not usually kept in 
 Leicestershire, Northamptonshire, and other so- 
 called ' flying cou.nties/ I like to gain all the infor- 
 mation I can — Cousin John calls this thirst for 
 knowledge, * female curiosity' — and I gather from 
 him that the Heavy-top consists of twenty-two cou- 
 ples of hunting hounds, and that the whole twenty - 
 two come out three times a week during the season. 
 I don't see why they shouldn't, I'm sure ; they look 
 very fat, and remind me of the otter hounds poor 
 Uncle Horace used to keep when I was a child. He 
 (that's my oracle, Cousin John) further adds, that 
 they are remarkably ' steady' — which is more than 
 can be said of their huntsman, who is constantly 
 drunk — and that they consume a vast quantity of 
 'flesh'; which, far from being a meritorious, appears 
 to me a disgusting tendency. They are capital 
 ' line-hunters/ so says John ; a ' line-hunter,' I ima- 
 gine, is a hound that keeps snuffing about under the 
 horses' feet, and must be a most useful auxiliary, 
 when, as is often the case, the sportsmen are stand- 
 ing on the identical spot where the fox has crossed. 
 He considers them a very Hvilling' pack, not in 
 manners or appearance, certainly, but in persever- 
 ance and undying determination. Their huntsman 
 is what is called ' one of the old sort' : if this is a 
 correct description, I can only say that ' the old 
 sort' must have worn the brownest and shabbiest of 
 
1 44 ' GONE AWAY ! ' 
 
 boots, the oldest of coats, and the greasiest of caps ; 
 must have smelt of brandy on all occasions ; and 
 lived in a besotted state of general confusion, vibrat- 
 ing between ' delirium audacious ' and ' delirium 
 tremens.' They have, however, a certain whip, called 
 ' Will,' who appears to me to do all the work, and to 
 keep everything right. When old Tippler drinks 
 himself to death (a casualty which must shortly hap- 
 pen). Will is pretty sure to succeed him — an event 
 which I fancy will greatly add to the efl&ciency of 
 the Heavy-top hounds. To crown all, Frank Lovell 
 dubs the whole thing ' slow'; but I have remarked, 
 gentlemen make use of this epithet to convey their 
 disapproval of that which they cannot find any posi- 
 tive fault with — just as we ladies call a woman 'bad 
 style/ when we have nothing else to say in her dis- 
 paragement. 
 
 ' Gone away ! ' exclaims Squire Haycock, lifting 
 his cap high above his red head ; ' yonder he goes ! 
 Don't you see him. Miss Coventry, now whisking 
 under the gate ? ' 
 
 ' Forward, forward 1' holloas Frank, giving vent to 
 his excitement in one of those prolonged screams 
 that proclaim how the astonished sportsman has ac- 
 tually seen the fox with his own eyes. The next 
 instant he is through the handgate at the end of the 
 ride, and, rising in his stirrups, with the wicked 
 chesnut held hard by the head, is speeding aM ay over 
 the adjoining pasture, alongside of the two or three 
 
A FAMOUS START. 1 45 
 
 couples of leading hounds that have just emerged 
 from the covert. Ah ! we are all forgotten now, 
 women, children, everything is lost in that first de- 
 lirious five minutes when the hounds are really 
 away. Frank was gazing at me a minute ago as if 
 his very life was at my disposal, and now he is speed- 
 ing away a field a-head of me, and don't care 
 whether I break my neck following him or not. 
 But this is no time for such thoughts as these, the 
 drunken huntsman is sounding his horn in our rear. 
 Will, the whip, cap in hand, is bringing up the body 
 of the pack. Squire Haycock holds the gate open 
 for me to pass, Cousin John goes by me like a flash 
 of lightning; White-Stockings, with a loose rein, 
 submits to be kicked along at any pace I like to ask 
 him ; the fence at the end of the field is nothing, I 
 shall go exactly where Frank did ; my blood thrills 
 with ecstasy in my veins : moment of moments ! I 
 have got a capital start, and we are in for a run. 
 
 As I sit here in my arm-chair and dressing-gown, 
 I see the whole panorama of to-day passing once 
 more before my eyes. I see that dark, wet, ploughed 
 field, with the white hounds slipping noiselessly over 
 its furrowed surface. I can almost perceive the 
 fresh wholesome smell of the newly-turned earth. 
 I see the ragged, overgrown, straggling fence at the 
 far end, glistening with morning dew, and green 
 with formidable briars. I see Frank LovelPs ches- 
 nut rising at the weakest place, the rider sitting well 
 
 L 
 
146 GOLDEN IVnXUTES. 
 
 back, his spurs and stirrup-irons shining in the sun ; 
 I see Squire Haycock's square scarlet back, as he 
 diverges to a -n-ell-known corner for some friendly 
 egress ; I hear Cousin John^s voice shouting, ' Give 
 him his head^ Kate!^ As White-Stockings and I 
 rapidly approach the leap, my horse relapses of his 
 own accord into a trot, points his small cars, crashes 
 into the very middle of the fence, and just as I give 
 myself up for lost, makes a second bound that settles 
 me once more in the saddle, and lands gallantly in 
 the adjoining field, Frank looking back over his 
 shoulder in evident anxiety and admiration, whilst 
 John's cheery voice, with its * bravo, Kate ! ' rings in 
 my delighted ears. lYe three are now nearest the 
 hounds, a long strip of rushy meadow-land before 
 us, the pack streaming along the side of a high thick 
 hedge that bounds it on our left ; the south wind 
 fans my face and lifts my hair, as I slacken my 
 horse's rein and urge him to his speed. I am along- 
 side of Frank. I could ride anywhere now, or do 
 anything. I pass him with a smile and a jest. I 
 am the foremost with the chase. What is ten years 
 of common life, one's feet upon the fender, compared 
 to five such golden minutes as these ? The hounds 
 stop suddenly, and after scattering and spreading 
 themselves into the form of an open fan, look up in 
 my face with an air of mute bewilderment. The 
 huntsmen and the field come up, the gentlemen in a 
 high state of delight and confusion ; but ISlr. Tippler 
 
PORWAKD ! 
 
 147 
 
 in the worst of humours, and muttering as he trots 
 off to a corner of the meadow with the pack about 
 his horses' heels : — 
 
 'Rode ^em slap off the scent — drove 'em. to a 
 check — wish she was at home and a-hed and asleep^ 
 and be d d to her ! ' 
 
 A grim old lady who has but one eye, and answers 
 to the name of * Jezebel/ has tlu-eaded the fence, and 
 proclaims in anything but a sweet Yoice to her com- 
 rades, that she has discovered the line of our fox. They 
 join her in an instant, down go their heads in concert, 
 and away we all speed again, through an open gate, 
 across a wide common, into a strip of plantation, 
 over a stile and footboard that leads out of it, and I 
 find myself once more following Captain Lovell, Avith 
 Cousin John alongside of me, and all the rest far, 
 far behind. This is indeed glorious. I should like 
 it to go on till dinner time. How I hope we shan't 
 kill the fox. 
 
 ' Take hold of his head, Kate,^ says my cousin, 
 whose horse has just blundered on to his nose, 
 through a gap, ' even White- Stockings wont last for 
 ever, and this is going to be something out of the 
 common.' 
 
 'Forward V is my reply, as I point with my whip 
 towards the lessening pack, now a whole field a-head 
 of us, ' forward ! ' If we hadn't been going such a 
 pace I could have sung for joy. 
 
 There is a line of pollarded willow-trees down iu 
 
148 THE BROOK. 
 
 that hollow, and the hounds have already left these 
 behind them ; they are rising the opposite ground. 
 Again Frank Lovell looks anxiously back at me, but 
 makes no sign. 
 
 ' We must have it, Kate ! ' says John, ' there's your 
 best place, under the tree ; send him at it as hard as 
 he can lay legs to the ground.' 
 
 I ply my whip and loosen my reins in vain. 
 White-Stockings stops dead short, and lowers his nose 
 to the water, as if he wanted to drink ; all of a sud- 
 den the stream is behind me, and with a flounder 
 and a struggle we are safe over the brook. Not so 
 Cousin John; I see him on his legs on the bank, 
 with his horse's head lying helplessly between his 
 feet, the rest of that valuable animal being com- 
 pletely submerged. 
 
 ' Go along, Kate ! ' he shouts encouragingly, and 
 again I speed after Frank Lovell, who is by this time 
 nearly a quarter of a mile ahead of me, and at least 
 that distance behind the hounds. White-Stockings 
 is going very pleasantly, but the ground is now en- 
 tirely on the rise, and he indulges occasionally in a 
 trot without any hint on my part ; the fences fortu- 
 nately get weaker and weaker; the fields are covered 
 with stones, and are light good galloping enough, 
 but the rise gets steeper every yard ; round hills are 
 closing in about us ; we are now on the Downs, and 
 the pack is still fleeting a head, like a body of hounds 
 in a dream, every moment increasing their distance 
 
FADING AWAY. 1 49 
 
 from us, and making them more and more indistinct. 
 Frank Lovell disappears over the brow of that hill, 
 and I urge White-Stockings to overtake my only 
 companion. He don't seem to go much faster, for 
 all that. I strike him once or twice with my light 
 riding whip ; I shake my reins, and he comes back 
 into a trot ; I rise in my stirrup and rouse his ener- 
 gies in every way I can think of. I am afraid he 
 must be ill, the trot degenerates to a jog, a walk; 
 he carries his head further out from him than is his 
 ■wont, and treats curb and snaffle with a like dis- 
 regard and callousness of mouth. Now he stops 
 altogether, and catching a side view of his head, his 
 eye appears to me more prominent than usual, 
 and the whole animal seems changed, till I can 
 hardly fancy it is my own horse. I get a little 
 frightened now, and look round for assistance. I am 
 quite alone. Hounds, horsemen, all have disap- 
 peared : the wide, dreary, solitary Downs stretch 
 around me, and I begin to have misgivings as to how 
 I am to get back to Dangerfield Hall. Cousin John 
 has explained it all to me since. 
 
 'Nothing could be simpler, Kate,' said he, this 
 evening, when I handed him his tea, ' you stopped 
 your horse. If ladies will go in front with a loose 
 rein for five and forty minutes, 'riding jealous' of 
 such a first-rate performer as Frank Lovell, it is not 
 an unlikely thing to happen. If you could have 
 lasted ten minutes longer, you would have seen them 
 
150 BEAT AT LAST. 
 
 kill their fox. Frank was the only one there, but 
 lie assures me he could not have gone another hun- 
 dred yards. Never mind, Kate, better luck next 
 time ! ' 
 
 Well, to return to my day. After a while, White- 
 Stockings began to recover himself; I'm sure I 
 didn't know what to do for him. I got off, and 
 loosened his girths as well as I could, and turned his 
 head to the wind, and wiped his poor nose with my 
 pocket-handkerchief. I hadn't any eau de Cologne, 
 and if I had, it might not have done him much 
 good. At last he got better, and I got on again (all 
 my life I've been used to mounting and dismounting 
 without assistance). Thinking down-hill must be 
 the way home, down-hill I turned him, and proceeded 
 slowly on, now running over in my own mind the 
 glorious hour I had just spent, now wondering 
 whether I should be lost and have to sleep amongst 
 the Downs, and anon coming back to the old subject, 
 and resolving that hunting was the only thing to 
 live for, and that for the future I would devote my 
 whole time and energies to that pursuit. At last I 
 got into a steep chalky lane, and at a turn a little 
 farther on espied, to my great relief, a red-coated back 
 jogging leisurely home. White-Stockings pricked 
 his ears and mended his pace, so I soon overtook the 
 returning sportsman, who proved to be no other than 
 Squire Haycock, thrown out like the rest of the 
 Heavy-top gentlemen, and only too happy to take 
 
HOMEWAED IN COUPLES. I5I 
 
 care of me, and sliow me the shortest way (eleven 
 miles as the crow flies) back to Dangerfield Hall. 
 
 We jogged on amicably enough, the Squire com- 
 plimenting me much on my prowess, and not half so 
 shy as usual, — very often the case with a diffident 
 man when on horseback. We were forced to go 
 very slow, both our horses being pretty well tired ; 
 and to make matters better, we were caught in a 
 tremendous hail-storm, about two miles from home, 
 just as it was getting dark, and close to the spot 
 where oiu* respective roads diverged. I could not 
 possibly miss mine, as it was perfectly straight. Ah ! 
 that hail-storm has a deal to answer for. We were 
 forced to turn through a hand-gate, and take shelter 
 in a friendly wood. What a ridiculous position, 
 pitch dark, pelting with rain, an elderly gentleman 
 and a young lady on horseback under a fir-tree. The 
 Squire had been getting more incoherent for some 
 time, I couldn't think what he was driving at. 
 
 * You like our country. Miss Coventry, fine climate, 
 excellent soil, nice and dry for ladies ? ' 
 
 I willingly subscribed to all these advantages. 
 
 ' Good neighbourhood,' added the Squire, ' capital 
 hunting, charming rides, wonderful scenery for 
 sketching ; do you think you could live in this part 
 of the world ? ' 
 
 I thought I could, if I was to try. 
 
 ' You expressed your approbation of my house, 
 Miss Coventry,' the Squire proceeded, with his hand 
 
152 A PERTINENT QUESTION. 
 
 on my horse's neck, ' do you think — I mean — should 
 you consider — or rather I should say, is there any 
 alteration you would suggest — anything in my power, 
 — if you would condescend to ride over any after- 
 noon, may I consider you will so far favour me ? ' 
 
 I said ' I should be delighted, but that it had left 
 off raining, and it was time for us to get home/ 
 
 ' One word. Miss Coventry,' pleaded the Squire, 
 with a shaking voice, ' have I your permission to call 
 upon Lady Horsingham to-morrow ? ' 
 
 I said I thought my aunt would be at home, and 
 expressed my conviction that she would be delighted 
 to see him, and I wished him good-bye. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Miss Coventry, good-hjc,^ said the 
 Squire, shaking hands with a squeeze that crushed 
 my favourite ring into my prettiest finger ; you have 
 made me the happiest of men — good-bye !' 
 
 I saw it all in an instant, just as I see it now. 
 The Squire means to propose for me to-morrow, and 
 he thinks I have accepted him. What shall I do ! 
 Mrs. Haycock — Kate Haycock — Catherine Haycock. 
 No, I can't make it look well, write it how I will ; 
 and then, to vow never to think of anyone else ; I 
 suppose I mightn't even speak to Frank. Never, no, 
 never ; but what a scrape I have got into, and how I 
 wish to-morrow was over ! 
 
THE DOOR-BELL. I 53 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ll/rY diary continued — 
 
 Saturday. — Well^ it is over at last ; and, upon 
 my word, I begin to think I am capable of anything 
 after all I have got through to-day since breakfast. 
 Scarcely had I finished the slice of toast and single 
 cup of tea that constitute my morning meal, before 
 I heard the tramp of a horse on the gravel in front 
 of the house, followed by the ominous sound of the 
 door-bell. I have remarked, that in all country 
 families, a ring at the door-bell brings everybody's 
 heart into everybody's mouth. Aunt Horsingham, 
 brooding over the tea-pot as usual, had been in her 
 worst of humours ever since she came down, and 
 tried to look as if no bell that ever was cast had 
 power to move her grim resolve. 
 
 ' A message by electric telegraph,' exclaimed Cou- 
 sin Amelia, who is always anticipating some catas- 
 trophe ; ' no visitor would ever call at such a time.' 
 
 ' Unless he came to propose for one of us,' sug- 
 gested John, who was carving a ham at the side- 
 table. 
 
154 ^lY PRETENDU. 
 
 ' Some one on business for me, probably,' remarked 
 Aunt Horsingham, drawing herself up and looking 
 more stately than usual. 
 
 ' Mr. Haycock ! ' announced the butler^ throwing 
 open the door with a flourish ; and while all our un- 
 timely visitor's preparations^ such as wiping his shoes, 
 arranging his dress, etc., were distinctly audible out- 
 side, we looked at each other in mute astonishment, 
 and I own I did feel the guilty one amongst the 
 party. 
 
 The Squire made his entrance iu a state of intense 
 trepidation ; having been forcibly deprived of his 
 white hat in the hall, he had nothing but natural 
 means to resort to for concealment of his confusion. 
 Had it not been for an enormous silk handkerchief 
 (white spots on a yellow ground), with which he 
 blew his nose and wiped his brow at short and start- 
 ling intervals, his condition would have been pitiable 
 in the extreme. The ' Squire's^ dress, too, was of a 
 more florid style than is usual in these days of sad- 
 coloured attire. A bright blue neckcloth, well 
 starched and of great depth and volume; a buff 
 waistcoat, with massive gilt buttons; a grass-green 
 riding-coat, of peculiar shape and somewhat scanty 
 material ; white cord trousers, York tan gaiters, and 
 enormous double-soled shooting-shoes, pierced and 
 strapped, and clamped and hob-nailed, completing a 
 tout-ensemble that almost upset my aunt's gravity, and 
 made me, nervous as I felt, stuff my pocket- 
 
OPENING THE TRENCHES 1 55 
 
 handkerchief into my mouthy that I might not laugh 
 outright. 
 
 'Fine morning, Lady Horsingham/ observed the 
 Squire, as if he had come all that distance at this 
 early hour on purpose to impart so valuable a piece 
 of information — ' fine morning, but cold/ he re- 
 peated, rubbing his hands together, though the per- 
 spiration stood on his brow. ' I don't recollect a 
 much finer morning at this time of year,' he re- 
 sumed, addressing Cousin John after a pause, during 
 which he had ceremoniously shaken hands with each 
 of us in succession. 
 
 'Will you have some breakfast?' asked Lady 
 Horsiugham, whose cold and formal demeanour con- 
 trasted strangely with the nervous excitement of her 
 visitor. 
 
 'No, thank you — if you please,' answered the 
 Squire, in a breath, 'I breakfasted before I left 
 home; early hours. Lady Horsingham — I think 
 your ladyship approves of early hours — but I'll 
 ask for a cup of tea, if you please' : so he sat down 
 to a weak cup of lukewarm tea with much assumed 
 gusto and satisfaction. 
 
 It was now time for Cousin Amelia to turn her 
 battery on the Squire, so she presently attacked him 
 about his poultry, and his garden, and his farm ; 
 the honest gentleman's absent and inconsequent 
 replies causing my aunt and John to regard him 
 with silent astonishment as one who was rapidly 
 
156 CEOSS PURPOSES. 
 
 taking leave of liis senses; wliilst I, who knew or at 
 least guessed the cause of his extraordinary beha- 
 viour, began heartily to wish myself back in 
 Lowndes -street, and to wonder how this absurd 
 scene was going to end. 
 
 ' Your dahlias must have suffered dreadfully from 
 these early frosts,' said Cousin Amelia, shaking her 
 ringlets at the poor man in what she fancies her 
 most bewitching style. 
 
 ' Beautifully/ was the bewildered reply, ' particu- 
 larly the short-horns.' 
 
 ^You never sent us over the Alderney calf you 
 promised, Mr. Haycock,' pursued the lady, now 
 adroitly changing her ground ; ' I begin to think 
 you are not to be depended on.' 
 
 'You do me injustice. Miss Horsingham, indeed 
 you do,' broke out the Squire in a white heat, and 
 with a deprecating glance at me; 'I assure you I 
 sent over a very fine cutting, with a pot and every- 
 thing, directions for matting it in winter and trans- 
 planting after a year ; if you never got it, I'll 
 discharge my gardener, I will, upon my word.' 
 
 * I have got such a Cochin China to show you,' 
 persisted his tormentor, determined to renew the 
 charge; 'when you've finished breakfast, I'll take 
 you to the poultry -yard, if you like.' 
 
 'Delighted,' replied the Squire, looking ruefully 
 around him, as if he meditated instant flight, ' de- 
 lighted, I'm sure; but they haven't flowered well 
 
A 'love' game. 157 
 
 this year. 1^11 teach, you how to bud them^ if you 
 like ; but you're aware, Miss Horsingham,, that 
 they've no smell.* 
 
 John could stand it no longer, and was forced to 
 bolt out of the room. My aunt, too, rose from the 
 table with something approaching a smile ; and the 
 Squire, screwing his courage to the sticking place, 
 was following her into the drawing-room, evidently 
 for a private interview, when Cousin Amelia, who 
 seemed to have made up her mind to take bodily 
 possession of him, hurried the visitor off to the 
 billiard-room, there to engage in a match which 
 would probably last till luncheon-time. I never saw 
 anything so hopeless as the expression of the vic- 
 tim's countenance, whilst suffering himself to be 
 thus led into captivity. He did summon courage 
 to entreat ' Miss Coventry to come and mark' — a 
 favour which, notwithstanding my cousin's black 
 looks, I really had not the heart to refuse him. 
 
 Game after game they played, the gentleman ap- 
 parently abandoning himself to his fate. SprawUng 
 over the table, making the most ridiculous blunders 
 in counting, missing the most palpable of cannons, 
 and failing to effect the easiest of hazards, the lady 
 brandishing her mace in the most becoming atti- 
 tudes, drooping her long hair over the cushions, and 
 displaying the whiteness of her hand and slender 
 symmetry of her fingers, as she requested her 
 astonished adversary to teach her ' how to make a 
 
158 'coming events,' etc. 
 
 bridge/ or ' pocket the red/ or ' screw in off the 
 wliite/ and lisped out ' how hard it was to be disap- 
 pointed by that provoking kiss ! ' The Squire made 
 one or two futile attempts to engage me in a game, 
 but Cousin Amelia was determined to have him all 
 to herself; and as it was getting near the time at 
 which I take Aimt Deborah her broth, for poor 
 Aunt Deborah, I am sorry to say, is very ill in bed, 
 I made my escape, and as I ran up stairs, heard the 
 billiard-room bell ring, and Squire Haycock summon 
 up com*age to 'know if Lady Horsingham was at 
 leisure, as he wished to see her for five minutes alone 
 in the drawing-room/ 
 
 People may say what they like about superstition 
 and credulity, and old women's tales, but I have faith 
 in presentiments. Didn't I get np from my work 
 and walk to the window at least a dozen times, to 
 watch for Cousin John coming home, that wet day 
 two years ago, when he broke his leg with the har- 
 riers, and yet he had only gone out for a moiTiing's 
 canter on the best horse he ever had in his life? 
 Didn't I feel for eight-and-forty hom's as if some- 
 thing too delightful was going to happen to me the 
 week that Brilliant was bought and sent home, 
 looking like an angel in a horse's skin ? That re- 
 minds me I never go to see him now ; I hope I am 
 not inconstant to my old friends. And what was it but 
 a presentiment that made my heart beat and my knees 
 knock together when I entered my own room to-day 
 
MATERIALS FOR WORK. I 59 
 
 tefore luncheon, and saw a brown paper parcel on 
 the table, addressed, evidently by the shop people, to 
 ' Miss Coventry, Dangerfield Hall ? ' How my fin- 
 gers trembled as I untied the thread and unfolded 
 the paper ; after all, it was nothing but a packet of 
 worsteds ! To be sure, I hadn't ordered any worsteds, 
 but there might possibly be a note to explain ; so I 
 shook every skein carefully, and turned the covering 
 inside out, that the document, if there should be 
 one, might not escape my vigilance. How could my 
 presentiments deceive me? of course there was a 
 note — after all, where was the harm. Captain 
 Lovell had most politely sent me all these worsteds 
 for a cushion I had once talked about working, and 
 very naturally had enclosed a note to say so ; and 
 nothing to my mind could be kinder or more wel- 
 come than the contents. I am not going to say 
 what they are, of course ; though for that matter I 
 easily could, since I have got the note by me at this 
 moment, and have read it over to-day besides, more 
 than once. After all, there is nothing like a letter. 
 Who does not remember the first letter received in 
 one's childish days, written in a fair round text for 
 childish eyes, or, perhaps, even printed by the kind 
 and painstaking correspondent for the little dunce of 
 a recipient. "Who has not slept with such a letter 
 carefully hoarded away under the pillow, that morn- 
 ing's first light might give positive assurance of the 
 actual existence of our treasure. Nor is the little 
 
l6o WINGED WORDS. 
 
 urchin the only glad supporter of our admh'ahle 
 postal institutions. Manly eyes moisten with tears 
 of joy over those faint delicate lines traced by her 
 hand whose gentle influence has found the one soft 
 place. Woman hides away in her bosom, close to 
 her loving heart, the precious scrap which assures 
 her, visibly, tangibly, unerringly, that he is hers 
 and hers alone. Words may deceive, scenes of bliss 
 pass away like a dream. Though ever present to 
 the mind, it requires an effort to disentangle the 
 realities of memory from the illusions of imagina- 
 tion; but a letter is proof positive, there it is in 
 black and white. You may read it again and again, 
 you may kiss it as often as you please, you may 
 prize it, and study it, and pore over it, and find a 
 new meaning in every fresh perusal, a hidden in- 
 terpretation for every magic word ; nothing can unsay 
 it, nothing can deprive you of it, only don't forget 
 to lock it up carefully, and mind you don't go leaving 
 about your keys. 
 
 I had hardly read my note over a second time, 
 before Cousin Amelia bounced into the room without 
 knocking. I should have locked the door had I 
 known she was coming ; as it Mas, I had only time 
 to pop the note into my dress (the seal made a great 
 scratch just beloAV my neck), before she was upon 
 me, and throwing herself into my arms with a most 
 unusual access of affection^ exclaimed — 
 
 'Give me joy, Kate — give me joy — he's gone to 
 
A PROPOSAL. l6l 
 
 mamma — he's in the drawing-room with her now — 
 oh ! Kate, what shall I do ? ' 
 
 ' My dear Amelia/ I exclaimed, as the delightful 
 thought flashed across me, that, after all, the Squire's 
 visit might have been for my cousin, though I must 
 say I wondered at his taste, ' am I to congratulate 
 you on being Mrs. Haycock? I do, indeed, from 
 my heart. I am sure he is an excellent, amiable 
 man, and will make you a capital husband.' 
 
 ' That he will ! ' exclaimed Cousin Amelia ; ' and 
 such a nice place and gardens, and a very good for- 
 tune, too. Upon my word, Kate, I begin to think 
 I 'm a lucky girl, though to be sure, with my advan- 
 tages I might expect to make a good match. He's 
 not so old, Kate, after all ; at least, not so old as he 
 looks ; and he's very good-tempered I know, because 
 his servants say so. I shall alter that tumble-down 
 house of his, and new furnish the drawing-room. 
 Of course he'll take me to London for two or three 
 months every year in the season. I wonder if he 
 knows about Mr. Johnson, not that I ever cared for 
 him; and, of course, a poor curate like that, one 
 could 'nt think of it. Do you know, Kate, I thought 
 his manner was very odd the other day when he 
 dined here, though he sat next you, he kept looking 
 at me, and I remarked once that he coloured up, oh ! 
 so red; poor fellow, I see it all now. Kate, you 
 shall be one of my bridesmaids — perhaps it will be 
 your turn to be a bride some of these days, who 
 knows ? ' M 
 
I 62 A MISTAKE. 
 
 Just then Gertrude tapped at the door. 
 
 ' Miss Coventry, if you please, her ladyship wishes 
 to see you in the drawing-room/ 
 
 My cousin^s face fell several inches. 
 
 ' Some mistake, Gertrude/ she exclaimed. ' It 's 
 me, is 'nt it, that mamma wants ? ' 
 
 ' Her ladyship hid me tell Miss Kate she wished 
 to see her immediately' was my maid's reply, so I 
 tripped down stairs with a heating heart, and crossed 
 the hall just in time to see Squire Haycock riding 
 leisurely away from the house (though it was bitter 
 cold, and a hard frost, the first of the season), and 
 looking up at the window, doubtless in hopes of an 
 encouraging wave from the white handkerchief of his 
 fiancee presumptive. 
 
 Short as was the interval between my own door 
 and that of the drawing-room, I had time to run 
 over in my mind the Avhole advantages and disad- 
 vantages of the flattering proposal which I was now 
 convinced had been made on my behalf. If I be- 
 came Mrs. Haycock (and I saw clearly that I had 
 not mistaken the Squire's meaning on our return 
 from hunting), I should be at the head of a handsome 
 establishment, should have a good-tempered, easy- 
 going, pleasant husband, who would let me do just 
 what I liked, and Imnt to my heart's content ; 
 should live in the country, and look after the poor, 
 and feed hens and chickens, and sink down comfort- 
 ably into a contented old age. I need not separate 
 
I couldn't. 163 
 
 from Auut Deborah, who would never be able to do 
 without me ; and I might, I am sure, turn the Squire 
 with the greatest ease round my little finger ; but 
 then there certainly were great objections. I could 
 have got over the colour of his hair, though a red 
 head opposite me every morning would undoubtedly 
 be a trial; but the freckles ! No, I do not think I 
 could do my duty as a wife by a man so dreadfully 
 freckled. I 'm certain I could n't love him ; and if I 
 did n't love him I ought n't to marry him ; and I 
 thought of the sad, sad tale of Lucy, Lady Horsing- 
 ham, whose ghost was now in the nightly habit of 
 haunting Dangerfield Hall. The struggles that poor 
 thing must have gone through, the leaden hours of 
 dull torpid misery, the agonizing moments of acute 
 remorse, the perpetual spirit-wearing conflict between 
 duty and inclination, much to the discomfiture of 
 the former ; and the haunting face of Cousin Edward 
 continually rising on that heated imagination, plead- 
 ing, reproaching, suing till she loved him, if possibly, 
 more madly in his absence than when he was by her 
 side. I, too, was beginning to have a ' Cousin Ed- 
 ward' of my own; Frank Lovell's image was far 
 too often present in my mind. I did not choose to 
 confess to myself how much I liked him; but the 
 more I reflected on Mr. Haycock's proposal, the 
 more I felt how impossible it would be never to think 
 of Frank any more. 
 
 ' No ! ' I said inwardly, with my hand on the 
 
164 AND I wouldn't. 
 
 drawing-room door, 'I will not give him up. I liave 
 his note even now in my bosom^ he cares for 7ne at 
 any rate. I am happier to-day than I have been for 
 months, and I will 7iot got go and destroy it all with 
 my own hand.' I opened the door, and found myself 
 in the formidable presence of Aunt Horsingham. 
 
 Her ladyship looked colder and more reserved, if 
 possible, than ever. She motioned me stiffly to take 
 a chair, and plunged at once into the subject in her 
 dry measured tones. 
 
 ' Before I congratulate you, Kate/ she began, ' on 
 such an unlooked-for piece of good fortune as has 
 just come to my knowledge, I am bound to confess, 
 much to my astonishment ' 
 
 'Thank you. Aunt,' I put in; that's compli- 
 mentary at any rate.' 
 
 ' I should wish to say a few words,' proceeded my 
 Aunt, without heeding the interruption, ' on the 
 duties which will now devolve upon you, and the 
 line of conduct which I should advise you to pursue 
 in your new sphere ; these hoydenish manners, these 
 ridiculous expeditions, these scampers all over the 
 country, must be renounced forthwith. Unbecoming 
 as they are in a young unmarried female, a much 
 stricter sense of decorum, a vastly diifercnt repose 
 and reserve of manner, are absolutely essential in a 
 wife ; and it is as a ivife, Kate, that I am now ad- 
 dressing you.' 
 
 ' A wife, Aunt ! ' I exclaimed ; ' whose, I should 
 like to know ? ' 
 
AND I didn't. 165 
 
 ^This is an ill-cliosen time for jesting, Kate/ said 
 my aunt, with a frown ; I cannot congratulate you 
 on your good taste in turning so important a subject 
 into ridicule. Mr. Haycock has proposed to you ; 
 you have accepted him. Whilst poor Deborah is so 
 ill, I am your natural guardian, and he has with 
 great propriety requested my consent ; although, in 
 the agitation very natural to a man so circum- 
 stanced/ added my aunt, smothering a smile, 'it 
 was with some difficulty that I made out exactly 
 what he meant.' 
 
 ' He never proposed to me, I never accepted him/ 
 I broke in, breathless with agitation ; ' I never ivill 
 be his wife, Aunt — you had no right to tell him so. 
 Write to him immediately, send a man off on horse- 
 back to overtake him — I ^11 put my bonnet on this 
 instant, and walk every mile of the way myself. 
 He's a true-hearted gentleman, and I won't have 
 him made a fool of.' I walked up and down the 
 room — I looked Aunt Horsingham full in the face ; 
 she was quite cowed by my vehemence. I felt I was 
 mistress now, while the excitement lasted, and she 
 gave in; she even wrote a note to the Squire at my 
 dictation, she dispatched it by a special messenger, 
 she did everything I told her, and never so much as 
 ventured on remonstrance or reproach ; but she will 
 never forgive me to her dying houi'. There is no 
 victory so complete as that which one obtains over 
 a person who is always accustomed to meet with fear 
 
I 66 AUNT 11. ROUTED. 
 
 and obedience. Aunt Horsingham rules her house- 
 hold with a rod of iron ; nobody ever ventures to 
 disagree with her, or so much as to hint an opinion 
 contrary to those which she is known to hold. Such 
 a person is so astonished at resistance, as to be inca- 
 pable of quelling it; the very hardihood of the rebel- 
 lion ensures its success. AAHien I walked out of the 
 drawing-room to-day, I felt that for once I had 
 obtained the victory in a contest with my aunt; that 
 in future I should no longer be the ' wild, trouble- 
 some Kate,' the Mjlack sheep' of the family, the 
 scapegoat on Avhotn were laid the faults and misde- 
 meanours of all — but the master-spirit, the bold, 
 resolute woman, whose value others were able to 
 appreciate, and Avho was ready and willing to assert 
 her own independence. In the meantime, poor 
 Aunt Deborah had to be informed of what had 
 taken place, and Cousin Amelia to be undeceived 
 in her groundless expectations. That the latter 
 would never forgive me, I was Avell enough ac- 
 quainted with my own sex to be assured ; but the 
 task required to be done, notwithstanding. Flushed 
 with my triumph, with heightened colour and fiash- 
 iug eyes, I stalked off towards my chamber, and met 
 Cousin John in the hall. 
 
 ' Good heavens, Kate, what is the matter ? What 
 has happened ? ' exclaimed John, in obvious pertur- 
 bation. 
 
 ' A piece of news ! ' was my reply ; ' a conquest, 
 
COUSIN JOHN APPROVES. 1 67 
 
 John ! "What do you tliink ? Mr. Haycock has 
 just been here^ and proposed for me ! ' 
 
 He flushed up all over his face and temples, and 
 then turned deadly pale^ even his lips were quite 
 white and wide apart ; how they quivered as he tried 
 to speak unconcernedly ! And after all he got out 
 nothing but, ' "Well, Kate.' 
 
 'And I have refused him, John/ I said quietly, 
 but in a tone that showed him there was no mistake 
 about it. 
 
 ' God bless you. Kale/ was all he replied, and 
 turned away muttering something about ' wet things ' 
 and 'his dressing-room'; but he was going to the 
 wrong door, and had to turn back, though he took 
 care not to let me see his face again. 
 
 I can't make John out. At dinner he was just as 
 if nothing had happened ; but at all events I 'm glad 
 I 've refused Mr. Haycock ; so I shall read Frank's 
 note over once more, and then go to bed. 
 
1 68 THE DIAEY CLOSED. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 T NEED quote no more from my diary, as the 
 next few days offered no incident worthy of 
 recording, to break the monotony of our life at 
 Dangerfield Halh Drearier than ever it was, and 
 more especially to me ; for I felt that, although 
 undeclared, there was 'war to the knife ^ between 
 myself, my aunt, and cousin. The latter scarcely 
 spoke to me at all ; and my aunt, whose defeat was 
 rankling bitterly in her heart, merely took such 
 sullen notice of me as was absolutely necessitated by 
 the laws of hospitality and the usages of society. 
 Poor Aunt Deborah requii'cd to be kept very quiet, 
 and free from all worries and annoyances. ' The 
 more she slept,' the doctor said, 'the sooner she 
 would get well enough to move to London for fur- 
 ther advice,^ so I had not even her to talk to — there 
 was no hunting — the frost got harder and harder — 
 that obstinate weathercock over the stal)lcs kept 
 veering from north to north-north-east — the grooms 
 went to exercise Avrapped up in great coats and shawl- 
 handkerchiefs, and stayed out as short a time as was 
 compatible with the mildest stable discipline : there 
 
A BITTER FROST. I 69 
 
 could be no change of the moon for a week, and it 
 was obvious that I should have but little use for Bril- 
 liant and White-Stockings before our return to town. 
 
 Oh ! the hopelessness of a real bitter black frost 
 coming on early in the season_, especially when 
 you are not at your own home and your time is 
 limited ; to get up morning after morning with the 
 faint hope that the change mmj have come at last; 
 to see the dry slates^ and the clear horizon, and the 
 iron-bound earth, and to ascertain in your own pro- 
 per person that the water gets colder and colder 
 every day. You puzzle over the almanack till your 
 eyes ache, and study the thermometer till you get a 
 crick in your neck. You watch the smoke from 
 every farmhouse and cottage within your ken, and 
 still, after curling high up into the pure rarefied 
 atmosphere, it floats hopelessly away to the south- 
 ward, and corroborates the odious dog- vane that you 
 fondly imagined might have got stuck in its north- 
 erly direction. You walk out and ask every labourer 
 you meet, whether he ^ does not think we are going 
 to have a change?' The man looks up from his 
 work, wonders at your solicitude, opines 'the gentry 
 folks have queer ways,' but answers honestly enough, 
 according to his convictions, in the negative — per- 
 haps giving some local reason for his opinion, which, 
 if an old man, he will tell you he has never known 
 to fail. Lastly, you quarrel with every one of your 
 non-hunting friends, whose unfeeling observations on 
 
iyo HCXTING STOPPED. 
 
 * fine seasonable weatlier/ and ' liealtliy bracing 
 frosts/ you feel to be brutal in the extreme. 
 
 How I hated that frost at Dangerfield ! My only 
 chance of meeting with Frank Lovell was out hunting. 
 I had written him an answer to his note (I have often 
 heard Aunt Horsingham say, that nothing is so 
 inexcusable as not to answer a letter), and I had no 
 possible means of delivering it. I could not put it 
 in the bag, for my aunt keeps the key. I did not 
 like to entrust it to any of the servants, and my own 
 maid is the last person in whose power I should 
 choose to place myself. I did once think of asking 
 Cousin John to give it to Frank, and throwing my- 
 self on kind, good John's generosity, and confessing 
 everything to him, and asking for his advice ; but 
 somehow I could not bring myself to it : if he had 
 been my brother, nothing would have been easier ; 
 but John is only a cousin, and one or two little 
 things of late had made me suspect that he liked me 
 even better than cousins generally do ; so altogether 
 I thought I would leave it alone — besides, John Avas 
 going off to shoot pheasants in Wales, The third 
 morning of the frost he came down to breakfast in a 
 suit of wondrous apparel, that I knew meant a move 
 in some direction, and I attacked him accordingly. 
 
 'Is that killing 'get-up' entirely for our benefit, 
 John?' I asked; ' or are you bound on some expe- 
 dition that requires more fascinations than common?' 
 
 John coloured — he has taken to blushing: lately — 
 
JOHNS DEPARTURE. 171 
 
 'I^m going down into Wales for a fe^y days' shoot- 
 ing, Kate/ was his reply. * I shall come back again 
 when the frost breaks up, if Lady Horsingham will 
 be good enough to receive me.' Aunt Horsingham 
 is always very civil to John, and so is Cousin Amelia. 
 People generally are to young bachelors. I wonder 
 why men ever marry^ they are so much more in 
 request without wives and children. 
 
 ' Always happy to see you,' said Aunt Horsingham, 
 with an emphasis on the pronoun. ' By the way, 
 what is your address in "Wales, that I may forward 
 your letters ? ' 
 
 John looked rather guilty as he handed an en- 
 velope to my aunt, and begged her to copy it 
 exactly, 
 
 ' I can 't pronounce the name of my friend Lloyd's 
 place/ he said, ' but you '11 find it written there in 
 seven consonants and one vowel.' 
 
 'Lloyd!' said I, 'Lloyd! wasn't there a pretty 
 Miss Lloyd you used to dance with last season in 
 London ? John ! John ! — I 've found you out at 
 last ; now I can account for the splendour of your 
 attire — now I can see why you post oflP to Wales in 
 such a hurry, leaving your horses, and your hunting, 
 and your cousin, sir, for the heaux yeiix of Miss 
 Fanny — isn't that her name? Well, John, I give 
 you joy; she is a pretty girl, even in London, and 
 Aunt Deborah says she 's a fortune.' 
 
 John looked so distressed, I did n't like to pursue 
 
172 NO FRANK 
 
 the subject. I could n't think what had come over 
 him — he never spoke another word to me till he 
 jumped into his dog-cart to be oflP, and then he only 
 muttered ' Good-bye, Kate/ in a hoarse whisper, 
 but he wrung my hand very hard, and I even thought 
 there were tears in his eyes ! He is a good fellow^, 
 John ; I was sorry to think I might have said any- 
 thing to hurt his feelings. 
 
 After he went away it was drearier than ever. 
 What could I do but think of Frank Lovell, and 
 wonder when I should see him again? Where 
 could he be? Perhaps at the inn at Muddlcbury. 
 I could see the smoke of the town from the break- 
 fast-room windows,, and used to watch it with a 
 painful interest. Every time a servant came into 
 the room, I thought something impossible was going 
 to happen. If a carriage drove up to the house — 
 if a horse's tramp was heard in the approach — if 
 the door-bell rung, 1 fancied it must be Captain 
 Lovell coming to call — perhaps to explain every- 
 thing — possibly to request an interview with my 
 aunt, such as Squire Haycock had undergone, ' but,' 
 as I said to myself with a beating heart, ' to have a 
 very different result.' If the dwelling solely on one 
 idea be a species of madness, then was I undoubtedly 
 mad — nothing Avas so wild and extravagant as to 
 appear impossible to my heated fancy. I was always 
 expecting, and always disappointed. 
 
 The fourth morning I got a letter from Mrs. 
 
MRS. LmiLEY S LETTER. I 73 
 
 Lumley, which did not add much to my composure 
 or comfort. "Why is it ladies have such a knack of 
 making each other miserable equally by letter as by 
 word of mouth ? I give the epistle of Mrs. Lumley 
 verbatim, omitting only the dashes and notes of 
 admiration with which it was studded : — 
 
 ' My dearest dear Kate, — 
 
 ' Here we are^ settled comfortably at Brighton, 
 much to the benefit of my poor dear husband, whom 
 you have never seen, but who knows you well by 
 name, and ha^ing everything, even the weather, all 
 we can wish. The only di'awback to me is the loss 
 of your charming society, and the absence of your 
 dear merry face. 
 
 ' I am leading a highly \'irtuous and praiseworthy 
 life, and have not done the least bit of mischief since 
 I came here, except making the dean's wife jealous, 
 which I can hardly call a crime, as she is a vulgar 
 little woman, with a red nose and a yellow bonnet — 
 the dean is a fat, good-natured man, and calls here 
 nearly every day. His wife abuses me in all societies, 
 and tries to pass me without speaking. You know 
 how I always return good for evil, so I go up and 
 shake hands with her, and ask after her dear children, 
 and patronise her till I make her so angry she don't 
 know which way to look — it^s rather good fun in 
 such a slow place as this. My time is fully occupied 
 nursing ' my old man,' who was very ill before we 
 
174 THE GITAXA. 
 
 came here, and can only go out in a pony-carriage 
 for an hour or two at a time ; so I have brought 
 the ponies do\\'n, and drive him myself. 
 
 ' The only chance the brown mare has of a gallop is 
 in the mornings, though next week I mean to have 
 a day Avith the harriers; indeed, they have appointed 
 them at a good place on purpose for me. I inspected 
 the regiment of Dragroons quartered here, yesterday 
 morning; they were at exercise on the downs, and as 
 the Gitana (my brown mare) always behaves well 
 vdth troops, which my enemies would affirm is more 
 than can be said of her mistress, I am able to report 
 upon their general appearance and efficiency. Such 
 a set of ' gigs,' my dear, I never saw in my life ; 
 large under-bred horses, and not a good-looking man 
 amongst them. The officers are, if possible, more 
 hideous than the privates, and they never give balls 
 or theatricals, or anything, so we need waste no 
 more words upon them. 
 
 'I am improving my mind, though, vastly, picking 
 up shells for my little cousins, and perfecting my 
 education besides by learning to swim. I wish you 
 were here — what fun we would have enacting the 
 part of mermaids ! though I fear the cold will now 
 put a stop to my aquatic exploits. The other 
 morning I swam nearly two hundred yards on a 
 stretch; and the tide having taken me out of my 
 reckoning, I brought up, as the sailors say, opposite 
 the gentlemen's bathing-machines. "What could I 
 
A MERMAIDEN. I75 
 
 do ? It was as impossible to walk along tlie beach 
 as to fight back against the current. Presence 
 of mind, Kate_, is the salient point of the heroic 
 character ; the door of a machine was open, and I 
 popped in. My dear, there were all his clothes, his 
 hair-brush, his button-hook, his wig, and, would 
 vou believe it ? an instrument for curling his 
 whiskers! I put everything on except the wig, 
 crowned myself with his broad-brimmed white hat, 
 felt in his pockets, which were full of gold and silver, 
 and, to my credit be it said, only selected one shil- 
 ling, with which I paid the bathing-man, and walked 
 off, undiscovered to my own machine. The fat old 
 she-triton laughed till she cried. I dressed in my 
 proper costume leisurely enough, and was amused to 
 hear afterwards of the luckless plight in which a stout 
 gentleman had found himself, by the temporary loss of 
 all his apparel, whilst he was disporting in 'the briny.' 
 ' Other adventures I have had none ; and the 
 contrast is, as you may believe, somewhat striking 
 after the last two or three weeks of the London 
 season, always to my mind the pleasantest part of 
 the year. I was sorry you left town when you did ; 
 we had such a number of charming little dinners 
 and expeditions in our own set. Dear Frank Lovell 
 was the life and soul of us all. I never knew him 
 in such spirits — quite like a boy out of school ; and 
 there were few days that we did not meet either at 
 Greenwich or Richmond, or Windsor or Vauxhall ; 
 
176 'the dean.' 
 
 and of course wlierever he went, there was Lady 
 Scapegrace. I must say, that although nobody can 
 accuse me of being a prude, the way she goes on 
 •with Frank is rather too brazen-faced even for her : 
 taking him everywhere in her carriage ; setting him 
 down at his club after the opera ; walking with him 
 in Kensington Gardens ; his cab always at the door, 
 and her ladyship ' not at home ' even to me. To be 
 sure, he is almost as bad, if it is true, as everybody 
 says it is, that he is to marry Miss Molasses. 
 
 ' Poor Frank ! he must get hold of somebody 
 with money, or he will soon be in the Bench. He 
 is rather a friend of yours, my dear, so I ought not 
 to abuse him ; but he is very wild, and though ex- 
 tremely agreeable, I am afraid utterly unprincipled. 
 I do not believe, however, that he cares one snap of 
 his fingers for Lady Scapegrace, or ]\Iiss Molasses 
 either, for the matter of that. I meant to have 
 written you a long letter; but my stupid servants 
 have let the dean in, and I hear his cough at this 
 moment on the stairs — he is sadly out of wind 
 before he reaches the first landing. I think even 
 my poor ' old man' would beat him, at even weights, 
 a hundred yards along the beach. As I shall not 
 get rid of him under an hour, and the post will by 
 that time be gone out, I must wish you good-bye. — 
 Ever my dearest Kate's most affectionate, 
 
 'M. L.' 
 
 I threw the letter on the floor, and stamped upon 
 
PIQUED. 177 
 
 it with my feet. And was this the end of all ? To 
 have brooded and pined, and made myself miserable 
 and well nigh broken my heart, day by day, for a 
 man that was to prove so utterly unworthy as this. 
 To have been thrown over for a Lady Scapegrace ! 
 or, worse still, to have allowed, even to m3self, that 
 I cared for one who was ready and willing to be sold 
 to a Miss Molasses. 
 
 ' Too degrading ! ' I thought ; ' no, I' 11 never care 
 for him again, the dream is over; what a fool IVe 
 been! and yet — why did he send his horses down 
 to Muddlebury? Why did he serenade me that 
 night from the park ? Why is he not now with his 
 dear Lady Scapegrace at Scamperley, where, I see 
 by the Morning Post, Sir Guy is ' entertaining a party 
 of fashionables during the frost ? ' No ; I will not 
 give him up quite yet.' 
 
 On reading her letter over again, which I did many 
 times during the day, I found a ray of comfort in 
 my voluble correspondent's own opinion that Frank 
 did not himself care a pin for either of the ladies, 
 to both of whom the world gave him so unhesitat- 
 ingly. Well, that was something, at any rate. As 
 for his wildnesSj and his debts, and his recklessness, 
 and many escapades, I liked him none the worse for 
 these — what woman ever did? I thought it all over 
 during the whole day ; and by the time that I opened 
 my window for my usual look out into the night 
 
 N 
 
I 7 8 MISJUDGED. 
 
 before going to bed, I am afraid I felt more inclined 
 than ever to forgive him all that had gone before, 
 and more determined to find some means of forward- 
 ing him the answer I had written to his note, and 
 which I had been so many times on the point of 
 burning during the day. 
 
 What a bitter cold night it was! — yet the keen 
 north wind felt pleasant and refreshing on my fevered 
 forehead. There had been a sprinkling of snow, 
 too, since sunset, and the open surface of the park 
 was completely whitened over — how cheerless and 
 desolate it looked ! I hadn't the heart to stay very 
 long at the window, it reminded me too much of the 
 pleasant evenings one short week ago. I felt weary 
 and desponding and drowsy with uncertainty and 
 unhappiness, so I Avas in the act of shutting down 
 the window, when I saw a dark figure moving rapidly 
 across the snow in the direction of the house. Not 
 for an instant did I mistake it for a deer, or a game- 
 keeper, or a poacher, or a housebreaker. From the 
 moment I set eyes on it, something told me it must 
 be Frank Lovell ; and though I shrunk back that 
 he might not see me, I watched him with painful 
 anxiety and a beating heart. He seemed to know 
 his way quite well : he came straight to the moat, 
 felt his way cautiously for a step or two, and finding 
 the ice would bear him, crossed at once, and took 
 up a position under my window, not twenty feet 
 from where I was standing. 
 
MY NOTE DELIVERED. 1 79 
 
 He miist have seen my sliadow across the candle- 
 light^ for he whispered my name. 
 
 ' Miss Coventry, Kate ! only one word.' 
 
 What could I do ? poor fellow ! He had walked 
 all that distance in the cold and the snow only for 
 one Avord — and this was the man I had been doubt- 
 ing and misjudging all day. Why, of course, though 
 I know it was very wrong and very improper and all 
 that, of course I spoke to him, and listened to what 
 he had to say, and carried on a long conversation, 
 the effect of which was somewhat ludicrous, in con- 
 sequence of the distance between the parties, ques- 
 tion and answer requiring to be shouted, as it were, 
 in a whisper. The night, too, was clouding over, 
 more snow was falling, and it was getting so dark, 
 I could not see Frank, even at the distance of twelve 
 or fourteen feet, and it could not have been much 
 more between my bed-room window and the ground. 
 
 ' Did you get my note ?' said he, with sundry com- 
 plimentary expressions. 
 
 ' Here 's the answer,' was my practical reply, as 
 I dropped my own missive into the darkness. 
 
 I know he caught it, because — because — / heard 
 him kiss it. At that moment I was aware of a step 
 in the passage, a hand on my door : down went my 
 window in a twinkling, out went my candles — the 
 wick of the second one would keep glimmering like a 
 light far off at sea — and in came Aunt Horsingham, 
 clad in flannel attire, with a wondrous head-dress. 
 
l8o AN ALARM. 
 
 the like of which I have never beheld before or since, 
 just as I popped into bed, and buried myself beneath 
 the clothes as if I had been asleep for horn's. 
 
 'Where can it be, Kate?' said my aunt; ' I haA^e 
 been in every room along the passage to find out 
 where the light comes from. I saw it distinctly 
 from my own room, streaming across the moat; 
 there might be thieves in the house,' added my aunt, 
 looking valiant even in flannel, ' or some of the men- 
 servants carousing, but I have been in every room 
 on the ground floor myself; and then I thought 
 perhaps you might be sitting up reading.' 
 
 ' Reading, aunt ; oh dear, no ! I assure you I 
 wasn't reading,' I answered, every nerve racked with 
 suspense, lest Frank should get impatient, and won- 
 der what had become of me — perhaps throw a snow- 
 ball up at the window to attract my attention. 
 
 ' "What o'clock is it ? ' I added, Avith a feigned 
 yawn ; ' I think I must have been asleep for hours. 
 
 As if to punish me for this gratuitous perversion 
 of the truth, the Avords Avere hardly out of my 
 mouth Avhen I heard a loud crack on the ice, and a 
 splash as of the sudden immersion of some darinjr 
 adventurer; then all Avas still — the snow-flakes fell 
 softly against the window-panes. My aunt, shading 
 her candle Avitli her long hand, talked di'OAVsily on, 
 and finally persisted in my coming to sleep Avith her 
 in her OAvn room, as she said I Avas 'the only person 
 in the house that had the nerves of a hen.' I Avould 
 
THE ICE BROKEN. l8l 
 
 have given all I was worth in the world to have one 
 more look out of the open window, though even 
 then it might be too late. I would willingly have 
 walked barefoot in the snow all the way to Muddle- 
 bury, only to know he was safe back at the inn. For 
 a moment I thought of confessing everything, and 
 alarming the house, but I had not courage, so I fol- 
 lowed my aunt to her room, and lay awake that 
 livelong night in such a state of agony and suspense 
 as I hope I may never have to endure again. 
 
1 82 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TT may easily be believed that I took an early walk 
 next morning before breakfast. No sooner had 
 I made my escape from Aunt Horsingham's room, 
 than^ in utter defiance of the cold thaw just com- 
 mencing, I put my bonnet on, and made the best of 
 my way to the moat. Sure enough, large fragments 
 of ice were floating about where the surface had 
 been broken close to the side furthest from the Hall. 
 There were foot-prints on the snow though, leading 
 away through the park in the direction of Muddle- 
 bury, and I came back to breakfast with a heart 
 lightened of at least half its load. We were to 
 return to London immediately. Aunt Deborah, pale 
 and reduced, but undoubtedly better, was able to 
 appear at breakfast, and Lady Horsingham, now 
 that we were really about to take leave of her, 
 seemed to value our society, and to be sorry to part 
 with us. 
 
 ' My dear Deborah, I trust you are well wrapped 
 up for this cold raw day,' said our hostess, pressing 
 on her departing guest all kinds of provision for the 
 journey. ' I have ordered them to put up a paper of 
 
AUNT HORSINGHAM'S PONY-CAREIAGE. 183 
 
 sandwiches, and some slierry^ and a few biscuits^ and 
 a bottle of peppermint-water.' 
 
 ^And Aunt Deborali,' put in Cousin Amelia, 
 * here's a comforter I've made you myself, and a box 
 of cayenne lozenges for your throat ; and don't forget 
 the stone-jug of hot water for your poor feet ; and 
 mind you write directly you arrive — you or Kate/ 
 she added, turning to address me almost for the first 
 time since the memorable mistake about Squire 
 Haycock. 
 
 Aunt Deborah was completely overpowered by so 
 much kindness. 
 
 '^ You'd better have the carriage all to yourself — 
 you and your maid' — persisted Lady Horsingham. 
 ' I'll drive Kate as far as the station in the pony- 
 carriage. Kate, you're not afraid to trust yourself 
 with me in the pony-carriage ? ' 
 
 ' Not I, indeed, aunt/ was my reply, ' nor with 
 anybody else, for that matter. I've pretty good 
 nerves — there are few things that I am afraid of.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Kate, I fear it is so/ was my aunt's 
 reply. ' I own I should like to see you a little more 
 of a coward.' 
 
 So it was settled that Aunt Deborah and Gertrude 
 being safely packed up in the close carriage, I should 
 accompany Lady Horsingham, who was rather proud 
 of her charioteering skill, and drove stiff and up- 
 right, as if she had swallowed the poker — never 
 looking to the right or left, or allowing her attention 
 
184 MOUSE AND TINY. 
 
 to "wander for an instant from the ponies she had 
 undertaken to control. 
 
 Now these said ponies had been doing nothing 
 during the frost, except consuming their three feeds 
 a day with vigorous appetite, and a considerable 
 accession of high spirits. Consequently, they were 
 what is termed in stable language, very much ' above 
 themselves' — a state of self-exaltation which they 
 demonstrated by sundry unbecoming squeaks and 
 gambols as soon as they found themselves fairh" 
 started on their journey. Tiny, the youngest and 
 handsomest, would persist in shying, plunging, and 
 swerving against the pole, much to the demoralisa- 
 tion of his comrade, j\Iouse, a stiff-built little fellow 
 with a thick neck, who was ordinarily extremely 
 well-behaved, but apt, on occasions like the present, 
 to lower his rebellious little head, and defy all con- 
 trol. 
 
 Lady Horsingham was tolerably courageous, but 
 totally destitute of what is termed ' hand,' a quality 
 as necessary in driving as in riding, particularly with 
 fractious or high-spirited horses. The seat of a pony 
 carriage, besides, is not a position from which a Jehu 
 has much command over the animals in front of 
 him ; and although, as I have repeatedly said, I am 
 not nervous, I had earned sufficient experience in 
 the ways of the equine race to know that we might 
 easily be placed in a position of some peril, should 
 anything occur to excite the mischievous propensi- 
 
A DANGEROUS VEHICLE. I 85 
 
 ties of eitlier of tlie specimens now gambolling before 
 us. More accidents have happened out of pony car- 
 riageSj than all other descriptions of vehicle put 
 together. 
 
 It is said, that in the olden and golden days of 
 the road, the usual death of a ' long coachman' Avas 
 to be pitched out of a gig ; and doubtless that two- 
 wheeled conveniency, particularly when going at any 
 pace, is capable of arriving at a large proportion of 
 grief. But even a gig, if properly constructed, ad- 
 mits of the driver having a certain amount of control 
 over his horse : he is well above the animal, and can 
 get a good purchase to pull him up from, when the 
 acceleration is becoming dangerous, or there is a 
 tendency to the grosser insubordination of a ' kicking 
 match.' Not so in a pony-carriage : low down upon 
 the ground, even under their very heels, you are 
 completely at the mercy of your team; and the 
 facility of egress in the event of a run-away only 
 tempts you to the fatal expedient of jumping out — 
 another form of expression for ' certain death.' 
 
 To be sure, if people will but sit still, there is no 
 reason why they should be much alarmed, as an 
 'upset' from so low an elevation need not necessa- 
 rily produce any very serious results. But they 
 never will sit still, at least they won't in nine cases 
 out of ten; and the consequence is, that whilst 
 newspaper columns are filled with ' horrid accidents ' 
 and ' frightful occurrences,' based on the fact of the 
 
I 86 LADY HORSINGHAM's COACHMANSHIP. 
 
 ^unfortunate sufferer taking an airing in his or her 
 pony-carriage/ many an elderly ladj^ and cautious 
 gentleman is not to be persuaded into entering one 
 of these little conveyances, but prefers the slow and 
 sure travelling of his or her own staid and respect- 
 able feet. 
 
 Wellj Lady Horsingham seemed rather uncom- 
 fortable on her driving-seat, although far too proud 
 to acknowledge so derogatory a feeling. We had no 
 servant with us; and when I suggested that we 
 might as well take one of the stable-men to open 
 the gates, my proposal was met with derision and 
 contempt. 
 
 ' I should have thought such a masculine lady as 
 yourself, Kate, would have been above requiring any 
 assistance. I am always in the habit of driving 
 these ponies quite by myself; but of course, if you're 
 afraid, I'll have a groom to go -with iis imme- 
 diately.' 
 
 Afraid, indeed ! I scouted the idea ; my blood 
 was up, and I almost hoped something would hap- 
 pen, that I might fling the word in my aunt's teeth, 
 and ask her, 'Who's afraid now?' It came sooner 
 than I bargained for. 
 
 The ponies were pulUng hard, and had got their 
 mouths so thoroughly set against my aunt's iron 
 hand, that she might as well have been driving with 
 a pair of halters for any power she had over them, 
 when a rush of colts in an adjoining paddock on one 
 
TIIET 're off! 187 
 
 side of tlie lane, and a covey of partridges ' "vvliirring ' 
 up out of a turnip-field on the other, started them 
 both at the same moment. My aunt gave a slight 
 scream, clutched at her reins with a jerk; down 
 went the ponies' heads, and we were off, as hard as 
 ever they could lay legs to the ground, along a deep- 
 rutted narrow lane, with innumerable twistings and 
 turnings in front of us, for a certainty, and the off- 
 chance of a waggon and bell team blocking up the 
 whole passage before we could emerge upon the 
 high-road. 
 
 ' Lay hold, Kate ! ' vociferated my aunt, pulling 
 for her very life, with the veins on her bare wrists 
 swelling up like whipcord. ' Gracious goodness ! 
 can't you stop 'em? there's a gravel-pit not half 
 a mile further on! I'll jump out! I'll jump 
 out!' 
 
 My aunt began kicking her feet clear of the sundry 
 wraps and shaAvls, and the leather apron that kept 
 our knees warm, though I must do her the justice to 
 say that she still tugged hard at the reins. I saw 
 such an expedient would be certain death, and I 
 wound one arm round her waist, and held her 
 forcibly down in her seat, Avhile with the other I 
 endeavoured to assist her in the hopeless task of 
 stopping the runaway ponies. Everything was 
 against us: the ground was slightly on the decline; 
 the thaw had not yet reached the sheltered road we 
 were travelling, and the wheels rung against its 
 
158 THE CRirPLE. 
 
 frozen surface as they spun round witli a velocity 
 that seemed to add to the excitement of ovn flying 
 steeds. Ever and anon we bounded and bumped 
 over some rut or inequality that Avas deeper than 
 usual. Twice we were within an inch of the ditch ; 
 once, for an awful hundred yards, we were balancing 
 on two wheels ; and still we went faster and faster 
 than ever. The trees and hedges wheeled by us; 
 the gravel road streamed away behind us. I began 
 to get giddy, and to lose my strength. I could 
 hardly hope to hold my aunt in much longer, and 
 now she began to struggle frightfully, for we were 
 nearing the gravel -pit turn ! Ahead of us was a 
 comfortable fat farmer, jogging drowsily to market 
 in his gig. I can see his broad, well-to-do back, 
 now. What Avould I have given to be seated, I had 
 almost said enthroned^ by his side. What a smash if 
 we had touched him ! I pulled frantically at the 
 off'-rein, and we just cleared his wheel. He said 
 something, I could not make out what. I was 
 nearly exhausted, and shut my eyes, resigning myself 
 to my fate, but still clinging to my aunt. I think 
 that if ever that austere woman was near fainting, it 
 was on this occasion. I just caught a glimpse of 
 her white stony face and fixed eyes ; her terror even 
 gave me a certain confidence. A figure in front of 
 us commenced gesticulating, and shouting, and 
 waving its hat. The ponies slackened theii' pace, 
 and my coiu^agc began to revive. 
 
SAVED AT THE TURX. 1 89 
 
 * Sit still/ I exclaimed to my aunt^ as I indulged 
 them with a good strong ' give-and-take ' pull. 
 
 The gravel-pit corner was close at hand, but the 
 fio-ure had seized our refractorv little steeds bv their 
 heads ; and though I shook all over^ and felt realhj 
 frightened now the danger was past, I knew that we 
 were safe, and that we owed our safety to a tall 
 ragged cripple with a crutch, and a bandage over 
 one eye. 
 
 My aunt jumped out in a twinkling; and, the 
 instant she touched terra firma, put her hand to her 
 side, and began to sob, and gasp, and pant, as ladies 
 will previous to an attack of what the doctors call 
 ' hysteria/ She leant upon the cripple's shoulder, 
 and I observed a strange roguish sparkle in his un- 
 bandaged eye. Moreover, I remarked that his hands 
 were white and clean; and his figure, if he hadn't 
 been such a cripple, would have been tall and 
 active. 
 
 'What shall I do?' gasped my aunt. 'I won't 
 get in; nothing shall induce me to get in again. 
 Kate, give this good man half-a-crown. What a 
 providential escape ! He ought to have a sovereign. 
 Perhaps ten shillings will be enough. How am I to 
 get back ? I '11 walk all the way rather than get in.' 
 
 ' But, Aunt,' I suggested, ' at any rate I must get 
 to the station. Aunt Deborah is sure to think some- 
 thing has happened, and she ought not to be fright- 
 ened till she gets stronger. How far is it to the 
 
190 IMY RAGGED COMPANION. 
 
 station? I tliiuk I should not mind driving the 
 ponies on.' 
 
 In the mean time the fat farmer, whom we had 
 passed so rapidly, had arrived at the scene of action, 
 his anxiety not having induced him in the slightest 
 degree to increase the jog-trot pace at which all his 
 ideas seemed to travel. He knew Lady Horsingham 
 quite well, and now sat in his gig, with his hat off, 
 wiping his fat face, and expatiating on the narrow 
 escape her ladyship had made, but without offering 
 the slightest suggestion or assistance whatever. 
 
 At this juncture the cripple showed himself a man 
 of energj^ 
 
 ' Your ladyship had best go home with this gen- 
 tleman,' said he, indicating the fat farmer, 'if the 
 young lady is not afraid to go on. I can take care 
 of her as far as the railway, if it 's not too great a 
 liberty, and bring the ponies back to the Hall after- 
 wards, my lady?' with an interrogative snatch at his 
 ragged hat. 
 
 It seemed the best thing to be done under the cir- 
 cumstances. My aunt, after much demurring, and 
 another incipient attack of the hysterics, consented 
 to entrust herself to the fat farmer's guidance, not, 
 however, until she was assured that his horse was 
 both blind and broken-winded. I put Mouse's bridle 
 down on the lower bar instead of the check, on 
 which he had previously been driven. ^l\ aunt 
 climbed into the gig ; I mounted the pony-carriage, 
 
HOW COULD Your I9I 
 
 tlie cripple took his seat deferentially by my side^ aud 
 away Ave went on our respective journeys, certainly 
 in a mode vrhicli we liad little anticipated when Ave 
 left the front-door at Dangerfield Hall. 
 
 My preserver sat half in and half out of the car- 
 riage, leaning his Avhite Avell-shaped hand upon the 
 splash-board. The bandaged side of his face was 
 towards me ; the ponies went quietly enough ; they 
 had enjoyed their gallop, and were, I think, a little 
 blown. I had leisure to take a good survey of my 
 companion. When Ave had thus travelled for a quar- 
 ter of a mile in silence, he turned his face tOAvards 
 me. We looked at each other for about half a 
 minute, and then both burst out laughing. 
 
 ' You didn't knoAV me. Miss CoA'entry ! not the 
 least in the world,' exclaimed the cripple, pulling the 
 bandage off his face, and showing another eye, quite 
 as handsome as the one that had previously been 
 uncoA'ered. 
 
 ' How could you do so, Captain Lovell?' was all T 
 could reply. ' Conceive if my aunt had found you 
 out ; or even if any one should recognise you now. 
 What would people think of me ? But how did you 
 know Ave were going to London to-day, and how 
 could you tell the ponies would run aAvay ? ' 
 
 ' Never mind how I knew your movements. Miss 
 Coventry,' Avas the reply. ' Kate ! may I call you 
 Kate? it's such a soft sweet name,' he added, now 
 sitting altogether inside the carriage, which certainly 
 
192 FRANKS DEVOTION. 
 
 was a small one for two people. ' You don't know 
 how I 've watched for you, and waited and prowled 
 about, during the last few days. You don't know 
 how anxious I've been only for one word — even one 
 look. I've spent hours out on the down just to see 
 the flutter of your white dress as you went through 
 the shrubbery — even at that distance it was some- 
 thing to gaze at you, and know you were there. 
 Last night I crossed the ice under your Avindow.' 
 
 ' You did, indeed,' I replied with a laugh, ' and 
 what a ducking you must have got !' 
 
 Frank laughed, too, and resumed. ' I was sadly 
 afraid that your aunt might have found out you were 
 holding a parley with the enemy outside the walls. 
 I knew you were to go to London to-day. I thought 
 very likely you might be annoyed, and put under 
 surveillance on my account, and I was resolved to 
 see you, if only for one moment; so I borrowed 
 these ragged garments of a professional beggar, who 
 I believe is a great deal better off" in reality than 
 myself, and I determined to watch for your carriage, 
 and trust to chance for a word, or e^en a glance of 
 recognition. She has befriended me more than 
 I could expect. At first, when I saw ^ Aunt Deborah' 
 alone in the chariot, it flashed across me that per- 
 haps you were to stay eii penitence at Dangcrfield. 
 But I knew Lady Horsingham had a pony-carriage. 
 I also knew — or what would be use of servants? 
 — that it was ordered this morning; so I stumped 
 
PLEADING. 1 g2 
 
 gaily along the road, thinking that at all events I 
 might have an opportunity of saying three words to 
 you at the station, whilst the servants were putting 
 the luggage on, and the dear aunts, who, I presume, 
 cherish a mutual hatred, were wishing each other a 
 tender farewell. But that such a chance as this 
 run-away should befriend me was more than I ever 
 dared to hope for, and that I should be sitting next 
 you, Kate (and so close, I^m sure he might have 
 added), in Lady Horsingham's pony phaeton, is a 
 piece of good-luck that in my wildest moments I 
 never so much as dreamt of. We scarcely ever meet 
 now. There — you needn't drive so fast, the up-train 
 don't go by till the half-hom', and every minute is 
 precious, at least to me. We are kept sadly apart, 
 Kate. If you can bear it, / can't. I should like to 
 be near you always — ahvays to watch over you and 
 worship you. Confound that pony ! he 's off again.* 
 
 Siu'e enough. Tiny was indulging in more vagaries, 
 as if he meditated a second fit of rebellion, and what 
 with holding him and humouring Mouse, and keep- 
 ing my head down so as to hide my face from Frank, 
 for I didn't want him to see how I was blushing, I 
 am sure I had enough to do. 
 
 ' Kate, you must really have pity on me,' pursued 
 Frank ; ' You don't know how miserable I am some- 
 times (I wonder what he wanted me to say?), or how 
 happy you have it in your power to make me. Here 
 we are at that cursed station ; and my dream is over. 
 
 o 
 
1 94 rOKGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 I must be the cripple and the beggar once more — a 
 beggar I am, indeed,, Kate, without your affection. 
 When sliall we meet again, and where?' 
 
 ' In London/ was all I could answer. 
 
 * And you won't forget me, Kate ? ' pleaded poor 
 Frank, looking so handsome, poor fellow ! 
 
 ' Never, ^ I replied ; and before I knew how it was, 
 I found myself standing on the platform, with Aunt 
 Deborah, and the servants, and the luggage. The 
 great green engine was panting and gasping in front 
 of me, but ponies and pony-carriage and cripple had 
 all vanished like a dream. 
 
 As we steamed on to London, I sometimes thought 
 it was a dream, not altogether a pleasant one, nor 
 yet exactly the reverse. I should have liked my ad- 
 mirer to have been a little more explicit. It is all 
 very well to talk of being miserable and desperate, 
 and to ring the changes on meeting and parting, and 
 looks and sighs, and all that ; but after all the real 
 question is 'Will you?' or 'Won't you?' and I 
 don't think a man is acting very fairly towards a girl 
 who don't put the case in that way at once, before 
 he allows himself to run into rhapsodies about his 
 feelings and his sufferings, and such matters, which 
 after all lead to nothing, or least to nothing satisfac- 
 tory. To be sure, men are strange creatures ; and, 
 upon my word, I sometimes think they are more 
 troubled with shyness than our own sex. Perhaps 
 it's their diffidence that makes them hesitate so and, 
 
'can you sew a button?' 195 
 
 as it were, ' beat about the bush/ when they have 
 only got to ' flush the bircV and shoot it at once, 
 and put it in the game-bag. Perhaps it's their pride 
 for fear of being refused. Now I think it's far more 
 creditable to a man to wear the willow, and take to 
 men dinners and brandy and water for a month or 
 six weeksj than to break a girl's heart for a whole 
 year; and I know it takes nearly that time for a 
 well brought-up young lady to get over a real matri- 
 monial disappointment. However, shy or not shy, 
 they certainly ought to be explicit. It's too bad to 
 miss a chance, because we cannot interpret the meta- 
 phor in which some bashful swain thinks it decorous 
 to couch his proposals ; and I once knew a young 
 lady who, happening to dislike needle-work, and re- 
 plying in the negative to the insidious question, ' Can 
 you sew a button ? ' never knew for months that she 
 had actually declined a man she was really fond of, 
 with large black whiskers, and two-and-twenty hun- 
 dred a-year. Women can't be too cautious. 
 
196 LONDON IN WINTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T WAS not sorry to be once again fairly settled in 
 ■*- Lowndes-street. Even in the -winter^ London 
 lias its charms. People donH watch everything you 
 do, or carp at everything you say. If there is more 
 apparent constraint, there is more real liberty than 
 in the country. Besides, you have so much society, 
 and everybody is so much pleasanter in the metro- 
 polis during December than July. The frost had 
 set in again harder than ever. Brilliant and White- 
 Stockings, like ' Speir- Adam's steeds/ veere compelled 
 to ' bide in stall.' John was lingering at the Lloyds 
 or elsewhere in the Principality, though expected 
 back every day. Aunt Deborah was still weak, and 
 had only just sufficient energy to forbid Captain 
 Lovell the house, and insist on my never speaking 
 to him. I can't think what she had found out, or 
 what Aunt Horsingham had told her; but this I 
 know, that if ever I have a daughter, and I don't 
 want her to like Mr. Dash, or to be continually 
 thinking about him, I shall not forbid her to speak 
 to hira, nor shall I take every opportunity of im- 
 pressing on her that he is wild, unprincipled, reck- 
 
MRS. LUMLEy's 'old MAN.' I 97 
 
 less, and dissipated, and that the only redeeming 
 points about him are his agreeable conversation and 
 his good looks. Altogether, I should have been some- 
 what dull had it not been for Mrs. Lumley ; but of 
 that vivacious lady I saw a good deal, and I confess 
 took a far greater pleasure in her society than on 
 our first acquaintance I should have esteemed possible. 
 When I am ill at ease with myself, not thoroughly 
 satisfied with my own conduct, I always like the 
 society of fast people ; their liberality of sentiment 
 and general carelessness of demeanour convey no 
 tacit reproach on my own want of restraint ; and I 
 feel more at home with them than with such severe 
 moralists as Aunt Horsingham, or hypocritical Cousin 
 Amelia. So I drove and shopped and visited with 
 Mrs. Lumley — nay, I was even permitted, as a great 
 favour, to dine with her on one or two occasions; 
 Aunt Deborah only stipulating that there should be 
 no male addition to the party, except Mr. Lumley 
 himself, or, as the lady of the house termed him, 
 ' her old man.' 
 
 I confess I liked ' the old man,' and so I think, in 
 her own way, did his wife. Why she married him I 
 cannot think, more particularly as he had not then 
 succeeded to the comfortable fortune they now en- 
 joy : he was little, old, ugly, decrepid, and an invalid, 
 but he was good-nature and contentment personified. 
 I believe he had great talents — for all his want of 
 physical beauty, he had a fine head — but these 
 
198 AN ENTOMOLOGIST. 
 
 talents were wliolly and unsparingly devoted to one 
 pursuit, — he "was an entomologist. "With a black- 
 beetle and a microscope he was happy for the day. 
 Piles upon piles of manuscripts had he written upon 
 the forms and classification of the bluebottle fly. 
 He could tell you how many legs are flourished by 
 the house-spider, and was thoroughly versed in the 
 anatomy of the common gnat. This pursuit, or 
 science as he called it, engrossed his whole attention. 
 It was fortunate he had such an absorbing occupa- 
 tion, inasmuch as his general debility prevented his 
 entering into any amusement out of doors. His 
 wife and he seemed to understand each other per- 
 fectly. 
 
 ' My dear,^ he would say, when listening to some 
 escapade that it would have been scarcely prudent 
 to trust to most husbands' ears, ' I never interfere 
 with your butterflies, and 3'ou never trouble yourself 
 about mine. I must, however, do myself the justice 
 to observe, that you get tired of your insects infi- 
 nitely the soonest of the two.' 
 
 He never inquii'cd where she went, or what she did, 
 but late or early always received her Avith the same 
 quiet welcome, the same sly good-lmmom'cd smile. 
 I firmly believe that with all her levity, whatever scan- 
 dal might say, she was a good wife to him. He trusted 
 her implicitly ; and I think she felt his confidence 
 deserved to be respected. Such was not the opinion 
 of the world, I am well aware ; but we all know the 
 
CiESARS WIFE. I 99 
 
 charitable construction it is so eager to put on a fair 
 face with a loud laugh and a good set of teeth. Dear 
 me ! if he looked for a lady that had never been 
 talked about, Caesar might have searched London for 
 a wife in vain. Good Mr. Lumley professed a great 
 affection for me, and would occasionally favour me 
 ■with long and technical dissertations, on the interior 
 economy of the flea, for example ; and once in the 
 fulness of his heart confided to his wife, that ' Miss 
 Coventry was really a dear girl: it's my belief, 
 Madge, that if she'd been a man, she'd have been a 
 naturalist.' These little dinners were indeed vastly 
 agreeable. Nobody had such a comfortable house, 
 or such a good cook, or so many pretty things, as 
 Mrs. Lumley. Her ' old man' seemed to enjoy the 
 relaxation of ladies' society after his morning labours 
 and researches. With me he was good-humoured 
 and full of fun; at his wife's jokes and stories, most 
 of them somewhat scandalous, he would laugh till 
 he cried. 
 
 ' I'm responsible for you. Miss Coventry,' he 
 would say, with a sly laugh ; ' you 're not fit to be 
 trusted with Madge ; upon my life, I believe she is 
 the wildest of the two. If you won't have the car- 
 riage, I must walk back with you myself. How far 
 is it, Madge ? Do you think I can stay the distance, 
 as you sporting people term it in your inexplicable 
 jargon?' 
 
 *Why, you know you can't get a hundred yards. 
 
200 TEA IN THE BOUDOIR. 
 
 you foolisli old man,' laughed his wife ; ' a nice cha- 
 perone you 'd make for Kate : why, she 'd have to 
 carry you, and you know youM tumble off even 
 then. No, no, you and I will stay comfortably here 
 by the fire, and I '11 give you your tea and put you 
 tidily to bed : I shan't be at home any other night 
 this week. Kate has a convoy coming for her ; 
 haven't you, Kate? Le beau cousin will take the 
 best possible care of us ; and even prim Aunt Debo- 
 rah Avon't object to our walking back with hi)7i. I 
 believe he came up from Wales on purpose. What 
 would somebody else give to take the charge off his 
 hands ? You needn't blusli, Kate ; I can see through 
 a millstone as far as my neighbours. I 'm not quite 
 such a fool as I look; am I, 'old man?' There's 
 the door-bell. John, ask Mr. Jones if he won't step 
 up and have some tea.' W^e Avere sitting by a blaz- 
 ing fire in th6 boudoir, a snug and beautiful little 
 room, to which no one was admitted but the lady's 
 especial favourites — even the 'old man' never en- 
 tered it during the day. 
 
 ' Mr. Jones's compliments, and he hopes you '11 
 excuse him, ma'am,' was the footman's answer on 
 his return; 'but it's very late, and he promised to 
 bring Miss Coventry back by eleven.' 
 
 'Well, I'm sure,' said Mrs. Lumley, 'if I was 
 you, Kate, I shouldn't stand his anticipating his 
 authority in this way. Never mind, be a good girl, 
 and do as you 're bid ; pop your bonnet on. Shall 
 
GAS-LIGHT WALKS. 201 
 
 I lend you an extra shawl ? There^ yon may give 
 my 'old man^ a kiss, if you like. Bless him ! lie^s 
 gone fast asleep. Good night, Kate ; mind you 
 come to luncheon to-morro^y, there ^s a dear.' So 
 saying, ]\Irs. Lumley bid me a most affectionate 
 farewell ; and I found myself leaning on John^s arm, 
 to walk home through the clear frosty night. 
 
 I do like perambulating London streets by gas- 
 light — of course, with a gentleman to take care of 
 one. It is so much pleasanter than being stewed up 
 in a brougham. Hoav I wish it was the fashion 
 for people to take their bonnets Out to dinner with 
 them, and walk back in the cool fresh air ! If it is 
 delightful even in winter, how mueli more so in the 
 hot summer nights of the season ! Your spirits rise 
 and your nerves brace themselves as you inhale the 
 midnight air, with all its smoky particles, pure by 
 comparison with that which has just been poisoning 
 you in a crowded drawing-room. Your cavalier 
 asks leave to indulge in his * weed,' and you enjoy 
 its fragrance at second-hand, as he puffs con- 
 tentedly away, and chats on in that prosy, confi- 
 dential sort of manner, which no man ever succeeds 
 in assuming, save with a cigar in his mouth. John 
 lit his, of course ; but was less communicative, to 
 my fancy, than usual. After asking me if I had 
 ' enjoyed a pleasant evening,' and whether ' I pre- 
 ferred walking,' he relapsed into a somewhat con- 
 strained silence. I, too, walked on without speaking. 
 
202 JOHN S AVERSION. 
 
 Much as I love the uight, it always makes me rather 
 melancholy ; and I dare say we should have got to 
 Lowndes-street without exchanging a syllable, had 
 not some imp of mischief prompted me to cross- 
 examine my cousin a little upon his sejour in Wales, 
 and to quiz him, half spitefully, on his supposed 
 penchant for pretty Fanny Lloyd. John rose freely 
 in a moment. 
 
 ' I know where you pick up all this nonsense, 
 Kate,' he burst out quite savagely ; ' I know wliere 
 half the scandal and half the mischief in London 
 originates ! With that odious woman whose house 
 we have just quitted, whose tongue cannot be still for 
 a single moment ; who never by any chance speaks a 
 word of truth ; and who is seldom so happy as when 
 she is making mischief. I pity that poor decrcpid 
 husband of hers, though he ought to keep her in 
 better order, yet it is a hard case upon any man to 
 be tied to such a Jezebel as that.' 
 
 ' The Jezebel, as you call her, John,' I interposed 
 quietly, ' is my most intimate friend.' 
 
 ' That 's exactly what I complain of,' urged my 
 cousin; 'that's my great objection to her, Kate; 
 that 's one of the things that I do believe is driving 
 me out of my senses day by day. You know I do n't 
 wish you to associate with her ; you know that I 
 object extremely to your being seen everywhere in 
 her company. But you do n't care ; the more I ex- 
 postulate, the more obstinate and wilful you seem 
 to become.' 
 
A QUAEREL. 203 
 
 It is my turn to be angry now. 
 
 ' Obstinate and wilful, indeed ! ' I repeated, draw- 
 ing myself up. ' I should like to know what right 
 you have to apply such terms to me ? Who gave you 
 authority to choose my society for me ? or to deter- 
 mine where I shall go or what I shall do? You 
 presume on your relationship, John ; you take an 
 ungenerous advantage of the regard and affection 
 which I have always entertained for you.' 
 
 John was mollified in an instant. 
 
 ' Do you entertain regard and affection for me, 
 Kate ? ' said he ; 'do you value my good opinion, 
 and consider me as your dearest and best friend?' 
 
 ^Of course I do, John,' was my reply. ' HavenH 
 we known each other from childhood ? and are you 
 not like a brother to me ? ' 
 
 John's face fell a little, and his voice shook as he 
 spoke : ' Am I never to be more than a brother to 
 you ? never to obtain a greater interest in you, a 
 larger share of your regard than I have now? Lis- 
 ten to me, Kate — I have something to tell you, and 
 I can put it off no longer. This delay, this uncer- 
 tainty day by day, I do believe will drive me mad. 
 Kate, I promised Aunt Deborah faithfully that I 
 would never enter on this subject till you came of 
 age, and you know by your father's will you do n't 
 come of age till you 're five-and-twenty. ' By that 
 time, John,' said my Aunt, ' Kate will have seen 
 plenty of others, and be old enough to know her 
 
204 AN EXPLANATION. 
 
 OAvn mind. If she takes you then, she takes you 
 with her eyes open^ and she won't get tired of you, 
 and find out she likes some one else better. Promise 
 me, John, that you ^11 wait till then.' And I did 
 promise, Kate ; but I can 't keep my word — I can 't 
 wait in this state of anxiety and uncertainty', and 
 perhaps lose you after all. It 's too great a stake to 
 play for, if one is to be kept so long in suspense, 
 and I have resolved to be put out of my pain one 
 way or the other.' 
 
 John paused. I had never seen him so excited 
 before ; he Avas quite hot, though the night was keen 
 and frosty ; his arm trembled as mine leant upon it ; 
 and though his cigar was gone out, he kept puffing 
 away, utterly unconscious of the fact. He seemed 
 to expect an answer. I hesitated. I did not know 
 what to reply. I had got so accustomed to Cousin 
 John, that I never looked upon him in any other 
 light than that of a favourite brother, a constant 
 companion and friend. Moreover, I was not pre- 
 pared to take any such decisive step as that to which 
 he now seemed to be urging me. There is a great 
 difference between lihing people, and giving them 
 power of life and death over one for the rest of one's 
 days. I will not say that the image of another did 
 not rise before me in all its winning beauty, as I had 
 seen it last, scarcely one short week ago. Altogether, 
 I did not know what to say; so I wisely said nothing, 
 but walked on, looking straight before me, with an 
 
IN A CORNER. 205 
 
 uncomfortable feeling that I was driven into a corner, 
 and should ere long be compelled to do that which is 
 always distasteful to our liberty-loving sex — namely, 
 to ' make up my mind/ John, too, walked on for 
 a few paces in silence. We were at the corner of 
 Lowndes-street. There was not a soul to be seen 
 but our two selves. All at once he stopped short 
 under the light of a lamp, and looked me full in the 
 face. 
 
 ' Kate,' said he, in a grave, deliberate voice, 'you 
 know what I mean — Yes or No?' 
 
 I shook like a leaf. What would I have given to 
 have been able to take counsel of one of my own 
 sex — Mrs. Lumley, Aunt Deborah, or even cold, 
 pitiless Lady Horsingham ! But I had to choose 
 for myself. I felt that the turning-point of my 
 destiny had arrived — that the game was in my own 
 hand, and that now I ought to decide one way or 
 the other. I shrank from the responsibility. Like 
 a very woman, I adopted a middle course. 
 
 ' Give me time, John,' I pleaded, ' give me 
 time to weigh matters over in my own mind. This 
 is an affair that equally concerns the happiness of 
 each of us. Do not let us decide in a hurry. Aunt 
 Deborah was quite right ; her wishes ought to be my 
 law. When I am five-and-twenty it will be soon 
 enough to enter on this subject again. In the in- 
 terval, believe me, John, I have the greatest regard 
 and esteem for you.' 
 
206 MY cousin's QUESTIONS. 
 
 ' Nothing more, Kate?' said John, looking as if 
 he did n't know whether he was pleased or annoyed 
 — ' nothing but esteem ?' 
 
 * Well, I must n't say any more,' was my reply, 
 ' but you know you have that.^ 
 
 John's face brightened considerably. ' And in 
 the mean time, Kate,' he urged, ' you won't allow 
 yourself to be entangled with any one else ?' 
 
 ' Of coui'se not,' was my vigorous disclaimer : 
 and by this time we had arrived at my aunt's door, 
 and it was time to say ' Good night.' 
 
 ' What 's the matter, Kate?' exclaimed Mrs. Lum- 
 ley, when I called to lunch with her the following 
 day, according to promise. 'You look pale and 
 worried. For goodness' sake, tell me what has 
 happened. Have you found out the rover trans- 
 ferring his adoration to Miss Molasses ? or did mon 
 cousin take advantage of the hour and the opportu- 
 nity to lecture us last night on our love of admiration 
 and general levity of conduct? Tell me all about 
 it, dear. We sha' n't be disturbed. I 'm not ' at 
 home ' to a soul, and my old man is busy dissecting 
 an earwig, so he 's quite safe till dinner-time. Sit 
 you down on the sofa, out with your pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, and make a clean breast of it !' 
 
 I told her the whole of my conversation with my 
 cousin the previous night, only suppressing the im- 
 flattering opinions he had thought fit to express of 
 my present confidante. 'And oh, Mrs. Lumlcy !' I 
 
MRS. LUMXEY's advice. 207 
 
 exclaimed^ as I concluded, ' how could I sleep a wink 
 last night, with all this to harass and reproach me ? 
 No wonder I'm pale and worried, and perfectly 
 miserable. I feel I 'm behaving shamefully to John, 
 and not at all rightly towards Captain Lovell. I 
 know I ought to come to an understanding with my 
 cousin, and that Frank ought to be more explicit 
 with me. I could n't have given a decided answer 
 last night if my life had depended on it. I can't 
 give up the one without knowing exactly whether he 
 means honestly (if I thought he did, Mrs. Lumley, 
 nothing should induce me to throw him over) ; and 
 I don't like to make the other miserable, which I 
 am sure I should do if I refused him point-blank; 
 nor do I think I could do at all well Avithout him, 
 accustomed as I have been to depend upon him for 
 everything from childhood. So I have wavered and 
 prevaricated, and behaved disingenuously, almost 
 falsely — and Avhat must he think of me now?' 
 
 'Think of you, my dear?' replied my worldly 
 friend ; ' why of course he thinks of you more than 
 ever. There is nothing like uncertainty, Kate, to 
 keep them well up to the collar. You should always 
 treat men like the beasts of the field. If you want 
 to retain the upper hand of him, ride an adorer as 
 you do Brilliant, my dear : a light hand, with just 
 enough liberty to make him fancy he is going quite 
 at his ease; and then, when he is getting a little 
 careless, and least expects it, give him such a jerk as 
 
208 HOW TO MANAGE THEM. 
 
 makes his fine moutli smart agaiu. He ^11 wiuce 
 witli the pain, and very likely rear straight-on-end ; 
 but he ^11 be all on his haunches well under control, 
 and go much the pleasanter during the rest of the 
 day. Never mind how much they suffer, it 's very 
 good for them, and they will like you all the better 
 for it/ 
 
 ' That may answer very well with some,^ I replied, 
 'but I should be afraid to try the experiment too 
 often. I am sure Brilliant would break away alto- 
 gether if I used him so. And I think the very man 
 that minds it most would be the least likely to stand 
 a repetition of such treatment. No, Mrs. Lumley, 
 I fear I must now choose between Frank and my 
 cousin. The latter has behaved honoui'ably, con- 
 siderately, and kindly, and like a thorough gentle- 
 man. The former seems to think I am to be at his 
 beck and call, indeed, whenever he chooses. He 
 has never been to see me diu'ing the whole of this 
 past week. At Dangerfield, he was as little careful 
 of my reputation as he was of his own limbs. Did 
 I tell you how nearly drowned he w^as crossing the 
 moat ? How you would have laughed, j^ou Avicked, 
 unfeeling woman, if you had heard the splash that 
 cold, snowy night ! And then to disguise himself 
 like a tramp, and stop those runaway ponies at the 
 risk of his life, that he might speak three words to 
 me before I Avent away. I will say for him, that he 
 is afraid of nothing; but I cannot conceal from 
 
WHY NOT both: 209 
 
 myself which has behaved best towards me. And yet^ 
 Mrs. Lumley/ I concluded, rising and walking off to 
 the window, ' I would rather have Frank for a lover 
 than Cousin John for a husband/ 
 
 ' Many people would suggest there was no impos- 
 sibility in your having both, but I don^t give such 
 bad advice as that/ replied Mrs. Lumley; 'however, 
 Kate, do nothing in a hurry — that's my counsel. 
 I grant you, I think Master Frank a very slippery 
 gentleman. I do know some curious stories about 
 him; but I never tell tales out of school. In the 
 meantime, you are, after all, only suffering from an 
 embarras de richesses ; it's far better to have too 
 many suitors than none at all. Come, I '11 take you 
 out shopping with me till five ; then we '11 have some 
 tea, and you can go home quietly to dinner, and ask 
 Aunt Deborah's leave to join me at the French play. 
 I 've got a capital box, and I '11 send the carriage 
 for you. "Wait half a second, whilst I put on my 
 bonnet.' 
 
 So we went off shopping, and we had our tea, and 
 I found no objections from Aunt Deborah to my 
 going out again in the evening ; and I was so 
 restless I did not the least grudge the trouble of 
 dressing, or anything to take me away from my own 
 thoughts. But all the afternoon and all the evening 
 I made up my mind that I would give up Frank 
 Lovell. A little resolution was all that was needed. 
 It was plain he did not really care for me. Why, 
 
 p 
 
CLIO GOOD INTENTIONS. 
 
 he wasn't even in London, though he knew quite 
 well I had been there more than a week. Very 
 likely I should n't see him all the winter, and my 
 heart sank as I thought how much easier this M'ould 
 make my sacrifice. At all events, I determined, 
 when I did see him, to be cold, and demure, and 
 unmoved, and to show him unmistakeably that I 
 belonged to another — in which Spartan frame of 
 mind I betook myself to the French play. 
 Alas, alas ! well may the bard complain — 
 
 "Woman's vows are writ in water ; 
 Woman's faith is traced in sand. 
 
 Who should be in the back of the box but Frank 
 Lovell himself! Mischievous ]Mrs. Lumley, was 
 this your doing ? Before I went away, I had pro- 
 mised to meet him next morning in the park, and 
 
 he was to explain all. 
 
CROSS-QUESTIONS. 2 I I 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 T HOPE I have as much command of countenance 
 as falls to the lot of any lady who don't paint; 
 but when I returned from my walk in the Park the 
 following morning, I must have looked flushed or 
 excited, or in some way different from usual. I met 
 John at the corner of Lowndes-street, and he stop- 
 ped short and looked me piercingly in the face. 
 
 ' Where have you been, Kate ? ' said he, without 
 waiting to bid me ' good morning' or anything. 
 
 ' A little stroll in the Park, John/ was my reply. 
 
 ' By yourself?' he asked; and his face looked pale 
 and grave. 
 
 I cannot tell a story, so I hesitated and stam- 
 mered — 
 
 ' No, not exactly — at least, I met an acquaintance 
 near the Serpentine.' 
 
 ' Have you any objection to telling me who it 
 was ? ' said John ; and his voice sounded very 
 strange. 
 
 ' Good gracious ! what 's the matter ? ' I asked, in 
 my tm-n. ' Has anything happened ? Are you ill, 
 John ? You look quite upset.' 
 
 ' I insist upon knowing,' answered he, without 
 
2 12 AND CROOKED ANSWERS. 
 
 taking the slightest notice of my tender inquiries 
 after his health. ' Did you or did you not meet 
 Captain Lovell this morning in Hyde-Park ? ' 
 
 ' Yes^ I certainly did meet him/ I replied. 
 
 'Accidentally?^ exclaimed my cousin, 
 
 'Why — no — not entirely/ was my answer; ' but 
 the fact is ' 
 
 ' Enough ! ' burst out John, breaking in on my 
 explanations with a rudeness I had never before seen 
 him exhibit. ' Kate, I have been deceived in you. 
 I thought, at least, you were candid and straight- 
 forward : I find you faithless, ungrateful, ungene- 
 rous ! But I will not reproach you/ he added, 
 cheeking himself by a strong effort : ' it is only 
 natural, I conclude, for a Avoman to be false. I 
 thought you were different from the rest, and I was 
 a fool for my pains. Kate, let us understand each 
 other at once. I offered you last night all that man 
 could give. I had a right to expect an answer then 
 and there. I thought I had a favourable one, and I 
 have spent twelve hours of happiness. I now see 
 that I have deceived mj'self. Perhaps I value my 
 own worth too highly; I own I feel sore and ag- 
 grieved, but you shall not be the sufferer. Kate, I 
 am only ' Cousin John' once more. Give me a few 
 days to get over a natural disappointment, and you 
 and I will be friends and playfellows as we used to be. 
 Shake hands, Kate; I spoke harshly, in a moment 
 of anger — it is over now. God bless you, deal* !' 
 
JOHN IMPROVES. 213 
 
 And with these words John walked away, and left 
 me standing on that eventful doorstep which seemed 
 to witness all the changes and chances of my life. 
 How stately was his walk as he strode down the 
 street ! I watched him all the way to the corner^ 
 but he never once looked back. John was grown 
 much handsomer of late ; he used to be too ruddy 
 and prosperous-looking and boyish, but his counte- 
 nance had altered considerably in the last two or 
 three months — only, seeing him every day, I did not 
 remark the change. Lady Scapegrace had found it 
 out the first. I perfectly remember her saying to 
 me, on the day of our Greenwich dinner — 
 
 ' My dear, your cousin has a great deal in him, if 
 one did but know how to get it out. You have no 
 idea what a good-looking man he would be, if you 
 could only succeed in making him ill and unhappy.' 
 
 Poor John ! I am afraid I had made him un- 
 happy, even now. It struck me he had a nobler 
 bearing than Captain Lovell himself; although, of 
 course, I could not think him so graceful, or so 
 handsome, or half so charming as my dear Frank. 
 I rushed into the house and locked myself in my 
 boudoir, to think over and dwell upon the many 
 events of that most eventful morning. My happy 
 walk, my delightful companion, whose soft voice was 
 still whispering in my ear — whose every look and 
 gesture 1 could recall, even to the wind freshening 
 his handsome brow and waving his clustering locks. 
 
214 LAST LOOKS. 
 
 How happy and contented I felt by his side! and 
 yet — there was a something. I was not satisfied — 
 I was not thoroughly at ease : my cousin's face 
 would intrude itself upon my thoughts. I could not 
 get out of my head the tone of manly kindness and 
 regret in which he had last addressed me. I re- 
 flected on his sincerity, his generosity, his undeviat- 
 ing fidelity and good-humour, till my heart smote 
 me to think of all he suffered for my sake ; and I 
 began to wonder whether I was worthy of being so 
 much cared for, and whether I was justified in 
 throwing all this faith and truth away. 
 
 Reader, have you ever lived for weeks and weeks 
 in a place which bored you to death? Have you 
 learned to loathe every tree and shrub and hedge- 
 row in the dreary landscape? Have you shivered 
 up and down the melancholy walks, and yawned 
 through the dull, dark rooms, till you began to 
 think the hour never woidd arrive that was to re- 
 store you once again to liberty and light? And 
 then, when the hour has come at last, have you been 
 able to take your departure without some half- 
 reproachful feeling akin to melancholy — Avithout 
 some slight shade of regret to think that much as 
 you have hated it, you look upon it all now for the 
 last time ? Perhaps the sun breaks out and shines 
 upon the old place as you catch yom* last glimpse. 
 Ah ! it never used to shine like that when you could 
 see it from those windows every day ; you almost 
 
"vviiicii IS rrr 215 
 
 wish your departure had been put off till the mor- 
 row ; you think if you were back again, the walks 
 would not be so very melancholy, the rooms no 
 longer so dull and gloomy. You sigh because you 
 are leaving it, and wonder at youi'self for doing so. 
 It is the same thing with friends, and more espe- 
 cially with those who would fain assume a tenderer 
 title — we never know their value but by their loss. 
 
 ' If it wasn't for Frank,' I began to think, ' I really 
 believe I might have been very happy with Cousin 
 John. Of course it's impossible now; and, as he 
 says himself, he '11 never be anything but a cousin to 
 me. Poor John ! he 's a noble, true-hearted, un- 
 selfish, generous fellow.' 
 
 But to return to my walk. When a lady and 
 gentleman meet each other by appointment, either 
 at the edge of the Serpentine or elsewhere, their 
 conversation is not generally of a nature to be re- 
 lated in detail, nor is it to be presumed that their 
 colloquy would prove as interesting to the general 
 public as to themselves. What I learnt of Frank's 
 private history, his views, feelings, and intentions, 
 on that morning, I may as well give in m}^ own 
 words, suppressing divers interruptions, protesta- 
 tions, and interjections, which, much as they added 
 to its zest, necessarily rather impeded the course 
 of the narrative, and postponed its completion 
 till long after I ought to have been back at lun- 
 cheon. 
 
2i6 Frank's antecedents. 
 
 Frank had been an only child, and spoiled as only 
 children are in nine cases out of ten. His father 
 was a peer's second son, and married a wealthy 
 cotton-spinner's niece for the sake of her money, 
 which money lasted him about as long as his own 
 constitution. When he died, the widow was left 
 with ten thousand pounds and the handsome, curly- 
 pated, mischievous boy. She soon followed her hus- 
 band : poor thing, she was very fond of him, and he 
 had neglected her shamefvdly. The boy Avent to his 
 uncle — the peer, not his uncle the mill-owner — to 
 be brought up. Frank was consequently what the 
 world calls a 'well-bred one'; his name was in the 
 Peerage, though he had a first cousin once removed 
 who was but an industrious weaver. The peer of 
 course sent him to Eton. 
 
 ' Ten thousand pounds/ said that judicious rela- 
 tive, Mvill buy him his commissions. The lad's 
 handsome and clever ; he can play whist now better 
 than my boy's private tutor. By the time his ten 
 thousand's gone, we'll pick up an heiress for him. 
 'Gad ! how like my poor brother he is about the 
 eyes ! ' 
 
 So Frank was started in life with a commission in 
 the Light Dragoons, an extremely good opinion of 
 himself, and as much of his ten thousand pounds as 
 he had not already anticipated during the one term 
 he spent at Oxford before he was rusticated. By 
 the way, so many of my partners, and other young 
 
A GENTLEMAN-LIKE EDUCATION. 2x7 
 
 gentlemen witli whom I am acquainted, have gone 
 through this process, that it was many years before 
 I discovered the meaning of the term; for long I 
 understood ncstication to be merely a playful form of 
 expression for ' taking a degree ' ; and I was the 
 more confirmed in this impression from observing 
 that those who had experienced this treatment were 
 spoken of with high respect and approbation by their 
 fellow-collegians. 
 
 What odd creatures young men are ! I can un- 
 derstand their admiring prowess in field-sports and 
 athletic pursuits, just as I could understand one's 
 admiring a statesman, an author, an artist, or a 
 successful man in any pursuit of life; but why 
 they should think it creditable to get drunk, to 
 run into debt, to set at defiance all the rules and 
 regulations enacted for their own benefit, and to 
 conduct themselves in unswerving opposition to the 
 wishes of their nearest and dearest friends, and all 
 to do themselves as much harm as possible, is more 
 than I can comprehend. Girls are not wrong-headed 
 like this. Where the son is the source of all the 
 annoyance, and ill-humour, and retrenchment in a 
 family, the daughter is generally the mainstay, and 
 comfort, and sunshine of the whole house. When 
 shall we poor women be done justice to? 
 
 But to return to Frank. By his own account 
 he was a gambler, of course. A man turned loose 
 upon the world, with such an education as most 
 
11 Q BOYHOODS IDEAL. 
 
 English gentlemen deem befitting their sons, and 
 "without means to indulge the tastes that education 
 has led him to acquire, is very likely to become 
 so. 
 
 As a boy, the example of his elders teaches him to 
 look upon frivolous distinction as the great end and 
 aim of life, whilst that of his comrades leads him to 
 neglect all study as dry, to despise all application 
 as 'slow.' At home he hears some good-looking, 
 grown-up cousin, or agreeable military uncle, admired 
 and commented on for being such ' a capital shot,' — 
 ' such a good cricket-player,' — ' such an undeniable 
 rider to hounds,' — what wonder the boy grows up 
 thinking that these accomplishments alone are the 
 very essentials of a gentleman? At school, if he 
 makes an eflFort at distinction in school-hows, he is 
 stigmatised by his comrades as a ' sop/ and derided 
 for his pursuit of the very object it is natiu'al to 
 suppose he has been sent there to attain. AYliat 
 wonder he hugs idleness as his bosom-friend, and 
 loses all his powers of application in their disuse. 
 
 Then come the realities of manhood, for which he 
 is so ill prepared. In the absence of all useful know- 
 ledge and practical pursuits, amusement becomes the 
 business of life. Human nature cannot be idle, and 
 if not doing good, is pretty sure to be doing harm. 
 Pleasure, excitement, and fashionable dissipation, 
 must be purchased, and paid for pretty dearly, in 
 hard coin of the realm. The younger son, with his 
 
A LADY-KILLER. 219 
 
 ten thousand pounds, must soar in the same flight, 
 must ^go as fast' as his elder brother with ten 
 thousand a-year. How is it to be done? Why, of 
 course, he must make money, if he can, by betting 
 and play. So it goes on smoothly enough for a 
 time. The Arch-croupier below, they say, arranges 
 these matters for beginners; but the luck turns at 
 last. The capital is eaten into ; the Jews are called 
 in; and the young gentleman is ruined. Frank, I 
 think, at this time was in a fair way of arriving 
 pretty rapidly at the customary catastrophe. He 
 had gone through the whole educational process I 
 have described above, had been regularly and sys- 
 tematically ^spoilt,' was a habitual gambler, and a 
 confirmed ' dandy.' The ladies all liked him much, 
 and I confess I don't wonder at it. Always good- 
 humoured, never sentimental (I hate a sentimental 
 man), invariably well-dressed, with a very good 
 opinion of his own attractions, Frank could make 
 himself agreeable in all societies. He had never 
 been troubled with shyness as a boy, and in his 
 manhood was as ' cool a hand ' as one would meet 
 with often even in London. Then he had plenty of 
 courage, which made the men respect him; and, 
 above all, was very good-looking, an advantage which, 
 doubtless, has a certain weight even with our far- 
 sighted and reflective sex. 
 
 I never quite made out the rights of his liaison, or 
 whatever people call it, with Lady Scapegrace; nor 
 
2 20 IMMUNITY. 
 
 do I think his own account entirely satisfactory. He 
 
 assured me that he met her first of all at a masked 
 
 ball in Paris, that she mistook him for some one else, 
 
 and confided a great deal to his ears which she would 
 
 not have entrusted to any one save the individual 
 
 she supposed him to be ; that when she discovered her 
 
 mistake she was in despair, and that his discretion 
 
 and respect for her feelings had made her his fast 
 
 friend for life. I cannot tell how this may be, but that 
 
 they were great friends I have had reason to know 
 
 too well. He declared, however, that he looked upon 
 
 her ' quite as a sister.' I do not think, though she 
 
 is always very kind to me, that I should exactly like 
 
 her for a sister-in-law I certainly have knowoi Lady 
 
 Scapegrace do some most extraordinary things — 
 
 such things as no other woman would be permitted 
 
 to do without drawing down the abuse of the world : 
 
 if she had been fair, and rosy, and pleasing, people 
 
 would have scouted her; but she was dark, and 
 
 stern, and commanding. The world was afraid of 
 
 her, and it is very true that ' in the world one had 
 
 better be feared than loved.' Scandal did not dare 
 
 say all it thought of Lady Scapegrace; and if she 
 
 brought Frank Lovell home in her carriage, or went 
 
 to the opera alone with Count Coquin, or was seen 
 
 day after day perambulating Kensington Gardens 
 
 arm-in-arm with young Greenfinch, of the Life 
 
 Guards, instead of shouting and hissing, and, so to 
 
 speak, peliinrj her ofl* the stage, the world lifted its 
 
L ENFANT DE LA MAISOX. 221 
 
 fingers to its lips, shrugged up its worldly shoulders, 
 and merely remarked — 
 
 ' Always was very odd, poor woman ! Hers has 
 been a cui'ious history — little cracked, I think, now 
 — but what a handsome creature she was years ago, 
 when I left school, before ijou were born, my boy V 
 
 Whatever may have been her carelessness of ap- 
 pearances and levity of manner, I think it was never 
 for an instant supposed that she liked any human 
 being half so much as she hated Sir Guy. 
 
 Then, again, Sir Guy and Frank were fast friends, 
 almost inseparable. They say Frank kept things 
 right between the ill-assorted pair, and that his good 
 offices had many a time interposed to prevent scenes 
 of abuse and violence, such as must have ended in a 
 separation at least. I was not quite clear that 
 Frank's regard for the coach-driving baronet was 
 alone at the bottom of all this friendship. I cannot 
 conceive two men much worse suited to each other; 
 but Frank vowed, when I cross-questioned him on 
 the subject, which I thought I had a right to do, 
 that he was under the greatest possible obligations 
 to Sir Guy, that the latter had even lent him money, 
 and stood by him when such assistance was most 
 valuable ; and that he looked upon him as a brother, 
 just as he looked upon her ladyship as a sister. It 
 seems to have been quite a family party altogether. 
 Frank warmed with the topic. 
 
 ' You will hear me talked about with all sorts of 
 
2 22 DISINTERESTED. 
 
 people, Kate/ said he, as we took about our twen- 
 tieth turn, each of which I had protested should be 
 the last ; ' but the world is so officious and mischief- 
 making, you must never believe a word it says. 
 They know I ara ruined, and they choose to decide 
 that I must be making up to some wealthy young 
 lady. As if / was a man to marry for money ! as if 
 I cared for anything on earth but one person, and 
 that for the sake of her own dear self alone. You 
 ask me about Miss Molasses ; you declare I am con- 
 tinually riding with her, and dancing with her, and 
 what you ladies call ' paying her attention ' — that 
 yellow, lackadaisical miss ! Do you think I Avould 
 marry her if she had half a million ? Do you think 
 I could stand those sentimental airs, that smattering 
 of learning, and affectation of being poetical, and 
 romantic, and blue ? I, who have only lately learned 
 what a woman should be, and what a treasure such 
 a woman is ! No, no ; I have known the A^'hole 
 family from a child; I can't quite stand the lady 
 part of it, but old Molasses is a right good fellow, 
 and one must be civil to them all. No, no, Kate, 
 with my many faults, I am a ver}'^ different person 
 from what you seem to think. I have my hopes and 
 
 wishes, certainly, but " 
 
 I can't possibly go on to relate tlie conclusion of 
 Frank's rhapsody, but he took great pains to con- 
 vince me that if there was ever a high-principled, 
 pure-minded, much injured individual, that cxcmu- 
 
UNDECIDED. 223 
 
 plary character was the gentleman now walking by 
 my side; and I was convinced, but at the same time 
 not exactly satisfied. In thinking over the whole of 
 our conversation, I could gather nothing very defi- 
 nite, nothing that led to any particular result, from it. 
 
 One thing was clear to my mind, and that was 
 at all events a gratifying reflection. Frank did not 
 seem to be awa,re that I had any worldly prospects 
 whatever — it was evident that if he liked me he 
 liked me entirely for myself. I confess I should not 
 wish to be a great heiress ; I should always be fancy- 
 ing that it was the ' fine eyes of my casket/ as the 
 French say, which attracted my admirers; and I 
 could not stand that. No, Frank was not mercenary, 
 I was sure, and if even — why the competency I 
 should be possessed of would be an agreeable sur- 
 prise. If, indeed ! Nothing was clear, nothing was 
 settled ; what a fool I was to dwell so upon an un- 
 certainty, to anchor my hopes upon a dream ! I 
 was not all comfortable that afternoon : the more I 
 thought, the more I walked about my boudoir, in a 
 state of high fidget and restlessness. One thing, 
 however, was consolatory — the frost was breaking. 
 Already in London it was a decided thaw, and I went 
 to pay Brilliant a visit in the stable. 
 
 Now I dare say I shall be considered very bold and 
 unladylike, and unfeminine — that's the word — for 
 owning that I do indeed enjoy paying my favourites a 
 visit in their comfortable quarters. It's worth a good 
 
224 MY FAVOURITE. 
 
 deal to see Brilliant's reception of me when I approach 
 his stable. From the instant I enter his abode and he 
 hears my voice, he begins to move restlessly to and 
 fro, whisking his dear tail, cocking his ears, and paw- 
 ing up his ' litter,' till indeed that word alone de- 
 scribes the state to which he reduces his bed ; then 
 when I go up to him, he lays back his ears with sheer 
 delight, and gives a jump, as if he was going to 
 kick me, and whisks that thin tail about more than 
 ever. I lay my cheek to his smooth soft skin, and 
 he nestles his beautiful head in my arms, and pokes 
 his pretty muzzle into my pockets, and seems to ask 
 for bits of bread and sugar and other delicacies, all of 
 which are conferred upon him forthwith. I am sure 
 he has more sense than a dog, and a great deal more 
 affection than most men. I don't care how shniff 
 and ' bad style ' people may think me, but I feel 
 every one of those strong flat black legs, and look 
 into his hoofs, hind feet and all, and turn his rug up 
 to see that he has been properly cleaned and treated 
 as he deserves ; for I love Brilliant and Brilliant loves 
 me. It has sometimes been my lot to have an ach- 
 ing heart, as I conclude it is the lot of all here 
 below. Like the rest of my fellow-creatures, I have 
 been stung by ingratitude, lacerated by indifference 
 where I had a right to expect attachment ; or worst 
 of all, forced to confess myself deceived, wlicre I had 
 bestowed regard and esteem. When I feel sore 
 and unhappy on any or all of these points, nothing 
 
'sweet sympathy.' 225 
 
 consoles and softens me so much as the affection of a 
 dumb animal, more particularly a horse. His honest 
 grave face seems to sympathize in one's grief, without 
 obtruding the impertinence of curiosity or the 
 mockery of consolation. He gives freely the affec- 
 tion one has been disappointed in finding elsewhere, 
 and seems to stand by one in his brute vigour and 
 generous unreasoning nature like a true friend. I 
 always feel inclined to pour my griefs into poor 
 Brilliant's unintelligent ears, and many a tear have 
 I shed nestling close to my favourite, with my arms 
 round him like a child's round its nurse's neck. 
 That very afternoon, when I had made sure there 
 was no one else in the stable, I leaned my head 
 against Brilliant's firm warm neck, and sobbed, like 
 a fool as I was. 
 
226 THE CALF. 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 f^ ENTLE]MEN think it riglit to affect a contempt 
 for stag-huntings and many a battle have I 
 had with Cousin John -when he has provoked mc by 
 'pooh-poohiug' that exhilarating amusement. I 
 generally get the best of the argument : I put a few 
 pertinent questions to him which he cannot answer 
 satisfactorily. I ask him, ^"What is your principal 
 object in going out hunting ? Is it to learn the habits 
 of the wild animal or to watch the instinct of the 
 hound that pursues him ? Do you enjoy seeing a 
 fox ivcdked to deaths as you call it, on a cold-scenting 
 day — or do you care for the finest hunting run that 
 ever was seen in a woodland country ? Have I not 
 heard you say a hundred times, when questioned as 
 to your morning sport, 'Oh, wretched ! hounds never 
 went any pace! — couldn't shake off the crowd — yes, 
 we killed our fox ; but the whole thing Avas dead 
 slow?' or else exclaim, with a face of delight, ' The 
 fastest thing I have seen for years ! Eighteen minutes 
 up wind, extra pace ! not a soul but myself in the 
 same field with them Avhen they threw their heads 
 up. Fox Avas back, of course, and we never recovered 
 
WHY DO YOU HUNT? 227 
 
 him, but it was by far tbe best gallop of the season ?' 
 It is evident to me that what you like is riding a 
 good hunter fast over a stiff country — going a turn 
 better than your neighbours, and giving your own 
 skill that credit which is due to the superiority of 
 your horse. You only consider the hounds as a 
 fleeting object at which to ride ; the fox as a neces- 
 sary evil, without which all this ^rasping' and 
 ' bruising ' and ' cutting down/ as you call it in your 
 ridiculous jargon, cannot be attained. Why, then, 
 do you waste so much energy, and money, and 
 civility, and ' soft-sawder,^ to preserve the vulpine 
 race ? Why don't you all hunt with stag -hounds, or, 
 better still, devote yourselves to a drag, when you 
 may gallop and jump and bustle about, and upset 
 your horses, and break your own necks to your 
 heart's content ? To all of which John answers, as 
 men invariably do when they are worsted, 'that 
 women can't enter into these things, and I am talk- 
 ing great nonsense about what I don't understand.' 
 
 However, let him despise ' the calf,' as he termed 
 it, as much as he liked, I was not going to be stewed 
 up in London, with the wind at south-west, the ther- 
 mometer 45°, and the mud over one's ankles, whilst 
 Brilliant and White-Stockings were eating their 
 heads off in the stable; so I took advantage of 
 John's good-nature to exact a promise that he would 
 take me doAvn and show me her Majesty's stag- 
 hounds in the field ; and on the express stipulation 
 
228 THE GITANA. 
 
 that Mrs. Lumley should join our party, and that 
 Ave should confine ourselves religiously to the lanes, 
 I was promised the enjoyment of a day^s hunting. 
 John did everything I asked him now, he was even 
 kinder than he used to he, hut it was a different sort 
 of kindness, and it cut me to the heart. 
 
 Still, the idea was enchanting : the Great "Western 
 made a delightful cover-hack. We sent our horses 
 on by the early train. The place of meeting was 
 scarcely three miles from the station, so we had time 
 to settle ourselves comfortably in the saddle, and to 
 avoid the fuss and parade of two ladies in their 
 habits stepping out of a first-class carriage into the 
 midst of a metropolitan field. I ran my eye jealously 
 over the brown mare as Mrs. Lumley jogged quietly 
 along by my side, and I confess I had my misgivings 
 whilst contemplating the easy pliant seat and firm 
 graceful figure of her mistress, the strong lengthy 
 frame and beautiful proportions of the mare herself; 
 but then, Brilliant felt so light and elastic under me, 
 the day was so soft and fresh, the country air so 
 fragrant, and the dewdrops sparkling so brilliantly 
 on the leafless hedges, that my courage rose with my 
 spirits, and I felt as if I could ride anywhere or do 
 anything in sheer gladness of heart. 
 
 '^Mr. Jones is very strict,' said my companion, 
 taking the brown marc lightly on the curb, and 
 putting her into a canter along a level piece of sward 
 by the road-side ; ' he declares he only takes charge 
 
THE queen's stag-hounds. 229 
 
 of US imder the solemn promise that there is to be 
 no jumping. For my part^ I never do what I am 
 told, Kate, do you?' 
 
 'I always do as I like with John/ said I; 'but 
 then I always like to do what he wishes.' 
 
 My cousin's sorrowful smile almost brought the 
 tears into my eyes. 
 
 'I daresay he's quite right/ rejoined Mrs. Lum- 
 ley ; ' for my part, I've no nerves left now ; if you'll 
 promise not to jump, I'll promise too. What say 
 you, Kate — is it a bargain?' 
 
 ' Agreed,' I replied ; and just then a turn in the 
 lane brought us into full view of the meet of Her 
 Majesty's stag-hounds. 
 
 What a motley assemblage it was ! At first I 
 could not catch a glimpse of the hounds themselves, 
 or even the servants, for the crowd, mostly of foot- 
 people, that surrounded them. Where did these 
 queer-looking pedestrians come from? They were 
 not agricultural labourers, they were not towns- 
 people nor operatives nor mechanics ; they were the 
 sort of people that one never sees except on such an 
 occasion as this. I believe if I was in the habit of 
 attending low pigeon-matches, dog-fights, or steeple- 
 chases, in ' the Harrow county,' I should recognise 
 most of them enjoying the spectacle of such diver- 
 sions. One pecviliarity I remarked amongst them, 
 with scarcely an exception. Although in the last 
 stage of shabbiness, their clothes had all been once 
 
230 A WELL-KNOWN CHARACTER. 
 
 of fasliionable texture and good material ; but they 
 entirely neglected the ' unities ' in their personal 
 apparel. A broad-cloth coat, much the -worse for 
 wear, was invariably surmounted by a greasy cap; 
 whilst he who rejoiced in a beaver, usually battered 
 in at the crown and encircled by a tag of threadbare 
 crape, was safe to have discarded his upper garment, 
 and to appear in his waistcoat and shirt-sleeves. A 
 xdvy sweep, in the full uniform of his profession, was 
 by far the most respectable-looking personage of the 
 lot. They clustered round the pack, and seemed to 
 make remarks, more or less sarcastic, amongst them- 
 selves. As they opened out a little, I observed a 
 very aristocratic-looking old man, clad in most gor- 
 geous apparel of scarlet and gold, and seated on a 
 remarkably handsome powerful horse, long and low, 
 with great strength in small compass, and to all 
 appearance quite thoroughbred. 
 
 ' That 's the huntsman,' said ]\Irs. Lumley, who 
 kindly undertook to be my cicerone, for she often 
 enjoyed ' a day with the Queen's,' and was quite at 
 home here; 'he'll be so glad to see me. "We're 
 great friends — if you like, Kate, I '11 introduce 
 you.' 
 
 I declined the honour as rather too public. ' But/ 
 said I, Mo tell me who is in that green carriage 
 with its back to us. Is it Prince Albert?' Mrs. 
 Lumloy laughed. 
 
 ' Not exactly, my dear,' she replied ; ' that 's the 
 
THE MASTER. 23 I 
 
 €alf ! Come a little this way ; and when they open 
 the door, we shall see him bounce out/ So we 
 edged our horses off to a spot at which the foot- 
 people were already beginning to congregate, and 
 sat there quietly anticipating the ' enlargement of 
 the deer/ 
 
 ' What are we waiting for now ? ' I asked, at 
 length, when my patience was nearly worn out. 
 * Why don't we begin ? ' 
 
 'The Master of the Buekhounds, of course,' re- 
 plied my cicerone. ' He 's not come yet. You know, 
 Kate, it's a political appointment, and they gene- 
 rally giA^e it to somebody who hates hunting, and 
 particularly stag-hunting, more than anything ; so, 
 of course, he wisely comes as late and goes home as 
 early as he can. But this man is a good sportsman 
 and a thorough gentleman, and very fond of it too ; 
 so we shall not have to wait much longer.' 
 
 In fact, the words were hardly out of her mouth, 
 before a carriage-and-four drove up, containing three 
 very gentleman-like, good-looking men, 'got up' to 
 the utmost extent of hunting splendour, and looking 
 the very personification of that dandyism which 
 Melton engrafted upon London would be likely to 
 produce. When they were mounted, I am obliged 
 to confess, that those magnificent animals made 
 'Brilliant' himself look small. By this time there 
 was great excitement amongst the foot-people; and 
 an official in gold-lace, a sort of mounted beadle. 
 
232 THE DEER ENLARGED. 
 
 riding up with a heavy-thonged whip, cleared a lane 
 at the back of the cart which I had so erroneously 
 imagined to contain the Prince Consort. The doors 
 flew open, and I was all eyes to witness the magni- 
 ficent sight of ' the monarch of the Avaste^ leaping 
 forth into the sunshine, exulting in his freedom. 
 Shall I confess that I was somewhat disappointed? 
 
 A neutral-coloured beast, something like a donkey, 
 bundled out in a clumsy, unwilling sort of manner, 
 and on his egress commenced cropping the grass 
 with the utmost sang froicl and placidity. l\Iy friend 
 the sweep threw his cap at him. He raised his head, 
 shorn of its branching honours, and, after staring 
 about him, trotted quietly off amongst the specta- 
 tors, closely followed by two well-mounted officials, 
 termed, I believe, ^flappers' by disrespectful sports- 
 men; but whose duty, it appears, is to keep the 
 chase in view till it either beats them off for pace, 
 or leaves them 'planted^ at some large awkward 
 impediment, the latter obstacle generally presenting 
 itself in about three fields. On this occasion I saw 
 the deer trot quite composedly up to a high thorn 
 fence of at least six feet, and clear it without an 
 eff'ortj whereon its pursuers, looking blandly around 
 for gate or gap, and finding none, prudently returned 
 to their fellow-officials in scarlet and gold-lace — I 
 conclude, to report upon their own inefficiency. In 
 the meantime, nobody seemed to be in a hurry ; 
 there was, indeed, some slight stir among the 
 
THE START. 2^2 
 
 equestrians ; but tliere was no throwing away of 
 cigars — no drawing of girths and taking up of curb- 
 chains — none of the bustle and confusion created 
 by the departure of a wild fox over a grass country. 
 On the contrary, every one here seemed to know 
 exactly how much time he had to spare. We ladies 
 were naturally the most impatient of the throng. 
 Presently the huntsman looked at his watch, and 
 said something to the noble Master, who looked at 
 his, and replied, ' I think we may begin.' 
 
 There was a slight bustle among the ' knowing 
 ones^; two or three officers of the Life-Guards stole 
 forward a few paces ; one of the officials cracked his 
 whip ; and ere I knew exactly w^hat had happened, 
 the hounds were streaming away over an adjoining 
 field, ' heads up and sterns down,' running perfectly 
 mute, but at a pace which would have astonished 
 my old friends of the Heavytop country to no small 
 extent. Several desperate speculators were making 
 frightful efforts for a start. Two of the Life-Guards- 
 men were settled with the hounds, and the third 
 would have been, had he not been 'turned over' by 
 an uncompromising flight of rails. Four London 
 dealers and a young Berkshire farmer were flourish- 
 ing about, determined to show their horses whilst 
 they were fresh; the noble Master and his aristo- 
 cratic friends were pounding down a lane running 
 parallel to tlie line of chase. Mrs. Lumley was 
 getting excited, and ' the Gitana' reared straight on 
 
234 ' FOLLOW-Jiy-LEADER.' 
 
 end, ' Brilliant' was fighting most disagreeably with 
 his bridle, and John nervously endeavouring to quiet 
 our horses, and prevail on ourselves to submit to his 
 guidance. We did follow him into the lane; but 
 here what a scene of confusion it was ! Mild eques- 
 trians, much at the mercy of their infuriated steeds ; 
 hot foot-people springing out of the way of the 
 charging squadrons, and revenging themselves for 
 threatened annihilation by sarcastic jeers, not alto- 
 gether undeserved. 
 
 'Give me a lead. Sir!' implored a good-looking 
 light-weight — who was evidently not in his usual 
 place, and most anxious to get out of the lane — to a 
 fat, jolly old sportsman in a green coat and brass 
 buttons, on a stiff bay horse. 
 
 *■ Certainly, Sir,' said the good-natured man ; and 
 turned his horse short at the fence, closely followed 
 by the gentleman he was so ready to oblige. The 
 bank was rotten, and the bay horse unwilling. As 
 might have been expected, the green coat kissed 
 mother earth ; whilst his own horse and his pursuer 
 and his pursuer's horse rolled about on the top of 
 him in a most complicated game of all-fours. As 
 they picked each other up, I heard the fat man in 
 green, much to my astonishment, apologising for the 
 accident with the greatest ' cmpressement .^ 
 
 ' A thousand pai'dons, my dear sir ! IIow could I 
 be so clumsy? — it might have been a most serious 
 accident ! ' All of which excuses the aggressor, as 
 
MRS. LU^JLEY BEGINS WORK. 1^^ 
 
 was to be expected, received Avitli boundless affability 
 and good humour. lu the mean time we had a 
 beautiful view of the run. The hounds were still 
 streaming away, two fields in front of every one ; 
 the huntsman and the two officers going gallantly 
 abreast in their wake. One of them reminded me 
 a little of Frank Lovell. The noble Master, too, 
 had cut in, and was striding along over every ob- 
 stacle; the London dealers had dropped somewhat 
 in the rear, and the farmer's horse was already com- 
 pletely sobered by the pace. The hounds turned 
 toward us. John entreated us to stop. They crossed 
 the lane tmder our horses' heads, and taking up the 
 scent in the adjoining pasture, went off again at 
 score — not a soul 7'ealhj with them. 
 
 'Flesh and blood can't stand this!' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Lumley, as, turning the Gitana short round at 
 a high stile with a foot-board, she landed lightly in 
 the field. ' Don't attempt it, Kate !' she screamed 
 out to me, half turning in her saddle. I heard 
 John's voice, too, raised in expostulation, but it was 
 too late. I was already in the air. I thought 
 Brilliant never would come to the ground; and 
 when he did touch it, he was so excited with his 
 previous restraint and his present position, that he 
 broke clean away with me. I was a little frightened, 
 but I never lost my nerve. I flew past Mrs. Lumley 
 like an arrow ; and though she put the Gitana to 
 her speed, and made my horse more violent still as 
 
236 JEALOUSY. 
 
 she thundered close upon his quarters, I Mas too 
 proud to ask her to give me a pull, and a wicked, 
 jealous feeling rose in my heart that was an excellent 
 substitute for true courage at the time. jNIy horse 
 was almost frantic; but fortunately he knew my 
 voice, and by speaking to him I was able to steady 
 him before we reached the fence. He bounded over 
 it like a deer, and went quite quietly, now that 
 he had nothing before him but the hounds. I had 
 never known till now what it was to ride for myself. 
 Hitherto I had always followed a leader, but hence- 
 forth I resolved to enjoy the true pleasure of finding 
 my own Avay. I looked back — I was positively 
 first, but Mrs. Lumley was not fifty yards behind 
 me, and coming up rapidly. 
 
 ' Well done, Kate ! ' said she, as we flew our third 
 fence side by side. Still the hounds fleeted on, and 
 I never took my eye off them, but urged my horse 
 in their wake, taking every turn they did, and 
 swerving from nothing. Fortunately, Brilliant was 
 thoroughbred and the fences light, or, even with my 
 weight, such a style of riding must soon have pro- 
 duced fatal results. I shall never go again as well 
 as I did that day ; but do what I would I could not 
 shake off Mrs. Luralcy. If I lost sight of her for 
 an instant, she was sure to gain a turn upon me, 
 and on one or two occasions she was actually in my 
 front. I felt I could have ridden into a chalk-pit, 
 and dared her to follow me with the srrcatcst satis- 
 
A DOWNFALL. . 237 
 
 faction. At last the hounds checked; we stood 
 alone with them ; I felt almost delirious with the 
 excitement. 
 
 ' What an example we have made of the gentlemen, 
 Kate/ said INIrs. Lumley, turning the Gitana's head 
 to the wind. ' I had no idea you could ride like 
 this/ 
 
 I did not answer, but I thought ' Wait a 
 little, and I '11 show you.' I felt I hated her, though 
 she was my friend. Again the hounds stooped to 
 the scent; they crossed a deep narrow lane, up which 
 I saw the crowd advancing. I put my horse into his 
 pace. 
 
 ' You can 't go there, Kate/ vociferated Mrs. 
 Lumley ; ' this way. Here 's a gate in this corner.^ 
 
 I clenched my teeth, and rode straight for the fence. 
 It looked dark and forbidding. I did not see ho^v it 
 was to be done, but I trusted to Brilliant, and Bril- 
 liant nearly did it — but not quite. There was a 
 loud crash ; one of my pommels gave me an awk- 
 ward dig in the side. I saw the white star on 
 my horse's forehead shoot below me ; and the 
 muddy, gravelly lane seemed to rise in my face and 
 rasp my hands and smear my habit, and get conglo- 
 merated with my hair. The horsemen were all 
 round me when I got up. I did not care for my 
 accident, I did not care for being bruised — in fact, 
 I did not know whether I was hurt or not ? — but 
 my prevailing feeling was one of burning shame and 
 horror as I thought of my dress. To have had a fall 
 
238 BACK TO LONDON. 
 
 amongst all those men ! I could have sunk into the 
 earth and thanked it for covering me. But there 
 was no lack of sympathy and assistance. The hunts- 
 man pulled up ; the noble ]Master offered me his 
 carriage to go back to London ; everybody stopped 
 to tender advice and condolences. 
 
 ^ The lady 's had a fall ' — ' Give the lady some 
 sherry' — ' Catch the lady's horse' — ' Can -we render 
 the lady any assistance?' John^ of course, was much 
 distressed and annoyed, but glad to find I was not 
 seriously hurt. Mrs. Lumley only stood aloof and 
 sneered. ' I told you not to ride there, Kate,' said 
 she; 'and what a fall you've had — amongst all 
 these people, too.' She very nearly made me an 
 enemy for life. 
 
 I was too much hurt to go on. The stag was 
 taken, as usual, in a large pond about a mile from 
 where I met with my accident ; but our party had 
 had enough of huntmg for one day. I am sure I 
 had ; and I think the Gitana was nearly beat, though 
 her mistress would not confess it. We soon got back 
 to the station, where I Avashcd my face and put 
 myself to rights. After all, I was very little the 
 worse, and everybody said I had ' gone like a 
 bird.' As we returned to London by the fast train, 
 and I sat in that comfortable, well-cushioned car- 
 riage, enjoying the delightful languor of rest after 
 fatigue, I half resolved to devote my whole life to 
 a sport which Avas capable of aftbrding such thrilling 
 excitement as that which I had so recently enjoyed. 
 
MY COUSIN CHANGED. 239 
 
 I had never been so happy, I thought, in my ex- 
 istence, as whilst I was leading the field on my 
 dear Brilliant, It was a pure, wholesome, legitimate 
 excitement ; there were no harassing doubts and 
 fears, no wounded feelings and bitter thoughts, no 
 hours and days of suspense and misery to atone for 
 a few short moments of delight. If I was disap- 
 pointed in other things, could I not devote myself 
 wholly to hunting, and so lead a happy and harmless 
 life ? If I had been a man, I should have answered 
 in the affirmative ; but I am a woman, and gradually 
 softer thoughts stole over me. A distant vision of a 
 happy home, with home-interests and home-pleasm'es 
 — others to love, others to care for, besides myself — 
 all a woman's duties, and all a woman^s best delights. 
 I shut my eyes, and tried to realise the picture. 
 When I opened them again, Mrs. Lumley had gone 
 fast to sleep; but John was watching me with a 
 look of painful attention. He certainly had acquired 
 a very earnest, keen look of late, such as he never 
 used to wear. I do not know what prompted the 
 question, but I could not forbear asking him, in a 
 sort of half-laughing way, ^ John, if I had broken 
 my neck to-day, what on earth should you have 
 done ?' 
 
 ' Mourned for you as a sister, Kate,^ he replied, 
 gravely, even severely. I did not speak another 
 word the whole way home. 
 
240 AUNT DEBORAHS TERMISSION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ' T SHALL miss you sadly, Kate ; but if you enjoy 
 your visit I shall be quite satisfied.' 
 
 It was Aunt Deborah who spoke. Dear Aunt 
 Deborah ! I felt as if I had not been half attentive 
 enough to her lately. I had selfishly been so taken 
 up with my own thoughts and my own schemes, that 
 I had neglected my poor suffering relative ; and now 
 my heart smote me for my Avant of consideration. 
 Aiuit Deborah had not left the house since our 
 return from Dangerfield. She looked worn and old, 
 but had the same kind smile, the same measiu'ed 
 accents as ever. Though she endured a good deal 
 of pain, and was kept in close confinement, she 
 never complained : patient and quiet, she had a kind 
 word for every one ; and even her maid avowed that 
 'missus's' temper was that of an angel. ' H'angel,' 
 the maid called it, but it Avas perfectly true. xVunt 
 Deborah must have had something ver}^ satisfactory 
 to look forward to, or she never would have been so 
 light-hearted. One thing I remarked, she Avas 
 fonder of John than ever. 
 
 * I won't go, my dear aunt,' Avas my reply, for my 
 conscience smote me hard, ' I Avon't go ; I do n't 
 
A FASHIONABLE ENTERTAINMENT. 24 1 
 
 care about it; I had much rather stay and nurse 
 you here/ 
 
 But Aunt Deborah would n't hear of it. 
 
 ' No, no/ said she, ' my dear ; you are at the 
 right age to enjoy yourself. I don't know much 
 about Scamperley^ and I have a far more charitable 
 opinion of Lady Scapegrace than the world in ge- 
 neral ; but I dare say you will have a pleasant party, 
 and I can trust you anywhere with John/ 
 
 There it was^ John again — always John — and I 
 knew exactly what John thought of me ; and it made 
 me thoroughly despise myself. I rcjflected that if I 
 were John, I should have a very poor opinion of my 
 cousin ; I should consider her silly, vacillating, easily 
 deceived, and by no means to be depended upon; 
 more than woman in her weaknesses, and less than 
 woman in her affections. ' What a character ! and 
 what a contempt he must have for me ! ' 
 
 My cousin called to take me to the railway, and 
 to accompany me as a chaperone on a visit to Sir 
 Guy and Lady Scapegrace, who were, as usual, 
 'entertaining a distinguished party of fashion- 
 ables at their residence, Scamperley.' By the 
 waj^ what an odd phrase that same ' entertain- 
 ing' always sounds to my ear. When I learn 
 that ' the Marquis of Mopes has been ' enter- 
 taining' his friends, the Duke of Drearyshire, 
 Count and Countess Crotchet, Viscount Inane, Sir 
 Simon and Lady Sulkes, the Honourable Hercules 
 
242 SIR guy's drag. 
 
 Heavyhead^ etc.^ etc., at his splendid seat, Boudoir 
 Castle/ I cannot refrain from picturing to myself 
 the dignified host standing on his bald head for the 
 amusement of his immovable visitors, or otherwise, 
 forgetful of his usual staid demeanour, performing 
 ludicrous antics, projecting disrespectful ' larks,' to 
 woo a smile from those stolid countenances in vain ! 
 Sir Guy might be 'entertaining,' too, in this way, 
 but hardly in any other. What a disagreeable man 
 he was ! although I could not help acknowledging 
 his good nature in coming to fetch us from the 
 station himself. 
 
 As we emerged from the railway-carriage, the first 
 object that greeted my eyes was Sir Guy's great 
 gaudy drag, with its three piebalds and a roan. The 
 first tones that smote on my ear were those of his 
 hoarse harsh voice (liow it jarred upon my nerves !) 
 in loud obstreperous welcome — 
 
 ' Thought you'd come by this train, Miss Coventry/ 
 shouted Sir Guy, from the box, without making the 
 slightest demonstration of descending; 'laid Frank 
 five to two on the event — done him again, hey, 
 Frank ? / knew what you 'd be up to ; brought the 
 drag over on purpose. Now then, give us your 
 hand ; one foot on the box, one on the roller-bolt, 
 and now you're landed. Jones, my boy, get up 
 behind. I 've sent the van for servants and lug- 
 gage. Gad ! what a pretty maid you 've got — let 
 'em go, and sit tight !' 
 
PIQUE. 243 
 
 So we rolled smoothly out, the piebalds shaking 
 their harness and trotting merrily along, the roan 
 placed on the off-side, for the purpose of sustaining 
 whatever amount of punishment our charioteer 
 thought fit to inflict. 
 
 Behold me, then, seated on the box of Sir Guy 
 Scapegrace's drag ! a pretty position for a young 
 lady who, during the last month or two, had been 
 making daily resolutions of amendment as to slang 
 conduct and general levity of demeanour. How I 
 hated myself, and loathed the very sight of him, as I 
 looked at my companion. Sir Guy was redder and 
 fatter than when I had seen him last — his voice 
 was more dissonant, his neckcloth more alarming, 
 his jewellery more prominent, his hat closer shaved, 
 and the flower in his mouth less like a flower than, 
 ever. How came I there? Why, because I was 
 piqued, and hurt, and reckless. I was capable of 
 almost any enormity. John's manner to me in the 
 train had well-nigh driven me mad. So quiet, so 
 composed, so cold, so kind and considerate, but a 
 kindness and consideration such as that with which 
 one treats a child. He seemed to feel he was my 
 superior —he seemed even to soothe and pity me. I 
 would have given worlds to have spoken frankly out 
 to him, to have asked him what I had done to offend 
 him, even to have brought him back to that topic 
 upon which I felt he would never enter more. But 
 it was impossible. I dared not wound that kind. 
 
244 PRIDE. 
 
 generous heart again — I dared not trust myself. 
 No^ he was only ' Cousin John ' now ; he had said 
 so himself. Surely he need not have given me up 
 quite so easily ; surely I was worthy of an effort at 
 least : yet I knew it had been my own fault — though 
 I would not allow it, even to myself — and this I 
 believe it was that rankled and gnawed at my heart 
 till I could hardly bear my own identity. It Avas a 
 relief to do everything I could think of to annoy 
 him. To heap self-contempt on my wicked head, to 
 show him I was reckless of his good opinion as of 
 my own, to lay up a store of agonising reproaches 
 for the future, to gnash my teeth, as it were, and 
 nerve myself into a savage indifference for the pre- 
 sent. Nay, there was even a diabolical pleaswe in 
 it. Frank Lovell occupied the seat behind me : at 
 another time I might have been gratified at his near 
 neighbourhood, and annoyed to think he should 
 have been paying so long a visit to Scamperley. I 
 was startled to find how little I cared. He leaned 
 over and Avhispered to me occasionally, and seemed 
 pleased with the marked encouragement I gave him. 
 After all, I could not help liking Frank very much 
 — and was not my cousin at the back of the coach, 
 to witness all that took place ? But Sir Guy would 
 not allow me to be ' monopolised,' as he called it. 
 
 'You've lost your roses sadly in London, Miss 
 Coventry,' said he, poking his odious face almost 
 under my bonnet, and double-thonging the off- 
 
RECKLESSNESS. 245 
 
 wheeler most unmercifully. 'Never mind; /think 
 a woman looks best when she is pale. Egad_, you Ve 
 more colour now, though. Don't be angry, it 's 
 only my way ; you know I 'm your slave.' 
 
 ' Sir Guy don't mean to be rude,' whispered Frank, 
 for I confess I was beginning to get indignant ; and 
 the baronet went on — 
 
 ' Do you remember our pic-nic at Richmond, Miss 
 Coventry, and my promise, that if ever you honoured 
 me by taking a place on my coach you should drive ? 
 Take hold of 'em now, there's a good girl; you 
 ought to know something about the ribbons, and the 
 next four miles is quite straight, and a dead flat.' 
 
 I was in that state of mind that I should not have 
 had the least scruple in upsetting the coach, and 
 risking the lives of all upon it, my own included; 
 but I know not Avhat imp of evil prompted me to 
 tmn round and call to my cousin at the back — 
 
 'John, do you think I could drive four horses?' 
 
 ' Pray don't,' whispered Frank Lovell, who seemed 
 to disapprove of the whole proceeding; but I did 
 not heed him, for my cousin never answered till I 
 asked him again. 
 
 'Do as you like, Kate,' was his reply, 'only I 
 should 'nt advise you to try'; but he looked very 
 grave, and seriously hurt and annoyed. 
 
 This was enough for me — I laughed aloud — I 
 was determined to provoke him, and I changed 
 places with Sir Guy. He showed me how to part 
 
246 A CIGAK ON THE BOX ! 
 
 and liold the reins; lie lectured me on the art of 
 putting liorses together ; he got into a state of liigh 
 good-humour, and smiled, and swore, and patronised 
 
 me, and had the effrontery to call me a ' d d fine 
 
 girl/ and I never boxed his ears, though I confess to 
 haAdng been once or twice sorely tempted. In short, 
 I flirted Avith him shamefully, and even Frank got 
 grave and out of sorts. At last Sir Guy removed 
 the flower from his mouth, and pulled out his cigar- 
 case. 
 
 ^Have a weed, jNIiss Coventry?" said he, with his 
 detestable leer. ^Of course you smoke; any one 
 who can tool 'em along as you do must be able to 
 smoke — mine are very mild, let me choose one for 
 you.' 
 
 I accepted his ofl'er, though I had considerable 
 misgivings as to whether it Avould not make me sick. 
 I looked round to see how my cousin approved of all 
 these goings on, and particularly this last cigar- 
 movement. He was sitting with his back to us, 
 reading the morning newspaper, apparently totally 
 indiff'ercnt to my proceedings. That decided me. I 
 would have smoked now if there had been a barrel 
 of gunpowder under my nose. I didn't care how 
 sick it made me ! I lit my cigar from Sir Guy's — 
 I suff'ered him to put his horrid red face close to 
 mine — I flirted, and laughed, and drove, and pufted 
 away as if I had been used to these accomplishments 
 all my life. I rattled through the turnpike without 
 
FOR SHAME. 247 
 
 stopping to pay, as if it were a good joke. I double- 
 thonged a sleeping carter over the face and eyes as I 
 passed him. My near-leader shied at a wheelbarrow, 
 and I almost swore as I rated him and flanked him, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 ' Confound you, I'll teach you to keep straight ! ' 
 As we drove into the park at Scamperley — for I 
 fearlessly rounded the avenue turn, and vowed I 
 would not abandon the reins till I had delivered my 
 load at the front door — even Frank was completely 
 disgusted. My cousin took not the slightest notice, 
 but kept his seat with his back turned to the horses, 
 and was still deep in his newspaper. Sir Guy was 
 delighted : he shouted, and grinned, and swore more 
 than ever. I was a ' trump ' — I was a ' girl of the 
 right sort' — I was a *" well-bred one' — I had no end 
 of ^ devil' in me — I was fit ta be a ' queen 1' 
 Whilst the object of all these polished encomiums 
 could willingly have burst out crying at a moment's 
 notice ; indeed, she would have found it an unspeak- 
 able relief; and felt as she had never felt before, and 
 as she trusts in heaven she may never feel again. 
 
 It was a lovely spot, Scamperley — beautiful as a 
 dream — with the quiet woodland beauty of a real 
 English place. Such timber ! Such an avenue ! 
 I wonder if any of the sporting dandies and thought- 
 less visitors who came down 'to stay with Scape- 
 grace,' because he had more pheasants and better 
 * dry ' (meaning champagne) than anybody else, ever 
 
248 SCAMPEELEY. 
 
 tliouglit of the many proprietors tliose old oaks and 
 cliesnuts had seen pass away — the strange doings 
 they must have witnessed as generation after gene- 
 ration of Scapegraces lived their short hour and 
 went to their account, having done all the mischief 
 they could — for they were a wild, wicked race, from 
 father to son. The present Baronet's childhood was 
 nursed in profligacy and excess. Sir Gilbert had 
 been a fitting sire to Sir Guy, and drank and drove 
 and sinned, and turned his wife out of doors, and 
 gathered his boon companions about him, and placed 
 his heir, a little child, upon the table, and baptised 
 him, in mockery, with blood-red wine ; and one fine 
 morning he was found dead in his di'essing-room, 
 with a dark stream stealing slowly along the floor. 
 They talked of ' broken blood-vessels,' and ' hard 
 living/ and 'a full habit'; but some people thought 
 he had died by his own hand ; and the dressing- 
 room was shut up and made a lumber-room of, and 
 nobody ever used it any more. However, it was the 
 only thing to save the family. A long minority put 
 the present possessor fairly on his legs again, and 
 the oaks and the cliesnuts were spared the fate that 
 had seemed too surely awaiting them. Nor was this 
 the only escape they had experienced. A Scape- 
 grace of former days had served in the Parlia- 
 mentary army during his father's life-time — had 
 gone over to the king at his death, had fought at 
 Edgehill and Marston Moor — and to do Sir Neville 
 
SIR MONTAGUE. 249 
 
 justice, he could fight like a demon — had abandoned 
 the royal cause when it was hopeless, and, by be- 
 traying his sovereign, escaped the usual fate and 
 amercement of malcontents; the Protector remark- 
 ing^ with a certain solemn humour, ' that Sir Neville 
 was an instrument in the hand of the Lord, but that 
 Satan had a share in him which doubtless he would 
 not fail to claim in due time/ So Sir Neville lived 
 at Scamperley in abundance and honour, and pre- 
 served his oaks and his rents^ and professed the 
 strictest Puritanism ; and died in a fit brought on 
 by excessive drinking to the success of the Restora- 
 tion, when he heard that Charles had landed, and 
 the king was really to ' enjoy his own again.' He 
 was succeeded by his grandson. Sir Montague, the 
 best-looking, the best-hearted, and the weakest of 
 his race ; there was a picture of him hanging over- 
 against the great staircase — a handsome, well- 
 proportioned man, with a woman's beauty of coun- 
 tenance, and more than womanly softness of expres- 
 sion. Lady Scapegrace and I have stopped and 
 gazed at it for hours. 
 
 ' He 's not very like the present Baronet, my 
 dear,' she would say, her haughty features gathering 
 into a sneer — and Lady Scapegrace's sneer was that 
 of Mephistopheles himself : ' he is beautiful, exceed- 
 ingly. I love to look at his hazel eyes, his low 
 antique brow, his silky chesnut hair, and his sweet 
 melancholy smile. Depend upon it, Kate, no man 
 
250 FAMILY SECRETS. 
 
 with sucli a smile as tliat is ever capable of succeed- 
 ing ia any one tiling he undertakes. I don't care 
 what his intellect may be, I don't care Avhat animal 
 courage he may possess_, however dashing his spirit, 
 however chivalrous his sentiments — so surely as he 
 has woman's strength of affection, woman's weak- 
 ness of heart, so surely must he go to the wall. I 
 have seen it a hundred times, Kate, and I never 
 knew it otherwise.' 
 
 Since the affair of the bull, Lady Scapegrace had 
 contracted a great affection for me, and would have 
 me to roam about the house with her for hours. 
 She was a clever intellectual woman, without one 
 idea or one sentiment in common with her husband. 
 In this state of mental widowhood she had consoled 
 herself by study, amongst other things; and the 
 history of the family into which she had married 
 afforded her ample materials for reflection and re- 
 search. She had collected every scrap of writing, 
 every private memorandum, letter, and document 
 that could throw any light upon the subject; and I 
 verily believe she coidd have concocted a highly- 
 interesting volume, detailing the exploits and mis- 
 deeds, the fortunes and misfortunes, of the Scape- 
 graces. 
 
 ' I know all about him, Kate,' she would proceed, 
 fixing her great hollow eyes upon my face, and lay- 
 ing her hand on my arm, as Avas her habit when 
 interested. ' He is my pet amongst the family. 
 
LADY MABEL. 25 I 
 
 though I despise liim thoroughly. You see that 
 distant castle, sufficiently badly painted in the cor- 
 ner of the picture ? That was the residence of her 
 who exercised such a fatal influence over the life of 
 poor Sir Montague. All his little sonnets, some of 
 them touching and pretty enough, are addressed to 
 ' The Lady INIabel.^ I have found two or three of 
 his love-letters, probably returned by her, tied up in 
 a faded bit of ribbon ; there is also one note from 
 the lady to her admirer ; such a production, Kate ! 
 Not a word but what is mis-spelt, not a sentence of 
 common grammar in the whole of it ; and yet this 
 was the woman he broke his heart for ! Look well 
 at him, my dear, and you will see why. With all 
 its beauty, such a face as that was made to be im- 
 posed upon. The Lady Mabel, however, seems to 
 have been a notable strong-minded personage enough. 
 She acknowledges the receipt of her lover's letters; 
 which, however, without condescending to give any 
 farther explanation, she avers ' came to hand at an 
 untoward moment,' and finishes by sending him a 
 receipt for making elderflower wine — assuring him, 
 with a certain sly malice, that it is ^a sovereign 
 specific against colic, vertigo, and all ailments of the 
 heart and stomach ' ! What a contrast to his pro- 
 testations indorsed, ' These, with haste — ride — ride 
 — ride ! ' which many a good horse must have been 
 spurred and hm-ried to deliver. How he rings the 
 changes upon his unalterable and eternal devotion ! 
 
252 A FATAL ATTACHMENT 
 
 How he implores 'his dear heart' never to forget 
 him ! and calls her ' his sweet life/ and protests that 
 *he welcomes the very night-breeze blowing from 
 the castle_, because it must have swept past the Avin- 
 dows of his love' ! and pours out his foolish heart 
 like a child pouring water into a sieve. Lady Mabel, 
 however, seems to have been proof against sentiment, 
 as she undoubtedly was against good looks. From 
 all that I can gather, she appears to have made use 
 of her adorer in fui-therance of sundry political 
 schemes, such as were so numerous at that period; 
 and to have thrown him away, like a rusty blade, 
 when she had no further occasion for his ser\aces. 
 I cannot help thinking she despised him thoroughly. 
 There are certain bills and memoranda, with his sig- 
 nature attached, relating to levies of men and great 
 purchases of arms, which look as if he had plunged 
 into some desperate enterprise, doubtless at her in- 
 stigation ; and in his sonnets there arc frequent 
 allusions to ' winning her by the sword,' ' loving her 
 to the death,' and such Quixotic protestations, that 
 look as if he had at one time meditated an unusu- 
 ally dariug stroke. He was a fool,' said Lady 
 Scapegrace, reflectively ; ' but he was a fine fellow, 
 too, to throw wealth, life, and honour at the feet of 
 a woman who was not worth a throb of that kind, 
 generous heart — a drop of that loyal, gallant 
 blood ! 
 
 ' Then he married, I can't quite make out why. 
 
THROWN AWAY. 2^2 
 
 as there is a considerable gap in the correspondence 
 of the family about this time, only partially con- 
 nected by the diary of an old chaplain, who seems 
 to have been formerly tutor to Sir Montague, and 
 to have cherished a great regard for his pupil. The 
 lady was a foreigner and a Romanist, and although 
 we have no picture of her, we gather from the reve- 
 rend chronicler that she was ' low of stature, dark- 
 browed, and swarthy in complexion,' though he 
 gallantly adds that she was ' doubtless pleasing to 
 the eyes of those who love such southern beauty.' 
 At the wedding it appears that Lady Mabel was 
 present ; and ' my good master's attire and orna- 
 ments, consisting of ' peach-coloured doublet, and 
 pearl-silken hose, and many gems of unspeakable 
 price, dazzling to the sight of humble men,' are 
 detailed with strange minuteness and fidelity. Even 
 the plume in his hat and the jewelled hilt of his 
 rapier are dwelt upon at considerable length. But 
 notwithstanding his magnificence, the worthy chap- 
 lain did not fail to remark, that ' my good master 
 seemed ill at ease, and the vertigo seizing him during 
 the ceremony, he must have fallen, had I not caught 
 him something cunningly under the armpits, assisted 
 by worthy master Holder, and one of the grooms- 
 men.' The chaplain, who seems to have been as 
 blind as became his reverend character, cannot for- 
 bear from expressing his admiration of the Lady 
 
254 TOO WELL. 
 
 Mabel, whom lie describes as 'fair and comely in 
 colour, like the bloom of the spring rose; of a 
 buxom statui-e, and of lofty gait and gestures T\ithal/ 
 What was she doing at Sir Montague's wedding? 
 no wonder the old attack of 'vertigo/ which her 
 elderflower wine seems rather to have increased, 
 should have come on again. 
 
 'One thing is pretty clear, the baronet detested 
 his wife (the Scapegraces have generally owned that 
 amiable weakness, my dear). I think it must have 
 been in consequence of her religion that he became 
 so strenuous a supporter of the opposite faith. At 
 last he joined Monmouth, and still the correspon- 
 dence seems to have gone on, for the night before 
 Sedgmoor he wrote her a letter. Such a letter, 
 Kate ! I was lucky enough to get it from a descend- 
 ant of the lady, who was under great obligations to 
 me ; I '11 show it you to-morrow. No man with that 
 mouth could have written such a letter, except when 
 death was looking him in the face. I often think 
 when she got it, she must have given way at last. 
 But it was too late. He was killed in the first charge 
 made by the royal troops. His own regiment, raw 
 recruits and countrymen, turned at the first shot; 
 but he died like a Scapegrace, waving his hat and 
 cheering them on. We are rather proud of him 
 in the family, after all. Compared with the rest 
 of them, his was a harmless life and a creditable 
 end.' 
 
WISELY. 255 
 
 'But what became of Lady Mabel?' I asked, for 
 I confess I was a little interested in tliis disjointed 
 romance of long-past days.' 
 
 ' Did you ever know a thoroughly unfeeling person 
 in your life that did not prosper?' was her ladyship's 
 reply, and again her features writhed into the Me- 
 phistopheles' sneer. ' Lady Mabel married an earl, 
 and had sons and daughters, and lived to a green old 
 age. I have seen a picture of her at fifty, and she 
 was still 'fair and comely and buxom' as when she 
 dazzled the old chaplain's eyes and broke Sir Mon- 
 tague's heart ; yes, yes, Kate, there's nothing like a 
 sensible woman. She's the evergreen in the garden, 
 and blooms, and buds, and puts forth fresh shoots, 
 Avhen the rose is lying withered and trampled into 
 the earth; but for all that, she has never had the 
 charm of the rose, and never can have.' 
 
 Such is a specimen of one of my many conversa- 
 tions with Lady Scapegrace, whom I liked more and 
 more the better I knew her. But I have been an- 
 ticipating sadly during my drive of Sir Guy's coach 
 up Sir Guy's avenue. When I reached the front 
 door, with all my recklessness, I felt glad to see no 
 head poking out of windows, above all, no female 
 witness to my unwomanly conduct. I felt thoroughly 
 ashamed of myself as I got down from the box ; and 
 I confess it was with feelings of intense relief that a 
 polite groom of the chambers informed me, with 
 many apologies, 'her ladyship and all the ladies had 
 
2^6 YOUR ROOM, MA'AM. 
 
 gone to dress' and handed me over with a courtly 
 bow to a tidy elderly woman, in a cap that could 
 only belong to a housekeeper. She conducted me to 
 my room, and consigned me to Gertrude, already 
 hard at work unpacking upon her knees. 
 
A SNUG RETREAT. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A VERY pretty little room it was; none of your 
 enormous dreary state-apartments, dull as a 
 theatre in the daytime, with a bed like a mourning 
 coach, and corners of gloom and mystery, uncom- 
 fortable even at noon, and fatal to the nerves when 
 seen by the light of a solitary wax candle. On the 
 contrary, it was quite the room for a young lady : 
 pink hangings tinted one's complexion with that 
 roseate bloom which the poet avers is as indispensable 
 to woman, as *^man^s imperial fi-ont^ — whatever that 
 means — is to the male biped. A dark carpet with 
 a rich border relieved the light-coloured paper, picked 
 out sparingly with flowers; the toilet-table was 
 covered with a blushing transparency of pink under 
 white, like sunset on snow, perhaps I should rather 
 say like a muslin dress over a satin slip ; and there 
 was a charming full-length glass, in which I could 
 contemplate my whole person from top to toe, with 
 out slanting it an inch ofl' the perpendicular. The 
 look-out was into Lady Scapegrace's garden, a little 
 bijou of a place, that bore ample witness to the good 
 taste of its mistress. Every shrub had been trans- 
 
258 EESTLESS. 
 
 planted under lier own eye, every border filled 
 according to her personal directions. She tied her 
 own carnations and budded her own roses_, like the 
 most exemplary clergyman^s wife in England. I do 
 believe she would have been a good wife to anybody 
 but Sir Guy. 
 
 However, it was too dark for me to see anything 
 of her ladyship's garden. It was already getting 
 dusk when we arrived, and although it wanted three 
 mortal hours of dinner, all the ladies, including the 
 hostess, had retired to their own rooms, to while 
 away the time by writing letters, reading novels, and 
 going to sleep. I was much too restless to embark 
 in any of these occupations. It would have been a 
 relief to write, certainly — to pour out all one's 
 thoughts and feelings before some sympathising cor- 
 respondent, but I owned none such ; I could not 
 have settled to read, no, not the most interesting 
 novel that was ever penned, although I might have 
 left it off the day before in an agony of uncertainty 
 at the critical place, which is always to be found near 
 the conclusion of the second volume ; and as for sleep, 
 sleep, indeed ! I felt as if I should never sleep again. 
 
 When I am unhappy, and particularly when 
 I am angry with myself, I must always be doing 
 something — no matter what — but 1 must be occu- 
 pied, so I hurried Gertrude, and bustled about, and 
 got myself dressed, and found my own way to one 
 of the drawing-rooms, where I hoped to be at least 
 
MY COUSINS STUDIES. 259 
 
 secure from interruption, and to brood and worry 
 myself for an hour or two in unbroken solitude. I 
 ought to have been safe enough here. As I had 
 wandered through unknown passages and passed 
 uncertain doors^ I had heard the click of billiard- 
 balls, the sound of many voices, and the harsh laugh 
 of Sir Guy ; I knew consequently that the gentlemen 
 were all busy at ' pool/ or some equally intellectual 
 pastime, and had not yet gone to dress. I was suffi- 
 ciently conversant with the habits of my own sex to 
 be aware that no lady would willingly tarnish the 
 freshness of her dinner toilette by coming down 
 before the very last minute, and I anticipated there- 
 fore no further interruption than a housemaid coming 
 to put the fire to rights, or a groom of the chambers 
 to light fresh candles, functionaries, especially the 
 former, who would be much more incommoded by 
 my presence than T should be by theirs. 
 
 Good gracious ! there was a gentleman down and 
 dressed already; sitting with his back to me, im- 
 mersed in the thrilling pages of The Draiving-Room 
 Scrap Book, which he was studying upside-down. I 
 came in very softly, and he never heard me nor 
 turned his head, but I knew the back of that head 
 pretty well. It was Cousin John. I also took a 
 book, and sat down. 
 
 ' Perhaps,^ I thought, ' he is not going to speak to 
 me at all. Well, what do 1 care ? I \e a temper, 
 too, if it comes to that.^ 
 
26o THE FIEST WORD. 
 
 So I read my book assiduously ; it was the Comic 
 Almanack, but I don't know that it made me feel 
 very much inclined to laugh. The clock ticked loud 
 and disagreeably. I determined not to speak till I 
 was spoken to; but after a time the silence grew 
 irksome, and the ticking of the clock so loud, that I 
 ventured on a slight cough, merely to break it. 
 ' Ahem/ said I, still intent on the Comic Almanack. 
 John turned slowly round, made a half rise, as if out 
 of compliment to my presence, and returned to The 
 Drawing-Room Scrap-Book, which, however, he was 
 now reading the right way. This woukl not do ; I 
 resolved to wait a little longer, just a quarter of an 
 hour by the clock, and see whether he would not 
 have the common civility to speak to me. What a 
 long quarter of an hour it was ; the hand reached it 
 at last — it passed it — I gave him another five mi- 
 nutes. It was getting painful. I spoke, and the 
 sound of my own voice quite startled me, yet was 
 my remark as harmless and commonplace as well 
 could be. 
 
 ' John,' said I, ' what time do we dine?' 
 ' A quarter before eight, I believe,' answered John, 
 quite good-humouredly, and as if nothing had hap- 
 pened to estrange us. ' Dear me, Kate, how early 
 you 're dressed ! ' 
 
 I could have cried with vexation ; but I resolved, if 
 possible, to find a sore place somewhere, and give 
 him ' one ' before I had done with him ; so I made a 
 
SIR GUY "get-up." 261 
 
 saucy face^ and asked him, half laughing, Trhether 
 ' he did n't think I had driven them very well from 
 the station/ 
 
 'Inimitably, Kate/ was his reply; 'I hadn't the 
 least idea you were so accomplished a charioteer.' 
 
 I should have burst into tears, I verily believe, but 
 just then Lady Scapegrace sailed in, and the usual 
 forms of society had to be gone through; and she 
 kissed me, and shook hands with INIr. Jones, as if 
 she really liked us ; and we talked of the weather, 
 and the shameful stoppages of the train we had 
 come by, and the general inconveniences of rail- 
 ways; and presently more ladies came dovra, neat 
 and crisp as if turned out of a bandbox, followed by 
 their lords in choking white neckcloths ; and then 
 Sir Guy himself appeared, in a costume of surpassing 
 splendour; but still, although in his evening dress, 
 brilliant with starch and polish, and buttons and 
 jewellery, looking like a coachman in masquerade ; 
 and 'dinner' was announced, and we all paired off 
 with the utmost ceremony, and I found myself 
 seated between Frank Lovell and dear old Mr. 
 Lumley, and opposite the elder Miss INIolasses, who 
 scowled at me with an asperity of which I should 
 have believed her unmeaning face incapable, as if 
 she hated me on this particular evening more than 
 all the other days of the year. I soon discovered 
 the cause. Frank was more attentive to me than I 
 had ever known him, although there was a something 
 
262 MRS. LUMLEY's husband. 
 
 in his manner that I did not altogether like ; a sort 
 of freedom that I had never remarked before, and 
 which made me colder and more reserved than usual. 
 It was evident he thought he might venture as far 
 as he liked with a young lady who drove four horses, 
 and smoked a cigar the while. I felt I was blushing 
 under my skin ; but I was determined to brave it all 
 out, to hide from every living soul my own vexation 
 and self-contempt. Once I caught a telegraphic 
 signal exchanged between my neighbour and Miss 
 Molasses, after which she seemed more at ease, and 
 went on with her dinner in comfort. I was so angry 
 now that I turned my shoulder towards Master 
 Frank, and took refuge with my dear old friend 
 Mr. Lumley, who, utterly regardless of the noise 
 and flirtation his better half was carrying on at the 
 other end of the table, discussed his cutlet quite 
 contentedly, and prosed away to me in his usual 
 kind, consolatory manner. I was one of his great 
 favourites; in fact, he told me so, then and there. 
 He always called me ' my dear,^ and often vowed 
 that if he had only the use of his legs he would 
 walk to the end of the world to make me a thorough- 
 going naturalist like himself. I was getting more at 
 ease under his dear old wing. I had gone through 
 so much excitement during the day, that this com- 
 parative inaction was a positive relief, and I was 
 really beginning to enjoy a sort of repose, when the 
 baronet's horrid voice from the bottom of the table 
 
A "show-up." 263 
 
 roused me once more to an agony of shame and 
 despite. 
 
 ^ Do me the honour to drink a glass of champagne ; 
 the champagne to Miss Coventry/ shouted Sir Guy, 
 ' you must require it after your exertion. Egad ! 
 my team won't get over it in a hurry — the roads 
 were woolly and the time short, hey, Miss Kate? 
 But d — mme if the whipcord was scarce. I 've done 
 that seven miles in all Aveathers, and a sweet seven 
 miles it is, hut / never came anything like the pace 
 we did to-day. Your good health. Miss Kate ; 1 11 
 have a fresh team put together for you to-morrosv, 
 and a better cigar to smoke than the one I gave you 
 to-day.' 
 
 I could willingly have sunk into the earth — nay, 
 crept under the table-cloth — anything to hide my 
 dishonoured head. The ladies looked at each other 
 aghast, and then at me. The gentlemen, even the 
 stiffest of them, turned boldly round, to survey §uch 
 a phenomenon as the tobacco-smoking, four-in-hand 
 Miss Coventry. Mrs, Lumley showered her long 
 ringlets all over her face with one toss of her pretty 
 little head, that I might not see how heartily she 
 was laughing. Lady Scapegrace good-naturedly 
 made an immense clatter with something that was 
 handed to her, to distract attention from my unfor- 
 tunate self; but I believe I must have got up and 
 left the room, had not Cousin John come adroitly to 
 the rescue. He had not been studying the daily 
 
264 THANK YOU ! JOHN. 
 
 paper for nothing, and his voice rose loud and clear 
 through the awful silence that succeeded Sir Guy's 
 polished remarks. 
 
 ' Did you see that article in to-day's Times about 
 Ministers?' asked John of the public in general; 
 there's another split in the Cabinet — this time it's 
 on the malt-tax. To-day, in the City, they were 
 betting five to two there 's a general election within 
 a fortnight, and taking two to one Ambidexter is 
 Premier before the first of next month.' 
 
 John ! John ! if you had saved my life I could 
 not have been more obliged to you. Many of the 
 present party were members of Parliament — all 
 were deep in politics. Most of them had seen the 
 Times, but none, like John, had the earliest intelli- 
 gence from the City. I have since had reason to 
 believe he invented every syllable of it. However, 
 such a topic was too engrossing not to swamp every 
 other, and no more allusions were made to my un- 
 fortunate escapade till Lad}^ Scapegrace had drawn 
 on her gloves, bent her haughty head, and 'made 
 the move,' at which we all sailed away to tea and 
 coffee in the drawing-room. 
 
 Here I was more at my ease. Lady Scapegrace 
 and ]\Irs. Lumley, hating each other, were, of course, 
 inclined to be excessively kind to me — I formed a 
 bond of union between the foes. We three, particu- 
 larly with such a weapon as the tongue of ]\Irs. 
 Lumley, wci'c more than a match for any number of our 
 
peank's disloyalty. 265 
 
 own sex, and most of the other ladies gave in at once. 
 Only Miss Molasses held out^ and eyed me once more 
 with an expression of eager malice for which I could 
 not easih^ account. I remarked^ too^ that she seemed 
 restless and fidgetty, glanced anxiously ever and anon 
 at the door by which the gentlemen would join us_, 
 and seemed uncomfortable if any of us approached 
 an empty chair which was next to her seat. I began 
 to have my suspicions of Frank Lovell, notwith- 
 standing all his asseverations. I determined to 
 watch him narrowly; and if I found my mis- 
 givings were true — if I discovered he was false and 
 treacherous, why then I would — after all, what could 
 I do ? It stung me to think how powerless I was. 
 
 Now the establishment of Scamperley, although 
 doubtless the bonds of domestic discipline were by 
 no means over-tightly drawn, was one in which 
 servants, from the stately curly -headed 'groom of 
 the chamber/ down to the little boy in green that 
 was always too late for the post, had more than 
 enough upon their hands. In the first place, nobody 
 ever seemed to think of going to bed much before 
 daylight. This entailed a breakfast, protracted by 
 one late sleeper after another till luncheon-time ; 
 that meal was of unusual magnificence and variety ; 
 besides which, a hot repast, dressed by the French 
 cook, and accompanied by iced champagne, etc., re- 
 quired to be served in one of the woods for the 
 refreshment of Sir Guy's shooting guests. Then in 
 
i66 THE servants' ball. 
 
 the affceriioou tlicre were constant fresh arrivals and 
 rooms to be got ready, for when the host and hostess 
 were at home, they kept the house full, and the day 
 concluded with a large dinner-party, at which seldom 
 less than sixteen sat down to discuss the inspirations 
 of Monsieur Hors-d'oeuvre, and the priceless wines 
 of Sir Guy. No wonder the servants looked tired 
 and over-worked, though I fancy the luxury and 
 good living doicnstairs was quite equal to that which 
 elicited encomiums from bon-vivants and connoisseurs 
 above. Nevertheless, it was but just that they too 
 should have their share of relaxation and amuse- 
 ment; therefore did Sir Guy in his generosity give 
 an annual servants^ ball, which he attended and 
 opened himself in a state of hilarity not calculated 
 to inspire much respect amongst his retainers. He 
 had, however, sufficient self-command invariably to 
 select as his partner the prettiest maid-servant in 
 his establishment. But if the baronet failed in his 
 dignity as head of the house, her ladyship had 
 enough for both. She looked like a queen as she 
 sailed in, amongst her own domestics, and all the 
 retainers and hangers-on for miles round. On the 
 evening in question, it amused me much to see the 
 admiration, almost the adoration, she elicited from 
 old and young. No wonder : that stately form, that 
 queenly brow, had been bent over many a sick bed j 
 those deep thrilling tones had spoken words of com- 
 fort to many a humble sufferer; tliat white hand 
 
THE servants' BALL. 267 
 
 was ever ready to aid, ever open to relieve ; good or 
 bad, none ever applied to Lady Scapegrace in vain. 
 
 ' The virtuous it is pleasant to relieve and make 
 friends of/ she has often said to me, in her moments 
 of confidence ; ' the wicked it is a duty to assist and 
 to pity. Who should feel for them, Kate, if I 
 did n't ? God knows I have been wicked enough 
 myself.' 
 
 The men-servants never took their eyes off her, 
 and I fear made but sorry partners to the buxom 
 lasses of the household, till ' my lady ' had left the 
 room. I saw two stable-boys, evidently fresh ar- 
 rivals, who seemed perfectly transfixed with admira- 
 tion, as at an apparition such as they had never 
 pictured to themselves in their dreams ; and one 
 rough fellow, a sort of under-keeper in velveteen, 
 with the frame of a Herciiles, and a fist that could 
 have stunned an ox, having gazed at her open- 
 mouthed for about ten minutes without winking an 
 eyelash, struck his hand against his thigh, and ex- 
 claimed aloud, to his own inexpressible relief, though 
 utterly unconscious of anything but the presence 
 which so ovei'powered him — 
 
 ' Noa, dashed if ever I did ! ' 
 
 This was soon after ' my lady ' had sailed into 
 the servants' hall at the head of her guests. It 
 was the custom of the place for all the ' fashion- 
 ables ' and smart people who were actually in the 
 house to attend the servants' ball, most of us only 
 
268 THE servants' BALL. 
 
 staying long enough to set the thing going with 
 spirit, though I believe some of the young dandies 
 who found partners to their liking remained to the 
 end, and 'kept it up* till daylight. Down we all 
 went, as soon as the gentlemen had finished their 
 wine and discussed their coffee in the drawing-room, 
 down Are went, through stone passages and long 
 under-grouud galleries into a splendidly lighted 
 apartment, somewhat devoid of furniture, but deco- 
 rated with evergreens, and further adorned by a 
 sort of muslin transparency hanging from the roof. 
 This was the servants' hall, and although on a stone 
 floor, a capital room for dancing it was. We were 
 all soon provided with partners. Sir Guy, much to 
 her triumph, selected my maid, Gertrude. Lady 
 Scapegrace paired off with the steward, a fat rosy 
 man, who quite shone with delight at the honour. The 
 French cook carried off Miss Molasses, with whose 
 native stupidity I thought the vivacious foreigner 
 seemed a little disappointed. Frank Lovell was 
 taken possession of by the fat housekeeper, to whom 
 he ' did the amiable,' as Frank had the knack of 
 doing to anything with a petticoat. Cousin John 
 handed off a stately damsel, whom I afterwards recog- 
 nised as the upper-housemaid, and I was claimed by 
 a dapper little second-horse rider, of whom I flatter 
 myself I made a complete conquest by the interest 
 I took iu his profession, and the thorough knowledge 
 I displayed of its details. I had to make most of 
 
THE servants' BALL. 269 
 
 the conversation myself, certainly, for his replies, 
 though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and 
 accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex, 
 to which I was totally unaccustomed from the part- 
 ners of a London ball-room, consisted for the most 
 part of little more than ' Yes, Miss/ and ' No, 
 Miss/ with an additional smooth of the smoothest, 
 shiniest head I ever beheld. When I had exhausted 
 the meets of the hounds for the ensuing week, with 
 a few general observations on the pursuit of hunting, 
 and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I 
 began to get high and dry for further topics, and 
 was not sorry when three fiddles and a flute struck 
 up their inspiriting tones, and away we all went, 
 ' cross hands,' ' down the middle and up again,' to 
 the lively and by this time tolerably familiar air 
 of ' Sir Eoger de Coverley.' 
 
 I am bound to confess that, as far as the servants 
 were concerned, everything went on Avith the ut- 
 most propriety and respect. Sir Guy, indeed, pulled 
 his partner about with an unnecessary degree of 
 vigor, which at times almost degenerated into a 
 romp, and squeezed my hands in 'the Poussette,' 
 with an energy of affection which I could well have 
 dispensed with; but every one else was a very pattern 
 of politeness and decorum. In fact, the thing was 
 almost getting stupid, when my little second-horse 
 rider and myself, returning breathless from our rapid 
 excursion down some two-and-thirty couple, were 
 
270 fire! fire! 
 
 'brought up/ startled and dismayed by a piercing 
 scream from at least that number of female voices_, 
 all raised at the same instant. 
 
 ' Fire ! fire !' exclaimed the tall housemaid at my 
 elbow. 
 
 ' Save me ! save me !' shrieked the fat house- 
 keeper, plumping into Frank Lovell's arms, and well 
 nigh bringing him to the ground, in which case she 
 must have crushed him. 
 
 ' Murder ! murder !' shouted my idiot of a maid, 
 Gertrude, rushing frantically for the door-way, fol- 
 lowed by Sir Guy, who Avas swearing, I am sorry 
 to say, most fearfully. 
 
 * Stand still, fools !' I heard Lady Scapegrace 
 exclaim in her deep tones, ' and let nobody open 
 the door !' 
 
 By this time there was a rush of all the women 
 towards the door; and as the centre of the room 
 was cleared, I saw what had happened. The muslin 
 transparency had caught fire — a large fragment of 
 it was even now blazing on the floor, and the con- 
 sequences amongst all those light floating dresses 
 and teiTified Avomeu might have been indeed awful. 
 For an instant everybody seemed paralyzed — every- 
 body but Cousin John ; during that instant he had 
 flung off his coat, and kneeling upon it, extinguished 
 the flames; they were still blazing over his head: 
 with a desperate bound he tore down the ill-fated 
 transparency ; regardless of singed hair and blistered 
 
COUSIN JOHN AGAIN. 27 1 
 
 hands^ lie clasped and pressed it and stamped upon 
 it, and smothered it. Ere one could have counted 
 fifty, the danger was over, and not a vestige of the 
 fire remained. How handsome he looked, with his 
 brave face lighted up, and his eyes sparkling with 
 excitement ! Nobody could say John wanted ex- 
 pression of countenance now. The next moment he 
 was quietly apologizing in his usual tone to Lady 
 Scapegrace for ' spoiling her beautiful transparency,^ 
 and parrying her thanks and encomiums on his 
 courage and presence of mind, with an assurance 
 that he ' only pulled it down because he happened to 
 be directly under it ;' but he could not help turning 
 to me and saying, — 
 
 ' Kate, I hope you were not much frightened.' 
 The words were not much, but they were uttered 
 in the old kind voice ; they rung in my ears all the 
 evening, and I went to bed happier than I ever 
 thought I could have been after such a day. 
 
272 SUNDAY AT SCAMPERLEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 nPHE Sunday at Scamperley^ I am sorry to say, 
 was hardly observed with that degree of respect 
 and strictness which is due to the one sacred day of 
 the week. Very few people went to morning ser- 
 vice, as indeed the late hours over-night kept most 
 of us in our rooms till eleven or twelve o'clock, 
 when we dawdled down to a breakfast that seemed 
 to lengthen itself out till luncheon-time. To be 
 sure, when the latter meal had been discussed, and 
 we had marked our reverence for the day by a con- 
 versation in which we expressed our disapproval of 
 the personal appearance, faults and foibles, and gene- 
 ral character of our friends, some of us would declare 
 an intention of attending afternoon church — on 
 which subject much discussion would arise, and the 
 probability of the weather holding up would be 
 volubly commented on; the church being situated 
 about a quarter of a mile from the house, and the 
 way to it through the park being so completely 
 sheltered by evergreens, that to have got wet, save 
 in a downright pour of rain, was next to impossible. 
 At last we would get under way, the ladies mincing 
 
CHURCH-GOERS. 273 
 
 along with tlieir magnificently-covered prayer-books, 
 aiFecting an air of unwilling decorum ; the dandies 
 carrying cloaks, shawls, and umbrellas for their re- 
 spective goddesses, and following them^ so to speak, 
 under protest, as if there was something to be 
 ashamed of in the whole proceeding. Lady Scape- 
 grace always went early, and quite by herself : she 
 sat apart, too, from her guests and relatives. Not 
 no, Sir Guy. It was his great delight to create as 
 much noise and confusion as possible, that on his 
 entrance the respectable yeomen and humble pa- 
 rishioners might be dazzled with his glorj^, anr' 
 whisper one to another, ' that be Sir Guy/ as h^ 
 marched to the front of his family pew in a blaze of 
 wondrous apparel. It was natural that he should 
 create a sensation, with his red face and gaudy- 
 coloured clothes, and huge dj'cd whiskers, and the 
 eternal flower in his mouth, which was always on 
 dut}"^ save when relieved by a cigar or a toothpick. 
 Pew it could scarcely with propriety be called, inas- 
 much as it was more like a box at the opera than a 
 seat in a place of worship. We entered by a stair- 
 case outside the church, with a private door of our 
 own ; passing through which, we found ourselves in 
 a very comfortable chamber, with a good many 
 chairs and sofas, a handsome book-case, and a 
 blazing fire. This again led to a smaller apartment, 
 into which Sir Guy would swagger with much unne- 
 cessary noise and bustle. Throwing up a large 
 
 T 
 
274 THE KENNELS. 
 
 window^ he leaned OA^er as it Avere from a hustings^ 
 and, behold ! we were at church. 
 
 When the sermon was concluded, Sir Guy shut 
 the window down again, and we took our departure, 
 much edified, as may easily be imagined, by the 
 lessons of meekness and humility which we had 
 received in so becoming a manner. Prom church 
 we invariably proceeded to the kennel, where a stout, 
 healthy-looking keeper paraded the Baronet's point- 
 ers and setters for the inspection of the ladies. 
 Here Sir Guy took entire possession of me once 
 more. 
 
 'Don't be alarmed, my dear,' said he, as a great 
 bull-headed black-and-white brute, surnamed Don, 
 came blundering up, and tried to put his muddy 
 paws on my dress. Sir Guy's affectation of ' the 
 paternal,' and his odious way of calling one ' my 
 dear,' provoked me intensely ; and I gave Don such 
 a crack over his double nose with my parasol, as 
 broke the ivory handle of that instrument, and 
 completely quelled all further demonstrations of 
 affection from the uninteresting brute. Sir Guy 
 was charmed. 
 
 'Hit him hard,' said he, 'he's got no friends. 
 What a \i\en it is ! How she punished my near 
 leader the other day ! I love that girl !' 
 
 The latter sentence, be it observed, was spoken 
 sotto voce, and required, as indeed it received, no 
 reply. 
 
SUNDAY AVALKS. 275 
 
 ' What interesting creatures ! ' exclaimed Miss 
 Molasses^ indicating an old pointer lady, who went 
 swinging by Avitli all the appearance of having lately 
 brought up a large and thirsty family. ' Do tell me^ 
 can that dog really catch a hare?^ 
 
 The keeper's face was a study — he was apparently 
 a humorous individual ; but Miss Molasses addressed 
 her remarks to Frank Lovell; and Frank, as in duty 
 bound^ replied. That girl was evidently making up 
 to him, and, thinking he was fond of field-sports, 
 pretended to take an interest in everything con- 
 nected with those pursuits for his sake. 
 
 ' Come and see the tame pheasants, Miss Coven- 
 try/ said Sir Guy. I knew what this meant : I 
 knew it would entail a tete-a-tete walk with my aver- 
 sion, and I cast an imploring look at Frank, as much 
 as to say, ' do save me.' He caught my meaning in 
 an instant, and skilfully interposed. Of course, as 
 he accompanied us, so did Miss Molasses ; but Frank 
 and I lingered a little behind the rest of the party, 
 made a wrong turn in the shrubbery, and found our- 
 selves, I never knew exactly how, taking a long walk 
 all alone in the waning twilight. I don't know 
 wliat Aunt Deborah would have said to such pro- 
 ceedings; and I am quite sure Lady Horsingham 
 would have been unspeakably shocked; but these 
 Sunday walks were the custom of the country at 
 Scamperley — and, after all, it was not my doing, 
 and consequently not my fault. 
 
276 ' THE MOTE.' 
 
 I wonder why it is, that in the very convenient 
 code of morality which the world has adopted for its 
 private use, places and people should so completely 
 alter facts. You may do things with impunity in 
 London, that would destroy the character of a Diana 
 in the country; and again, certain rural practices, 
 harmless — nay, even praiseworthy — when confined 
 to a picturesque domain, if flourished before the eyes 
 of the metropolis, would sink the performer to the 
 lowest depth of social degradation. It is not what 
 you do that matters one whit, but what the world 
 thinks of your actions ; and the gentlemen use a 
 proverb which I have often heard in connexion "svith 
 certain racing enormities, that 'One man may steal 
 a horse, while another must not even look at a halter' : 
 and if this be the case with that sex who arrogate to 
 themselves the exclusive privilege of doing wrong, 
 how much more does the adage hold good with us 
 poor, weak, trarapled-upon women? Lady Strait- 
 lace may do Avhat she likes : she assumes a severe 
 air in society, is strict with her children, and harsh 
 with her servants. In all ranks of her acquaintance 
 (of course below that of a countess), she visits the 
 slightest dereliction from female propriety with un- 
 relenting bitterness. Woe be to the trespasser, high 
 or low ! The weapon is always ready to probe and 
 gash and lacerate ; the lash is constantly raised, 
 ' swift to smite and never to spare.' But who would 
 ventui'C to speak a word against the decorum of 
 
' THE BEAM. 277 
 
 Lady Straitlace? If she goes out in the dark, 'tis 
 to visit a sick friend ; if she encourages young 
 Antinous to be what ladies call continually ' in her 
 pocket/ that is only in order to give the lad good 
 advice, and keep him out of mischief. Major Ram- 
 rod is never out of the house; but wliat then ? The 
 visits of fifty Major Ramrods Avould not entitle the 
 world to breathe a whisper against a person of such 
 strict propriety as Lady Straitlace. But how that 
 same forbearing world indemnifies itself on poor 
 Mrs. Peony ! It is never tired of shrugging its 
 worldly shoulders and raising its worldly hands and 
 eyebrows at the sayings and doings of unfortunate 
 Mrs. Peony. 
 
 * Did you hear of her going to the bachelor's ball 
 with three gentlemen in a fly ? ' (Nobody thinks it 
 worth while to specify that the three Lotharios con- 
 sisted of her grandfather, her husband, and her 
 nephew.) ^Did you see her drop her bracelet, to 
 make young Stiftneck pick it up? Do you know 
 that she takes morning walks with Colonel Chanti- 
 cleer, and evening strolls with Bob Bulbul? She 
 chatters, she laughs, she flirts, she makes eyes; she's 
 bad style, she's an odious Avoman; 'pon my word, I 
 don't know whether mamma will go on visiting 
 her!' 
 
 And why should the world make this dead set at 
 poor Mrs. Peony ? She is good-looking, soft-hearted, 
 and unaffected ; she laughs when she is pleased, and 
 
278 TWILIGHT. 
 
 cries ^yhen she is tovichcd. She is altogether frank, 
 and natural, and womanly. Can these be good 
 reasons for running her down ? Heaven knows ! 
 but run down she is, just as the hypocritical Lady 
 Straitlace is cried up. Well, we must take tilings 
 as they are, and make the best of them. So Frank 
 and I walked on through the pleasant fields in the 
 darkening twilight, and I for one enjoyed it exces- 
 sively, and was quite sorry when a great bell sounding 
 from the house Avarned us that it was time to return, 
 and that our absence would too surely be the subject 
 of remark should we linger out of doors any longer. 
 I never knew Frank so agreeable ; on every topic 
 he was brilliant, and lively, and amusing. Only 
 once, in some casual remark about the future, there 
 was a shade of melancholy in his tone, more like 
 what he used to be formerly. Somehow, I don't 
 think I liked him so well in his best spirits ; perhaps 
 I was myself changed in the last few weeks. I used 
 often to think so. At first, during that walk, I 
 feared lest Frank should touch upon a topic which 
 woidd have been far from unwelcome a short time 
 ago. I soon saw he had not the slightest intention 
 of doing so, and I confess I was immensely relieved. 
 I liad dreaded the possibility of being obliged at last 
 to give a decided answer — of having my own fate 
 in my own hands, and feeling totally incapable of 
 choosing for myself. But I might have spared my 
 nerves all such misgivings — my cavalier never gave 
 
EOUND OUT. 
 
 279 
 
 me an opportunity of even fancying myself in such 
 a dilemma till just as we reached the house, when, 
 espying ]\Irs. Lumley and Miss Molasses returning 
 from their stroll, he started, coloured up a little, like 
 a guilty man, and acted as though he would have 
 escaped their notice. I was provoked. 
 
 ' Don't desert your colours, Captain Lovell,' I 
 said, in a firm voice, ' Miss Molasses is looking for 
 you, even now.' 
 
 ' Unfeeling,' muttered Frank, biting his lip, and 
 looking really annoyed ; ' oh. Miss Coventry ! oh, 
 Kate ! give me an opportunity of explaining all.' 
 
 ' Explain nothing,' was my reply ; ' we understand 
 each other perfectly. It is time for me to go in and 
 dress.' 
 
 So I marched into the house, and left him looking 
 foolish — if Frank ever could look foolish — on the 
 doorstep. As I hurried along the passages, I en- 
 countered Lady Scapegrace. 
 
 'What's the matter, Kate?' said she, following 
 me into my room ; ' you look as if something had 
 happened. No bad news, I trust, from Aunt De-- 
 borah?' 
 
 I burst into tears. Kindness always overcomes 
 me completely, and then I make a fool of myself. 
 
 'Nothing's the matter,' I sobbed out, 'only I'm 
 tired and nervous, Lady Scapegrace, and I want to 
 dress.' 
 
 My hostess slipped quietly out of the room, and 
 
2 80 THE STxiLLED OX. 
 
 presently returned with some sal volatile and water : 
 she made me drink it every drop. 
 
 ' I must have a talk to you, Kate/ said she^ ' but 
 not now ; the dinner bell will ring in ten minutes' ; 
 and she, too^ hurried away to perform her toilette. 
 
 As I get older, I take to moralizing; and I am 
 afraid I w^aste a good deal of valuable time in specu- 
 lating on the thoughts, ideas, and, so to speak, the 
 inner life of ^ny neighbours. It is curious to observe 
 a large well-dressed party seated at dinner, all appa- 
 rently frank and open as the day, full of fun and 
 good humour, saying Avhatever comes uppermost, 
 and to all outward seeming laying bare every crevice 
 and cranny of their hearts, and then to reflect that 
 each one of the throng has a separate life, entirely 
 distinct from that which he or she parades before 
 the public, cherished perhaps w4th a miser's care, or 
 endured with a martyr's fortitude. Sir Guy, sitting 
 at the bottom of his table, drinking rather more 
 wine than usual, perhaps because it was Sunday, 
 and the enforced decencies of the day had somewhat 
 damped his spirits, looked a jovial, thoughtless, merry 
 country gentleman, somewhat slang, it may be, not 
 to say vulgar, but still open-hearted, joyous, and 
 hospitable. Was there no skeleton in Sir Guy's 
 mental cupboard? Were there no phantoms that 
 would rise up, like Banquo's ghost, to their scat, 
 unbidden, at his board? While lie smacked his 
 great lips ove.t those bumpers of dark red Burgundy, 
 
AN EVERY-DAY MASQUERADE. 28 I 
 
 had he quite forgotten the days of old — the friends 
 he had pledged and made fools of — the kind hearts 
 he had loved and betrayed ? Did he ever think of 
 Damocles and the hanging sword ? Could he sum- 
 mon courage to look into the future, or fortitude 
 even to think of the past ? Sir Guy's was a strong, 
 healthy, sensuous nature, in which the physical far 
 outweighed the intellectual ; and yet I verily believe 
 his conscience sometimes nearly drove him mad. 
 
 Then there was my lady, sitting at the top of her 
 table, the very picture of a courteous, affable, well- 
 bred hostess. Perhaps, if anything, a little too 
 placid and immovable in her outward demeanour. 
 Who would have guessed at the wild and stormy 
 passions that could rage beneath so calm a surface ? 
 Who would suppose that stately, reserved, majestic- 
 looking woman had the recklessness of a brigand 
 and the caprices of a child ? A physiognomist might 
 have marked the traces of strong feelings in her 
 deepened eyes and the lines about her mouth; 
 damages done by the hurricane, that years of calm 
 can never repair ; but there had been a page or two 
 in Lady Scapegrace's life, that, with all his acuteness, 
 would have astonished Lavater himself. Then there 
 was Miss Molasses, the pink of propriety and 'w^hat- 
 would-mamma-say' young ladyism — cold as a statue, 
 and, as old Chaucer says, ' upright as a bolt,' but all 
 the time over head-and-ears in love ^^ith Frank 
 Lovell, and ready to do anything he asked her at a 
 
20 2 PLATIXG OUTSIDE. 
 
 moment's notice. There was Frank himself, gay 
 and debunnair. Outwardly the lightest-hearted man 
 in the compan}' ; inwardly, I have reason to know, 
 tormented with misgivings and stung by self-re- 
 proach. Playing a double game — attached to one 
 woman and courting another, despising himself 
 thoroughly the while -, hemmed in by difficulties and 
 loaded with debt, hampered by a bad book on ' The 
 Two Thousand/ and playing hide-and-seek even now 
 with the Jews, Frank's real existence was very dif- 
 ferent from the one he showed his friends. So with 
 the rest of the party. Old IMrs. ]Molasses was 
 bothered by her maid ; Mr. Luraley puzzled by his 
 beetles ; his wife involved in a thousand schemes of 
 mischief-making which kept her in perpetual hot 
 water ; all, even honest Cousin John, were sedulously 
 hiding their real thoughts from their companions : 
 all were playing the game with counters, of wdiich 
 indeed they were lavish enough ; but had you asked 
 for a bit of sterling coin, fresh from the jNIint, and 
 stamped with the impress of truth, they would have 
 buttoned their pockets closer than ever, aye, though 
 you had been bankrupt and penniless, they would 
 have seen you further first, and then they ivouhln't. 
 
 So we flirted, and talked, and laughed, and ad- 
 journed to the drawing-room, Avhere, after a proper 
 interval, we were joined by the gentlemen, who in 
 consideration of the day, consented for that one 
 evening in the week to forego their usual games of 
 
LEARNING TO SPELL. 283 
 
 chance or skill, sucli as wliist, billiards, and cocka- 
 maroo. But the essential inanity of a fashionable 
 party requires to be amused, so we sat round a large 
 table, and played at 'letters,' sedulously 'shuffling^ 
 the handsome ivory capitals as we gave each other 
 long jaw-breaking ATords, the difficulties of which 
 were much enhanced by their being usually mis- 
 spelt, but Avhich nevertheless formed a very appro- 
 priate vehicle for what the world calls ' flirtation,' I 
 can always find out other people's words much 
 quicker than my own, and whilst I was puzzling over 
 ' centipede,' and teasing Mrs. Lumley, who had given 
 it me for the initial letter, I peeped over the shoulder 
 of my nest neighbour, jNIiss Molasses, and made 
 out clearly enough the word she had just received 
 from Frank Lovell : she would not have discovered it 
 for a century, but I read it at a glance. I just 
 looked at Frank, who blushed like a girl, took it 
 back, vowing he had spelt it wrong, and gave her 
 another. Did he think to throw dust in my eyes ? 
 There is a stage of mental suflPering at which we 
 grow naturally clear-sighted. I had arrived at it 
 long ago. Watching every action of my neighbours, 
 I had yet ears for all that was going on around. Sir 
 Guy, occupying a position on the heartlirug, with 
 his coat-tails over his arms, Avas haranguing the 
 clergyman of the parish, a quiet, meek little man, 
 who dined at Scamperley regularly on Sunday, and 
 appeared frightened out of his wits. He was a man 
 
284 MR. WAXY'S mare. 
 
 of education and intellect, a ripe scholar, a middling 
 preacher, and a profound logician ; but he Avas com- 
 pletely overpowered by coarse, ignorant, noisy Sir 
 Guy. 
 
 'Driving — hay?* said the Baronet; 'we're all 
 fond of driving, here, Mr. Waxy : there 's a young 
 lady who will teach you to handle the ribbons. 
 Gad, she'd make the crop-eared mare step along. 
 Have you got the old mare, still ? Devilish good 
 old mare ! ' 
 
 No child of man is too learned, or too quiet, or 
 too humble, to feel flattered at praise of his horse. 
 Mr. Waxy blushed a moist yellow as he replied — 
 
 ' Very good of you to remember her. Sir Guy — 
 docile and safe, and gentle withal, Sir Guy ; but I 
 don't drive her myself, Sir Guy,' added Mr. AVaxy, 
 raising his hands deprecatingly — as who should say, 
 ' Heaven forbid !' 'I don't drive myself. Sir; no — 
 no — my lad assumes the reins; and notwithstanding 
 the potency of your Scamperley ale. Sir Guy, we 
 manage to arrive pretty safe at our destination.' 
 
 ' Quite right, INIr. Waxy,' vociferated Sir Guy. 
 ' Did I ever tell you what happened to me once, 
 when I took it into my head to drive my own cha- 
 riot home ? Look ye here, Sir, I '11 tell ye how it 
 was. I was unmarried, then, Mr. Waxy, and as 
 innocent as a babe, d'ye see? Well, Sir, I'd been 
 to a hatlue at my friend Rocketer's ; and what with 
 staying to dinner, and a ball and supper afterwards. 
 
SIR guy's coachman. 285 
 
 it was very late before I started, for Scamperley, and 
 all the servants were drunk, as a matter of course. 
 Why, Sir, when I came out of the house, there were 
 my carriage and horses standing in the line with 
 some dozen others, and devil a soul to look after 'em. 
 What should you have done, Mr. Waxy ? Sworn 
 like a trooper, I '11 warrant it ! ' 
 
 Mr. Waxy shook his head, with an air of mild 
 deprecation. 
 
 ' Well, Sir,' continued Sir Guy, ' I '11 tell you 
 what I did. I jumped on the box, Sir, before you 
 could say Jack Robinson. I put on my own coach- 
 man's box-coat. Sir, and drove 'em home myself. 
 Thinks I, ' I '11 give the rascals a precious benefit ; 
 they'll have to walk every mile of the way' — nine 
 miles, and as dark as pitch, Mr. Waxy — as dark as 
 pitch ! Well, Sir, I 'd a London footman, who was 
 a sharpish fellow, and used to dissipation in general ; 
 he heard the carriage drive oif, and ran to catch it. 
 I gave him a pretty good breather as I rattled down 
 the avenue. The fellow puffed like a grampus when 
 he got up behind, making no doubt it was all right, 
 and he hadn't been found out. The horses knew 
 they were going home, and it wasn't long before I 
 pulled up at my own door. Down gets John, all 
 ofiiciousness and alacrity to make up for past enor- 
 mities, and rings a peal that might waken the dead. 
 Directly he hears them beginning to unbar, he opens 
 the carriage-door, and looks in — no master ! The 
 
286 THE BAKONET CLAIMED. 
 
 day was just dawning. I shall never forget the 
 fellow's face as he looked up, mistaking me, muffled 
 as I was in my own livery, for his fellow-servant. 
 
 • I always told you how it would be, Peter,' said 
 he, turning up a face of drunken wisdom ; ' and now 
 it's come to pass: the devil's been and took Sir 
 Guy at last; and if he's as wicious there as he's 
 been here, it's a precious bad bargain for both of 
 'em ' ! 
 
 Poor Mr. Waxy was obliged to laugh, but he took 
 his departure immediately; and of course, directly 
 there was a move, the ladies went to bed. 
 
 ' Come to my room, Kate,' whispered Lady Scape- 
 grace, as we lighted our hand-candles ; ' you can go 
 the short way through the boudoir : I want to speak 
 a M'ord with vou.' 
 
A BIT OF ADVICE. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 'TZ'ATE/ said Lady Scapegrace, as she sliut the 
 door of her snug dressing-room, and wheeled 
 an easy-chair before the fire for ray benefit — ' Kate_, 
 you 're a fooHsh girl ; it strikes me you are playing 
 a dangerous game, and playing it all Avrong, raore- 
 over. I can see more than you think. Do you 
 know the difterence between real diamonds and 
 paste? Not you, you little goose. But you shall, 
 if I can teach it you. Kate, have you ever heard 
 me talked about ? Did you ever hear any good of 
 me?' 
 
 I was forced to answer both questions — the former 
 in the affirmative, the latter in the negative. 
 
 ' Do you believe I 'm as bad as they give me credit 
 for?' proceeded her ladyship. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' I replied, taking her hand and kissing 
 it; for I really liked Lady Scapegrace. ^ Let them 
 say what they will, I won't believe anything bad of 
 you at all.' 
 
 ' I have had a strange life, Kate/ said she ; ' and 
 perhaps not quite fair play. Well, the worst is over 
 now, at any rate. I don't much care how short the 
 
288 LADY scapegrace's STORY. 
 
 remainder may be. Kate, did you ever hear I ^vas 
 a murderess ? ' 
 
 ' No, no !' I repeated, taking lier hand once more; 
 for I was shocked and half-frightened at the expres- 
 sion of her countenance. ' I never heard anybody 
 say more than that you were odd, and a flirt, and 
 perhaps not very much attached to Sir Guy.' 
 
 Lady Scapegrace shuddered. ' I owe you a great 
 deal, Kate Coventry/ she resumed — 'a great deal 
 more than I can ever hope to repay. I consider 
 that you once saved my life, but of that I make 
 small account ; you have done me a far greater 
 kindness — you have interested me ; you have made 
 me fond of you; you have taught me to feel like 
 a woman again. The least I can do in return is to 
 watch you and warn you — to show you the rock on 
 which I made shipwreck, and beseech you to avoid 
 it. Kate, you^^e heard of my Cousin Latimer; 
 would you like to see his picture?^ 
 
 Lady Scapegrace rose, walked to a small cabinet, 
 unlocked it, and produced a miniature, which she 
 placed in my hands. If the painter had not flattered 
 him, Cousin Latimer was indeed a handsome boy. 
 There was genius on his wide, bold forehead, and 
 resolution in his firm, well- cut mouth ; his large 
 dark eyes betrayed strong passions and keen intclH- 
 gence, whilst high birth was stamped on his fine 
 features and cliivalrous expression of countenance. 
 Poor Cousin Latimer ! 
 
COUSIN LATIMER. 289 
 
 ' Look at that, Kate/ said Lady Scapegrace, in 
 low, cliilling tones ; ' the last time I saw him, that 
 was his very image. Thank God, I never beheld 
 him when those kind features were cold and rigid — 
 that white neck gashed by his own hand ! Oh, 
 Kate ! 't is a sad story. I have not mentioned it 
 for twenty years; but it's a relief to talk of it now. 
 Surely I was not altogether to blame ; surely he 
 might have given me time ; he need not have been 
 so hasty — so desperate. 
 
 ' Listen, Kate. I was one of a large family of 
 girls. All my sisters were beautiful; all were vain 
 of their charms. As I grew up, I heard nothing 
 talked about but conquests, and lovers, and captiva- 
 tion. I thought, to dazzle and enslave the opposite 
 sex was the noblest aim of woman. Latimer was 
 brought up with us : Ave called him ' Cousin,' though 
 he was in reality a very distant connexion. Poor 
 boy ! day by day I could see he was growing more 
 and more attached to me. Latimer always brouglit 
 me the earliest roses. Latimer would walk miles 
 by the side of my pony. Latimer helped me with 
 my drawing, and did my commissions, and turned 
 the leaves when I played on the piano-forte, and 
 hung over the instrument when I sang. In short, 
 Latimer was my slave, body and soul ; and the con- 
 sequence was, Kate, that I cared very little for him. 
 My sisters, to be sure, joked me about my conquest; 
 and I felt, I confess, a proper pride in owning a 
 
 u 
 
290 FLIRTATION. 
 
 lover, like the rest ; but of real affection for him I 
 had then very little : and I often think, my dear, 
 that we "women seldom value devotion such as his 
 till too late. I was not old enough to think seriously 
 of marriage ; hut Latimer was convinced I should 
 become his "wife, and (poor fellow !) made all his 
 arrangements and schemes for the future under this 
 idea, with a forethought scarcely to be expected 
 from one so young. 
 
 'Well, years crept on, and I 'came out,' as you 
 young ladies call it, and was presented at court, and 
 went to balls, and began to make the most of my 
 time, and enjoy life after the manner of my kind. 
 Of course, I was no wiser than my elders. I danced, 
 and smiled, and flirted, as I had seen my sisters do ; 
 and the more partners I could refuse, the better I 
 was pleased. One day Cousin Latimer came to me, 
 and spoke out honestly and explicitly. He told me 
 of all his hopes, his misgivings, his future as I had 
 the power to make it, and his love. I was pleased 
 and flattered, I felt that I liked Cousin Latimer 
 better than any one in the world ; but there were 
 two things I liked even better than Cousin Latimer : 
 these were, power and admiration. Of the former I 
 never could obtain as much as I coveted; of the 
 latter I determined to take my fill. AVe were that 
 night to have a grand ball in the house, and were 
 much occupied with decorating the rooms, and other 
 preparations, such as we girls delighted in. I put 
 
A TRIUMPH. 291 
 
 off Latimer witli half-promises and vague assurances, 
 which sent him away more in love with me than ever. 
 I was to dance the first quadrille with him. It was an 
 engagement of at least a month's standing, and he 
 had rather wearied me by too often reminding of it, 
 
 ' There was a regiment of hussars quartered in our 
 neighbourhood, and we were well acquainted with 
 most of the officers. The more so, as one of my 
 sisters was engaged to be married to the major, who, 
 by the way, ran away from her a year afterwards. 
 One of these officers, a captain in the regiment, was 
 an especial flirt of mine; he was a good-looking, 
 agreeable man, and a beautiful waltzer. I recollect 
 the night as well as if it was yesterday : the officers 
 arriving in their uniforms — my father standing be- 
 hind us, proclaiming aloud his pride in his six hand- 
 some daughters — Cousin Latimer claiming my hand 
 for the first dance, and my refusal, notwithstanding 
 my long promise, on the plea that I Avas engaged to 
 Captain Normanton. Poor boy ! I can see his 
 pained, eager face now. ' You do what you like 
 with me,' he said ; but you must dance the next.' I 
 laughed, and promised. 
 
 ' Captain Normanton was very agreeable ; he was 
 the most dashing-looking man in the room, and I 
 liked the vanity of parading him about in his uni- 
 form, and showing my sisters and others the power 
 I had over Cousin Latimer. Once more the latter 
 claimed my promise, and once more I threw him 
 
1ql ONCE TOO OFTEN. 
 
 over. I glanced triumphantly at liim as lie uatclied 
 me from a corner ; and tlie more he gazed, the more 
 / acted at him, as if I was making violent love to my 
 partner. Somehow, without looking, I saw every 
 shade of Latimer's countenance. Once or twice I 
 had compassion, hut there was the excitement of 
 vanity and novelty to lure me on. 
 
 ' For the first time in my life, I knew how much it 
 was possible for men to care for us ; and I could not 
 resist torturing my victim to the utmost. Fool that 
 I was ! Cousin Latimer came up to me once more. 
 Though annoyed and hurt, he mustered a good- 
 humoured smile as he said, ' For the third and last 
 time, will you dance with me?' 'But you don't 
 waltz half as Avell as Captain Normantou,' I replied; 
 ' I like liim best' ; and away I whirled again with the 
 delighted hussar. 
 
 ' The instant I had spoken, I felt I had gone too 
 far. I would have given anything to unsay those 
 foolish Avords, but it was too late. When I stopped, 
 panting and breathless, after the dance. Cousin 
 Latimer came quite close to me. I never saw a face 
 so changed : he was deadly pale, and there was a 
 sweet melancholy expression in his countenance, that 
 contrasted strangely with the wild gleam in his eye. 
 He spoke very low, almost softly, but in a voice I 
 had never heard before. He only said, * God forgive 
 you, dear ! — you try me too much.' 1 never saw 
 him again, Kate — never ! 
 
NEVEK NO MORE. 293 
 
 ' When I heard what had happened, I was laid np 
 for months with a brain fever; they cut all my hair 
 off; they pinioned me; they did all that skill and 
 science could do, and I recovered. Would to God 
 that I had died ! I do not think my head has ever 
 been quite right since. 
 
 ' Kate ! Kate ! would you have such feelings as 
 mine ? Should you like to live all your life haunted 
 by one pale face? Would you wish never to enjoy a 
 strain of music, a gleam of sunshine, a single, simple, 
 natural pleasure, because of the phantom? Be 
 warned, my dear, before it is too late. I tell you 
 honestly, I never forgot him ; I tell you, I never 
 forgave myself. What did I care for any of them, 
 except poor Alphonse — and I only liked Alphonse 
 because he reminded me of the dead. Do you think 
 I was not a reckless woman when I married Sir 
 Guy? 
 
 'Do you think I have not been punished and 
 humiliated enough? Heaven forbid, my dear, that 
 your fate should resemble mine ! I read your feel- 
 ings far more plainly than you do yourself You 
 have a kind, generous, noble heart deeply attached 
 to you : don't be a fool, as I was ; don't throw him 
 over for the sake of an empty-headed, flirting, good- 
 for-nothing roue, who will forget you in a fortnight. 
 Strong language, Kate, is it not? But think over 
 what I have told you. Good night, dear. What 
 would I give to yawn as honestly as you do, and to 
 
294 A PURSUIT. 
 
 sleep sound once again, as I used to sleep when I 
 was a girl ! ' 
 
 I took ray eandle, and kissed Lady Scapegrace 
 affectionately as I thanked her, and -wished her 
 'good-night.' It was already late, and my room 
 was quite at the other end of the house. As I sped 
 along, devoutly trusting I should not meet any of 
 the gentlemen on their way to bed, I spied a figure 
 advancing towards me from the end of a long cor- 
 ridor. It was attired in a flowing dressing-gown of 
 crimson silk, with magnificent Turkish slippers, and 
 carried a hand candlestick much off" the perpen- 
 dicular, as it swayed up the passage in a somewhat 
 devious course. When it caught sight of me it ex- 
 tended both its arms, regardless of the melted wax 
 with which such a manoeuvre bedaubed the wall, 
 and prepared, with many endearing and compli- 
 mentary expressions, to bar my further progress. 
 
 The figure was no less a person than Sir Guy, half 
 tipsy, proceeding from his dressing-room to bed. 
 "What to do I knew not. I shuddered at the idea of 
 meeting the baronet at such an hour, and in so ex- 
 cited a state. I loathed and hated him at all times, 
 and I quite trembled now^ to face his odious compli- 
 ments and impertinent double-en tendres. My hunting 
 experience, however, had given me a quick eye to 
 see my way out of a difficulty ; and espying a green- 
 baize door on my right, I rushed through it, and 
 down a flight of stone steps that led I knew not 
 
MY ESCAPE. 295 
 
 where. Giving a view-holloa that must have startled 
 every light sleeper in the house, Sir Guy followed 
 close in my Avake^ dropping the silver candlestick 
 with a most alarming clatter. I saw I had not the 
 speed of him to any great extent, so I dodged into 
 the first empty room I came to, and, blowing out my 
 light, resolved to lie there j^erdue till my pursuer had 
 over-run the scent. 
 
 The manoeuvre answered admirably so far. I 
 heard the enemy swearing volubly as he blundered 
 along the passage, thinking I was still before him ; 
 and I now prepared to grope my Avay back in the 
 dark to my own room. But I had not escaped yet. 
 To my infinite dismay, I heard the voices of gentle- 
 men wishing each other the usual ' Good night, old 
 fellow,' and proceeding along the passage from the 
 direction of the smoking-room. Horror of horrors ! a 
 light approached the door of the very room in which 
 I had taken refuge ; in another second he would 
 enter — the man would find me in his room. He 
 stopped a moment on the threshold to fire a parting 
 jest at his companions, and the light from his candle 
 showed me my only chance. A covered shower bath 
 stood in the corner of the apartment, and into that 
 shower-bath I jumped, closing the curtains all round 
 me, but, as may be easily believed, taking very par- 
 ticular care not to pull the string. Scarcely was I 
 fairly ensconced, before Frank Lovell made his ap- 
 pearance ; and I saw at once, through a hole in the 
 
296 A gentleman's toilet. 
 
 curtains, that lie was the lawful occupier and pos- 
 sessor of the apartment. 
 
 Here was a predicament indeed ! If the emer- 
 gency had not been so desperate, I must have fainted. 
 ' Good gracious/ I thought, ' if he sliould lock the 
 door !' Frank, however, seemed to have no such 
 intention ; I belicA'e this is a precaution gentlemen 
 seldom adopt. On the contrar}'', he proceeded to 
 make himself thoroughly at home. Lighting his 
 candle, he leisurely divested himself of his coat, 
 waistcoat, and neckcloth, enfolded his person in a 
 large loose dressing-gown, leaned his head on both 
 hands, and gave a deep sigh. Apparently much 
 relieved by this process, he took up his hair-brushes, 
 and after a good refreshing turn at his locks aiul 
 whiskers, and a muttered compliment to his own 
 reflection in the glass, that sounded very like ' You 
 fool !' he unlocked a small writing-case, and pro- 
 ducing from it a little bundle of letters, tied up with 
 pink ribbon, selected them one by one, and read 
 them over from beginning to end, kissing each with 
 devout fervour as he replaced it carefully in its en- 
 velope. I Avould have given a great deal to know 
 who they were from ; their perusal seemed to aftbrd 
 him mingled satisfaction and annoyance ; but he 
 sighed heavily again, and I saw he had a long lock 
 of hair in his fingers, which he gazed at till the tears 
 stood in his eyes. He kissed it, the traitor ! and 
 fondled it, and spoke to it, and clasped it to his 
 
A VISITOR. 297 
 
 heart (men are just as great fools as we are). Whose 
 could it be? Not mine, certainly^ for I never gave 
 him such a thing; Miss Molasses'? No: hers was 
 black, and rather coarse, this was a silky chesnut. 
 Could it have belonged to Mrs. Luraley ? Hers was 
 very much the colour, and I often thought Frank 
 rather epiis with her. Nonsense ! that lively lady 
 had not an atom of sentiment in her composition ; 
 she would just as soon have thought of working him 
 a counterpane ! 
 
 I was so interested in my discoveries, that I for- 
 got altogether my own critical position, the imprac- 
 ticability of escape till Frank had gone to sleep, the 
 chance of arousing him as I went out, or, more 
 alarming still, the awful possibility of his lying 
 awake all night. When morning dawned, conceal- 
 ment could no longer be preserved, and what to do 
 then ? I meditated a bold stroke. To rush from 
 mj^ hiding-place, blow out both the candles before 
 my host had recovered his surprise, and then run for 
 it. Thrice was I on the eve of this perilous enter- 
 prise. Thrice my courage failed me at the critical 
 moment. The fourth time I think I should have 
 gone, when a knock at the door arrested my atten- 
 tion, and Frank's ' Come in,' welcomed a visitor 
 whose voice I well knew to be that of Cousin John. 
 The plot began to thicken. It was impossible to 
 get away now. 
 
 ' Lovell,' said John, in an unusually grave voice. 
 
298 A PERTINENT QUESTION. 
 
 ' I told you I wanted to speak a word with you, and 
 this is the only time I can make sure of finding you 
 alone.' 
 
 Frank was busy huddling his treasures back into 
 the writing-case. 
 
 ' Drive, on, old fellow/ said he, ' there 's lots of 
 time; it's not two o'clock yet.' 
 
 ' Lovell,' proceeded John, ' you are an old friend 
 of mine, and I have a great regard for you, but I 
 have a duty to perform, and I must go through with 
 it. Point-blank, on your honour as a gentleman, 
 I ask you, are you or are you not engaged to be 
 married to Miss Molasses?' 
 
 Frank coloured, hesitated, looked confused, and 
 then got angry. 
 
 ' No intimacy can give you a right to ask such a 
 question,' he replied, talking very fast and excitedly ; 
 'you take an unwarrantable liberty, both Avith her 
 and me. Who told you I was going to be married 
 at all ? or what business is it of yours whether I am 
 married or not ? ' 
 
 John began to get heated, too, but he looked very 
 determined. 
 
 ' I am sorry you should take it thus,' he replied, 
 ' for you force me to come at once to the point. As 
 the nearest relation and natural guardian of my 
 cousin, Miss Coventry, I must ask your intention 
 with regard to that young lady. I have often re- 
 marked you paid her great attention, but it was not 
 
A DECIDED ANSWEE. 299 
 
 till to-day that I heard your name coupled with hers, 
 and a doubt expressed as to which of the ladies I 
 have mentioned you meant to honour with your 
 preference. I don't want to quarrel with you, 
 Frank/ added John, softening, ' I do n't want to 
 mistrust your good feelings or your honour. Per- 
 haps you do n't know her as well as I do ; perhaps 
 you can 't appreciate her value like me. Many men 
 would give away their lives for her — would think no 
 sacrifice too dear at which to purchase her regard. 
 Believe me, Frank, she 's worth anything ; if you 
 have proposed to her, as I have reason to think you 
 must have done, confide in me; I will smooth all 
 difficulties ; I will arrange everything for you both. 
 God knows I love her better than anything on 
 earth ; but her happiness is my first consideration, 
 and if she likes you, Frank, she shall marry you/ 
 
 Captain Lovell seemed to be of a different opinion. 
 He bit his lip, looking angry and annoyed. 
 
 ' You go too fast, Mr. Jones,' he replied, very 
 stiffly ; ' I have never given the young lady you men- 
 tion an opportunity of either accepting or refusing 
 me. If ever / am fool enough to marry, I shall 
 take the liberty of selecting my own wife, without 
 consulting your taste ; and I really cannot under- 
 take to wed every lively young lady that condescends 
 to flirt with me, merely pour passer le temps' 
 
 John's face grew dark with anger. How noble he 
 looked as he squared his fine figure and reared his 
 
300 'an affair.' 
 
 gallant Lead, standing erect before his enemy, and 
 scanning liim from top to toe. He was veiy quiet, 
 too ; he only said : — 
 
 ' Captain Lovell, I claim a brother's right to pro- 
 tect Miss Coventry's reputation, and as a brother I 
 demand reparation for the Avrong you have done 
 her ; need I say any more ?' 
 
 ' Not another syllable,' replied Frank Lovell, 
 carelessly, ' Whenever you like, only the sooner 
 the better. Popham always acts for me on these 
 occasions ; he do n't go away till to-morrow after- 
 noon, so I refer you to him. I 'm getting sleepy 
 now, Mr. Jones. I wish you a good niglit.' 
 
 Cousin John took up his candle, and retired. 
 Never in my life had I been in such a position as 
 this. That there would be a duel, I had not the 
 slightest shadow of doubt — and all for my sake. 
 That my gallant, generous, true-hearted cousin 
 should have behaved so nobly, so unselfishly, did 
 not surprise me ; but that he should be sacrificed to 
 his devoted fidelity — I could not bear to think of it 
 for a moment ! How I loved him now ! How I 
 wondered that I could ever have compared the two 
 for an instant. How I resolved to make him full 
 amends, and, come w^hat might, to frustrate this 
 projected duel. But what could I do ? In the first 
 place, how was I to get out of the room ? 
 
 My situation Avas so embarrassing, and at (lu> 
 same time so ridiculous, that I could with ditlicultv 
 
MY FLIGHT. 3OI 
 
 resist a hysterical inclination to laugh. Here I was_, 
 at all events, a close prisoner till Captain Lovell 
 should go to bed, and he seemed to have no idea of 
 that rational proceeding, though it was now past 
 three o'clock. He walked about the room, Avhistling 
 softly. Once he came so near my hiding-place that 
 I felt his breath on my cheek. ' Good heavens,' 
 thought I, ' if he should take it into his head to 
 have a shower-bath now to brace his nerves ! ' At 
 last he walked to a drawer, selected a cigar, lit it, 
 and throwing open the window, proceeded deli- 
 berately to get out. I almost hoped he would break 
 his neck ! But I conclude there was a ledge or 
 balcony of some sort to sustain him, and that he 
 was accustomed to a nightly cigar in that position. 
 Here was a chance not to be lost ! I bolted out of 
 the shower-bath ; I popped the extinguisher on one 
 candle, and blew the other out at the same instant. 
 I heard the smoker's exclamation of astonishment, 
 but heeded it not. 1 rushed through the door. I 
 flew along the dark passages, breathless and trem- 
 bling; at last I reached my own room, more by 
 instinct, I believe, than any other faculty, and having 
 locked the door, and struck a light, sat me down, in 
 a state of immense confusion and bewilderment, to 
 think what I should do next. 
 
302 WHAT NEXT? 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 TT7H0 was there to whom I could apply? Sir 
 Guy, of course^ was out of the question. 
 Then, in an affair of such delicacy, I could not con- 
 sult a young man ; besides, these boys, I fancy, are 
 always for fighting right or wrong. A woman was 
 no use, or I should have gone straight back to Lady 
 Scapegrace. I pondered matters over and over again. 
 I thought of every horror in the way of duelling I 
 had ever heard of. 
 
 My own uncle was shot dead by a Frenchman, when 
 attached to the army of occupation at Cambray. It 
 was a romantic stor}', and I had often heard the 
 particulars from my godfather, General Grape, who 
 officiated as his second. My uncle was a handsome, 
 chivalrous youth, deeply attached to a countrywomaii 
 of his own, whose picture he wore constantly next 
 his heart. Such a man Avas not likely to l)ecome 
 compromised with another lady. It happened, how- 
 ever, that my uncle was quartered in the vicinity of 
 a chateau belonging to a retired general of the 
 Grand Army, who hated an Englishman as a matter 
 of taste, and a British olliccr as a matter of duty. 
 
MY UNCLE. 303 
 
 The Freucli general had a charming daughter, and 
 Rosalie, besides being belle comme le jour, was like- 
 wise what her acquaintance called tant soil peu co- 
 quette. So she made love to my uncle on every 
 available opportunity, and of course, because he 
 didn't care for her two pins, set her faithless heart 
 upon him, as a woman will. To make things simpler, 
 she was herself engaged to a yoimg marquis in the 
 neighbourhood. Well, my uncle, like a sensible 
 man, did his best to keep clear of the whole thing, 
 but he could not avoid meeting Uosalie occasionally 
 in his walks, nor could he absolutely refuse to make 
 her acquaintance, or refrain from perusing the letters 
 she wrote to him, or, finally, prevent that forward 
 young person from falling into his arras, and burst- 
 ing into tears, with her head on his shoulder. The 
 moment was, however, ill-chosen for so dramatic a 
 scene, inasmuch as it occurred under the very noses 
 of her father and her fiance, both of whom, unknown 
 to the fair wanderer, had followed Rosalie, on pur- 
 pose to find out where it was she walked day after 
 day so perseveringly. 
 
 My luicle had scarcely recovered his surprise at 
 the first demonstration, ere he was staggered by the 
 second, — ' Malheureiise!^ exclaimed the father; ^Per- 
 fide!^ groaned the lover. ' Traitre!' shouted the 
 marquis; 'Ldche!' growled the general. My uncle 
 turned from one to the other, completely at a non- 
 plus, Rosalie in the meantime clinging to his breast. 
 
304 ROSALIE. 
 
 and imploring him passionately to save her ! INfy 
 uncle's waistcoat came undone — his real mistress's 
 miniature dropped out ; the sight added fuel to the 
 fire of the belligerents. Nothing would satisfy them 
 but his blood. In vain he protested, in vain he 
 swore, in extremely bad French, that he had no 
 penchant for Rosalie, had never made love to her in 
 his life ; in fact, rather disliked her than otherwise. 
 
 The Frenchmen sacreed, and fumed, and stormed 
 at him, and jostled him, till my uncle lost all pa- 
 tience, shook himself clear of Rosalie, who fell, 
 fainting, to the ground, knocked each of his adver- 
 saries down in turn, and walked home to his quarters, 
 very much disgusted with the world in general, and 
 the wilfulness of French young ladies in particular. 
 Of course he knew perfectly well it was not to end 
 here. He sent for Grape, then a brother subaltern, 
 and placed his honour in that officer's hands. 
 
 No message came for two days, that interval 
 having elapsed in consequence of a deadly quarrel 
 between the marquis and the general as to mIio 
 should take the thing up first. Grape firmly believes 
 they decided the matter with small swords ; another 
 version is, that they played piquet for eight-and- 
 forty hours to settle it — the best out of so many 
 games. Be this how it may, the general appeared 
 as the ostensible champion, and the marquis officiated 
 as his temoin. Grape, as my uncle's second, chose 
 pistols for the weapons, and selected a retired piece 
 
THE WHITE UOSE. 305 
 
 of groiancl in a large garden, near the chateau, as 
 the lists. I give the conclusion in his own words : — 
 
 ' Horsingham was as cool as a cucumber, and the 
 only thing that seemed to annoy him was a possi- 
 bility that the cause of his rencontre might be mis- 
 represented to her he loved at home. 
 
 ' « Tell her I was faithful to the last,' said he to 
 me, as he squeezed my hand just before / put him 
 up. ' Tell her, if I fall, that I never loved another ; 
 that my heart is pure and spotless as that white rose, 
 which I will wear upon it for her sake.' 
 
 ' "While he spoke, he plucked a white rose from a 
 neighbouring bush, and, in spite of my remon- 
 strances, fixed it in the breast of his close-fitting 
 dark coat. 
 
 ' *^ What are you about, Charlie?' I urged. 'This 
 is no time for romance ; don't you know all these 
 cursed Frenchmen are dead shots. You might as 
 well chalk out a bull's-eye over the pit of your 
 stomach !' 
 
 ' He was a romantic, foolish felloAV. I can see him 
 now, drawing himself up, and looking like a knight 
 of the olden time, with his brightening eye, and his 
 smooth, unruffled forehead. 
 
 ' ' Give her the White Rose,' he only said. * She'll 
 keep it when it 's withered, perhaps. And tell her 
 I never wavered — never for an hour !' 
 
 ' I knew too Avell how it would be. From the 
 instant he came on the ground, the old general never 
 
3o6 EXPENDED. 
 
 took liis eye off his man. What an eye it was ! 
 Cokl and grey and leaden ; half shut, like that of 
 some wild animal, with a pupil that contracted 
 visibly while I watched it. I knew my friend had 
 no chance. I did all I could. As I had the privi- 
 lege of placing the men, I stationed our adversary 
 where he would have to look over his shoulder to 
 see my signal, whilst my friend's face was turned 
 towards me. They were to fire when I dropped my 
 hat. I dropped it with a flourish, Alas ! all was 
 of no use. The general shot him right through the 
 heart. I knew he would ; and the bullet cut the 
 stalk of the rose in t^vo, smashed the loAvcr part of 
 the miniature, leaving only the face untouched, and 
 poor Charlie Horsingham never spoke again. As 
 we lifted him, and unbuttoned his Avaistcoat, the two 
 Frenchmen gazed at the miniature with looks of 
 anger and curiosity. Great was their astonishment 
 to behold the portrait of another than Rosalie. 
 The younger man was much affected; he groaned 
 aloud, and covered his face Avith his hands. No so 
 the old general, — ' Tenez,' said he, wiping the barrel 
 of his weapon on his glove, — 'c' est dommage ! je ne 
 contais pas la-dessus; jnais, que voulez-vous ? Peste ! ce 
 n' est qiCun Anglais de mains." 
 
 This is the carelessness Avith Avhich men talk and 
 think of human life ; and here Avas my cousin about 
 to go through tlic fearful ordeal, jjcrhaps to be shot 
 dead, like poor Charles Horsingham. The more I 
 
ENERGETIC MEASURES. 3O7 
 
 thought of it, the more resolutely I determined to 
 prevent it. I had never taken off my dinner dress — 
 my candles were nearly hurnt down — the clock 
 struck five — in two hours it would be daylight. 
 There was not a moment to lose. All at once a 
 bright thought struck me. I would rouse good old 
 Mr. Lumley. He was clever, sensible^ and respected ; 
 he was likewise a man of honour and a gentleman. 
 With all his infirmities, I had seen him show energy 
 enough when he could do any good. I would go 
 to him at once ; and I left my room with the resolu- 
 tion that I, for one, would move heaven and earth 
 ere a hair of Cousin John's precious head should be 
 imperilled on my account. 
 
 I lit my candle, and tripped once more along the 
 silent passages. I knew where Mrs. Lumley slept, 
 and soon reached the door of her room; audible 
 snores, bass and treble, attested, if not the good 
 consciences, at least the sound digestions, of the 
 inmates. I tapped loudly; no answer. Again I 
 knocked till my knuckles smarted A sleepy ' Come 
 in,' was the reply to my summons. They probably 
 thought it was the housemaid arrived to open the 
 shutters. It was no time for false delicacy or diffi- 
 dence, and I walked boldly into the apartment. By 
 the light of the night lamp I beheld the happy pair. 
 Of course, I am not going to describe the lady's 
 dress ; but all I can say is, that if ever I am pre- 
 vailed on to marry, and such a catastrophe is by no 
 
308 MR. LUMLEY ASLEEP. 
 
 means impossible, I shall not permit my Imsband 
 to disfigure himself at any hour by adopting such 
 a costume as that of dear, kind, good, old Mr. 
 Lvmilcy. 
 
 A Avhite cotton nightcap, coming well over the 
 ears, and tied under the throat with tape to match, 
 surmounted by a high honnet-rouge like an extin- 
 guisher, the entire head-dress being further secured 
 by a broad black ril)bon, would make Plato himself 
 look ridiculous ; and a sleepy old face, with a small 
 turn-up nose, and a rough stubbly chin of unshaven 
 grey, does not add to the beauty or the dignity of 
 such a recumbent subject. However, what I wanted 
 was Mr. Lumley ; and ]Mr. Lumley I was forced to 
 take as I could get him. 
 
 'What's o'clock?' he murmured, droAvsily. 'Come 
 again to light the fire in half an hour.' 
 
 ' Why, it 's Kate ! ' exclaimed his better half, 
 rousing up, bright and Avarm, in a moment, like a 
 child. ' Goodness ! Kate, what are you doing here ?' 
 
 ' Miss Coventry !' ejaculated herhusljand. ' What 
 is it? A perfect specimen of the common house- 
 spider, I'll lay my life. What an energetic girl ! — 
 found it on her pillow, and lost not a moment in 
 bringing it here. I 'ra eternally obliged to you. 
 Where is it? — Mind you don't injure the legs! — 
 Pray don't stick a pin through the Ijack !' 
 
 *0h, Mr. Lumley!' I sobbed out, 'it's worse 
 than a spider. Get up, please; there's going to be 
 
CAPTAIN LOVELL S ADDRESS. 3O9 
 
 a duel, and I want you to stop it. Captain Lovell 
 and Cousin — Cousin' — 
 
 I fairly broke down here, and burst into tears ; 
 but the kind old man understood me in an instant. 
 
 ' Margery, my dear/ he shouted, * get me up 
 du^ectly — there 's not a moment to lose. Oh, these 
 boys ! these boys ! young blood and absence of 
 brains ! If they would but devote their energies to 
 science — don't distress yourself, my dear ; I '11 
 manage it all. Where does Captain Lovell sleep?' 
 
 ' First door on the right when you get down the 
 steps in the Bachelors' wing/ I replied, unhesi- 
 tatingly, much to the surprise of Mrs. Lumley. 
 She would have known, too, if she had been shut up 
 there for a couple of hours in a shower-bath. 
 
 ' I '11 go to him as soon as I am dressed,' promised 
 Mr. Lumley. ' I pledge you my honour he sha'n't 
 fight till I give him leave. Go to bed, my dear, and 
 leave everything in my hands. Don't cry, there 's a 
 good girl. By the way, the housemaids here are so 
 infernally officious — you have n't seen a good speci- 
 men of the common house-spider anywhere about, 
 have you ? ' 
 
 I assured the kind-hearted old naturalist I had 
 not ; and as he was already half out of bed, I took 
 my departure, and sought my own couch, not to 
 sleep, Heaven knows, but to toss, and turn, and 
 tumble, and see horrid \asions, waking as I was, and 
 think of everything dreadful that might happen to 
 
3IO THE TRUTH. 
 
 my cousin, and confess to my own heart how I loved 
 him now, and hated myself for having treated him 
 as I had, and revel, as it were, in self-reproach and 
 self-torture. It was broad daylight ere I fell into a 
 sort of fitful doze, so out-wearied and over-excited 
 was I, both in body and mind. 
 
BREAKFAST. 3 I I 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 7 T is very disagreeable to face a large party with 
 anything on your mind that you cannot help 
 thinking must be known, or at least suspected, by 
 your associates. When I came down to breakfast, 
 after a hasty and uncomfortable toilette, and found 
 the greater portion of the guests assembled at that 
 gossiping meal, I could not help fancying that every 
 listless dandy and affected fine lady present was ac- 
 quainted with my proceedings during the last twelve 
 hours, and was laughing in his or her sleeve accord- 
 ingly. I cast a rapid and frightened glance round 
 the table; and, to my infinite relief, beheld Cousin 
 John eating his egg as composedly as possible ; 
 whilst a re-assuring smile and pleasant ' Good morn- 
 ing ' from jMr. Lumley, gave me to understand that 
 his mediation had averted all fatal proceedings. 
 
 The other guests ate and drank, and laughed and 
 chattered much as usual ; but still I could not help 
 remarking on the face of each of them a subdued 
 expression of intelligence, as though in possession of 
 some charming bit of news, or delightful morsel of 
 
312 'a PARTI.' 
 
 scandal. Lady Scapegrace -was the first to put me 
 on a footing of equality with the rest. 
 
 'We have lost some of our party, Kate/ said she, 
 as she handed me my tea. ' I confess I suspected it 
 last year, in London. She is a most amiable girl, 
 and will have a large fortune/ 
 
 I looked at her ladyship as if I was dreaming. 
 
 ' You need n't be so surprised, Kate,' said she, 
 laughing at my utter bewilderment ; ' don't you miss 
 anybody ? Look round the table.' 
 
 Sure enough the JSIolasses party were absent, and 
 there was no Frank Lovell. Then it was true, after 
 all ! He had sold himself to that lackadaisical 
 young lady, and had been making a fool of mc, Kate 
 Coventry, the whole time. How angry I ought to 
 have been ! I Mas surprised to find I was not. On 
 the contrary, my first feeling was one of inexpres- 
 sible relief, as I thought there was now no earthly 
 obstacle between myself and that kind face on the 
 other side of the breakfast-table ; though too soon a 
 horrid tide of doubts and fears surged up, as I re- 
 flected on my own unworthiness and caprice. 
 
 How I had undervalued that noble, generous cha- 
 racter ! How often I hud wounded and annoyed 
 him in sheer carelessness or petulance, and thought 
 little of inflicting on him days of pain to allbrd 
 myself the short and doubtful amusement of an 
 hour's flirtation and folly ! 
 
 What if he should cast me off, now ? "What if he 
 
'a clearing ur.' 313 
 
 had obtained an insight into mj character^ \Thich 
 had cured him entirely of any regard he might pre- 
 viously have entertained for me ? What if I should 
 find that I had all my life been neglecting the gem 
 which I was too ignorant to appreciate ; and now, 
 Avhen I knew its real value, and would give my life 
 for it, it was beyond my grasp ? 
 
 At all events, I would never forget him. Come 
 what might now, I would never care for another, I 
 felt quite glad Frank Lovell was as good as married, 
 and out of the way. The instant I had swallowed 
 my breakfast, I put my bonnet on and rushed into 
 the garden, for I felt as if fresh air was indispen- 
 sable to my very existence. The first person I met 
 amongst the flower-beds was dear old JNIr. Lumley. 
 He had hobbled out on his crutches purposely to give 
 me an interview. I thanked him, as if he had been my 
 father, for all his kindness; and he talked to me gently 
 and considerately, as a parent would to a child. 
 
 'I promised you, my dear, that they should not 
 fight, and I think I have kept my word. Your 
 cousin, Miss Coventry, is a noble fellow,' said the 
 old man, his benevolent features kindling into ad- 
 miration ; ' but I had more difiiculty with him than 
 his antagonist. He would not be satisfied till Captain 
 Lovell had assured him, on his honour, that you had 
 yourself declined his advances in a manner which 
 admitted of no misconstruction; and that then, and 
 not till then, he considered himself free. You were 
 
314 >IR- LUMLEY S OPINION. 
 
 right, my dear — I am an old man^ and I take a 
 great interest in you^ so do not think me impertinent 
 — you were right to have nothing to say to a roue 
 and a gambler. 
 
 ' I was not always the old cripple you are so for- 
 bearing with now. I lived in the world once, and 
 saw a good deal of life and men. My experience 
 has convinced me that selfishness is the bane of the 
 generality of mankind ; but that nowhere is it so 
 thoroughly developed as in those who live, what 
 people call, ' by their wits/ and enjoy all the luxu- 
 ries and pleasures of life by dint of imposing on the 
 world. I consider Frank Lovell, though we all vote 
 him such a good fellow, one of that class ; and I do 
 not think he would have made a good husband to my 
 young friend. Miss Coventry. Your cousin, my dear, 
 is a character of another stamp altogether; and if, 
 as I hear everybody say, he is really to be married to 
 that Welsh girl, I think you will agree with me that 
 she has got a prize such as falls to the lot of few.' 
 
 Mr. Lumley was by this time out of breath ; but 
 I could not have answered him, to save my life. 
 Like one of his own favourite house-spiders, I had 
 been unconsciously spinning a web of delightful self- 
 delusion, and here came the ruthless housemaid and 
 swept it all away. How blind I must have been not 
 to sec it long ago. John might be very fond of 
 pheasant-shooting, and I believe, when the game is 
 plentiful and the thing well managed, that sport is 
 
TOO late! 315 
 
 fascinating enough; but people don't travel night 
 and day into such a country as Wales, where there 
 are no railroads, merely for the purpose of standing 
 in a ride and knocking over a certain quantity of 
 half-tame fowls. No, no ; T ought to have seen it 
 long ago; I had lost him now, and now I knew his 
 value when it was too late. Too late ! — the knell that 
 tolls over half the hopes and half the visions of life. 
 
 Too late ! The one bitter drop that poisons the 
 whole cup of success. Too late ! The golden fruit 
 has long hung temptingly just above your grasp; 
 you have laboured, and striven, and persevered, and 
 you seize it at last and press it to your thirsty lips. 
 Dust and ashes are your reward; the fruit is still 
 the same, but it is too late; your desire for it is 
 gone, or your power of enjoying it has failed you at 
 the very moment of fruition ; all that remains to 
 you is the keen pang of disappointment, or, worse 
 still, the apathy of disgust. I might have made 
 John my slave a few short weeks ago, and now 
 — it was too provoking, and for that Welsh girl, 
 too ! How I hated everything Welsh ; not Ancient 
 Pistol eating his enforced leak with its accompanying 
 sauce, could have entertained a greater aversion for 
 the Principality, than I did at that moment. 
 
 Presently we were joined by Lady Scapegrace. 
 She, too, had got something pleasant to say to me. 
 
 ' I told you so, Kate,' she observed, taking my 
 arm, and leading me down one of those secluded 
 
3l6 UNSPARING. 
 
 walksj 'I told Tou so, all along. Your friend, Cap- 
 tain Lovcll, proposed to Miss Molasses yesterday. 
 Don't blame him too mueh, Kate; if he's not 
 married Avithin three weeks, he '11 be in the Bench — 
 never mind Iioaa' I know, but I do know. I think he 
 has behaved infamously to you, I confess ; but take 
 comfort, my dear, you are not the first hy a good 
 many.' 
 
 I put it to my impartial reader whether such a 
 remark, though made with the kindest intentions, 
 was not enough to drive any woman mad with spite. 
 I broke away from Lady Scapegrace and rushed 
 back into the house. We were to leave Scamperley 
 that day by the afternoon train. Gertrude was al- 
 ready packing my things; but I was obliged to go 
 to the drawing-room for some work I had left there, 
 and in the drawing-room I found a whole bevy of 
 ladies assembled over their different occupations. 
 
 Women never spare each other; and I had to go 
 through the ordeal, administered ruthlessly, and 
 with a refinement of cruelty known only to our- 
 selves. Even Mrs. Lumley, my own familiar friend, 
 had no mercy. 
 
 ' We ought to congratulate you, I conclude. Miss 
 Coventry,' said one. 
 
 ' He's a relation of yours, is he not?' inquired 
 another. 
 
 ' Only a very great friend,^ laughed ^Irs. Lumley, 
 shakinii: her curls. 
 
'a male flirt. 317 
 
 ' It ^s a great marriage for liirn,' sonic one else went 
 ou to say ; ' far better than he deserves. Poor thing ! 
 he ^11 lead her a sad life : he ^s a shocking flirt ! ' 
 
 Now, if there is one thing to my mind more con- 
 temptible than another^ it is that male impostor 
 whom ladies so charitably designate by the mild 
 term, ^ a flirt.' It is all fair for us to have our little 
 harmless vanities and weaknesses. We are shame- 
 fully debarred from the nobler pursuits and avoca- 
 tions of life; so we may be excused for passing the 
 time in such trivial manoeuvres as we can invent to 
 excite the envy of our own, and triumph over the 
 pride of the opposite, sex. But that a man should 
 lower himself to act the part of a slave^ ' tied to an 
 apron-string/ and voluntarily be a fool, without be- 
 ing an honest one — it is too degrading ! 
 
 Such a despicable being does us an infinity of 
 harm ; he encourages us to display all the worst 
 points of the female character — he cheats us of our 
 due amoimt of homage from many a noble heart; and 
 perhaps robs us of our own dignity and self-respect. 
 Yet, such is the creature we encourage in ovir blind 
 vanity, and Avhilst we vote him ' so pleasant and 
 agreeable/ temper our commendation with the mild 
 remonstrance, 'though I'm afraid he's rather a flirt!' 
 
 I saw the drawing-room on that morning was no 
 place for me^ so I folded my work, and curbing my 
 tongue, which I own had a strong inclination to 
 take its part in the war of words, I sought my own 
 
3I0 COUSIN AMELIAS LETTER. 
 
 room, and fouud there, in addition to the litter and 
 discomfort inseparable from the process of packing, 
 a letter just arrived by the post. It "was in Cousin 
 Amelia's hand, and bore the Dangerfield post -mark. 
 ^ What noAv ?' I thought, dreading to open it lest it 
 might contain some fresh object of annoyance, some 
 further inquiries or remarks calculated to irritate ray 
 already over-driven temper out of due boimds. 
 
 ' Cousin Amelia never writes to me unless she has 
 something unpleasant to say,' was my mental ob- 
 servation, ' find a very little more would fill the cup 
 to overflowing. Whatever happens, I am determined 
 not to cry — rather than face all those ladies with 
 red eyes, when I go to wish Lady Scapegrace ' good- 
 bye,' I would forego the pleasure of ever receiving a 
 letter or hearing a bit of news again !' 
 
 So I popped Cousin Amelia's epistle into my pocket 
 without breaking the seal, and put on my bonnet at 
 once, that I might be ready to start, and not keep 
 Cousin John waiting. 
 
 The leave-taking was got over more easily than I 
 expected. People generally hustle one off in as 
 great a hurry as the common decencies of society 
 would admit of, in order to shorten as much as 
 possible the unavoidable gene of parting. Sir Guy, 
 staunch to his colours, was to drive me back on the 
 detested drag; but his great face fell several inches 
 when I expressed my determination to perform the 
 journey tliis time inside. 
 
SIR GUY S DISAPFOINMENT. 3 I 9 
 
 ' I 've bitted the team ou purpose for j'ou^ Miss 
 Kate/ he exclaimed, with one of his usual oaths, 
 ' and now you throw me over at the last moment. 
 Too bad ; by all that 's disappointing, it 's too bad ! 
 Come now, think better of it, put on my box-coat, 
 and catch hold of 'cm, tliere ^s a good girl/ 
 
 ' Inside, or not at all, Sir Guy,' was my answer, 
 and I can be pretty determined, too, when I choose. 
 
 ' Then perhaps your maid would like to come on 
 the box,' urged the baronet, who seemed to have set 
 his heart on the enjoyment of some female society. 
 
 ' Gertrude goes with me,' I replied, stoutly ; for I 
 thought Cousin John looked pleased, and Sir Guy 
 was at a nonplus. 
 
 'Awfully high temper,' he muttered, as he took his 
 reins and placed his foot on the roller-bolt; «I like 
 'em saucy, I own, but this girl 's a regular vixen !' 
 
 Sir Guy was very much put out, and vented his 
 annoyance on his off-wheeler, ' double-thonging ' 
 that unfortunate animal most unmercifully the whole 
 way to the station. He bade me farewell with a 
 coldness, and almost sulkiness, quite foreign to his 
 usual demeanour, and infinitely pleasanter to my 
 feelings. Besides, I saw plainly that the more I fell 
 in the baronet's good opinion, the higher I rose in 
 that of my chaperone ; and by the time John and I 
 were fairly settled in a coupe, my cousin had got 
 back to his old frank, cordial manner, and I took 
 courage to break the seal of Cousin Amelia's letter, 
 
320 THE SQUIRE CAUGHT AT LAST. 
 
 and peruse that interesting doeument, regardless of 
 all the sarcasms and inuendos it might probably 
 contain. 
 
 AYhat a jumble of incongruities it was ! Long 
 stories about the weather, and the garden, and the 
 farm, and all sorts of things which, no one knew 
 better than I did, had no interest for my corres- 
 pondent Avhatever. I remarked, however, throughout 
 the whole composition, that ' mamma's' sentiments 
 and regulations were treated with an usual degree 
 of contempt, and the writer's own opinions asserted 
 Avitli a boldness and freedom I had never before 
 observed in my strait-laced, hypocritical cousin. Mr. 
 Haycock's name, too, was very frequently brought on 
 the tapis — he seemed to have breakfasted with them, 
 lunched with them, walked, driven, played billiards 
 with them, and, in short, to have taken up his 
 residence almost entirely at Dangerfield. The post- 
 script explained it all, and the postscript I give ver- 
 batim, as I read it aloud to Cousin John whilst we were 
 whizzing along at the rate of forty miles an hour. 
 
 'P. S. — I am sure my dear Kate will give me joy. 
 You cannot have forgotten a certain person calling 
 this autumn at Dangerfield for a certain purpose, in 
 Avhich he did not seem clearly to know his own mind. 
 Everything is now explained. My dear Herod (is it 
 not a pretty Christian name?) — my dear Herod is 
 all that I can wish, and assures me that all along it 
 Mas intended for mc. The happij day is not yet 
 
COUSIN JOHN spp:aks out. 321 
 
 fixed ; but my dearest Kate may rest assured that I 
 will not fail to give her the earliest intelliyence on the 
 first opportunity. Tell Mr. Jones, I shall be married 
 before him, after all.' 
 
 The last sentence escaped my lips without my 
 meaning it. Had I not come upon it unexpectedly, 
 I think I should have kept it to myself. John 
 blushed, and looked hurt. For a few minutes there 
 was a disagreeable silence, which we both felt awk- 
 ward. He was the first to break it. 
 
 ' Kate,' said he, ' do you think I shall be married 
 before Miss Horsingham?' 
 
 ' How can I tell?' I replied, looking steadfastly 
 out of the window, whilst my colour rose and my 
 heart beat rapidly. 
 
 'Do you believe that Welsh story, Kate?' pro- 
 ceeded my cousin. 
 
 I knew by his voice it couldn't be true ; I felt it 
 was a slander ', and I whispered, ' No.' 
 
 * One more question, Kate,' urged Cousin John, 
 in a thick, low voice : ' Why did you refuse Frank 
 Lovell?' 
 
 ' He never proposed to me,' I answered ; ' I never 
 gave him an opportunity.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said my cousin. 
 
 ' Because I liked some one else better,' was my 
 
 reply ; and I think those few words settled the whole 
 
 business. 
 
 * * * * 
 
322 SETTLED AT LAST. 
 
 I shall soon be five-and-twenty now, and on my 
 birthday I am to be married. Aunt Deborah has 
 got better ever sinee it has all been settled. Every- 
 body seems pleased ; and I am sure no one can be 
 better pleased than I am. Only Lady Horsingham 
 says, ' Kate -will never settle.' I think I know bet- 
 ter. I think I shall make none the worse a "ttife 
 because I can walk, and ride, and get up early, and 
 stand all weathers, and love the simple, wholesome, 
 natural pleasures of the country. John thinks so 
 too, and that is all I need care about. 
 
 I have such a charming trousseau, though I am 
 ashamed to say I take very little pleasure in looking 
 at it. But kind, thoughtful Cousin John has pre- 
 sented Brilliant with an entirely new set of clothing; 
 and I think my horse seems almost more delighted 
 with his finery, than his mistress is with hers. My 
 Cousin and I ride together every day. Dear me ! 
 how delightful it is to think that I shall always be 
 as happy as I am now ! 
 
 THE ENU. 
 
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 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
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 General Library 
 
 Universicy of California 
 
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